, but the TEI Guidelines do not allow for a
to be placed within an
. Nevertheless, contrasting the structure of witness 1 with the structure of witness 2 already alerts the reader to structural revisions and invites a closer inspection. 11 The edges in a hypergraph are called hyperedges. In contrast to edges in a DAG, hyperedges can connect a set of nodes. From graveyard to graph 155 https://collatex.net/ be visualised in any meaningful way. At the same time, the various types of information contained by the collation hypergraph are of instrumental value to a deeper study of the textual objects. For that reason, HyperCollate offers not one specific type but rather lets the user select from a wide variety of visualisations, ranging from alignment tables to variant graphs. In selecting the output visualisation, the user decides which information she prefers to see and which information can be ignored. She may consider an alignment table if she’s primarily interested in the relationships between witnesses on a microlevel, or a variant graph if an insightful overview of the various token orders is more relevant to her research. Furthermore, she may decide what markup layers she want to see: arguably knowing that every token is part of the root element ‘text’ is of less concern than detecting changes in the structure of sentences. Making such decisions does require the user to have a basic knowledge of the underlying dataset and a clear idea of what she’s looking for. 6 Requirements for visualising textual variance This overview allows us to draw a number of conclusions regarding the visualisation of textual variation and to what extent each visualisation considers the various dimensions of the textual object. We have seen that intradocumentary variation is as of yet not represented by default; the editor is required to make certain adjustments to the visualisation. Alignment tables and parallel segmentation can be extended to some extent, for instance by using colours and visualising deletions and additions. Regular variant graphs may include intradocumentary variation if the different paths through the texts are collated as separate witnesses12; only HyperCollate’s variant graph output includes both intra- and interdocumentary variation. Structural variation, is currently only taken into account by HyperCollate and consequently only visualised in HyperCollate’s variant graph. While the added value of studying this type of variation may be clear, it remains a challenge to visualise both linguistic/semantic and structural variation in an informative and clear manner. Fig. 11 may clearly convey the structural difference between witness 1 and witness 2 (i.e., the element), but the raw collation output contains much more information which, if included, would probably overburden the user. A promising feature of visualisations intended to further explorations of textual variation is interactivity. One can imagine, for instance, the added value of discovering promising sites of revision through a graph representation, zooming in, and annotating the relationships between the witness nodes. Acknowledging the various strengths and shortcomings of existing visualisations, we propose that there is not one, all-encompassing visualisation that pays head to all properties 12 This practice leads to some problematic issues in case of complex revisions, see De Bruijn et al. 2007; Bleeker 2017, 111–114. Fig. 11 Alternative, black-and-white visualisation of HyperCollate output, with the markup repre- sented as hyperedge on the nodes. Other markup is not visualised 156 E. Bleeker et al Fig. 12 Alternative visualisation of HyperCollate output, with each node containing the Xpath-like informa- tion about the place of the text in the XML tree (e.g. the path /TEI/text/div/p/s/ indicates that the ancestors of a text node are, bottom up, an element, a element, a
element, the
element and the element) From graveyard to graph 157 of text. Instead, each visualisation highlights a different aspect of textual variance or provides another perspective on text. Each perspective puts another textual characteristic before the footlights, while (ideally) making users aware of the fact that there is much more happing behind the familiar scenes. As Tanya Clement argues, focusing on one aspect can be instrumental in our understanding of text, helping the user ‘get a better look at a small part of the text to learn something about the workings of the whole’ (Clement 2013, §3). Indeed it seems that multiple and interactive representations (cf. Andrews and Van Zundert 2013; Jänicke et al. 2014; Sinclair et al. 2013) are a promising direction. 7 Visual literacy and code criticism The process of visualising data is a scholarly activity in line with the process of modelling, hence the resulting visualisation influences the ways in which a text can be studied Collation output can be visualised in different ways, which raises essential questions regarding the assessment and evaluation of visualisations. The function of a digital visualisation is two-fold: on the one hand, it serves as a means of communication and on the other hand it provides an instrument of research. The communicative aspect implies that visualisation is first and foremost an affair of the scholar(s) who creating visualisations. The diversity of visualisations, each of which highlights different aspects of the text, reflects the hermeneutic aspect inherent to humanist textual research. Thus, by using visualisation to foreground textual variation, editors are able to better represent the multifocal nature of text. In order to choose an appropriate representation of collation output, then, scholars need to know what argument they want to make about their data set, and how the visualisation can support that argument by presenting and omitting certain information. Accordingly, they can estimate the value of a visualisation for a specific scholarly task and expose the inevitable bias embedded in technology. When a visualisation is used as an instrument of study and exploration, it is vital to be critical about its workings and its (implicit) bias. This includes an awareness of which elements the visualisation highlights and, just as important, which elements are ignored. As Martyn Jessop has pointed out, humanist education often overlooks training in ‘visual literacy’, which can be defined as the effective use of images to explore and communicate ideas (Jessop 2008, 282). Visual literacy, then, denotes an understanding of the fact that a visualisation represents a scholarly argument. Jessop identifies four principles that facilitate the understanding of a visualisation: aims and methods, sources, transparency requirements, and documentation (Jessop 2008 290). The documentation of a visualisation of collation output then, could describe what research objective(s) it aims to achieve, on what witnesses it is based, and how these witnesses have been transcribed, tokenized, and aligned.13 Another suitable rationale for critically evaluating the visualisation process is offered by the domains of ‘tool criticism’ or ‘code criticism’ (Traub and van Ossenbruggen 2015; Van Zundert and Dekker 2017, 125). Tool criticism assumes that the code base of scholarly tools reflects certain scholarly decisions and assumptions, and it raises critical questions in order to further awareness of the 13 Although the value of documenting a tool’s operations is uncontested, making use of documentation is not yet part of digital humanities’ best practice. In that respect, it is worthwhile to keep in mind the RTFM-mantra of software development (‘Read the F-ing Manual’). 158 E. Bleeker et al relationships between code and scholarly intentions. Questions include (but are not limited to) ‘is documentation on the precision, recall, biases and pitfalls of the tool available’, or ‘is provenance data available on the way the tool manipulates the data set?’ (Traub and van Ossenbruggen 2015). Indeed, when it comes to evaluating the visualisation of automated collation results, one may well ask to what extent these witnesses and the ways in which they have been processed by the collation tool are subject to bias and interpretation. Like transcription (and any operation on text for that matter), collation is not a neutral process: it is subject to the influence of the editor. This becomes clear if we look at the different steps in the collation workflow as identified by the Gothenburg model (GM; 2009). The GM consists of five steps: tokenisation, normalisation, alignment, analysis, and visualisa- tion. For each step, the editor is required to make decisions, e.g. ‘what constitutes a token’, ‘do I normalise the tokens and, if so, do I present the original and the normalised tokens’, or ‘what is my definition of a match and how do I want to align the tokens?’ As Joris Van Zundert and Ronald Haentjens Dekker emphasise, not all decisions made by collation software are easily accessible to the user, simply because they are the result of ‘incredibly complex heuristics and algorithms’ (Van Zundert and Dekker 2017, 123). To illustrate this, we can look at the decision tree used by HyperCollate to calculate the alignment of two simple sentences. The graph in Figs. 13 and 14 are complementary and show all possible decisions the alignment algorithm of Hypercollate can take in order to align the tokens of witness A and witness B and the likely outcomes of each decision. An evident downside of such trees is that they become very large very quickly. For that reason, we see them as primarily useful for editors keen to find out more about the alignment of their complex text. The GM pipeline is not strictly chronological or linear. Although automated collation does start with tokenization, not every user insists on normalising the tokens, and a step can be revisited if the outcome is considered unsatisfactory or not in line with the user’s expectations. Though visualisation comes last in the GM model, this article has argued that it is surely not an afterthought to collation. In fact, the visual representation of textual variance entails an additional form of information modelling: editors are compelled to give physical form to an abstract idea of textual variation which exists at that point only in the transcription and (partly) in the collation result. Using the markup to obtain a more optimal alignment, as HyperCollate does, only emphasises this point: marking up texts Fig. 13 The collation of witness B against witness A, with potential matches indicated in red From graveyard to graph 159 entails making explicit the knowledge and assumptions that would otherwise have been left implicit. Visualising the markup elements, then, implies that these assumptions and thus a particular scholarly orientation to text is foregrounded. 8 Conclusions The present article investigated several methods of representing textual variation: alignment tables, synoptic viewers, and graphs. Two small textual fragments containing in-text variation and structural variation formed the example input for the alignment table and the variant graph visualisation. The fragments were transcribed in TEI/XML and subsequently collated with CollateX and Fig. 14 The decision tree for collating witness B against witness A. Chosen matches indicated in bold, discarded matches rendered as strike-through; others are potential matches. Arrow numbers indicate the number of matches discarded since the root node (this number should be as low as possible). Red leaf nodes indicate a dead end, orange leaf nodes a ‘sub-optimal’ match, and green leaf nodes indicate an optimal set of matches 160 E. Bleeker et al HyperCollate respectively. In addition, we looked at existing visualisations of the Versioning Machine and the Diachronic Slider. These visualisations were judged on their potential to represent different types of variance in addition to the regular interdocumentary variation: intradocumentary, linguistic, and structural. Visualising these aspects of text paves the way for a deeper, more thorough, and more inclusive study of the text’s dimensions. We concluded that there is currently no ideal visualisation, and that the focus should not be on creating an ideal visualisation. Instead, we propose appreciating the multitude of possible visualisations which, individually, amplify a different textual property. This re- quires us to appreciate what a visualisation can do for our research goals and, furthermore, to evaluate its effectiveness. To this end, methods from code criticism and visual literacy can be of aid in furthering an understanding of the digital representations of collation output as rhetorical devices. We propose evaluating the usefulness of a visualisation on the basis of the following principles: 1) Interactivity. This may range from annotating the edges of a graph, adjusting the alignment by (re)moving nodes, to alternating between macro- and micro level explorations of variance. 2) Readability and scalability. Especially in a case of many and/or long witnesses, alignment tables and variant graphs become too intricate to read: their function becomes primarily to indicate complex revision sites. 3) Transparency of the textual model. The visualisation not only represents textual variance, but simultaneously makes clear what scholarly model is intrinsic to the collation. It needs to be clear which scholarly perspective serves as a model for transcription and representation. 4) Transparency of the code. Visualisations represent the outcome of an internal collation process which is usually not available to the general user audience. A clear, step-by-step documentation of the algorithmic process helps users under- stand what scholarly assumptions are present in the code, what decisions have been made, what parameters have been used, and how these assumptions, decisions, and parameters may have influenced the outcome. Decision trees may be of additional use. This applies particularly to interactive visualisations: if it’s possible to adjust parameters or filters, these adjustments need to be made explicit. Digital visualisation is sometimes regarded as an afterthought in humanities research, or even considered with a certain degree of suspicion. Some consider it a mere technical undertaking, an irksome habit of some digital humanists who recently learned to work with a flashy tool. Yet if used correctly, these flashy tools may also function as instruments of study and research, which means they should be evaluated accordingly. Within the framework of visualising collation output, visual literacy is key. Having a critical understanding of the research potential of visualisations facilitates our research into textual variance. After all, these representational systems produce an object which we use for research purposes; we need to take seriously the ways in which they do this. In addition to communicating a scholarly argument, digital visualisations of collation output foreground textual variation. The collation tool HyperCollate facilitates the examination of a text from multiple perspectives (some unfamiliar, some inspiring, some contrasting, but all of them highlighting a particular element of interest). This From graveyard to graph 161 freedom of choice invites scholars to reappraise prevalent notions and continue explor- ing the dynamic nature of text in dialogue with other disciplines. Digital visualisations, then, give us a means to take variants out of the graveyard and into an environment in which they can be fully appreciated. Open Access This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and repro- duction in any medium, provided you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license, and indicate if changes were made. References Andrews, T., & Mace, C. (2012). Trees of Texts: Models and Methods for an Updated Theory of Medieval Text Stemmatology. Paper presented at the digital humanities conference, 2012, July 16–20, University of Hamburg. Abstract available at http://www.dh2012.uni-hamburg.de/conference/programme/abstracts/trees-of-texts- models-and-methods-for-an-updated-theory-of-medieval-text-stemmatology.1.html. Accessed 23 Dec 2018. Andrews, T., & Van Zundert, J. (2013). An Interactive Interface for Text Variant Graph Models. Paper presented at the Digital Humanities Conference, 2013, July 16–19, University of Lincoln, Nebraska. Abstract available at http://dh2013.unl.edu/abstracts/ab-379.html. Accessed 23 Dec 2018. Bleeker, E. (2017). Mapping invention in writing: Digital infrastructure and the role of the genetic editor. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Antwerp. Bleeker, E., Buitendijk, B., Dekker, R. H., Neyt, V., & van Hulle D. (2017). The challenges of automated collation of manuscripts. 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Digital scholarly editing for the genetic orientation: The making of a genetic edition of Samuel Beckett’s works. Ph.D. thesis, University of Antwerp. Drucker, J. (2012). Humanistic theory and digital scholarship. In M. Gold (Ed.), Debates in the digital humanities (pp. 85–96). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Haentjens Dekker, R., & Birnbaum, D. J. (2017). It’s more than just overlap: Text as graph. Presented at Balisage: The Markup Conference 2017, Washington, DC, August 1 - 4, 2017. In Proceedings of Balisage: The Markup Conference 2017. Balisage Series on Markup Technologies, vol. 19. https://doi. org/10.4242/BalisageVol19.Dekker01. Jänicke, Stefan, Gessner, Annette, Büchler, Marco, & Scheuermann Gerik (2014). Design rules for visualizing text variant graphs. In Proceedings of the digital humanities 2014, edited by Clare Mills, Michael Pidd and Jessica Williams. Joyce, J. (1984-1986). Ulysses: A critical and synoptic edition, prepared by Hans Walter Gabler with Wolfhard Steppe and Claus Melchior, 3 vols. New York & London: Garland Publishing Inc. Jessop, M. (2008). Digital visualization as a scholarly activity. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 23(3), 281– 293. Roos, T., & Heikkilä, T. (2009). Evaluating methods for computer-assisted stemmatology using artificial benchmark data sets. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 24(4), 417–433. Schacht, P. (2016). ‘Introduction’ in: Thoreau, Henry David. Walden: A fluid-text edition. Digital Thoreau. http://digitalthoreau.org/fluid-text-toc. Accessed 27 May 2019. 162 E. Bleeker et al http://www.dh2012.uni-hamburg.de/conference/programme/abstracts/trees-of-texts-models-and-methods-for-an-updated-theory-of-medieval-text-stemmatology.1.html http://www.dh2012.uni-hamburg.de/conference/programme/abstracts/trees-of-texts-models-and-methods-for-an-updated-theory-of-medieval-text-stemmatology.1.html http://dh2013.unl.edu/abstracts/ab-379.html http://www.tei-c.org/Activities/Council/Working/tcw19.html https://doi.org/10.1632/lsda.2013.0 https://doi.org/10.4242/BalisageVol19.Dekker01 https://doi.org/10.4242/BalisageVol19.Dekker01 http://digitalthoreau.org/fluid-text-toc Schäuble, J., & Gabler, H. W. (2016). Visualising processes of text composition and revision across document Borders. Paper presented at the symposium Digital Scholarly Editions as Interfaces, Graz, Austria, September 22–23. Schmidt, D., & Colomb, R. (2009). A data structure for representing multi-version texts online. International Journal of Human-Computer Studies, 67(6), 497–514. Sinclair, S., Ruecker, S., & Radzikowska, M. (2013). Information visualization for humanities scholars. In Literary studies in the digital age, an evolving anthology, edited by Kenneth Price and Ray Siemens. Available at https://dlsanthology.mla.hcommons.org/information-visualization-for-humanities-scholars. Accessed 23 Dec 2018 Traub, M., & van Ossenbruggen, J. (2015). Workshop on tool criticism in the digital humanities. CWI Techreport July 1, 2015. Available at https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9 cfc3fab6512dea.pdf. Accessed 27 May 2019. Vanhoutte, E. (1999). Where is the editor? Human IT, 3.1, 197–214. Van Zundert, J., & Dekker, R. H. (2017). Code, scholarship, and criticism: When is code scholarship and when is it not? Digital Scholarship in the Humanities, 32, 121–133. From graveyard to graph 163 https://dlsanthology.mla.hcommons.org/information-visualization-for-humanities-scholars https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9cfc3fab6512dea.pdf https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9cfc3fab6512dea.pdf From graveyard to graph Abstract Introduction Automated collation Properties of text Existing Visualisations of collation results Alignment table Synoptic viewers Parallel segmentation Critical or inline apparatus Variant graph Phylogenetic trees or stemmata HyperCollate Requirements for visualising textual variance Visual literacy and code criticism Conclusions References
work_ewzvteemkzakjbv2r5xxvrkvna ---- C o n t a c t : A J o u r n a l f o r C o n t e m p o r a r y M u s i c ( 1 9 7 1 - 1 9 8 8 ) http://contactjournal.gold.ac.uk Citation � Montague, Stephen. 1982. ‘Cage Interview’. Contact, 25. pp. 30. ISSN 0308-5066. http://contactjournal.gold.ac.uk 30 Stephen Montague Cage Interview John Cage is one of the most influential and important creative artists to have emerged this century. On 5 September Cage was 70 years old. The following material is taken from interviews by Stephen Montague with the composer on 18 March 1982 at Cage's loft in Greenwich Village, New York, and during the Almeida Festival, London, 28-30 May 1982. STEPHEN MONTAGUE: You are 70 years old in September. What are the best and the worst things about being your age? What are some of your reflections? JOHN CAGE: Well, I have a friend named Doris Dennison who is 74 and whose 96-year-old mother lives alone in Oregon and is still taking care of herself. Doris called her one day and asked how she was. Mrs Dennison said: 'Oh, I'm fine, it's just that I don't have the energy I had when I was in my 70s.' My attitude toward old age is one of gratitude for each day. Poor Henry David Thoreau died at age 44. You know he had the habit of walking through the streets of Concord in the dead of winter without any clothes on, which must certainly have disturbed the local citizens no end. Later there was a lady who each year would put flowers on Emerson's grave, and mutter as she would pass Thoreau's: 'And none for you, you dirty little atheist!' Anyway, as I get older and begin to be almost twice as old as Thoreau, I am naturally grateful for all this time. It strikes me that since there's obviously a shorter length of time left than I've already had, I'd better hurry up and be interested in whatever I can. There's no fooling around possible. No silliness. So where I used to spend so much of my time hunting mushrooms, I've recently become interested in indoor gardening. I now tend to spread myself thinner and thinner. I'm always looking for new ways of using my energy, but meanwhile continuing the other activities. About five or six years ago I was invited to make etchings at the Crown Point Press in California. I accepted immediately, even though I didn't know how to make them, because about 20 years before I was invited to trek in the Himalayas and didn't. I later discovered that the walk was going to be on elephants with servants, and I've always regretted that missed opportunity. I thought I was too busy. I am now multiplying my interests because it is my last chance. I don't know what will turn up next. The doctor told me at my age anything can happen. He was right. I got rid of arthritis by following a macrobiotic diet. Work is now taking on the aspect of play, and the older I get, the more things I find myself interested in doing. In my talk during' the Almeida Festival I said: 'If you don't have enough time to accomplish something, consider the work finished once it's begun. It then resembles the Venus da Milo which manages quite well without an arm.' SM: Do you have any regrets, anything you might have done differently as you review your 70 years? JC: You mean how would I recreate the past? Well, I said long ago that if I were to live my life over again, I would be a botanist rather than an artist. At that time the botanist Alexander Smith asked me why. And I said: 'To avoid the jealousies that plague the arts. Because people think of art so often as self- expression.' (I don't, but so many people do.) 'And therefore, if their work is not receiving what they consider proper attention, they then feel unhappy about it and get offended.' One of my teachers, Adolf Weiss, got very angry at me simply because I became famous. He was sure I was, in some way, being dishonest, because he had been honest all his life and he'd never become famous; so he was sure I was doing something wrong and evil. But when I said to Alexander Smith that I would like to change my life by being a botanist, he said that showed how little I knew about botany. Then later in the conversation I mentioned some other botanist, and he said: 'Don't mention his name in my house!' So I think that all human activities are characterised in their unhappy forms by selfishness. SM: Earning a living as a composer in any era has traditionally been difficult. How old were you when you could really say you were earning a living just as a composer? JC: I began to make money not from actually writing music, but from lecturing, concerts, and all such things-what you might call the paraphernalia of music-not until I was 50. But then I did. Now I could get along without giving any concerts if I chose to live in a poor corner of the world. My income from my past work is sufficient to live on in a very modest situation. SM: What is your most important work? JC: Well the most important piece is my silent piece, 4'33 ". Why? Because you don't need it in order to hear it. You have it all the time. And it can change your mind, making it open to things outside it. It is continually changing. It's never the same twice. In fact, and Thoreau knew this and it's been known traditionally in India, it is the statement that music is continuous. In India they say: 'Music is continuous, it is we who turn away.' So whenever you feel in need of a little music, all you have to do is to pay close attention to the sounds around you. I always think of my silent piece before I write the next piece. SM: What do you do for leisure? JC: I don't have any leisure. It's not that I have my nose to the grindstone. I enjoy my work. Nothing entertains me more than to do it. That's why I do it. So I have no need for entertainment. And my work is not really fatiguing so that I don't need to relax. SM: This is your 70th year. The beginning of a new decade for you. Your life-style and the macrobiotic diet seem to agree with you. You're in good health and seem very fit. JC: I'm gradually learning how to take care of myself. It has taken a long time. It seems to me that when I die, I'll be in perfect condition. Contact_Issue25_001.tif Contact_Issue25_002.tif Contact_Issue25_003.tif Contact_Issue25_004.tif Contact_Issue25_005.tif Contact_Issue25_006.tif Contact_Issue25_007.tif Contact_Issue25_008.tif Contact_Issue25_009.tif Contact_Issue25_010.tif Contact_Issue25_011.tif Contact_Issue25_012.tif Contact_Issue25_013.tif Contact_Issue25_014.tif Contact_Issue25_015.tif Contact_Issue25_016.tif Contact_Issue25_017.tif Contact_Issue25_018.tif Contact_Issue25_019.tif Contact_Issue25_020.tif Contact_Issue25_021.tif Contact_Issue25_022.tif Contact_Issue25_023.tif Contact_Issue25_024.tif Contact_Issue25_025.tif Contact_Issue25_026.tif Contact_Issue25_027.tif Contact_Issue25_028.tif Contact_Issue25_029.tif Contact_Issue25_030.tif Contact_Issue25_031.tif Contact_Issue25_032.tif Contact_Issue25_033.tif Contact_Issue25_034.tif Contact_Issue25_035.tif Contact_Issue25_036.tif Contact_Issue25_037.tif Contact_Issue25_038.tif Contact_Issue25_039.tif Contact_Issue25_040.tif Contact_Issue25_041.tif Contact_Issue25_042.tif Contact_Issue25_043.tif Contact_Issue25_044.tif Contact_Issue25_045.tif Contact_Issue25_046.tif Contact_Issue25_047.tif Contact_Issue25_048.tif Contact_Issue25_049.tif Contact_Issue25_050.tif Contact_Issue25_051.tif Contact_Issue25_052.tif Contact_Issue25_053.tif Contact_Issue25_054.tif Contact_Issue25_055.tif Contact_Issue25_056.tif Contact_Issue25_057.tif
work_ew75vvt3zjexxfpxjx5e3iu2ti ---- Restraining the Hand of Law: A Conceptual Framework to Shrink the Size of Law The Chinese University of Hong Kong From the SelectedWorks of Bryan H. Druzin 2014 Restraining the Hand of Law: A Conceptual Framework to Shrink the Size of Law Bryan H. Druzin, The Chinese University of Hong Kong Available at: https://works.bepress.com/bryan_druzin/15/ https://works.bepress.com/bryan_druzin/ https://works.bepress.com/bryan_druzin/15/ 100 RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW: A CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK TO SHRINK THE SIZE OF LAW Bryan Druzin ABSTRACT ............................................................................................. 100 I. INTRODUCTION ...................................................................................... 101 II. THE CASE FOR MINIMALISM ................................................................. 105 A. Assumptions and Starting Points ................................................... 105 B. The Benefits of Minimalism ........................................................... 107 C. The Minimalist Approach to Economic Regulation ....................... 111 D. The Liability of Ideology—Both Left and Right ............................. 113 III. ARTICULATING A FRAMEWORK FOR LEGISLATIVE MINIMALISM ......... 114 A. Non-interference ............................................................................ 116 B. Formalizing .................................................................................... 117 C. Fine-tuning .................................................................................... 123 D. Dismantling .................................................................................... 124 E. Concocting ..................................................................................... 126 IV. CLARIFYING THE FRAMEWORK ............................................................. 127 A. A Tabulated Comparison of the Strategies .................................... 127 B. Contract: A Paragon of Legislative Minimalism ........................... 129 1. Non-interference in Contract ................................................... 130 2. Formalizing in Contract ........................................................... 131 3. Fine-tuning in Contract ............................................................ 131 4. Dismantling and Concocting in Contract ................................. 132 C. Beyond Law: A Wide Breadth of Potential Application ................ 134 V. CONCLUSION ......................................................................................... 135 ABSTRACT There is a fierce ideological struggle between two warring camps: those who rally against expansive government and those who support it. Clearly, the correct balance must be struck between the extremes of legislative over-invasiveness and the frightening total absence of legal structure. This Assistant Professor of Law, The Chinese University of Hong Kong. For their insightful comments, I am deeply indebted to Eric Posner at the University of Chicago; Richard Epstein at NYU; Andrew Simester at University of Cambridge; Julian Webb at Warwick; Stephen Hall, Xi Chao, and Julien Chaisse at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. As well, the drafting of this paper was helped greatly by Direct Grant CUHK funding. 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 101 paper articulates a framework that allows for legislative parsimony—a way to scale back state law in a way that avoids lurching to unnecessary extremes. I assume the libertarian premise that law should strive to encroach as minimally as possible upon social order, yet I argue that we must do this in a highly selective fashion, employing a range of legislative techniques. I call this approach legislative minimalism. The strength of legislative minimalism is its pragmatic flexibility: different situations will allow for different degrees of minimalism. The paper creates a taxonomy of legislative strategies, outlining five distinct strategies. This taxonomy provides a conceptual foundation to help guide policymakers faced with the question of how best to legislate—or more accurately, how much to legislate. I. INTRODUCTION Sometimes the most effective form of action is no action at all—or at least as little of it as possible. Consider gardening. The experienced gardener knows that over-gardening can stifle growth. Different situations call for different degrees of tending: sometimes all that is needed is a bit of trimming, sometimes a little invasive weeding, and occasionally what is required is uprooting the entire plant . The trick is in knowing precisely how much “interference” is needed: too little and one’s garden will become a disordered mess; too much and one’s garden will wither away and die. What is true for the natural ordering of plants is true for the natural ordering of society. Most social order is a natural process.1 Imposed social order, that is order created and imposed through the legislative authority and coercive mechanisms of the State, is but the formal tip of a colossal iceberg.2 Beneath this surface lies a deep ocean of social norms and customary rules that structure society.3 I will refer to this broadly as customary social order (I use this term henceforth).4 It 1 Indeed, the highest levels of social order are, in fact, found in the insect world, such as with ant colonies and wasp nests. THEORIES OF SOCIAL ORDER: A READER 3 (Michael Hechter & Christine Horne eds., 2d ed. 2009). I use Jon Elster’s definition of social order here: stable, predictable behavioral patterns and general cooperative behavior. See JON ELSTER, THE CEMENT OF SOCIETY: A STUDY OF SOCIAL ORDER 1 (1989). 2 Throughout the discussion, the term “the State” is meant to include not only administrative and legislating bodies but also judge-made law. 3 Indeed, most social order is maintained not through state-enforced law but through social norms. Paul G. Mahoney & Chris W. Sanchirico, Competing Norms and Social Evolution: Is the Fittest Norm Efficient?, 149 U. PA. L. REV. 2027, 2027–28 (2001). See also, e.g., Robert C. Ellickson, The Evolution of Social Norms: A Perspective from the Legal Academy, in SOCIAL NORMS 35 (Michael Hechter & Karl-Dieter Opp eds., 2001) (discussing how social norms arise, persist, and change). 4 Customary social order, as it is used here, refers to fixed social patterning on various levels of complexity, from simple norms of conduct (e.g. queuing norms) to quite intricate systems of order (e.g. customary international rules of war). Throughout, I juxtapose this with “imposed social order,” i.e. social order created through formal law. The terms social patterning, 102 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 would be a mistake to underestimate the vitality and significance of customary social order: throughout most of our species’ history, custom, not formal law, has preserved social order.5 Customary social ordering is an unremitting process, surging upwards through the myriad cracks of social intercourse. It is undesigned order—the consequence of social interaction. While the footprint of imposed legal order is large, it dwarfs in comparison to the vast social complexity that remains completely untouched by the instruments of formal law.6 At the end of the day, the vast majority of social patterning is neither designed nor regulated. When one begins to think along these lines, the question that invariably presents itself is: to what extent should formal law interfere with the natural mechanics of social order at all? Clearly, in some areas it intrudes quite a lot, in others, very little. Just how much of society should be subject to the hand of law rather than left to the natural ordering force of custom? Do we want the state to regulate every facet of social existence: family life, sexual practices? What if, for example, the aggregate productivity of society could be substantially improved if each of us slept at least eight hours a night? Would the state then be justified in legislating a societal bedtime?7 On the other hand, there are social dynamics that clearly require massive doses of regulation: black markets, organized crime, racial discrimination, etc. The question of how far law should extend itself goes to the very heart of our relationship with government for it is through law that the state asserts the most direct and most powerful influence over our lives. Law is like the corrective hand of a gardener: sometimes it is needed to save the life of a plant, to nurture and sustain it, but equally, it needs to know when to pull back and defer to natural processes. For over-gardening, overwatering, and over-fertilizing the soil—all this will also kill a plant. As the skilled hand of the gardener must be measured, so should the hand of law. It should not overreach, yet at the same time, it should not fail to extend itself where necessary. The position that law overreaches has been widely argued. Indeed, the idea has great purchase in certain circles. Anarchists, libertarians, conservative social ordering, self-ordering systems, customary system, or even just system are used here interchangeably with customary social order. Friedrich Hayek uses the term spontaneous order. See F. A. HAYEK, THE CONSTITUTION OF LIBERTY 160 (1960) [hereinafter HAYEK, THE CONSTITUTION OF LIBERTY]. This could also be used here. 5 See David Ibbetson, Custom in Medieval Law, in THE NATURE OF CUSTOMARY LAW: LEGAL, HISTORICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL PERSPECTIVES 151, 158 (Amanda Perreau-Saussine & James B. Murphy eds., 2007). 6 I have discussed the self-ordering nature of customary law elsewhere, arguing that it may be strategically manipulated to serve public policy ends. See Bryan H. Druzin, Planting Seeds of Order: How the State Can Create, Shape, and Use Customary Law, 28 BYU J. PUB. L. 373 (2014). 7 It is undeniable that reproduction patterns have clear, large-scale societal implications. Could state regulation of such patterns be justified? China’s one-child policy is one answer. Many disagree. 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 103 economists, and some legal scholars fervently contend that too much social regulation undermines the productivity, potential, and even the basic freedom of the very society it seeks to regulate.8 These voices call to restrain (or with respect to anarchists destroy) the hand of law. This paper takes these claims seriously. The discussion that follows is sympathetic to their position (albeit in its technical rather than ideological form).9 For the purposes of this paper, I take the general argument as already valid. My job, as I set it out for myself, is not really to make a case for why we should minimize regulation (I mostly assume this leg of the argument); the focus of this paper, rather, is how to go about doing it. If we take the minimalist position as legitimate, the question arises: what are we to do about it? This question lies at the center of a fierce ideological struggle between two warring camps: those who rally against expansive government and those who support it. Clearly, the correct balance must be struck between legislative over-invasiveness on the one hand and a frightening total absence of formal legal structure on the other. Put simply, this paper proposes to split the difference. It articulates a framework that allows for legislative parsimony—a way to scale back state law in a way that avoids lurching to unnecessary extremes. My thesis in a nutshell is this: wherever feasible, we should strive to encroach as minimally as possible upon customary social order, yet this may be done in a highly selective, strategic fashion, employing a range of legislative techniques. I call this approach legislative minimalism.10 The strength of legislative minimalism is in its pragmatic 8 As this literature is vast, I refer the reader to the more prominent theorists in this vein. While not a comprehensive list, see the work of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon and Lysander Spooner (early anarchism); Murray Rothbard and Robert Nozick (libertarianism); Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman (economics); and Richard Epstein and Robert Cooter (law). See also the literature on overcriminalization. For a good introduction to this literature, see Sanford H. Kadish, The Crisis of Overcriminalization; More on Overcriminalization; and The Use of Criminal Sanctions in Enforcing Economic Regulations, in BLAME AND PUNISHMENT: ESSAYS IN THE CRIMINAL LAW 21, 21–61 (Sanford H. Kadish ed., 1987). 9 I draw this distinction because anarchists and libertarians often make a normative argument against the State, contending that the state is a constraint on personal liberty and is either entirely or largely illegitimate. I do not wish to engage in such arguments here. In fact, I fear that such normative claims only cloud the issue. See infra Part II.D (discussing the hazards of ideology). 10 The term “legislative minimalism” has been employed before yet in a somewhat ad hoc manner connoting various meanings. As such, some clarification is needed. Legislative minimalism as understood here is wherever the State, to whatever degree, strategically incorporates customary social order. This may be contrasted with the concept of legislative maximalism where the state disregards the natural patterning of spontaneous order and instead simply imposes top-down legal order. For scholarship where the term has previously appeared conveying extremely divergent meanings, see, for example, Ian C. Bartrum, Same-Sex Marriage in the Heartland: The Case for Legislative Minimalism in Crafting Religious Exemptions, 108 MICH. L. REV. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 8 (2009), http://www.michiganlawreview.org/assets/fi/108/bartrum.pdf (suggesting that the Iowa legislature should allow the courts to craft religious exemptions regarding same-sex marriage); 104 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 flexibility. Different situations will allow for different degrees of minimalism. As such, there is not a single strategy of legislative minimalism; rather, there are several. The paper creates a taxonomy of strategies, outlining five ways in which legislative minimalism may be applied. Taken together, these five strategies provide a conceptual foundation to guide policymakers faced with the question of how best to legislate—or more to the point, how much to legislate. Which strategy is most appropriate should be decided on a case-by-case basis. The trick is in knowing how, like the gardener, the state can skillfully manage customary social ordering and just what dose of minimalism is appropriate. The hand of law will always extend somewhere along a continuum of intrusion. This is unavoidable. The question is merely in choosing the most appropriate degree of intervention. This being the case, it becomes that much more imperative that we articulate a clear, conceptually rigorous framework for dealing with customary patterning. The contribution of this paper is that it provides such a framework—it provides clarity. In actual fact, the law already deals heavily in customary order, employing different degrees of regulatory intrusion as it builds upon and modifies pre-existing patterns of social order. Yet this is not done in a consistent or coherent fashion. The taxonomy this paper constructs systematizes this entire process. Armed with this conceptual framework, lawmakers will be clear from the outset as to what legislative approach is most suitable to the task at hand, and this clarity will guide them in more skillfully formulating legislation (or not formulating legislation as the case may be). What is currently lacking is a lucid set of instructions to help lawmakers determine where exactly the line of legislative intrusion should be drawn. It is thus important to have at our disposal a clear and comprehensive framework for minimalism even if that means we find sometimes that minimalism is not at all what is needed. My argument proceeds in three parts. Part II begins by clarifying some foundational assumptions made in the paper and then briefly lays out the case for minimalism. Yet this is not the focus of the paper. Parts III and IV is where the paper offers a fresh contribution to the literature. Part III articulates a framework for legislative minimalism, creating a detailed taxonomy of strategies. Part IV then further clarifies this framework, discussing how these strategies are in fact already at work within the realm of contract. Indeed, in that the state has traditionally employed a “light touch” approach in contract, the law of contract is a terrific case study in how legislative minimalism may be applied across the full spectrum of law. Mila Sohoni, The Idea of “Too Much Law,” 80 FORDHAM L. REV. 1585 (2012) (claiming that federal laws and regulations are too numerous).This should also not be confused with “judicial minimalism,” a term popularized by Cass Sunstein that relates to a form of constitutional interpretation. See CASS R. SUNSTEIN, ONE CASE AT A TIME: JUDICIAL MINIMALISM ON THE SUPREME COURT (2001). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 105 II. THE CASE FOR MINIMALISM A. Assumptions and Starting Points This paper embraces certain assumptions and starting points that need to be made clear from the outset. First, as I said in the introduction, for the purposes of the discussion, I take the claims of those who call to shrink the size of law seriously. This assumption is open to attack on both normative and factual grounds. However, let me pre-emptively defend against such criticisms. I do this not because the argument for minimalism is closed to debate; rather, I do this because this is not really the paper’s focus. My focus, rather, is in crafting a framework to effectuate minimalism that is nuanced, strategic, and avoids lurching to unnecessary extremes. Thus, I take as my starting point that we do indeed want to shrink the size of law and then offer a way to get there. As such, I am laboring under two assumptions, the first descriptive and the second normative. The first is that imposed social order is generally more vulnerable to inefficiencies (for reasons I will explain). The second assumption, which flows from the first, is that we should, therefore, only impose order where it is absolutely necessary.11 Both these assumptions relate to a familiar controversy (the role of government), and the paper does not add anything startlingly new on this front—it is taken as a working premise that the technical argument for minimalism holds merit. Rather, the contribution of this paper resides mostly in Parts III and IV where a clear taxonomy for legislative minimalism is set out, scrutinized, and dissected. A general theme emerges from the discussion: wherever it is feasible, legislative minimalism should be preferred over its opposite, legislative maximalism. This is because each time we successfully minimize the State’s intrusion into natural social patterning, we arguably reduce the risk of messing things up. Hence, when faced with the choice whether or not to take legislative action, we should err on the side of caution and favor minimalism. Yet it is important to note that just because a system of customary social order arises bottom-up, this is no guarantee that it is optimal or even desirable.12 It would be profoundly naïve to assume that customary social ordering is always optimal. Such order may be grossly inefficient, unjust, or may simply stand to benefit from some minor tinkering.13 Just how much tinkering is needed will vary. I 11 Indeed, this is how I read Hayek. The basic premise of his work is thus embraced here. 12 Yet, arguably, its decentralized, organic genesis does give it a certain consistent advantage over its top-down competition in that such complexity is better suited to spontaneous processes. See infra Part II.B for a fuller discussion of this under the concept of design efficiency 13 While I better define “inefficiency” below, as for the term “unjust,” I do not proffer any definition. The term unjust as it is used here may mean any number of things depending upon a society’s particular goals and objectives. This may range from equitable resource distribution to maximization of productivity. For our purposes, what a society deems as just is of relevance only to the extent that such conceptions will influence what is seen to be the purpose of a system, 106 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 employ a very parsimonious definition of efficiency: “efficient” simply means that the system of order is able to effectively achieve whatever purpose the system is geared to achieve.14 As I use it here, there are thus degrees of efficiency: the more effectively a system can achieve its purpose, the more we can say it is efficient. For example, the more a system of traffic order can achieve an uncongested traffic flow, the more it may be said to be efficient. If a system achieves its purpose but this can be improved upon (i.e. traffic congestion could be further reduced), then it suffers from inefficiency. In using the term, I do not necessarily mean strict economic conceptions of efficiency such as allocative efficiency, Pareto efficiency, distributive efficiency, or productive efficiency (although it may certainly include any or all of these). Perhaps another way to think of this that may be useful is in terms of “effectiveness” or “efficacy.” The taxonomy the paper constructs offers a new, or at least clearer, approach to an old debate and in this respect may prove interesting. What legislative minimalism entails are degrees of minimalism that span a continuum reflecting the level of involvement versus disengagement; it relates to the degree to which top-down law “intrudes” upon customary social order. The approach is unique in that it proposes graduated degrees of minimalism and articulates specific strategies to effectuate this. As such, it assumes a less dogmatic attitude towards the role of government.15 Robert Nozick once remarked that “[t]he fundamental question of political philosophy, one that precedes questions about how the state should be organized, is whether there should be any state at all.”16 For our purposes we can tweak this slightly: the most fundamental question for us, one that precedes even how formal law should be organized, is whether there should be any formal law at all. My thesis is that this is not an all-or-nothing proposition. It is a question that may be answered with different intensities of formal law on a case-by-case basis depending on the social pattern we are dealing with. Before wading deeper into our discussion, I shall briefly outline the case for why legislative minimalism is something beneficial we should seek to implement on a policy level. However, as this position is assumed to already hold merit, I do this really more to contextualize the discussion than to advance specific arguments for minimalism. What follows is the standard technical argument for minimalism. shaping our determinations of efficiency. For example, in the case of traffic order, its purpose may be fluid traffic flow, yet it may just as well be safe traffic flow. Whether a system is judged efficient will depend upon the purpose we assign to it, and this is unavoidably bound up with normative views. Where normative concepts influence our understanding of efficiency, they will determine the policy decision whether to intervene and to what extent. 14 And without producing unanticipated negative externalities. 15 This can be thought of as a “thin” model of minimalism in that it permits degrees of top- down law from the lightest kinds of minimalism to the heaviest forms of legal maximalism, if indeed that is what is required. 16 ROBERT NOZICK, ANARCHY, STATE, AND UTOPIA 4 (1974). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 107 With this in mind, let us consider some of the benefits that may be gleaned from a minimalist approach. B. The Benefits of Minimalism It is important that we are clear that when we speak of customary social order we are in fact discussing something that can take a variety of forms. Customary social order can range from simple norms of conduct (e.g. students’ self-assigning seats in a classroom or queuing norms) to extremely complex and intricate systems of normative order (e.g. the driving norms of a third- world city or the customary rules of international armed conflict).17 Regardless of the form it takes, however, customary social order offers some practical advantages over imposed social order. Because customary social order arises from an active discourse between parties rather than from being imposed from above, the social rules that it produces are often more efficient,18 robust, internalized,19 and self-enforcing. Where the rules prove self-enforcing, the 17 The machinery of customary social ordering has been widely studied: various mechanisms help foster and sustain its emergence. I have explored this theme elsewhere. See generally Bryan H. Druzin, Opening the Machinery of Private Order: Public International Law as a Form of Private Ordering, 58 ST. LOUIS U. L.J. 423 (2014) (positing that positive duties help sustain commercial contracts and international treaties by establishing trust through repeated rounds of signaling). See also Druzin, supra note 6.(discussing the self-ordering nature of customary law and arguing that it may be strategically manipulated to serve public policy ends). The conclusions of game theorists, evolutionary biologists, legal anthropologists, and sociologist all fall along similar lines. Repeated interaction allows for the possibility of very sophisticated forms of coordination without third-party enforcement because the shadow of future encounters can support a cooperative equilibrium. Given sufficient repeated interaction, individuals can rely on the threat of retaliation and reputational costs as informal enforcement mechanisms to encourage rule compliance. On the carrot side of the ledger, the element of reciprocal benefit that often comes with repeated interaction reinforces such arrangements, cementing the social rules that emerge. Much of the game theory literature addresses the impact of repeated games as a solution to the prisoner’s dilemma. I refer the reader to the foundational work regarding this idea, see Robert Axelrod & William D. Hamilton, The Evolution of Cooperation, 211 SCI. 1390 (1981); Robert Axelrod, The Emergence of Cooperation Among Egoists, 75 AM. POL. SCI. REV. 306 (1981). The take-away point here is that customary social order is a naturally occurring phenomenon. So long as the correct ingredients are present, it may manifest. 18 But see H. Peyton Young, Social Norms 6 (Univ. of Oxford Dep’t of Econ. Discussion Paper Series, Paper No. 307, 2007), available at http://www.economics.ox.ac.uk/materials/working_papers/paper307.pdf (pointing out that many social norms are demonstrably inefficient). 19 That is, there arises an underlying sense of universal duty to follow the norm—the “ought to” in a Humean sense. See DAVID HUME, A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 335 (1739). When a norm is internalized, it gives rise to the feeling that it is implicitly valid. As Eric Posner says, “. . . people bound by [norms] feel an emotional or psychological compulsion to obey the norms; norms have moral force.” Eric A. Posner, Law, Economics, and Inefficient Norms, 144 U. PA. L. REV. 1697, 1709 (1996). At a more advanced stage, the process can achieve the standing of Opiniojuris, the belief that a particular action carries a legal obligation. 108 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 enforcement burden on the state may be lightened.20 This alone is a significant advantage. Yet the central benefit of customary social order over that of top- down law is that it solves the problem of informational complexity. Informational complexity is the idea that when a high level of complexity is reached in any given system, it becomes exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, for one individual to know or process all the data relevant to a decision.21 This is a serious problem, one to which lawmaking is extremely vulnerable. The sheer complexity of law, a vast system of evolving rules and interrelated concepts, can be so difficult to grasp in its entirety that it often leads to design errors that produce unanticipated negative externalities. Put simply, it can cause us to make bad law. We can term this design error.22 It is a working premise of this paper that design error abounds in the law. It is, as Friedrich A. Hayek contends, an extraordinarily difficult task to design organized complexity because it is impossible for one mind to grasp all the relevant information.23 The problem of informational complexity was Hayek’s central critique of socialism and central planning (and legislation), a concept that assumed center stage throughout the whole of his work, featuring 20 The reader should note that the focus here is not upon self-enforcement. Self-enforcement is well-studied, particularly within the field of evolutionary game theory. Yet, with the exception of the strategy of Non-interference, this important aspect of customary social order is left out of the discussion. 21 This idea formed the better part of the life’s work of the economist Friedrich A. Hayek. For his early and perhaps best-known work on the subject, see F. A. HAYEK, THE ROAD TO SERFDOM: TEXT AND DOCUMENTS 95 (Bruce Caldwell ed., 2007) [hereinafter HAYEK, THE ROAD TO SERFDOM]; See also F. A. HAYEK, 1 LAW, LEGISLATION AND LIBERTY: A NEW STATEMENT OF THE LIBERAL PRINCIPLES OF JUSTICE AND POLITICAL ECONOMY 15 (1973) (discussing the impossibility of knowing and using all relevant facts) [hereinafter HAYEK, 1 LAW, LEGISLATION AND LIBERTY]. It is an extension of the economic calculation problem proposed by Ludwig von Mises, which decries the use of centralized planning in place of a market-based allocation of the factors of production. See LUDWIG VON MISES, ECONOMIC CALCULATION IN THE SOCIALIST COMMONWEALTH (1920) (discussing the increase in specialization and complexity of society).; See also JOHN C. W. TOUCHIE, HAYEK AND HUMAN RIGHTS: FOUNDATIONS FOR A MINIMALIST APPROACH TO LAW 94–95 (2005). 22 Design error is measured by the inability of a system of order, due to structural-design reasons, to effectively achieve its purpose without producing unanticipated negative externalities (system efficiency). The more it is unable to do this, the more we can say the system suffers from design error. Take an artificial heart as an example. If its purpose is to pump a sufficient flow of blood through the body to keep the recipient alive, vigorous, and in good health, then it can be said to suffer from design error if (1) the patient dies, if (2) the recipient lives but is not in a vigorous condition, or if (3) the patient lives but, say, develops serious blood clots (unanticipated negative externalities). In this respect, design error is a matter of degree. 23 See HAYEK, THE ROAD TO SERFDOM, supra note 21, at 95. Hayek calls the idea that all the relevant facts can be known to one mind a “synoptic delusion.” See HAYEK, 1 LAW, LEGISLATION AND LIBERTY, supra note 21, at 14. He terms this form of thinking “constructivist rationalism.” Id. at 5; See also ERIC ANGNER, HAYEK AND NATURAL LAW 51 (2007) (explaining, in very clear terms, Hayek’s thinking in this respect). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 109 prominently in his writings on spontaneous order.24 Many argue that the failure of the socialist project with its reliance on central planning was an illustration of informational complexity on a catastrophic level.25 Systems theory, particularly Niklas Luhmann’s autopoietic theory of law, reaches similar conclusions regarding system complexity and the limitations of centralized design.26 There is an implicit danger in tinkering with systems that we do not fully understand. Lon L. Fuller’s famous concept of polycentricity delivers a similar verdict on the constraints of system complexity. Fuller famously describes the difficulty of tinkering with interlocking complex networks with the image of pulling on a spider’s web: picking at one strand will invariably produce unanticipated tensions throughout all the other strands of the web. 27 Indeed, this can be thought of as something akin to tinkering with the weather. Indeed, the problem of informational complexity has been noted with regards to a sweeping range of order, from centrally-planned economies to ecological as well as complex biological systems. Law is not exempt. Indeed, informational complexity is a big problem for legislation. The unending difficulty in applying statute to real-world situations is stark testament to this challenge. These difficulties, it is argued here, stem directly from the problem of informational complexity on a wide scale.28 When crafting law, it is simply impossible to anticipate all the consequences that will flow from its application. This is arguably the fundamental shortcoming to deliberate design writ large— at best, lawmakers can make only educated guesses based on the limited information they have available, but as the information is limited, their understanding is limited. Lawmakers lack the requisite knowledge of all relevant concrete circumstances. The process of legislation is thus extremely prone to producing design errors. It is a project bound to periodically fail. While our focus here is primarily upon statute, case law is also straightjacketed 24 Hayek borrows the phrase from Michael Polanyi, explaining that: “Such an order . . . cannot be established by central direction . . . . It is what M. Polanyi has called the spontaneous formation of a ‘polycentric order’: ‘When order is achieved among human beings by allowing them to interact with each other on their own initiative . . . we have a system of spontaneous order in society.’” HAYEK, THE CONSTITUTION OF LIBERTY, supra note 4, at 160. 25 See, e.g, Robert D. Cooter, Against Legal Centrism, 81 CALIF. L. REV. 417, 418 (1993) (reviewing ROBERT C. ELLICKSON, ORDER WITHOUT LAW: HOW NEIGHBORS SETTLE DISPUTES (1991)). 26 Guilherme Vasconcelos Vilaça, From Hayek’s Spontaneous Orders to Luhmann’s Autopoietic Systems, 3 STUD. IN EMERGENT ORD. 50, 52–53 (2010), docs.sieo.org/SIEO_3_2010_Vilaca.pdf. 27 See Lon L. Fuller, The Forms and Limits of Adjudication, 92 HARV. L. REV. 353, 394 (1978). See also RICHARD A. EPSTEIN, SIMPLE RULES FOR A COMPLEX WORLD (1995) (arguing insightfully that legal complexity generates excessive costs that may be mitigated through a process of rule-simplification). 28 Hayek stresses that this weakness is implicit in statute. See Aeon J. Skoble, Hayek the Philosopher of Law, in THE CAMBRIDGE COMPANION TO HAYEK 171, 176–77 (Edward Feser ed., 2006). 110 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 by similar constraints. Notwithstanding the largely organic nature of stare decisis, case law also suffers (albeit to a lesser degree) from the inherent limitations of imposed social order caused by informational complexity. This is clearly evidenced by the tangle of conceptual knots so often created by judge- made law. While the incremental nature of case law makes it arguably less susceptible to the problem of informational complexity, it cannot match the design efficiency of most customary social order, and as such, also often produces very bad law.29 It is because of this that the law, particularly the common law, is locked within a constant state of modification and rectification as design errors continually come to light. Judge-made law that results from precedent is just imposed social order on a more localized level as compared with statute and so, while superior to statute in this respect, to a great extent its negative effects, because they are less far-reaching, are just less obvious. It does not mean they are not present. We see the problem of informational complexity with systems of organization at all levels. Notwithstanding our good intentions, attempts at improving a system’s design by tinkering with the mechanics of natural ordering frequently end in us just making a mess of things. Indeed, it is as the sociologist Robert K. Merton famously put it, the irresolvable dilemma of unintended consequences.30 As such, it seems wise, to the extent that it is viable, to trust the natural process of social ordering and not rush to interfere unless it is the case that there are clear and compelling reasons to do so. The more the state seeks to regulate social order the wider the door is swung open to the potential of creating bad law. As such, the hand of law should only extend itself where the benefits of doing so are assured. This is particularly true when dealing with highly complex systems where the impact of one’s actions is difficult to anticipate. Economic hyper-lexis is perhaps the most familiar illustration of this. The problem of informational complexity, many right- leaning economists argue,31 fundamentally precludes the possibility of successful central market planning (this is discussed at greater length in the section that follows). Indeed, some scholars frame this problem precisely in the economic terms of legal centralism versus legal decentralism. Lawmaking is 29 Hayek places (I feel unwarranted) faith in the ability of the common law to overcome the problem of informational complexity. See BRIAN Z. TAMANAHA, ON THE RULE OF LAW: HISTORY, POLITICS, THEORY 69 (2004). As many commentators point out, Hayek seems to conflate customary law and case law in his analysis. See Skoble, supra note 28, at 175 (referencing John Hasnas’ critique of Hayek in this respect). In any case, as a solution to the complexity problem, customary social order far exceeds the incremental decision-making process of the common law. 30 Robert K. Merton, The Unanticipated Consequences of Purposive Social Action, 1 AM. SOC. REV. 894, 898 (1936). 31 I am referring here primarily to the scholars from the Austrian school of economics. For a good general overview of the Austrian school, see JESÚS HUERTA DE SOTO, THE AUSTRIAN SCHOOL: MARKET ORDER AND ENTREPRENEURIAL CREATIVITY (2008). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 111 conceptualized like commodity production: it can be either centralized or decentralized.32 Robert D. Cooter, for example, argues that the information and incentive constraints upon government officials demand that modern society strive to incorporate decentralized forms of lawmaking.33 Statute can be understood as the epitome of centralized lawmaking, case law less so; yet customary law is the purest form of decentralized legal order, as a central rule- making authority is entirely absent. Customary social order solves the problem of information complexity because it is not the product of any central design: it arises bottom-up in a purely organic fashion. As a result, customary social order is less susceptible to design error, much like other natural ordering systems that survive the winnowing effect of an evolutionary-like process (organisms, plants, cells, ecological systems). Its survival as a customary system is a strong indication that it does not suffer from significant design errors.34 C. The Minimalist Approach to Economic Regulation This is perhaps most visible in the context of economic regulation. Regulatory minimalism in the economic realm can be understood as a subset of the larger project of legislative minimalism. Many systems of customary social order do not imply a market dynamic. Yet, that said, a great deal of social order is subsumed by market forces. At its core, the market is a colossal system of customary social order.35 As such, it is not surprising that the question of where the line for regulatory intrusion should be drawn has engendered so much persistent debate. Modern calls for deregulation echo the “light-touch” minimalist approach to regulation rooted in the laissez-faire ideology of the nineteenth century. Cries to roll back state “interference” in the market grew particularly vociferous in the latter half of the twentieth century as the intellectual groundwork of the Austrian school of economics took root. Beginning in the 1970s, many economists in the West sounded the call to shrink the size of 32 See Cooter, supra note 25. 33 See, e.g., id.; See also Robert Cooter, Normative Failure Theory of Law, 82 CORNELL L. REV. 947, 948 (1997) (“[T]he urgency of bottom-up law increases with economic and social complexity. As society diversifies and businesses specialize, state officials struggle to keep informed about the changing practices of people, and people struggle to make lawmakers respond to changing practices. To loosen these constraints on information and motivation, law must decentralize.”). 34 Yet it should be noted that evolutionary processes do not guarantee design perfections. Such systems are not exempt from inefficiencies; they just stand a better chance of avoiding them. As such, some sobriety is needed in dealing with the concept of minimalism. As well, this process is completely silent as to the system’s normative character. Indeed, the customary social order may result in systems of order that are grossly “unjust” from a normative perspective. 35 Or a multiplicity of systems depending upon how one wishes to conceptualize the market. 112 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 economic regulation, arguing the virtues of keeping state intervention of economic and social activities to a skeletal minimum.36 This provided the intellectual momentum for reformist politicians in Europe and North America (most notably Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan) to dismantle economic regulations throughout the 1980s. Salient examples of this “light-touch” approach could be found in the regulation of international financial markets. Issuance of bonds, derivatives, syndicated loans, hedge funds, and so on, traditionally had no place for domestic or international regulation. The theme was private ordering and, at most, private enforcement of formal, non-state- backed norms.37 Referencing the ideas of Hayek, Lawrence H. Summers, former Secretary of the U.S. Treasury and former Chief Economist of the World Bank, captured this understanding, asserting that “the invisible hand is more powerful than the [un]hidden hand. Things will happen in well-organized efforts without direction, controls, plans. That’s the consensus among economists. That’s the Hayek legacy.”38 However, the financial crisis of 2007 exposed the limitations of this customs-based system, underscoring the inherent danger in taking minimalism to an inappropriate extreme. In the aftermath of the financial crisis, deregulation has been widely condemned as a failure. Yet it would be a colossal mistake—indeed, it would be intellectual negligence—to simply dismiss the point that these theorists make regarding the dangers of tinkering with complex systems of order. It is a powerful argument, and it finds strong support in many examples well beyond the economic realm. As with most things, the answer likely lies somewhere in the middle. While we can indeed scale back the legislative intrusiveness of the State, we must be careful to not allow this to devolve into an anarchic free-for-all. Different dynamics will allow for different degrees of minimalism. And so it is the case for legislative minimalism writ large. Within the biological realm, this is precisely what the practice of medicine does: it modulates the natural processes of the human body. Agriculture alters the natural patterning of ecological systems yet has changed the course of human history for the better. Indeed, most economists advocate for a mixed economy where a decentralized market is gently guided by an element of central planning.39 No doubt the same paradigm may be usefully applied to law. We should opt for a more nuanced approach that recognizes that various gradations of state intrusion are possible. 36 See Cooter, supra note 25. 37 For the concept of self-regulation, see Anthony Ogus, Self-Regulation, in 5 ENCYCLOPEDIA OF LAW AND ECONOMICS 587, 587–602 (Boudewijn Bouckaert & Gerrit De Geest eds., 2000), available at http://encyclo.findlaw.com/9400book.pdf; Anthony Ogus, Rethinking Self- Regulation, 15 OXFORD J. LEGAL STUD. 97, 97–108 (1995). 38 DANIEL YERGIN & JOSEPH STANISLAW, THE COMMANDING HEIGHTS: THE BATTLE BETWEEN GOVERNMENT AND THE MARKETPLACE THAT IS REMAKING THE MODERN WORLD 150–51 (1998). 39 See STEPHEN D. TANSEY, BUSINESS, INFORMATION TECHNOLOGY AND SOCIETY 79 (2003). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 113 D. The Liability of Ideology—Both Left and Right As such, when appraising the value of minimalism, it is best to put political ideology aside. Unfortunately, this has not usually been the case, and it has led to some very ugly results. On one side, the conversation at times seems hijacked by interest groups that stand to benefit financially from scaling back the scope of regulation within the private sector. For these “partisans” of smaller government, minimalism is a philosophy of mere convenience. Yet in the other camp we have the strident disciples of the State, offering only civility and blind subservience to the rent-seeking, fumbling, and often pernicious force of centralized power. In the academy, the argument against minimalism seems to be winning the day: those who advocate for a minimalist approach have not received the attention due them in academic discourse.40 Yet there remains legitimate intellectual footing here. It would be academically reckless to not recognize the legitimacy of the minimalist position. An honest tallying informs us, as is so often the case, that both sides to the dispute merit serious intellectual attention. Rather than interminably debating the advantages of decentralized versus centralized planning, we ought to be discussing the correct mix of the two.41 It is important to maintain an even-handed perspective: the implicit liabilities of over-regulation should not be denied, nor should we adopt a position that blindly discounts the important role of the state in sustaining and optimizing social order. The advantage of legislative minimalism is that its stratified character allows for a more realistic balance between the extremes of legislative maximalism on the one hand and the complete absence of formal law on the other. As a policy approach, it thus occupies the sober middle ground between these two poles. Yet it is very difficult to escape ideology. The general tenor of non- intrusiveness that legislative minimalism brings to the table has clear political resonance. It not only reduces the potential to mess things up through legislative over-intrusiveness (the technical argument), it arguably fosters a freer society that is more in tune with the basic tenets of a modern liberal, pluralistic state (the normative argument). Neo-classical liberal theorists sound this theme loudly, arguing that minimalism is more compatible with liberal principles.42 The contention is that in order to allow the exercise of individual freedom, the ambit of state power should be constrained as much as possible. In that customary order is merely a reflection of established norms, the argument 40 MATTHEW D. ADLER & ERIC A. POSNER, NEW FOUNDATIONS OF COST-BENEFIT ANALYSIS 2 (2006). 41 See Margaret Jane Radin & R. Polk Wagner, The Myth of Private Ordering: Rediscovering Legal Realism in Cyberspace, 73 CHI.-KENT L. REV. 1295, 1298 (1998) (making a similar point regarding private ordering in the context of online commerce). 42 Hayek in particular makes a strong case along these lines. See generally, HAYEK, 1 LAW, LEGISLATION AND LIBERTY, supra note 21; See also F. A. HAYEK, THE FATAL CONCEIT: THE ERRORS OF SOCIALISM (W. W. Bartley III ed.,1991). 114 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 goes, such bottom-up order does not coerce in the same oppressive sense as legislated law.43 While this argument may be legitimate, unfortunately, ideological incantations of this nature too often inspire an all-or-nothing approach that precludes nuance and obliterates any hope of pragmatic flexibility. Too often, those who advocate slaughtering the state on the altar of individual liberty go too far. This is particularly true for anarchists (of whatever stripe) who call for the complete dismantling of the State. There is a great deal of intellectual polarization. We must be vigilant against the ideological extremes persistent in our culture, extremes that too often hew fanatically towards a kind of myopic absolutism. Let us avoid being swept away in the surging currents of ideology. Let us approach the question with the view that the problem is not so much paternalism, an encroachment upon personal liberty, or an invisible hand clenched in indifference, but rather that the problem is simply design error. As such, it is better if we divorce the conversation from ideology. Customary social order, if harnessed correctly— that is in a non-ideological and pragmatic fashion—could prove immensely beneficial.44 To do this, however, policymakers need to know clearly when it is necessary to extend the reach of regulation and to what degree. For this, a sturdy intellectual scaffolding is required. Constructing such a framework is the goal of the rest of this paper. III. ARTICULATING A FRAMEWORK FOR LEGISLATIVE MINIMALISM H.L.A. Hart once observed that “[c]ustoms arise, whereas laws are made.”45 From this he concluded it is therefore impossible for custom to ever serve the ends of policymakers.46 What Hart failed to appreciate, however, is that simply allowing customary social order to arise unimpeded is itself an important policy end. Legislative minimalism, in that it articulates a structured methodology, enables lawmakers to more effectively achieve this. To construct such a methodological framework, however, we must first undertake a reconceptualization of sorts. We should understand legislative minimalism and legislative maximalism not as opposite approaches but rather two extreme ends of a single continuum (see fig. 1 below). 43 See Skoble, supra note 28, at 176–78. 44 I have written elsewhere on the possibly of harnessing the energy of customary law in a strategic fashion. See Druzin, supra note 6. 45 Robert D. Cooter, Decentralized Law for a Complex Economy: The Structural Approach to Adjudicating the New Law Merchant, 144 U. PENN. L. REV. 1643, 1655 (1996) (citing H. L. A. HART, CONCEPT OF LAW 89–96 (1961)). 46 See H. L. A. HART, CONCEPT OF LAW 89–96 (1961). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 115 Figure 1. The figure below depicts various forms of legislative minimalism along a continuum of intervention between legislative minimalism and legislative maximalism. These different forms of legislative minimalism are outlined below. ________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________ While a policy of pure legislative minimalism is often simply not feasible, unrestrained legislative maximalism can, as we have said, generate very bad law due to the natural constraints imposed by informational complexity. Fortunately, it is not all or nothing: there are gradations of legislative intrusion that may be employed. The state can deal with customary social order in a number of ways, choosing from a variety of strategies. Below, I detail five strategies. Most of these strategies themselves allow for different degrees of intensity, i.e. thinner and thicker forms—they are in a sense themselves mini-continuums.47 The degree to which the state can pursue a legislative minimalist approach will depend simply upon the nature of the particular patterns that have emerged. What is required is to first identify if there is a discernible pre-existing pattern of customary social order. If there is, we then need to determine what kind of customary system we are dealing with and apply the legislative minimalist policy that keeps intrusion to a workable minimum while correcting, sustaining, or perhaps strengthening that system, whatever the case may be. Where customary social order has emerged, lawmakers can do one of five things depending upon the nature of that order: 1) do nothing if the system of rules is functional and adequately efficient; 2) simply formalize the system as is, giving it some enforcement teeth to further bolster its efficacy; 3) tweak it where necessary if there are inefficiencies; 4) override and dismantle it where it is grossly inefficient (as indeed it may very well be); or 5) fabricate a completely new system of order from scratch.48 From a legislative minimalist perspective, the first and second of these options are clearly the best, and the third remains preferable to the fourth, which should only be invoked as a measure of very last resort. The fifth option is clearly the least desirable, as it is 47 The strategy of Non-interference does not by its structural nature admit to thin and thick forms. Note that I use the terms light and heavy to describe the continuum of intervention as a whole and the strategies that fall along it. Light strategies are those in the direction of legislative minimalism and heavy strategies are those in the direction of legislative maximalism. 48 Hybrids of these strategies are also possible. This idea of hybrid strategies is examined later in the discussion. See infra Part IV.A. 116 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 highly prone to design error due to the natural constraints of informational complexity. These five approaches are the only ones available to the policymaker. Yet no one has yet articulated this taxonomy, naming, cataloging, and distinguishing clearly between these, the only possible options. This taxonomy recognizes a range of regulatory strategies that stand between the poles of imposed and spontaneous order. On one side we have legislative maximalism, blundering and highly fallible; on the other we have extreme legislative minimalism with its overly-optimistic faith in the efficiency of natural ordering. This paper carves out a vast middle space between these two extremes. Which strategy is most optimal will depend on the particular characteristics of the customary system. A. Non-interference The first of these five strategies may seem the most radical, but it is, in fact, just the opposite. If the existing rules are determined to already be optimal (or simply sufficiently functional), the state can simply let the system of order function completely free of state intrusion. For ease of reference, we can term this approach Non-interference. In fact, Non-interference is what the law does most of the time: the state does not seek to regulate the vast majority of social ordering. It actually stays well clear of most of it, electing to regulate only a small sliver of existing social order. There exists a vast sea of social rules completely untouched by formal law. These systems of customary social order function all without any need for codification or enforcement. Indeed, the need to formulate and enforce order can be understood as a sign of this natural process failing.49 Moreover, formal enforcement is often not even viable. Consider for a moment the impracticality of the state having to enforce something as simple as the rules of queuing or the rules of English grammar. Fortunately, the state does not enforce such regulatory standards nor, more importantly, does it need to. There is no need for the state to regulate queuing. It is a reasonably efficient system of social ordering that is mostly self- enforcing. Ticket queuing may be more advantageous (though not necessarily in all situations); however, lining up is sufficiently efficient. Even where slightly inefficient, interference still may not be worth the cost (cost need not be measured purely in monetary terms). For instance, while customary rules that allow for pushing instead of orderly queuing may be less efficient, this may still not justify interference. The demands involved in regulation may simply be too high. Indeed, the enforcement burden of 49 Lon Fuller makes this point nicely, stating that, in its ideal form legal order “works so smoothly that there is never any occasion to resort to force or the threat of force to effectuate its norms.” LON L. FULLER, Human Interaction and the Law, in THE PRINCIPLES OF SOCIAL ORDER: SELECTED ESSAYS OF LON L. FULLER 221 (Kenneth I. Winston ed., 1981); See also Cooter, supra note 33, at 955–57 (discussing how the law affects internalization of social obligations). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 117 legislating queuing regulations across society would simply be untenable.50 The administrative cost of interfering with low-level systems of customary rules (in this case pushing) must be weighed, employing a cost-effectiveness analysis.51 Many systems of customary social order, while imperfect, may not be worth the cost of regulating, making Non-interference for this reason alone a preferable approach. Of the five options, Non-interference is the most ideal. So long as it is feasible, law should strive to be less intrusive, wherever possible allowing order to function unhindered instead of trying to impose it from above. If the system is functional and does not suffer from gross inefficiencies then a policy of Non-interference is preferable. It is the “safest” approach. This “light” form of intervention is the path endorsed by anarchists and to a large extent by those in the libertarian camp. The state should not interfere: “the best form of government is a government that governs least” (in the case of anarchists, this would be a government that does not exist).52 Non-interference is the most extreme form of legislative minimalism. While it is at times feasible and indeed a skillful approach to governance it is quite often simply not a viable option. Formal law has its role to play. B. Formalizing Also a preferable approach for the same reason is our second option: the state can directly take up these spontaneously-formed rules and formalize them. Architects may have a lot to teach lawmakers here. Architects sometimes design large building complexes but wait to fill in the pathways until after observing the natural flow of pedestrian traffic. These informal pedestrian routes are then later paved over as formal walking paths where the pathways have become worn in.53 This is a good metaphor for how law can use 50 Although it is not inconceivable and is in fact often performed on the local level. The case of queuing norms in McDonald’s in Hong Kong provides a good example. When McDonald’s first opened in Hong Kong in 1975, patrons “clumped around the cash registers, shouting orders and waving money over the heads of people in front of them. The company responded by introducing queue monitors . . . .” A customary system of queuing quickly replaced a customary system based upon pushing in McDonald’s restaurants. James L. Watson, Globalization in Asia: Anthropological Perspectives, in GLOBALIZATION: CULTURE AND EDUCATION IN THE NEW MILLENNIUM 156 (Marcelo M. Suárez-Orozco & Desirée Baolian Qin-Hilliard eds., 2004). 51 Note that I call for a cost-effectiveness analysis rather than a cost-benefit analysis. This is because assigning monetary value to outcomes would limit our discussion to a specific normative format (economic) at the expense of a more expansive evaluative standard. 52 While this quote (I am paraphrasing) is often attributed to Thomas Jefferson or Thomas Paine, the true source seems to be Henry David Thoreau. See HENRY DAVID THOREAU, Civil Disobedience, in ON CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE: AMERICAN ESSAYS, OLD AND NEW 11 (1969).( 53 The concept of this kind of emergence has been linked to theories of urban complexity. See generally BENJAMIN DOCKTER, URBAN COMPLEXITY: A HOLISTIC APPROACH TO THE DESIGN OF CITIES (2010) (presenting research analyzing the modern design of cities). 118 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 customary social order. In the same way, where there is sufficient foot traffic (i.e. customary social order), the state may assume the strategy of an architect awaiting the actors to fill in the pathways of legal structure. We can call this form of legislative minimalism Formalizing because it simply grants a formal status to an informal pattern of order. While Non-interference is ideal, Formalizing is often necessary due to free-riding, among other reasons.54 The efficiency of customary patterning may be undermined by enforcement problems. This is especially true where an increase in group size sabotages the natural enforcement mechanisms of small-group social order.55 This is an old justification for state intervention in social ordering. Indeed, the notion that maintenance of social order through enforcement is a public good goes all the way back to Hobbes.56 While a stable, relatively efficient system of customary social order may emerge, persistent cheating along its edges makes Formalizing a relatively non-intrusive,57 yet very effective, option for the State. The strategy of Formalizing is, in fact, extremely common. So much so, in fact, that it mostly goes unnoticed. The law largely conforms to existing norms, and these customary rules are given enforcement teeth to pre-empt the possibility of skewed incentive structures and ensure compliance. This can be done through the threat of criminal sanctions, the threat of fines, or the granting of a right to civil action. Formalizing is simply taking an existing system of order and strengthening it through codification and formal enforcement. Yet, while bolstering enforcement is a common motivation for Formalizing, an equal motivation is the fact that existing customary social order already enjoys widespread compliance, rendering it far easier to codify. Overall, the approach is a very attractive form of legislative minimalism because it simply formalizes order rather than building order from scratch. As such, it sidesteps the problem of informational complexity and design error. Yet it remains highly minimalist. This has, for example, traditionally been the State’s approach regarding much of contract law and indeed continues to be an overarching principle. While there are clear exceptions to this, the State’s role in contract is radically minimal compared with other areas of law. This brand of legislative 54 Hayek indeed recognized this. Speaking on the need for enforcement, he remarks that people “may have to be made to obey, since, although it would be in the interest of each to disregard them, the overall order on which the success of their actions depends will arise only if these rules are generally followed.” HAYEK, 1 LAW, LEGISLATION AND LIBERTY, supra note 21, at 45. 55 For these mechanisms, see supra note 17. 56 See THOMAS HOBBES, LEVIATHAN (A.P. Martinich & Brian Battiste eds., Broadview Press 2010) (1651) (arguing for the necessity of a strong undivided government); See also MICHAE L TAYLOR, THE POSSIBILITY OF COOPERATION 1–2 (1987) (noting that Leviathan represented the first full expression of this justification for the State). 57 That is, relatively non-intrusive in terms of artificially creating order. 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 119 minimalism forms the core of the 19th century laissez-faire view of contract law.58 I examine the role of minimalism in contract law in Part IV. It is important to recognize that Formalizing is extraordinarily common. Indeed, the codification of much of the civil law from the tradition of medieval “customaries”—collections of local customary law that were gradually codified by local jurists,59 of which, the Coutume de Paris is perhaps the most well-known example60—represents Formalizing on a truly massive scale. Perhaps the most obvious examples are found in colonial and post- colonial systems where pre-existing indigenous customary social order is incorporated into the legal system.61 More generally, the legal importance of customary social order comes to the fore probably most notably in the case of international law where a coherent legal order is gradually gliding into being. In the realm of international law, “custom stands next to treaties as a primary source of law.”62 The fact that custom is paid so much overt deference in the field of international law may be attributed to the absence of a central legislative authority—there are really few alternatives. In case the prevalence of Formalizing is not immediately obvious, let me provide some more examples. Indeed, history is replete with lessons in Formalizing. I will present examples drawn from disparate quarters of law to support my argument (something I do throughout the paper). A great illustration of Formalizing is the case of the medieval law merchant, the lex 58 The distinguished American legal scholar Roscoe Pound once described this approach stating that “the law was conceived negatively as a system of hands off while [people] do things rather than as a system of ordering to prevent friction and waste.” LINDA MULCAHY & JOHN TILLOTSON, CONTRACT LAW IN PERSPECTIVE 34 (4th ed. 2004). The laissez-faire belief as encapsulated in freedom of contract, however, has been dramatically curtailed since the 19th century. See P. S. ATIYAH, THE RISE AND FALL OF FREEDOM OF CONTRACT (1979) (illustrating how, grounded upon basic notions of fairness, the growth of consumer protection and employment legislation has limited freedom of contract). I revisit this later in the paper. See infra Part IV.B. This minimalist view is of course especially prevalent among those of a libertarian persuasion. See, e.g., NOZICK, supra note 16, at 26 (setting forth the classical libertarian view of the minimalist state). 59 For a good overview of the absorption of customary law into the civil law, see JOHN HENRY MERRYMAN & ROGELIO PÉREZ-PERDOMO, THE CIVIL LAW TRADITION: AN INTRODUCTION TO THE LEGAL SYSTEMS OF EUROPE AND LATIN AMERICA 20–26 (3d ed. 2007). 60 I refer the interested reader to JEAN TRONÇON, COUTUME DE LA VILLE ET PREVOTÉ (1618). Similarly, see the use of medieval English “custumals,” textual compilations of the local social customs of a manor or town. See BRITISH BOROUGH CHARTERS 1042–1216, at xvii (Adolphus Ballard ed., 2010). 61 For example, the South African Recognition of Customary Marriages Act 1998 recognized customary marriages, preserving its legality. Recognition of Customary Marriages Act 120 of 1998 (S. Afr.). 62 Francesco Parisi, Spontaneous Emergence of Law: Customary Law, in 5 ENCYCLOPEDIA OF LAW AND ECONOMICS 603, 603 (Boudewijn Bouckaert & Gerrit De Geest eds., 2000), available at http:// encyclo.findlaw.com/9500book.pdf. 120 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 mercatoria, which gave rise to a complex system of order, i.e. business customs, which national laws to a great extent later co-opted and codified. Indeed, the most basic principles of contract such as formation, content, misrepresentation, mistake, and duress, as well as the incorporation of notes and bills or exchanges, arose originally not through the complex mechanics of legislation, but from the customary rules of merchants, only to be later co-opted by nation states and codified.63 The historical rules governing international shipping, the lex maritima, is another good illustration of Formalizing. The lex maritima, developed transnationally over a number of centuries as an extension of the law merchant. The lex maritima was a body of oral rules, customs, and usages relating to navigation and maritime commerce arising in medieval Western Europe from the ninth to the twelfth centuries.64 The lex maritima was eventually absorbed into domestic laws through legislative processes.65 The effect of Formalization was a strengthening of this system of customary law.66 The lex maritima survives today as the core constituents of much contemporary maritime law, particularly the maritime law of the U.K., the United States, and Canada.67 Another great example of Formalizing is the law of war, jus in bello. The law of war is derived from a conglomerate of customary rules that percolated up through the long and bloody history of armed conflict, finding formal codification only relatively recently.68 The law of war is a fascinating dynamic when one stops to really consider it: even within the fevered grip of conflict, customary social order emerges to set codified parameters to organized barbarism. That customary rules emerge between combatants in a self-imposed fashion speaks to the unremitting power of customary social order: even antagonists bent on mutual destruction, operating in the complete absence of a central authority, nevertheless coalesce around a system of customary rules to regulate their hostilities. Clearly, these are not parties aiming to create a system of cooperative order. Nevertheless, robust customary 63 See Robert D. Cooter, Structural Adjudication and the New Law Merchant: A Model of Decentralized Law, 14 INT’L REV. L. & ECON. 215, 216 (1994), available at http://works.bepress.com/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1050&context=robert_cooter (speaking about the absorption of merchant practices into the English common law); See also LEON E. TRAKMAN, THE LAW MERCHANT: THE EVOLUTION OF COMMERCIAL LAW 23 (1983) (discussing the co-opting of merchant practices into both the civil and common law systems). 64 William Tetley, The General Maritime Law—The Lex Maritima, 20 SYRACUSE J. INT’L L. & COM. 105, 109 (1994). 65 For a good overview of this process of formalizing, see id. at 110–12. 66 See id. at 110. 67 See id. at 144. 68 For an excellent yet concise overview of the history of jus in bello, see David Cavaleri, Law of War: Can 20th-Century Standards Apply to the Global War on Terrorism? 31–53 (Combat Studies Inst., Occasional Paper No. 9, 2009), available at http://www.au.af.mil/au/awc/awcgate/army/csi_cavaleri_law.pdf. 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 121 social order—the rules of war—arises (quite reliably in fact) upon the bloody and chaotic landscape of conflict.69 The international process of codification began in earnest in the mid-nineteenth century with the first Geneva Convention.70 The Geneva conventions and additional protocols are excellent examples of Formalizing in that they largely codified pre-existing, widely adhered to customary rules of war, i.e. international norms for humanitarian treatment in war.71 Likewise, the Hague Conventions codified many pre- existing norms of military conduct. Indeed, the Hague Conventions are quite explicit that Formalizing was one of its main goals: “to revise the laws and general customs of war, either with the view of defining them more precisely or of laying down certain limits for the purpose of modifying their severity as far as possible. . .”72 The Lieber Code during the American civil war (also known as Instructions for the Government of Armies of the United States in the Field, General Order No.100) is considered to be the first official codification of the laws and customs of war.73 Yet, ultimately, the Lieber Code simply reflected the customs of war prevailing at that time.74 It did not create new rules—it simply formalized existing ones. 69 An extraordinary example of the power of customary social order, even between adversaries, is that of soldiers on the Western Front in WWI. Truces were quite common between Allied and German units that had been facing one another for long periods of time and fought repeated internecine battles over the same territory. In these conditions, complex “systems of communication developed to agree terms, apologize for accidental infractions and ensure relative peace—all without the knowledge of the high commands on each side . . . . Raids and artillery barrages were used to punish the other side for defection . . . .” MATT RIDLEY, THE ORIGINS OF VIRTUE: HUMAN INSTINCTS AND THE EVOLUTION OF COOPERATION 65 (1997). 70 Though it should be noted that the Paris Declaration Respecting Maritime Law, abolishing privateering, came into force eight years earlier in 1856. Paris Declaration Respecting Maritime Law, Apr. 16, 1856, available at http://www.icrc.org/applic/ihl/ihl.nsf/385ec082b509e76c41256739003e636d/19ee2533111f9e2ec 125641a004b25ba?OpenDocument. 71 M. Cherif Bassiouni, The Normative Framework of International Humanitarian Law: Overlaps, Gaps, and Ambiguities, in 2 INTERNATIONAL CRIMINAL LAW 493, 507 (M. Cherif Bassiouni ed., 2008); Jean-Marie Henckaerts, The Development of International Humanitarian Law and the Continued Relevance of Custom, in THE LEGITIMATE USE OF MILITARY FORCE: THE JUST WAR TRADITION AND THE CUSTOMARY LAW OF ARMED CONFLICT 117, 118 (Howard M. Hensel ed., 2013). 72 Hague Convention (II) With Respect to the Laws and Customs of War on Land and Its Annex: Regulations Concerning the Laws and Customs of War on Land, Preamble, July 29, 1899, available at http://www.icrc.org/applic/ihl/ihl.nsf/Article.xsp?action=openDocument&documentId=9FE084C DAC63D10FC12563CD00515C4D. The first part to this excerpt (“defining them more precisely”) speaks to my point. The remainder of the quote implies a degree of Fine-tuning. I discuss Fine-tuning below. 73 MARK E. NEELY, JR., THE CIVIL WAR AND THE LIMITS OF DESTRUCTION 36 (2007). 74 Id. 122 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 History is littered with countless examples of customary social order being absorbed and transformed into formal law. And this trend may be observed today where it continues unabated in an international context. For example, Formalizing is quite evident in modern codification efforts, such as UNCITRAL, UNIDROIT, CISG, the Lando-Principles, and the UCC, which are but formal reflections of pre-existing commercial practices—the Formalizing of existing systems of order.75 Commerce is a form of social interaction so important that the state deems it necessary to bestow upon it formal enforcement mechanisms to shore up existent systems of order. Yet, this is not merely reserved for modern law of an international flavor. Indeed, at its heart, modern criminal codes are (for the most part) massive projects of Formalizing: the codification of highly normative social rules. Formalizing allows for more reliable enforcement. In fact, having arisen organically, customary systems are often already largely self-enforcing.76 Yet the actual enforcement component of Formalizing may, in fact, not be as important as the mere act of Formalizing. This is something that is easily missed. Codifying an existent system of rules is in itself socially useful in that it clarifies the rules for participants already willing to comply but unable to perfectly coordinate (a coordination game as it is called in game theory).77 This 75 See Klaus Peter Berger, The New Law Merchant and the Global Market Place, in THE PRACTICE OF TRANSNATIONAL LAW 1, 12–14 (Klaus Peter Berger ed., 2001); see also Bryan Druzin, Law Without the State: The Theory of High Engagement and the Emergence of Spontaneous Legal Order Within Commercial Systems, 41 GEO. J. INT’L L. 559, 561 (2010) (positing a theory, high engagement theory, explaining the ability of commerce to generate and sustain decentralized legal order) . 76 See, e.g., ROBERT C. ELLICKSON, ORDER WITHOUT LAW: HOW NEIGHBORS SETTLE DISPUTES (1994) (citing informal enforcement mechanisms amongst cattle ranchers in Shasta County, California). This theme is also an old one in sociology. See, e.g., JEROLD S. AUERBACH, JUSTICE WITHOUT LAW? (1983) (documenting the evolution of informal control mechanisms and attempts by lawyers to undermine or appropriate them); Douglas W. Allen & Dean Lueck, The “Back Forty” on a Handshake: Specific Assets, Reputation, and the Structure of Farmland Contracts, 8 J.L. ECON. & ORG. 366 (1992) (discussing the use of simple farmland contracts in place of complicated and expensive alternatives); Lisa Bernstein, Opting Out of the Legal System: Extralegal Contractual Relations in the Diamond Industry, 21 J. LEGAL STUD. 115 (1992) (exploring a system of private governance that has developed in the diamond trade); Janet T. Landa, A Theory of the Ethnically Homogenous Middleman Group: An Institutional Alternative to Contract Law, 10 J. LEGAL STUD. 349 (1981) (developing a theory of the ethnically homogenous middleman group “using a property rights--public choice approach and drawing on the economics of signaling.”); Sally Falk Moore, Law and Social Change: The Semi-Autonomous Social Field as an Appropriate Subject of Study, 7 LAW & SOC’Y REV. 719 (1973) (“argu[ing] that an inspection of semi-autonomous social fields strongly suggests that the various processes that make internally generated ruled effective are also often the immediate forces that dictate the mode of compliance or noncompliance to state-made legal rules.”) 77 For a fascinating treatment of this idea, see Richard H. McAdams, A Focal Point Theory of Expressive Law, 86 VA. L. REV.. 1649 (2000) (using game theoretic terms to explain how systems of order can emerge from law, merely creating focal points without the need for actual enforcement). McAdams’s approach borrows conceptually from the work of Thomas Schelling 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 123 is a largely unappreciated aspect to codification. Typically, the focus is upon the enforcement advantages codification brings; however, Formalizing serves a crucial function in simply providing clarity. The law of war may be a good illustration of my point: actors may wish to abide by certain rules (because it is in their mutual interests to do so), but so long as these norms are not clearly acknowledged, a contestant in battle may hesitate. This is true for all the actors and so compliance may falter. In these situations, concrete enforcement mechanisms take a backseat to the simple act of codification. Just making the rules clear can have a powerful impact in terms of compliance, much like how the Oxford English Dictionary clarifies the English language for speakers already eager to comply with whatever the lexiconic rules of the day are. The Oxford English Dictionary does not create; it merely codifies. (In fact, it often significantly lags behind the self-ordering process of the English language.) It boasts no enforcement mechanisms yet nevertheless serves an invaluable regulating function in codifying a pre-existing system of spontaneous linguistic order.78 An example of the above point is law formally recognizing left or right-hand drive (a coordination game). The simple act of codification (and thus clarification) of the rule is enough to generate compliance, as all drivers (for obvious reasons) are eager to comply with whatever the rule is.79 Indeed, driving on a particular side of the road rarely needs to actually be enforced; it simply needs to be declared. C. Fine-tuning The third option is less ideal, as it involves a degree of regulatory intrusion, yet it is often required. Here the state tweaks the emergent pattern on a structural level, targeting particular design errors while allowing the bulk of the system to function mostly unimpeded by regulation. We can refer to this form of legislative minimalism as Fine-tuning. This is necessary in some situations because there is no guarantee that grown order does not suffer from inefficiencies. Fine-tuning is appropriate where a small structural change can notably increase the system’s efficiency. Fine-tuning represents a significant step along the continuum of legislative minimalism, as it is a substantial jump in the level of intrusion. While Formalizing does not seek to alter the social on focal points. For the idea of focal points and salience, see THOMAS C. SCHELLING, THE STRATEGY OF CONFLICT 54–58 (1960). 78 Similarly, the treaties and conventions that enshrine the law of war do not boast genuine enforcement mechanisms. It is that such rules will be reciprocated that gives such codification efficacy. They are largely “self-enforcing agreement[s],” i.e. treaties where “[r]eciprocity and reputation are the key enforcement mechanisms.” Beth Simmons, Treaty Compliance and Violation, 13 ANN. REV. POL. SCI. 273, 275 (2010), available at http://www.annualreviews.org/doi/pdf/10.1146/annurev.polisci.12.040907.132713. 79 McAdams actually goes on to demonstrate how this may also hold true in games other than games of pure coordination. See McAdams, supra note 77. 124 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 patterning, seeking instead to merely reinforce and strengthen it,80 Fine-tuning, in contrast, attempts to remedy system inefficiencies stemming from design error. These inefficiencies may be the result of exogenous changes in the environment, rendering previously efficient systems inefficient, or it may simply be that despite its organic emergence, the system was never entirely efficient (yet was sufficiently efficient to sustain itself). As game theory suggests, bottom-up social patterning may give rise to multiple equilibria; however, these may be quite sub-optimal.81 A good example is the driving norms of many third-world cities. For the most part, these systems of order arise bottom-up. While ostensibly chaotic, this traffic order is functional. The traffic moves. Yet these roads suffer from severe yet preventable traffic congestion. Faced with these traffic patterns, governments often institute policies of Fine-tuning. Driving rules are fine-tuned in certain respects in order to increase the efficient flow of traffic, while the majority of these bottom-up “rules of the road” are de facto left in place through lax enforcement. The system of order is largely functional, yet it can benefit enormously in terms of efficiency with just a little strategic Fine-tuning: traffic lights at key intersections, etc. Even in the highly-regulated roads of developed cities, a tremendous amount of traffic patterning is left up to natural ordering. Indeed, the vast majority of it. This is not immediately obvious but becomes clear upon reflection. Take, for example, the case of speeding. In theory, regulators could prescribe a precise driving speed for every inch of the road predetermined as optimal to minimize accidents. However, this would be extraordinarily difficult to determine (and enforce) and indeed debilitatingly complex when one factors in the ceaselessly shifting of traffic conditions. However, what regulators do is set an upper and lower limit to speeding. Speed patterns are then left to naturally self-organize within this prescribed range. In the case of the strategy of Fine-tuning, the customary social order is not left to freely self-pattern nor is it targeted for elimination—it is simply redirected and tweaked along the margins. The total elimination of customary social ordering is the goal of the fourth strategy, to which we now turn. D. Dismantling The fourth option we can term Dismantling. I call it this because it is the complete dismantling of a pre-existing system of order. There may be 80 Yet this may not be so simple: because Formalizing will change the dispute resolutions available, it may therefore, in fact, change the ex ante patterning. This will likely be the case even if it is simply an expectation that the customary patterning will eventually be formalized. 81 I am referring here to what is known in game theory as the folk theorem. See Drew Fudenberg & Eric Maskin, The Folk Theorem in Repeated Games with Discounting or with Incomplete Information, 54 ECONOMETRICA 533 (1986), available at http://www.eecs.harvard.edu/~parkes/cs286r/spring06/papers/fudmaskin_folk86.pdf. 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 125 several reasons for the state to engage in Dismantling. There is no guarantee that bottom-up ordering will be efficient. Indeed, from a societal perspective, it may be profoundly sub-optimal. Situations such as these may be understood as a form of market failure in the marketplace for customary social order. Alternatively, the system of customary social order may be highly efficient yet be so fundamentally contrary to public policy that Dismantling is necessary. In either case, however, Dismantling should be used only as a measure of last resort and, as a general policy, avoided wherever possible. This is because it is not only highly vulnerable to design error, it may also often require considerable resources to implement, as it is, in essence, the state battling against a pre-existing system of social order. The 18th Amendment of the United States Constitution and the disastrous project of Prohibition in the early 20th century is a good example of how difficult Dismantling may be. Not only were the economic costs of Prohibition extraordinarily high, legislatively meddling with a highly complex system such as patterns of alcohol consumption had serious, unpredicted consequences: it unhealthily distorted drinking habits (consumption of hard-liquor actually increased in many places),82 increased deaths related to alcohol poisoning (due to the substandard quality of black-market alcohol),83 and birthed vast organized crime networks related to the illegal production and distribution of alcohol.84 These were all unanticipated negative externalities. In fact, prohibition is an excellent example of the problem of informational complexity and the dangers of imposed social order. Dismantling as a matter of policy, however, is often necessary. For example, a self-ordering normative system that institutionalized racial discrimination, having evolved due to an imbalanced power structure, would cry out to be remedied through top-down law.85 The outlawing of slavery under the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, a highly complex system that had existed for well over two hundred years, and later desegregation through the Civil Rights Act of 1964 are good examples of such systems of customary order. The ancient Hindu caste system of India was a robust customary system of social stratification that existed for millennia yet was systematically dismantled through legal and social initiatives. The Indian Constitution enacted in 1950 with its explicit prohibition on caste discrimination (Article 15) was aimed at the complete dismantling of the caste system.86 Customary social 82 Harry G. Levine & Craig Reinarman, Alcohol Prohibition and Drug Prohibition: Lessons from Alcohol Policy for Drug Policy, in DRUGS AND SOCIETY: U.S. PUBLIC POLICY 48 (Jefferson M. Fish ed., 2006). 83 SEAN DENNIS CASHMAN, PROHIBITION: THE LIE OF THE LAND 255–56 (1981). 84 MITCHEL P. ROTH, CRIME AND PUNISHMENT: A HISTORY OF THE CRIMINAL JUSTICE SYSTEM 230 (2010). 85 Such normative evaluations, however, vary from society and time-period. 86 BRIJ KISHORE SHARMA, INTRODUCTION TO THE CONSTITUTION OF INDIA 76 (4th ed. 2007). 126 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 order may be highly efficient, robust, and internalized but nevertheless grossly unjust. Thus, the state may need to dismantle such order. Vast, decentralized drug-trafficking networks are highly efficient self-ordering systems;87 however, this alone does not justify their continued existence. In some situations, efficiency should be sacrificed for issues of justice. However, by the same token, sometimes justice may itself be a matter of efficiency.88 When exactly to dismantle systems of customary social order is an extremely thorny question. When the law is taken as a whole, however, Dismantling is actually not as common as one would think. Indeed, law mostly engages in the first three options (Non-interference, Formalizing, and Fine-tuning), harnessing the energy of pre-existing customary social order rather than opposing it. E. Concocting Sometimes arising in the aftermath of Dismantling, but also emerging in isolation, is what we may call Concocting. This is where the state simply creates legal order from scratch where there was no pre-existing system of customary order. It artificially constructs order. Examples of this form of legislating include the creation of a tax code, the patent system, and other such synthetic artifices concocted by the State.89 These are quintessential expressions of legislative maximalism. Because it does not build on any pre- existing natural order, legal creation of this kind is highly prone to design error. It is a purely artificial creation. And herein lies the fundamental problem with top-down legal order: it does not, as this paper advocates, strategically utilize pre-existing customary social order. From the perspective of design-efficiency, Concocting is often really the very worst form of legal order. When it is fairly large in scope, it often just creates a bloated, complicated mess of inefficient rules—a tangle skein of disjointed regulation. Yet Concocting too is sometimes necessary. Fortunately, of the five strategies, it is actually the least employed.90 For the most part, imposed legal 87 See Jana S. Benson & Scott H. Decker, The Organizational Structure of International Drug Smuggling, 38 J. CRIM. JUST. 130 (2010) (showing that such networks often display a “general lack of formal structure” and are “composed of isolated work groups without formal connections”). 88 Certainly, scholars of a normative law and economics persuasion would agree, particularly in regards to allocative efficiency. 89 Yet even our modern tax codes are, at their core, extensions of archaic systems of rent- seeking that no doubt predate the emergence of the State or are decentralized systems of taxation that coincided with the existence of the State, such as tax farming systems. See HIRONORI ASAKURA, WORLD HISTORY OF THE CUSTOMS AND TARIFFS 199–207 (2003) (presenting a historical overview of the end of tax farming in England). Certainly, even complex taxation systems owe their origins to spontaneous ordering patterns of some kind. 90 Concocting is actually not very common. Indeed, the “rules of law rarely create new forms of human activity; instead, they tend to regulate and modify on-going customary human 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 127 order builds upon and incorporates patterns of customary social order. We see this rather clearly with the strategies of Formalizing and Fine-tuning. Together with Non-interference, they are the most common techniques of governance. Dismantling and Concocting are comparatively rare. Legal maximalism is atypical, and indeed, complete legal maximalism does not really exist. The vast bulk of social order remains unregulated: sleeping patterns, copulation patterns, etc. Indeed, complete legal maximalism would not only most likely be abhorrent in a normative sense; it is, in fact, a logistic impossibility. There is not, nor has there ever been, a society marked by total legal maximalism. IV. CLARIFYING THE FRAMEWORK A. A Tabulated Comparison of the Strategies While these five strategies represent different points along a single continuum of interventionism, they are ontologically distinct. However, this may not always be readily apparent. In some respects the strategies bleed into one another. For example, in some cases, Fine-tuning may appear to demonstrate elements of Dismantling. In other cases, Dismantling may be conceptualized as a form of Fine-tuning, and so on and so forth.91 There may even be hybrid strategies that combine strategies. Yet while there can be a degree of overlap, on a fundamental level the strategies are distinct from one another. To sharpen this point, I provide below a tabulated comparison of the five strategies. The first line of the table contrasts the strategies’ methodologies. The second line clarifies how commonly the strategies are employed. The third line uses the example of traffic regulation to give concrete form to the concepts. enterprises.” See James Bernard Murphy, Habit and Convention at the Foundation of Custom, in THE NATURE OF CUSTOMARY LAW: LEGAL, HISTORICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL PERSPECTIVES 53, 68–69 (Amanda Perreau-Saussine & James B. Murphy eds., 2007). 91 Part of this problem stems from the difficulty in defining a system. Systems often overlap, interconnect, and subsume one another in highly complex ways, making them difficult to clearly identify. For example, is pedestrianizing a downtown area of a city an example of Dismantling or Fine-tuning? If the system here is defined as traffic in the downtown area then it is Dismantling; if the system is defined as the traffic patterns of the entire city, or country, then it is an example of Fine-tuning. The problem is that what is a “system” largely depends on how we choose to define it. This question opens a conceptual can of worms regarding the definition of a system that spans across the disciplines. Articulating such a definition is the cornerstone of systems theory. 128 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 Table 1. A tabulated comparison of the five strategies of legislative minimalism. ________________________________________________________________ Non-interference Formalizing Fine-tuning Dismantling Concocting ________________________________________________________________ Methodology Frequency Traffic example Allow the system of order to function completely unhindered Most common Allow traffic conditions to emerge organically and function untouched by regulation Grant formal status to the system of order (usually with sanctions) Extremely common Codify and enforce the existing traffic patterns that have emerged Tweak the system of order on a structural level Very common Introduce regulation to modify the flow of traffic Totally annihilate a pre-existing system of order Not very common Eliminate all traffic from the road system (e.g. pedestrianize an entire city) Create legal order from scratch Rare Create an entirely new system of transportation (e.g. based on light-rail transit) _______________________________________________________________ As can be seen in the table, the methodology of each of the strategies is distinct. Non-interference simply allows the system of order to function unhindered. Formalizing grants formal status to the system of order, usually through the use of sanctions. Fine-tuning modestly tweaks the system on a structural level (where doing so can achieve a greater degree of efficiency). Dismantling completely eliminates an existing system of order, and Concocting creates legal order from scratch. Hybrid strategies mentioned above, which combine elements from two or more regulatory strategies, are also possible. For example, logging is often restricted in designated areas for a fixed number of years in order to avoid permanent deforestation but later allowed to resume. This regulatory approach may be conceptualized as a hybrid strategy, combining Dismantling and Fine-tuning: i.e. the system is totally eliminated (Dismantling) yet allowed to later resume (Fine-tuning). The strategies also differ with respect to how commonly they are invoked. What stands out is that as we move along the continuum in the direction of legislative maximalism, the strategies are employed less frequently. By far, Non-interference is the most common strategy. Formalizing is the next most common approach. Fine-tuning is also a very common legislative tack. Indeed, the law spends a great deal of its legislative energy here, tweaking pre-existing systems of order with a view to making them more efficient—arguably, the vast majority of formal law deals with natural ordering on this level of discourse. This is not at all the case for the 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 129 strategy of Dismantling, which is substantially less common. Yet the rarest of these strategies is Concocting. At the risk of straining our gardening metaphor to the point of snapping (no pun intended): Non-interference is simply letting the plants grow; Formalizing is comparable to reinforcing a growing plant by tethering it to a stick or rod; Fine-tuning is minor weeding or trimming; and Dismantling is completely uprooting a plant, tearing it out from its roots. Concocting does not fit very well into our gardening metaphor. It is, I suppose, comparable to artificially fabricating a plant, perhaps a plastic Christmas tree. In any case, although imperfect, the metaphor captures the strategies available to the legislative minimalist project. These five strategies represents a toolkit into which policymakers can reach and pull out the most optimal legislative strategy, with a view to minimizing unnecessary regulatory intrusion. A clear, conceptually rigorous framework as to how to deal with customary social order is not merely theoretically useful; it is arguably critical given the general trend in the common law towards a greater reliance on statute.92 While the law already deals in customary social order, it can benefit enormously from a heavy dose of theoretical clarity so lawmakers can more skillfully work within a minimalist framework. B. Contract: A Paragon of Legislative Minimalism Descending from the lofty heights of theory, this section examines our taxonomy of strategies in the context of a concrete example—that of contract. Contract is, in a sense, a paragon of legislative minimalism. Contract is perhaps the one area of law where the minimalist approach is most evident.93 As such, it provides a magnificent case study. Exploring how the state deals with contract may give us insight as to how legislative minimalism may be applied more broadly. While the State’s approach to contract is generally minimalist, this minimalism is still tempered. The state adopts policies of Non-interference, Formalizing, Fine-tuning, or even Dismantling depending upon the nature of the legal order that is created by the terms of the contract. Indeed, contract law is a perfect case study for us as it exhibits most of the strategies of legislative minimalism. Issues of substantive (as opposed to merely procedural) fairness, among other public policy considerations, affect which form of minimalism is 92 See, e.g., Gordon R. Woodman, Ghana: How Does State Law Accommodate Religious, Cultural, Linguistic and Ethnic Diversity, in CULTURAL DIVERSITY AND THE LAW: STATE RESPONSES FROM AROUND THE WORLD (Marie-Claire Foblets ed., 2010) (discussing the trend in Ghana toward supplementing common and customary law with legislation). 93 For an examination of minimalism in commercial contracts, see JONATHAN MORGAN, CONTRACT LAW MINIMALISM: A FORMALIST RESTATEMENT OF COMMERCIAL CONTRACT LAW (2013) (advocating a minimalist framework to the law of contract). 130 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 invoked.94 Indeed, we see most of the strategies of legislative minimalism on display when we examine how the state deals with contract. Contract is also an ideal case study because it is the closest the law gets to institutionalizing the creation of customary social order. Fuller described customary law as the inarticulate older brother of contract.95 I would be inclined to agree. As I envision it here, a contract is a mini-system of order forged by the participants themselves—each contract represents a tiny, self-contained system of bottom- up order. The state intrudes upon these systems of order to different degrees, yet the overarching spirit is unmistakably minimalist. 1. Non-interference in Contract In its general deference to freedom of contract, the state adopts an overarching policy of Non-interference.96 The contracting parties are free to create the legal order that they wish, relatively unimpeded by the State, the State’s role being merely facilitative.97 The classical model of contract assigns the law a non-interventionist role.98 The belief is that “parties should enter the market, choose their fellow-contractors, set their own terms, strike their bargains and stick to them.”99 The two linchpins of this approach are “the doctrines of ‘freedom of contract’ and ‘sanctity of contract.’”100 Vital to the doctrine of freedom of contract is “term freedom.”101 This is the principle that the parties are free to set their own terms and at liberty to decide the subject matter and substance of their contract.102 The role of law is simply to identify and enforce the parties’ agreement.103 Freedom of contract has, of course, been significantly curtailed over the last century, as reflected in the neo-classical model of contract. The growth of consumer protection, rent, and employment legislation has put in place limitations on freedom of contract. Notwithstanding this, however, Non-interference remains a basic feature of contract law, as enshrined in freedom of contract.104 94 MINDY CHEN-WISHART, CONTRACT LAW 13 (4th ed. 2012). 95 FULLER, supra note 49, at 176. 96 See CHEN-WISHART, supra note 94. 97 Id. at 10. 98 RICHARD STONE, THE MODERN LAW OF CONTRACT 6 (9th ed. 2011). 99 EWAN MCKENDRICK, CONTRACT LAW: TEXT, CASES, AND MATERIALS 13 (5th ed. 2012). 100 Id. 101 The other supporting principle here is “party freedom,” i.e. the right to select with whom one wishes to contract. 102 See MCKENDRICK, supra note 99. 103 See CHEN-WISHART, supra note 94. 104 See MCKENDRICK, supra note 99, at 294. For a classic analysis of the transformation of freedom of contract in this respect, see ATIYAH supra note 58. But see THE FALL AND RISE OF 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 131 2. Formalizing in Contract In that the state will generally enforce the terms of the contract (with certain limitations),105 the state engages in a policy of Formalizing. Indeed, the State’s role is to give effect to the parties’ agreement through enforcement of the contact’s terms.106 The deference to customary self-ordering is unmistakable. Where the parties’ intentions are unclear, this willingness extends to pre-existing custom. Extrinsic evidence of custom is admissible to interpret written contracts with respect to which they are silent.107 In such cases, the court has been more than willing to imply terms on the basis of established trade customs.108 As already touched upon, beyond the particular terms of the contract, the state has formalized numerous core principles that initially arose bottom-up as informal rules within commercial communities, such as the incorporation of notes and bills of exchanges.109 The parol evidence rule and the doctrine of completeness of writings are further examples of Formalizing.110 3. Fine-tuning in Contract Yet, the State’s approach to contract is not completely hands-off. Motivated by interests of fairness and social equity, the state also engages in Fine-tuning. Implied terms are an excellent example of Fine-tuning. Here, we have a deliberate intervention of the court or legislature to regulate the ordering system (i.e. the terms of the contract) created by the parties with the goal of improving the contract. Fine-tuning is captured more broadly in the neo- FREEDOM OF CONTRACT (F. H. Buckley ed., 1999) (essays analyzing the resurgent interest in freedom of contract). For the landmark case law regarding freedom of contract in the context of employment legislation, see Lochner v. New York, 198 U.S. 45 (1905) (holding that that setting a limit to the hours a baker could work was an “unreasonable, unnecessary and arbitrary interference with the right of the individual to his personal liberty, or to enter into those contracts in relation to labor which may seem to him appropriate or necessary for the support of himself and his family”). Lockner is, howeer, no longer good law. see West Coast Hotel Co. v. Parrish, 300 U.S. 379 (1937), where the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the constitutionality of minimum wage legislation. West Coast Hotel Co. is regarded as having ended the Lochner-era of contract law in America. West Coast Hotel Co. is an example of Fine-tuning (see below for a fuller discussion). Both landmark rulings are excellent examples as they involve self-ordering in the market, a forum where spontaneous order is often remarked upon. 105 See CHEN-WISHART, supra note 94. 106 Id. at 10, 14. 107 See, e.g., Hutton v. Warren, (1836) 1 M&W 460. 108 Id. 109 See TRAKMAN, supra note 63, at 23–27. 110 See RESTATEMENT (SECOND) OF CONTRACTS § 213 (1979), which sets out the common law parol evidence rule. See also U.C.C. § 2-202 (2001). 132 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 classical model of contract.111 Minimum wage requirements are good examples of Fine-tuning. While the self-ordering system regarding labor earnings in the market place is left relatively untouched (parties are free to set salaries commensurate with the skill level of workers), a floor is put in place in order to correct inherent shortcomings in the system. This is similar to the example given earlier regarding speeding: the system is left to self-order but within prescribed limits. The law tweaks the self-ordering system of market pay along the margins, enacting statutory minimum wage requirements that alter the wage structure in order to achieve a socially preferable distribution of income. Many theorists now question if such laws are, in fact, even effective in achieving these goals. Minimum wage laws have been and continue to be highly controversial and the subject of vigorous debate amongst economists, with many arguing that minimum wage laws are not a good policy tool.112 Minimum wage laws are perhaps a good example of the potential for design error of top- down law when tinkering with a spontaneous system of order—in this case, wage patterns in the market. The same story arguably applies to other forms of direct regulation on voluntary exchange, such as family leave laws, sick leave laws, other prescriptions of the fair labor standards act, anti-discrimination laws, union protections, and so on and so forth. It is interesting to note how shifting norms and social conceptions of value will determine what the law considers proper grounds for Fine-tuning. Indeed, this is reflected writ large in the shift from a classical to neo-classical model of contract law. Employment standards, a substantive part of employment law, are simply customary norms regarding minimum socially acceptable working conditions. Social norms invariably transform over time; new normative rules emerge, replacing older normative standards. In all areas of law, we can discern the transformative force of evolving custom impacting existing values. However, the specific goals that a society deems worthwhile to pursue are irrelevant to the present thesis in a technical sense: the objective may be to rectify the social injustice of slavery or to institute it more broadly. In any case, the methodology this paper advances remains the same. What is offered here is a descriptive rather than a normative analysis—what is of relevance is how lawmakers can implement the strategies of legislative minimalism on a technical level. The decisive role that value positions will play in this implementation is acknowledged yet remains immaterial to the present thesis. 111 See CHEN-WISHART, supra note 94, at 11. 112 For an interesting book-length, empirically-rich discussion along these lines, see DAVID NEUMARK & WILLIAM L. WASCHER, MINIMUM WAGES (2008) (arguing that minimum wage laws actually do not achieve the main objectives set out by their supporters). But see DAVID CARD & ALAN B. KRUEGER, MYTH AND MEASUREMENT: THE NEW ECONOMICS OF THE MINIMUM WAGE (1995) (arguing against the view that higher minimum wages reduce jobs for low-wage workers). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 133 4. Dismantling and Concocting in Contract The law also engages in Dismantling with regards to contract. For example, vitiating factors, such as duress and unconscionability, can completely invalidate a system of order established through contract. Contracts that conflict with public policy, such as contracts to conduct illegal activity, perceived gross immorality, or contracts of slavery, will be pointedly dismantled by the State.113 A great illustration of Dismantling is anti-trust law. Here, the self-ordering systems created by commercial cartels are systematically dismantled under the neo-classical banner of maximizing social welfare through competition. The state simply overrides such systems of self- ordering, voiding agreements that restrict market competition.114 Dismantling in this form is seen as a matter of public policy: the system of self-order (monopolistic collusion) is deemed to be detrimental. In some jurisdictions, this is true even where price-fixing and other horizontal restraints (such as group boycotts and market division) are a mostly spontaneous arrangement with absolutely no explicit arrangements to engage in price manipulation. In such jurisdictions, even tacit collusion (also termed conscious parallelism) is, in principle, sufficient to warrant antitrust enforcement.115 Tacit collusion, unlike cartels, is not criminalized yet is, “in principle, . . . subject to antitrust enforcement.”116 Indeed, in the case of tacit collusion, coordinated behavior emerges in an entirely spontaneous fashion without the need for explicit communication of any kind—a classic illustration of a system of spontaneous self-ordering.117 113 See CHEN-WISHART, supra note 94, at 12. 114 Under U.S. law, section 1 of the Sherman Act declares illegal “every contract, combination in the form of trust or otherwise, or conspiracy, in restraint of trade or commerce . . . .” 15 U.S.C. § 1 (2012). Under EU law, the Treaty of Lisbon prohibits anti-competitive agreements, rendering any such agreements automatically void. Consolidated Version of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union art. 101, May 9, 2008, 2008 O.J. (C 115) 88– 89 [hereinafter TFEU]. 115 For example, under EU law, tacit collusion could come under the Lisbon Treaty, Article 101 “concerted practices,” as well as the principle of “collective dominance” under Article 102. TFEU art. 101–02. 116 PETER DAVIS & ELIANA GARCÉS, QUANTITATIVE TECHNIQUES FOR COMPETITION AND ANTITRUST ANALYSIS 316 (2009). Under Section 1 of the Sherman Act, however, tacit collusion is not deemed sufficient to justify state intervention because Section 1 requires proof of agreement (conspiracy). 15 U.S.C. § 1 (2014). See also Richard A. Posner, Oligopoly and the Antitrust Laws: A Suggested Approach, 21 STAN. L. REV. 1562 (1969) (arguing that antitrust law should regulate consciously parallel oligopoly behavior); RICHARD A. POSNER, ANTITRUST LAW 53–55 (2d ed. 2001) (explaining why tacit collusion did not come to constitute monopolistic practice under U.S. law). 117 See DAVIS & GARCÉS, supra note 116, at 315 (discussing the idea that coordinated behavior may emerge even without the need for explicit communication); See also HERVÉ DUMEZ & ALAIN JEUNEMAÎTRE, UNDERSTANDING AND REGULATING THE MARKET AT A TIME OF 134 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 In regard to the strategy of Concocting, we find very little evidence of this in contract. Among the various areas of law, this brand of maximalism is not readily identifiable in contract. This is because state regulation of contract leans so much in the direction of minimalism that full-fledged Concocting as a strategy does not make an appearance. Arguably, some standard form contracts with government agencies where specific terms must be included as a matter of law might be considered as forms of Concocting. Yet this does not meet the criteria of Concocting in its purest sense, i.e. the wholesale construction of a system of order. Stepping back for a moment, it is important to note that the tactics of legislative minimalism are not restricted to contract. What we do in contract may be applied in all areas of law. Where the line of legislative intrusion should be drawn will unavoidably be affected by normative considerations; however, this long-standing debate need not concern us. We are merely providing a conceptual framework for policymakers who wish to boost system efficiency. Where formal law should step in will often remain open to debate and turn on normative considerations. However, regardless of where one stands in this ideological feud, the chance of design error increases the more we wander away from minimalism. This is not a normative appraisal; it is a factual contention, at least it is the working premise of this paper. From a practical perspective, however, it is not always easy for legislatures to know which strategy is most suitable—for example, when Formalizing is more appropriate than Fine-tuning, or Concocting more appropriate than Dismantling. Ultimately, this will turn on the specific system of order that is being confronted. However, general guidelines can be of enormous help here. Wherever feasible, minimalism should be our starting point—that minimalism is preferable should be a presumption for policymakers. However, where a system of order seems to be failing, or producing unacceptable externalities (this will invariably turn on normative considerations), regulation is necessary. Ever higher degrees of legislative intervention should then be implemented until the situation is sufficiently remedied. To use once more a metaphor: if the construction of a house is defective, the most sensible line of attack is to see if the problem is resolvable through minor tinkering; one should not immediately rip out the foundations of the building and start anew. Adjustments and minor replacements should be first attempted, increasing the level of intrusion only as necessary. Indeed, it may become clear that we, in fact, need to rip up the foundations of the house; however, this should be our last, not our first, course of action. Through incremental legislation, it is possible to hone in on the appropriate degree of intrusion. GLOBALIZATION: THE CASE OF THE CEMENT INDUSTRY 98–101 (2000) (discussing spontaneous coordination in the cement industry through the exchange of information). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 135 C. Beyond Law: A Wide Breadth of Potential Application Before concluding our discussion, one final point should be briefly made. It is important to appreciate that this taxonomy has a wide breadth of potential application. These strategies are not simply limited to the case of legal order; they arise wherever top-down planning attempts to deal with any system of spontaneous order (to use Hayek’s term). The same basic approaches arise in, for example, biology, economics, ecology, urban planning, linguistics, chemistry, material sciences, and transportation, to name but a few examples. In all cases, the planner can choose to not interfere with the pattern (Non- interference), reinforce the pattern (Formalizing), redirect or tweak the pattern (Fine-tuning), destroy the pattern (Dismantling), or fabricate a pattern (Concocting). Because systems of spontaneous order surround us, indeed, because life itself is such a system, as autonomous agents standing outside this ordering (to the extent that this is possible), our interactions with spontaneous order are limited to one or more of these five approaches. These are the only options before us.118 While our focus here was legal order, exploring how these strategies may be applied in other non-legal contexts may prove quite fascinating. We could see terms such as ecological minimalism, urban minimalism, medical minimalism, psychiatric minimalism, and so on and so forth.119 Indeed, it offers a stunningly broad scope of potential application. I leave such avenues of research to those more qualified than I to explore; however, the basic taxonomy for this examination is provided. V. CONCLUSION While the paper posited a framework for adopting legislative minimalism, the result is not so much a fully-developed theory of how to legislatively deal with customary social order; rather, it provides the framework for one. Indeed, a more intricate methodology could be crafted from this basic model. For the purposes of examination, I assumed the argument regarding informational complexity as valid. (I took what I felt to be the strongest technical argument against centralized design.) This is, of course, open to debate, but it would be intellectually reckless to simply dismiss it out of hand. I cannot help but think that the temptation to do so is often motivated more by political ideology than intellectual certainty. In any case, if upon examination we determine that minimalism is indeed what we want, the framework I constructed here is a strategic, balanced way to get us there. The core idea of legislative minimalism is that we could go further in the direction of regulatory non-intrusiveness, trusting instead the self-patterning nature of customary social order. To capture the concept in one simple phrase, 118 I am including here the various hybrid strategies that are possible. 119 Some of these terms are already in use; however, not in the sense meant here. 136 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 it is this: the least amount of law possible. This is the benefit of legislative minimalism: it allows for legislative parsimony. We can soften the hand of law. Yet this is always to be judged cautiously on a case-by-case basis. In some circumstances, we will not be able to break too far in the direction of minimalism; in others, we will be able to engage in extremely high degrees of it. Like any other form of natural ordering, while customary social ordering stands a far better chance of avoiding design inefficiency, it is not always perfect. The system can sometimes generate sub-optimal outcomes, and so we often need to modify it to some degree—we do this in medicine, in agriculture, etc. Cancer cells are the outcome of a natural system as are floods, but we do not hesitate to treat tumors and build flood walls. Social order is no different. Yet this must be done with the utmost humility, aware of our cognitive limitations and mindful that the majority of the time we are but fumbling in the darkness. The hope is that the conceptual framework offered here may serve as a foundation for theorists to build upon and better position policymakers to adopt such a tack so they may fashion leaner, more honed legislation, conceptually clear as to what exactly it is they are doing. The Chinese University of Hong Kong From the SelectedWorks of Bryan H. Druzin 2014 Restraining the Hand of Law: A Conceptual Framework to Shrink the Size of Law tmpb0cMd0.pdf
work_exlgf3trw5dkflqn2ngowlba74 ---- PLBI0305_733-763.indd PLoS Biology | www.plosbiology.org 0748 Book Review/Science in the Media Open access, freely available online May 2005 | Volume 3 | Issue 5 | e161 The famous Russian writer Vladimir Nabokov once described writing as “a torture and a pastime” and contrasted it to “a long and exciting career as an obscure curator of lepidoptera in a great museum” [1]. For six years before moving to Cornell University as a professor of Russian literature, Nabokov worked as a research fellow at Harvard’s Museum of Comparative Zoology, where he specialized in “blues” (Family Lycaenidae). The public face of this museum (as well as the Harvard University Herbaria and the Mineralogical and Geological Museum) is Harvard’s Museum of Natural History, whose collection consists of more than 21 million specimens acquired over two centuries. In a fascinating new book, The Rarest of the Rare: Stories behind the Treasures at the Harvard Museum of Natural History, Nancy Pick describes highlights of this vast collection in a rarely found combination of seamless prose, outstanding photographs, history, legendary fi gures, and, of course, science. Choosing among 21 million specimens appears a daunting task, and stripped of their historical signifi cance, some of Pick’s choices may seem, at fi rst glance, somewhat pedestrian. It is not until we read her description of the specimen of a common sand dollar, that we learn it was collected by Charles Darwin in 1834 during his journeys as a naturalist on the Beagle. Darwin sent the specimen to an echinoid specialist in Switzerland named Louis Agassiz, who later moved to Harvard and obtained funding for the Museum of Natural History, which opened in 1859. A contemporary of Agassiz at Harvard was the famous botanist Asa Gray, who, in contrast to Agassiz, was a strong believer in evolution. One of the items in the collection is an 1857 letter from Darwin to Gray (a photograph of the letter is shown in the book) describing his thoughts on natural selection, two years before The Origin of Species was published. Another specimen that’s uninteresting until we know its provenance is a turtle that Harvard College graduate Henry David Thoreau sent to Agassiz in 1847. The turtle was collected in the Walden Pond of Thoreau’s classic book. The birds of American history are well represented by a pair of pheasants that the Marquis de Lafayette sent to George Washington in 1786. The original home of these pheasants was in the fi rst scientifi c museum in the country, founded by the painter Charles Wilson Peale in Philadelphia. When the museum closed in 1849, the specimens eventually found their way to Harvard. A more exotic specimen in the collection, the now extinct bird known as the common mamo (Drepanis pacifi ca), was collected by Captain James Cook in 1778 in Hawaii. The yellow feathers from this species were used for King Kamehameha’s cloak, requiring over 80,000 mamos. In the book, we can also appreciate parts of a dodo skeleton, and an egg from the elephant bird (Aepyornis maximus), a now extinct fl ightless bird from Madagascar that grew to ten feet tall and laid the largest eggs known for a bird. In the realm of insects, Pick has chosen to show us some fabulous specimens, including a 35-million- year-old fossil butterfl y; the largest insect wing on record, belonging to a dragonfl y-like creature collected in Oklahoma and having a wing span of 2.5 feet; and an unbelievable gynandromorphic morpho butterfl y, with the wing colors and size of a male on one side, and those of a female on the other. Pick also presents cases of murder and fraud, including the famous case of John W. Webster, a Professor of Chemistry at Harvard Medical College, who murdered George Parkman. The tale involves Webster’s mineral collection and the purchase of a mastodon for the museum. Bearing witness to fraud in science is a painting by John James Audubon in the museum collection. In trying to prove he had depicted the common grouse (Bonasa umbellus) before his competitor, Alexander Wilson (known as the father of American ornithology), Audubon dated his chalk and watercolor illustration with the year 1805. The problem is that the watermark in the paper is dated 1810. Perhaps the best known specimens at Harvard’s Museum of Natural History are the Blaschka Glass Models of Plants, created by Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka in Germany. Originally commissioned for teaching botany by the fi rst director of Harvard’s Botanical Museum, an exclusive ten-year contract signed in 1890 extended into 50 years of work and resulted in 4,400 models so exquisite and realistic, it is hard to believe they are actually made of glass. Explorer Naturalists Fernando E. Vega Citation: Vega FE (2005) Explorer naturalists. PLoS Biol 3(5): e161. Copyright: © 2005 Fernando E. Vega. This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. Fernando E. Vega is coeditor (with Meredith Blackwell) of Insect-Fungal Associations: Ecology and Evolution, published by Oxford University Press (2005). He lives in Silver Spring, Maryland, United States of America. Email: fevega@hotmail.com DOI: 10.1371/journal.pbio.0030161 DOI: 10.1371/journal.pbio.0030161.g001 Pick N (2004) The rarest of the rare: Stories behind the treasures at the Harvard Museum of Natural History. Introduction by E. O. Wilson; photographs by M. Sloan. New York: HarperResource. 178 p. ISBN (hardcover) 0-06-053718-3. US$22.95. PLoS Biology | www.plosbiology.org 0749 Other specimens presented in the book include the all-too-familiar regal lily (Lilium regale) collected in China and brought to the United States by Ernest H. Wilson in 1911; a trilobite collected in 1824 by Charles D. Wolcott, discoverer of the famous Burgess Shale fossil deposit in the Canadian Rocky Mountains; a female anglerfi sh (Linophryne bicornis) showing the parasitic male still attached; a woodpecker (Melanerpes lewis) collected by Meriwether Lewis and believed to be the only complete specimen from the Lewis and Clark expedition (1804– 1806); and Richard Evan Schultes’s hallucinogenic mushrooms. The Rarest of the Rare brings forward a vivid image of the romance of an era when a large part of scientifi c research was conducted by “explorer naturalists,” a breed that has become nearly extinct, pushed aside by DNA sequencers, or should we say, “the barcoders of life.” It is hard to put this book away without thinking about all that remains to be discovered in the natural world—the organisms within organisms, the fossils, the remaining new species—because, fortunately, one thing is certain: there is no end to science. � Reference 1. Nabokov VV (1973) Strong opinions. New York: McGraw-Hill. 335 p. May 2005 | Volume 3 | Issue 5 | e161
work_f2vnr4iplva3zihzjrrgavei4a ---- 반건호·배재호·문수진·민정원 - 61 - 시 뇌염에서 살아남은 아이들 중 산만하고 행동이 과다해지 고 충동 조절 및 인지기능 장애가 발생한다는 보고가 1920 년대 초에 다수 발표되었다. 24) 그들은 우울증을 포함한 기분 증상, 틱 증상, 인지 기능 손상으로 인한 학습 장애 등의 다 양한 증상뿐 아니라 반 사회적, 파괴적 행동을 포함한 행동 문제, 주의력 결핍 문제 등의 ADHD에 해당하는 증상들을 보였다. 이는 처음으로 ADHD 유사 증상의 원인으로 신체 적 결함을 고려하게 된 사건이며, 단순한 도덕적 조절 능력 결핍이 아닌 ‘뇌염 후 행동장애(postencephalitic behav- ior disorder)’라는 진단을 내리게 되었다. 25) 그로 인해 출생 당시 선천적 결손이나 주산기 무산소증, 주산기 질병 등이 뇌 의 이른 기질적 손상을 가져오고, 그로 인해 행동상의 문제 나 학습 장애, 주의력 결핍 등을 유발할 수 있다는 인식이 확 산되었다. 26) 이러한 환자들을 단일 질환으로 분류하고 이에 대해 수많은 치료법이 개발되었으나 효과가 없었다. ADHD가 이러한 뇌염 등의 질병에 의해 유발되는 것은 아니지만, 단 순한 도덕적 결함으로 인한 개인적 문제 차원에서 뇌의 기 질적 변화로 인한 질병으로 인식되기 시작했다는 점에서 의 의를 찾을 수 있다. 9. Kramer-Pollnow 증후군 Franz Kramer(1878~1967)와 Hans Pollnow(1902~ 1943)는 1932년 “On a hyperkinetic disease of infan- cy”에서 행동문제가 있는 17명의 아이들(세 명의 소녀 포함) 에 대해 보고하였다. 27) “아이들한테 나타나는 가장 분명한 증상은 엄청난 운동 량이다. 그것도 무척 급하게 행동한다. 잠시도 차분하게 기다 리지 못하고 방 안을 이리저리 뛰어 다닌다. 특히 높은 가구 에 기어올라가는 것을 선호한다. 누군가 말리려 하면 성을 낸 다.” 17) 이러한 내용은 오늘날 ADHD의 주 증상 중 하나인 과잉행동 특성과 상당부분 일치한다. “특별한 목표 없이 하던 행동들은 다른 자극을 받으면 쉽 게 다른 행동으로 넘어가는 산만함을 보인다. 아이들은 과제 를 완수하기가 어렵고 간단한 질문에도 대답을 못한다. 어려 운 과제에 집중하는 것은 대단히 곤란하다. 그러다 보면 학 습에 문제가 생긴다. 지적 능력 평가도 곤란하다.” 17) 이 부분 은 역시 ADHD의 주 증상 중 하나인 주의력결핍에 해당한다. “지속력이 떨어지고 특정 과제에 집중하기도 어렵다. 기분 도 불안정하다. 쉽게 흥분하고 자주 분노를 터뜨리며 별 것 아닌 일에 눈물을 터뜨리거나 공격적으로 변한다.” 17) 이는 ADHD의 충동성향과 부합되는 내용이다. 하지만 “일초도 가만히 있지 못하는 아이의 행동 문제에도 불구하고 자신 들이 좋아하는 과제에는 오랜 시간 집중할 수 있다. 나이가 들면서 과활동성이 소실되거나 감소한다.”는 기술은 충동성 향에 대한 의심을 불러오기도 하는 대목이다. DSM-IV 6) 의 진단 기준 중 “사회적, 학업적, 또는 직업적 기능의 현저한 손상” 대목에 해당하는 내용도 기술한 바 있 다. “과잉행동 아이들은 종종 불복종하는 행동특성이 있으 며, 학습 문제도 심각하다. 학교에서는 학급 수업 진행을 방 해하고 혼란에 빠뜨리며 친구들과 어울려 노는 것이 어렵고 친구 사이에서 왕따 되기 일쑤다.” 17) DSM-IV 6) 의 연령 기준에 대한 부분도 이미 Kramer- Pollnow 증후군 기록에 언급하고 있다. 이들이 보고한 사례 들은 3내지 4세에 과잉행동이 시작되고 6세 경에 절정을 이 룬다고 하였다. 상당수 아이들은 열성 질병이나 간질성 경련 후에 행동 문제가 나타난다는 내용도 기술하였다. 17) Kramer와 Pollnow는 이러한 아이들의 장애를 “아동기 의 과활동성(hyperkinesis of childhood)”라고 지칭하였 다. 이처럼 공격적 행동, 충동성, 혼란스러울 정도의 안절부 절못함, 학습장애 등을 보였으나, 당시 유행하던 뇌염 후 행 동장애와는 차이가 있었다. 뇌염 후 행동장애에서 보이는 수 면장애, 야간에 나타나는 초조감, 이상한 몸동작 등이 없었 고 주간에만 증상을 보였다. 17) 원인적 접근에서 뇌의 장애를 더 고려했다는 점에서 역사 적 가치가 있으나 연구를 진행하던 중, 그들이 모두 유태인이 었기 때문에 나치의 강제 이주가 이루어지면서 후속 연구자 료를 찾기는 어렵다. 27) 하지만 이는 WHO의 질병분류에 영 향을 미쳤고, ‘hyperkinetic’이라는 용어는 ICD-8의 ‘hy- perkinetic disorder’로 이어졌다. 28) 10. ADHD의 치료에 대한 최초 기록, Charles Bradley ADHD 치료와 연구에 가장 획기적인 내용은 1937년 Char- les Bradley라는 정신과의사가 쓴 ‘The behavior of child- ren receiving benzedrine’이라는 논문에서 찾을 수 있 다. 29) 그는 미국 로드아일랜드 주에 위치한 Emma Pend- leton Bradley Home(현재는 Bradley Hospital)의 의료 부장으로 재직하면서 기뇌조영술(pneumoencephalogra- phy) 후에 두통이 있는 아이들을 치료하기 위해 벤제드린(ben- zedrine, 주 : benzedrine은 amphetamine 제제로 1928년 부터 기관지확장제로 시판되었고 흡입형 제제였으며, 현재는 propylhexedrine으로 대체되어 사용되고 있음 30) 을 투여하 였다. 그는 두통이 뇌척수액의 손실로 인해 발생하는 것이라 생각했으며, 따라서 두통을 치료하기 위해서는 맥락총에서 뇌척수액 생산을 촉진시키면 될 것이라고 생각했다. 뇌척수 액 생산을 촉진시키기 위해 당시 사용되고 있던 가장 강력 한 정신 자극제인 벤제드린을 투여하였다. 벤제드린 투여 후 주의력결핍 과잉행동장애의 역사적 고찰 - 62 - 에도 두통은 그다지 호전되지 않았으나, 일부 환아에서 학교 생활에 큰 변화가 있었고 학습효과도 눈에 띄게 좋아졌다. 아이들은 이 약을 “arithmetic pills”로 불렀다. 그러한 아 이들의 행동 변화를 감지한 Bradley는 그의 병원에서 행동 문제를 보이는 30명의 환자들을 대상으로 벤제드린을 투여 하였다. “벤제드린을 투여한 반수의 환자들에서 학교 생활 의 두드러진 호전이 나타났고, 일과 수행에 있어 훨씬 빠르고 정확하게 집중할 수 있게 되었다.”라고 기술하였다. 29) 하지만 당시에는 행동문제 치료에 심리요법이 주류를 이루고 있었 고, 안타깝게도 이러한 약물 효과에 대한 재검증이 이루어지 지 않았다. ADHD 치료약물의 본격적 사용은 그의 논문 발표 후 25 년여가 지나서야 시작되었다. 31) 11. ADHD의 기질적 원인 분석 시도, Minimal brain dysfunction(MBD) ADHD의 원인에 대한 인식이 Still경의 도덕적 결함으로 인한 행동 문제에서 Tredgold의 뇌의 기질적 문제로 인한 행동 문제 32) 로 변화된 이후, Kahn과 Cohen 33) 은 ‘organic drivenness’라는 표현을 사용하기도 하였다. Lewin 34) 은 지 적 기능이 떨어지는 아동과 성인 환자에서 뇌손상과 안절부 절못하는 증상과의 관련성을 제시하였으며, 전두엽을 제거 한 동물실험 결과와 결부시켜 설명하였다. 그 밖에도 뇌염과 감염, 납중독, 경련성 질환 등 뇌에 영향을 미칠 수 있는 다양 한 원인들과 그에 따른 환자들의 행동 문제에 대한 보고가 다 수 발표되었다. 24) 이러한 연구 결과들을 바탕으로 뇌손상과 행동문제의 관련성에 대한 인식이 정착되기 시작하였고, Str- auss와 Lehtinen 35) 은 뇌손상 아동에서 여러 가지 정신증상 이 나타날 수 있으며, 특히 과잉행동과 뇌손상과의 관련성을 지적하고 이러한 증상을 보이는 아동들을 하나의 증후군, minimal brain damage syndrome으로 분류하였다. 오 늘날 주의력결핍증상 중 많은 부분이 이미 그의 논문에서 기술한 증후군과 일치한다. 1950~1960대에 들어서는 ‘두뇌 손상아동 brain-damage children’ 36) , ’미세 뇌손상 mini- mal brain damage’ 37) , ‘미세두뇌기능장애 minimal cereb- ral dysfunction’ 38) , ‘미세뇌기능장애 minimal brain dy- sfunction(MBD)’ 39) 등으로 명명되었고, 그 중 MBD가 가장 흔히 통용되었다. 이렇듯 다양한 명칭과 보고에도 불구하고 여전히 통일된 질병개념은 등장하지 않았다. 24) 12. 주의력저하와 과활동성 치료제의 승인, 리탈린(Ritalin) Bradley가 과활동성, 주의 집중에 장애를 보이는 환자를 대상으로 벤제드린을 투여하여 효과가 있었다는 보고 29) 가 있었으나, 당시 그 결과는 주목 받지 못했다. 하지만 점차 정신 질환 치료에 있어 심리치료 이외에 생물학적 치료의 필요성이 강조되기 시작하였고, 과활동성을 보이는 아동들 의 치료에 있어서도 점차 중추신경자극제의 효과에 대한 관 심이 커지고 있었다. 40) Bradley가 ADHD환자들에 있어 벤제드린의 효과를 발표 한지 25년이 지난 1957년, ADHD 역사에서 가장 획기적 사 건 중 하나가 일어났다. 메틸페니데이트(methylphenidate) 성분의 리탈린이 처음으로 의약품으로 승인된 것이다. 41) 이 약 품은 1944년 Ciba사의 화학자인 Leandro Panizzon이 합 성하였고, 1954년부터 리탈린이라는 이름으로 판매되기 시작 하였다. 리탈린이라는 이름은 Panizzon의 아내의 애칭인 Rita 에서 온 것이라고 한다. 평소 저혈압을 앓고 있던 아내가 테니 스 시합 도중 저혈압으로 쓰러질 것을 우려하여 시합 전 자극 제로 이 약을 사용하였다. 그로 인해 리탈린은 시판 당시 만 성 피로, 기면증, 우울증, 그와 관련된 정신 증상 등에 효과 가 있는 것으로 알려졌다. 그러나 점차 과잉행동이나 주의 산만 증상에 효과가 있음이 알려지면서 이러한 증상을 보이 는 환자들에게 사용되기 시작하였고, 42) 훗날 ADHD치료에서 가장 중요한 역할을 담당하는 약물이 되었다. 하지만 치료가 진행되고 있었음에도 불구하고 질병으로서ADHD의 통일된 개념은 확립되지 않았다. 13. 질병으로서의 ADHD 이렇듯 이미 20세기 초부터 ADHD 개념이 언급되기 시작 하였고 치료 또한 시도되었으나, 현재 사용되는 ADHD 개념 에 접근하기 시작한 것은 1960년대 들어서였다. 과다한 행동 의 의학적 원인에 대한 논의가 지속되고 MBD 개념이 확산 되면서 뇌의 손상이 행동 장애로 이어진다는 가설은 탄력을 받게 되었다. 24) 하지만 행동 문제를 보이는 모든 아동들이 뇌 손상을 가지고 있어야 한다는 이 이론은 많은 비판을 받 게 되었고 뇌 손상의 평가 방법에 대한 논란도 커졌다. 43-45) 또한 뇌 손상이 없는 아동들에서도 행동 문제가 보고되었다. 40) 이러한 논란에도 불구하고 그간 축적된 자료를 바탕으로 미국 정신의학계의 진단체계인 DSM-II(The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental disorders-II) 46) 에서 ‘아동기 과잉행동 반응 hyperkinetic reaction of child- hood’이라는 명칭으로 공식 진단으로 인정하고 다음과 같 은 두 문장으로 정의하였다. “과활동성이고, 안절부절못하고, 산만하고 집중 시간이 짧은 소아들. 행동은 대개 청소년기에 감소함.” 하지만 진단명에서 알 수 있듯이 아직도 뇌의 기질 적 원인보다는 주변 자극에 대한 과도한 ‘반응’ 개념으로 이 해하고 있으며, 안타깝지만 그때까지도 ADHD는 청소년기 가 되면 사라지는 문제로 여겼다. DSM-III 47) 에서는 Douglas 48) 가 주장한 것처럼 과잉행동 반건호·배재호·문수진·민정원 - 63 - 보다는 충동조절, 주의력, 각성 영역의 결함에 좀 더 초점을 맞추게 되었고, 그간 MBD 아동에서 문제가 되었던 특수 학습 장애 영역을 ADHD에서 분리시켰다. 진단명도 DSM- II의 ‘반응 reaction’에서 ‘장애 disorder’로 바뀌었다. 하지 만 과잉행동증상에 대한 중요성이 인식되지 않았고, ADD with hyperactivity(ADDH)와 ADD without hyperac- tivity(ADD)로 명명하였다. 두 아형 사이의 임상적 차이가 미미하다는 논란이 지속되었고 과잉행동이 중요한 증상군임 이 받아들여져서, 26) 1987년 DSM-III-R 에서는 두 아형에 대한 개념을 삭제하고, 오늘날 사용되고 있는 주의력결핍 과 잉행동장애(ADHD)로 진단명이 변경되었다. 1) ADD with- out hyperactivity 진단은 미분류 ADD(undifferentiated ADD)로 남았다. 1994년, 개정된 DSM-IV에서도 ADHD라는 명칭은 그대 로 쓰이고 있지만 주의력-결핍 우세형(predominantly inat- tentive type), 과잉행동-충동 우세형(predominantly hy- peractive-impulsive type), 복합형(combined type)의 3 가지 아형으로 분류되었다. 6) 2000년 개정된 DSM-IV-TR 49) 에서도 진단체계는 크게 바뀌지 않았으나, DSM-V에서는 일부 진단 기준 변화와 함께 현재 아형을 없애고 하나의 진단 으로 가는 방안과 기존의 주의력 결핍형 대신 attention de- ficit disorder(ADD) 진단을 채택하는 것을 고려하고 있다. 50) 14. ICD-10과 DSM-IV의 차이 1969년에 ICD-8에서는 주의가 산만하고 과다행동을 보 이는 아동들을 hyperkinetic reaction of childhood로 분류 하였다. 28) 이후 ICD-9에서는 hyperkinetic syndrome으 로, 51) ICD-10에서는 hyperkinetic disorder(HKD)로 분 류하였다. 52) DSM-IV와 ICD-10은 다음과 같은 차이가 있다. 53) 첫째, ICD-10은 DSM-IV보다 진단 기준의 적용을 광범위하고 강력하게 요구한다는 점이다. 둘째, ICD-10은 부주의함, 충 동성, 과활동성의 세 가지 영역을 모두 포함해야 진단할 수 있는 단일질환 개념이지만, DSM-IV에서는 주의력-결핍 우 세형(predominantly inattentive type), 과잉행동-충동 우세형(predominantly hyperactive-impulsive type), 복합형(combined type)으로 그 아형을 분류하고 있어서 위의 세 가지 영역이 모두 충족하지 않는 경우에도 진단을 붙일 수 있다. 셋째, ICD-10은 한 가지 진단만을 붙이도록 되어 있으나, DSM-IV에서는 일부 공존질환을 동시에 진단 하는 것을 허용하고 있다. 두 진단 체계간 차이로 인해 나타나는 결과는 명백한 유 병률의 차이이다. 54-56) Lee 등 53) 은 같은 환자군에서 DSM- IV와 ICD-10 기준을 적용하여 진단할 경우 HDK가 11%, A- DHD 복합형은 47.7%로 더 많이 진단된다고 하였다. HKD 는 ADHD보다 신경발달학적 손상, 학업의 문제, 인지적 장 해가 더 심한 것으로 보고되었고, 55,57) 중추신경자극제 치료 에 더 잘 반응하는 것으로 알려졌다. 58) 15. 성인 ADHD 1960년대 이후 다음과 같은 세 가지 유형의 연구보고가 늘어나면서, 아동은 물론 성인 ADHD에 대한 관심도 늘기 시작하였다. 먼저, MBD 아이들의 장기 추적 관찰에서 이 들 문제가 성인기에도 계속 된다고 보고 하였다. 59) 둘째, 과잉 행동을 보이는 아이들의 부모에 대한 연구가 진행되면서 그 들의 부모 역시 비슷한 문제가 있음을 알게 되었다. 60) 세 번 째 유형은 충동성, 공격성, 정서불안정, 우울성향 등을 보이 는 성인들에 대한 보고이다. 61) 1972년 캐나다 McGill 대학의 Virginia Douglas 교수 는 이들 아동에서 과잉행동뿐 아니라 주의력저하 문제를 제 기하였으며, 그녀의 동료인 Gabrielle Weiss는 장기 추적 연구를 통해 과잉행동증상은 나이를 먹으면서 줄어들지만 주의력문제와 충동조절 문제는 지속되며 이 증상들이 중추 신경자극제에 특히 반응이 좋다고 주장하였다. 48) 앞서 말한 것처럼 이전에는 청소년기가 되면서 점차 증세가 사라지고 성 인기에는 확실히 사라진다고 믿었던 이론에 의심을 갖게 되었 고, 점차 성인 ADHD 연구가 시작되었다. 초창기 성인기 ADHD 추적 연구는 주로 몬트리올 팀 62) 와 뉴욕 연구진 63,64) 에 의해 이루어졌다. ADHD 증세의 지속 여부에 대한 결과, 몬트리올 연구에서는 과거 ADHD 아동의 반 정도가 25세 시점에서 아동기의 증세가 지속된다고 하였 다. 62) 뉴욕 연구진의 추적 연구에서도 아동기 ADHD 진단군 이 성인기에 ADHD로 진단되는 비율이 48%였다. 63) 즉, 아동 기의 ADHD 증상이 성인기가 되어도 반 정도에서는 남아 있 었으며, 뉴욕 연구진의 또 다른 장기 추적 연구에서는 아동기 에 ADHD로 진단된 경우 성인기에 약물남용, 반사회적 성격 장애로 진단되는 경우가 대조군에 비해 유의하게 많았다. 64) ADHD가 아동기에 발병한 후 거의 반수가 청소년기를 거 쳐 성인기까지 증세가 지속된다는 보고가 늘면서 성인 ADHD 의 진단기준과 치료에 대한 관심도 늘고 있다. 2002년 미국 FDA에서 아토목세틴(atomoxetine)을 소아청소년은 물론 성인 ADHD 치료제로 승인하면서 성인 ADHD에 대한 약 물치료 폭이 넓어졌고, 65) 2003년에는 성인 ADHD의 진단과 치료 기준 마련을 위해 18개 나라의 40여명의 전문가가 참 여한 European Network Adult ADHD가 만들어지기도 하였다. 66) 주의력결핍 과잉행동장애의 역사적 고찰 - 64 - 2013년경 발표될 것으로 예상되는 DSM-V에서는 이제까 지 성인 ADHD 연구와 진료과정에서 논란이 되어 온 ‘7세 이하 발병’이라는 진단 기준을 ’12세 이하 발병’으로 바꾸고, 성인의 경우 일부 아형 진단 시 ‘진단 기준 9개 항목 중 6개 이상 만족’을 ‘3개 이상’으로 낮추는 작업이 진행되고 있다. 50) 이와 같이 아동기에 발병하는 ADHD가 성인기로 이행되는 것을 반영하는 진단 기준의 변화가 예상된다. 16. 역사 속 유명인사 중에 ADHD가 있었을까? 역사 속의 유명인 들을 분석함으로써 과거 인물에게서 ADHD의 실존 가능성을 알아볼 수도 있다. 이는 ADHD 진단과 약물치료에 반대하는 집단은 물론 ADHD 치료를 옹 호하는 쪽에서도 내세운다. 67,68) 흔히 인용되는 대표 인물 중 건축가로는 시카고를 대표하는 Frank Lloyd Wright, 예술가 중에는 Salvador Dali, Pablo Picasso, Vincent Van Gogh, 문학작품을 남긴 작가로는 Charlotte Bronte 와 Emily Bronte, Samuel Clemens, Emily Dickenson, Scott Fitzgerald, Edgar Allan Poe, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Robert Frost, George Bernard Shaw, Hen- ry David Thoreau, Leo Tolstoy, Tennessee Williams, Virginia Woolf, William Butler Yeats, 천재 작곡가인 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, 위대한 사업가로는 Andrew Carnegie, Malcolm Forbes, Henry Ford, Bill Gates, David Neeleman, Paul Orfalea, Ted Turner, 탐험가 중 에는 Christopher Columbus, 발명가 중에는 Wright Bro- thers, Alexander Graham Bell, Thomas Edison, Benjamin Franklin, 등이 있으며, 위대한 학자인 Albert Einstein이 있다. 저명한 정치가로는 James Carville이나 John F. Kennedy를 든다. 미국의 유명한 사진작가인 Ansel Adams도 포함된다. 과거 인물은 아니지만 최근 활 동했거나 활동 중인 운동선수 중에는 Terry Bradshaw, Michael Phelps, Pete Rose, Nolan Ryan, Michael Jordan, Jason Kidd, 연예인 중에는 Ann Bancroft, Jim Carrey, Steve McQueen, Jack Nicholson, Elvis Presley, Sylvester Stallone, Robin Williams 등이 있다. 이러한 분류는 자서전과 역사적 자료를 바탕으로 개연성 을 추정하는 것이며, 학문적 근거를 바탕으로 하는 것은 아 니므로 보다 많은 체계적 평가와 분석이 필요할 것이다. 하 지만 이러한 움직임이 정신의학적 입장에서 역사 속의 유명 인물을 평가하려는 시도로 이어지기도 한다. 예를 들어 자서 전을 토대로 본 체 게바라(Che Guevara)의 어린 시절은 전 형적인 ADHD 기준에 부합하며, 그의 어머니 역시 성인 ADHD 에 해당한다. 69) 그의 성인기 기록 역시 성인 ADHD로서의 기 준에 합당하다. Fidel Castro와 같은 동료 혁명가들의 충고 에도 불구하고 아프리카와 남아메리카에서 벌인 게릴라 활 동 역시 부적절한 충동성향 때문이라는 분석이다. 17. ADHD 연구의 최신 경향 최근 ADHD의 ‘회복’에 관한 개념도 새로이 제시되고 있다. 단순히 약에 의한 증상의 소실을 치료의 목표로 보는 것이 아니라 그에 따르는 사회적, 총체적 기능의 개선이 이루어져 야 이를 관해라고 볼 수 있다는 것이다. 70) 즉, 주의력 결핍이 나 과다행동과 같은 단순한 증상으로서의 개념이 아니라, 전반적 뇌기능 장해와 그로 인한 다양한 기능의 소실로 규 정되는 개념으로 나아가고 있는 것이다. ADHD에 관한 기질적, 생물학적 연구도 진행되고 있다. ADHD 환자군의 가족력 증거에 대한 연구도 계속 늘고 있 으며, 71) 도파민 D4, D5 수용체 변이와 관련이 있다는 보고 가 있으며, 72) DBH, HTR1B, SNAP-25 등의 유전자 관련 연구도 진행되고 있다. 73) 최근 국내 연구진에 의한 연구도 활 발히 진행되고 있다. 74,75) 유전적 원인 뿐 아니라 환경 원인에 대한 연구도 보고되었는데, 소아기 시절의 납이나 PCBs의 중독과 관련이 있다는 보고 73) 이후, 출생 전 알코올 노출과 DAT1 유전자와의 연관성 77) 과 같은 환경 원인과 유전자와의 연관성에 대한 연구도 진행되고 있다. 최근 뇌영상 기술의 발달로 fMRI가 등장하면서 ADHD 환자군의 뇌 부분 활성도와 관련된 많은 연구가 진행되었다. 전전두엽, 선조체에서의 활성도 저하가 보고되었고 78,79) 선조 체에서 도파민이 피질선조체 시냅스의 시냅스 후 신경세포를 활성화시킨다는 보고도 있었다. 80) 보상관련 기전과 관련해서 는 배쪽 선조체의 활성도가 저하된다는 연구 결과가 있었다. 81) Shaw 등 82) 은 ADHD 아동과 정상아동과의 뇌 피질 성숙 도 변화를 비교한 결과를 발표하면서 질병의 중추신경계 병 리를 규명하는데 크게 일조하였다. 이와 같이 ADHD의 발병 기전과 질병 특성을 설명할 수 있는 생물학적 근거가 제시되 고 있다. 결 론 이처럼 ADHD는 오래 전부터 존재하였으나 20세기에 들 면서 임상적으로 관심을 갖게 되었고, 최근 백 여 년 동안 ‘뇌염 후 행동장애’, ‘뇌 손상 아동’, ‘MBD’, ‘아동기 과잉행동 반응’, ‘ADD’, 등 여러 가지 이름으로 불려왔다. 앞으로도 새 로운 뇌 병변 발견이나 새로운 기전의 발견 등으로 인해 진 단명이 바뀔 수도 있겠으나, 질병 개념에 차이는 변하지 않을 것이다. 향후 ADHD의 더 정확한 원인 및 치료방법에 대한 반건호·배재호·문수진·민정원 - 65 - 연구가 필요하다. 중심 단어:주의력결핍 과잉행동장애 ·역사 ·고 찰 ·메틸페니 데이트. 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Molecu- lar genetic studies of ADHD: 1991 to 2004. Am J Med Genet B Neu- ropsychiatr Genet 2005;132:109?125. 73) Faraone SV, Perlis RH, Doyle AE, Smoller JW, Goralnick JJ, Hol- mgren MA, et al. Molecular genetics of attention-deficit/hyperac- tivity disorder. Biol Psychiatry 2005;57:1313-1323. 74) Song DH, Jhung K, Song J, Cheon KA. The 1287 G/A polymor- phism of the Norepinephrine Transporter gene (NET) is involved in Commission Errors in Korean children with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Behav Brain Funct 2011;13:7-12. 75) Won H, Mah W, Kim E, Kim JW, Hahm EK, Kim MH, et al. GIT1 is associated with ADHD in humans and ADHD-like behaviors in mice. Nat Med 2011;17:566-572. 76) Williams JH, Ross L. Consequences of prenatal toxin exposure for mental health in children and adolescents: a systematic review. Eur Child Adolesc Psychiatry 2007;16:243-253. 77) Brookes KJ, Mill J, Guindalini C, Curran S, Xu X, Knight J, et al. A common haplotype of the dopamine transporter gene associat- ed with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder and interacting with maternal use of alcohol during pregnancy. Arch Gen Psychi- atry 2006;63:74-81. 78) Bush G, Valera EM, Seidman LJ. Functional neuroimaging of at- tentiondeficit/hyperactivity disorder: a review and suggested fu- ture directions. Biol Psychiatry 2005;57:1273-1284. 79) Casey BJ, Nigg JT, Durston S. New potential leads in the biology and treatment of attention deficit-hyperactivity disorder. Curr Opin Neurol 2007;20:119-124. 80) Knutson B, Gibbs SE. Linking nucleus accumbens dopamine and blood oxygenation. Psychopharmacology (Berl) 2007;191:813-822. 81) Scheres A, Milham MP, Knutson B, Castellanos FX. Ventral stria- tal hyporesponsiveness during reward anticipation in attention- deficit/hyperactivity disorder. Biol Psychiatry 2007;61:720-724. 82) Shaw P, Eckstrand K, Sharp W, Blumenthal J, Lerch JP, Green- stein D, et al. 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work_f5puwq5u2ncghpoi7g4t7acd3q ---- European journal of American studies, 10-1 | 2015 European journal of American studies 10-1 | 2015 Special Issue: Women in the USA “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne Antje Dallmann Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10668 DOI: 10.4000/ejas.10668 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference Antje Dallmann, « “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne », European journal of American studies [Online], 10-1 | 2015, document 2.2, Online since 31 March 2015, connection on 01 May 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ ejas/10668 ; DOI : 10.4000/ejas.10668 This text was automatically generated on 1 May 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10668 “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne Antje Dallmann 1 The so-called Sea Islands are located off the shore of Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina – a part of the South infamous for cotton farms worked by eleven thousand slaves (cf. Rose, Rehearsal 8). On 7 November 1861, the South Carolina Sea Islands were occupied by Army and Navy troops as part of a broader successful campaign to secure a Union sea access. While white planters fled inland to unoccupied mainland cities such as Charleston, the majority of former slaves remained on the islands, destitute and often starving, not technically free but declared “contraband of war.”1 2 In reaction, benevolent societies were founded by abolitionists in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia in early 1862 for a project that was to become known as the “Port Royal Experiment.”2 On 3 March 1862, a first all-white group of relief workers from Boston and New York got on board the steamship Atlantic, en route to Port Royal; another ship, the Oriental, set sail on 9 April 1862. The prospective “missionaries” envisioned their task in terms of educating former slaves and of organizing free labor to be “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 1 performed by African American contract workers (cf. Faulkner “Chap. 1”).They were informed by a widely publicized narrative of early emancipation on the Sea Islands, which aimed to prove the profitability of wage labor in the South by highlighting the role of freed African Americans as self-sufficient contract laborers and which reacted to Northern fears of the emancipation of slaves. While giving a positive interpretation of the Sea Island’s “rehearsal for reconstruction” (Rose), this narrative is also an expression of the racialized and status-conscious character of a discourse that increasingly offered the prospect of “free labor” as patent remedy for what was perceived as the lurking threat of African Americans’ dependency on the North. 3 Historian Margaret Geneva Long shows that abolitionist discourse draws a powerful link between wage labor and freedpeople’s health: Free labor was represented as killing disease – both in a symbolic and in a literal sense (cf. “Chap. 2”). While the concepts of “cleanliness” and “industry” emerge as cornerstones of these discourses of health, the poor character of healthcare available for freedpeople, reversely, is hardly ever acknowledged. When relief workers, however, eventually arrived in the South, Long continues, “they found that without public health measures, adequate food and clothing and basic medicines, no other forms of uplift were possible. Sickness and its causes – malnutrition and inadequate clothing and shelter – were a central concern of all the aid workers who went south” (“Chap. 2”). Northern women, in fact, contributed in crucial ways to offering this much-needed medical care and relief, even if they hardly ever discuss their contributions openly in autobiographic narratives. 4 In this article, I shall look closely at the diary and letters of abolitionist Laura M. Towne, a trained homeopath who came to the Sea Islands in early 1862, who subsequently co- founded one of the first schools for former slaves in the South on St. Helena Island, the Penn School, and who worked on this island for the rest of her life, the ensuing forty years. Her writings convey an idea of the scale of illness and suffering on the Sea Islands during and shortly after the Civil War. At the same time, they offer insights both in the restrictions and the discursive valences open to Towne as a white woman who provided medical relief for freed African Americans. Furthermore, Towne’s diary and “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 2 letters indicate what the discourse of early emancipation omits: a coherent discussion of how diseases raged in a wartime South where healthcare for freedpeople virtually did not exist. 5 After a historical contextualization, this article re-visits two discursive sites through which questions of health and healthcare were renegotiated and which are also central in Towne’s writing: the trope of teaching health within unhealthy spaces and the trope of “doctoring” family with its relation to homeopathy. Discussions concerning the health of freedpeople were put into the broader discursive context of an internal colonial encounter of domestication between Northern female “missionaries” and freedpeople who were portrayed as yet uncivilized other. Health and disease, thus, were represented as part of a “natural” field of female influence. Towne’s training as homeopath, in this context, is used as indication of her superior grasp of healing techniques vis-à-vis fellow-missionaries as well as freedpeople and as sign of a more suitable, more domestic medical practice as compared to allopathic medicine. References to wartime medical crises are rare in Towne’s accounts since their complicated causes and disastrous results defy easy metaphoric appropriation. In both what is narrated and what is omitted, healing and health are shaped as fields of female authority. In this sense, medicine and healing emerge as discursive sites of a class-specific, gendered, and racialized struggle over prestige, power, and authority within the public realm. 1 Civil War Healthcare and Female Commitment 6 Medical care during the Civil War depended on the service of female relief workers and nurses. Over the last twenty years, historians have revised the Civil War narrative by looking closely at the role women played, both in the Union and in the Confederacy; and providing healthcare for sick and wounded soldiers has been identified as an important field of female engagement. “Almost from the war’s inception,” Nina Silber writes in her influential Daughters of the Union, “Northern women began considering, and pursuing, the possibility of joining the Union struggle as nurses” (195). 7 The United States Sanitary Commission, with its aim to provide adequate nursing for Civil War soldiers, was “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 3 founded in 1861 following an initiative of the Women's Central Relief Association. While nursing was not institutionalized in the Confederacy, women still played an important and active part in it, as Drew Gilpin Faust has shown. According to Jane E. Schultz, “[m]ore than 20,000 women in the Union and Confederate states engaged in relief work during the Civil War” (2). 8 In Women at the Front, Schultz looks “at hospital work across regions, races, and classes, […] foregrounding differences between women and restoring agency in those whose voices did not rise above the pitch of traditional source narratives” (2). Schultz points out that Civil War nursing has mostly been considered as performed by white middle- to upper-class women on an unsalaried, voluntary basis. Schultz, in contrast, points out the diversity of backgrounds from which female relief workers emerged. 9 Diaries and letters as available sources, however, are mostly authored by middle- to upper-class women. These documents convey nursing in a sentimentalized fashion with emphasis on a set of hospital practices such as feeding the sick, washing the wounded, and comforting the dying. References to more independent medical work are unusual. The formulaic nature of such narratives deserves further consideration. In light of substantial cultural resistance toward female wartime nursing – in a world in which Army nurses were traditionally male convalescent soldiers – to represent military nursing as female-connoted should be considered part of a skillful (white, elite) female intervention into a discourse of power, laying out deep- going transformations of gendered realms of influence in the guise of a traditional rhetoric of separate spheres. In this sense, the rhetoric of the necessity of female nursing, arguably, did tie in with an antebellum feminist agenda of female participation in the public sphere, of equal citizenship, and with a plea to open arenas for women to enter professions such as medicine that found its expression in the small yet rising numbers of female medical students in antebellum North America.3 10 Wartime nursing is often discussed as categorically different from women’s salaried work as physicians, yet the example of women like Towne complicates this conception. It is true that the Civil War necessitated a broad, but only temporary access for women to the public sphere (cf. Reverby; Group and Roberts). While the voluntary and “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 4 temporary nature of female wartime engagement allowed framing this work as socially appropriate for middle- to upper-class women, these women did in reality often draw a salary. At the same time, a relevant portion of those few women who had received a medical education prior to the war did join the war efforts, if nominally as nurses or as teachers since finding official appointment as physicians was in most cases impossible. Trained female physicians, both with and without degrees, found ways to serve as medical relief workers, even if they had to understate their medical education (cf. Bellafaire and Graf 7-21).4 11 The function of nursing narratives in addressing the hospital experience of white middle- to upper-class nurses and the nursing of (white) wounded soldiers has productively been discussed in a variety of sources (see, for instance, Schultz). Cultural studies scholars, as Elizabeth Young, emphasize the symbolical and cultural work of the trope of nursing within nineteenth-century gendered social hierarchies. Yet while the nursing of wounded soldiers, as reality and as literary trope, looms large within the Civil War cultural imaginary and is central to any investigation of the commitment of women during the war, there is comparatively little research on women’s roles in providing general healthcare during the war, particularly healthcare for freedpeople in the South, that also considers questions of this healthcare’s discursive representation and its symbolic impact. This is also due to the fact that healthcare for freedpeople and, reversely, freedpeople’s health are questions only rarely discussed in pertinent contemporary sources. 12 The isolated Port Royal Experiment, broadly documented at the time as shaped by women, emerges in this context as an important, and yet too little examined, historical site. The abundance of sources that address the events on the Sea Islands allows not only for insights into a turbulent historical period: these different sources also illustrate the emergence of a discourse that, while suppressing references to a factual lack of organized healthcare, racialize freedpeople’s health as a function of wage labor and domestic discipline. 13 Only recently have questions concerning the character of healthcare provided for freedpeople during and directly after the Civil War started to attract focused scholarly attention. Next to Long’s Doctoring Freedom, two further “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 5 publications examine Civil War medicine with an emphasis on the role and situation of African Americans as patients and healers, a subject that so far had been largely ignored. In Intensely Human, Humphreys discusses the quality of medical care provided for African American soldiers during the war. In Sick from Freedom, Downs argues for a critical re-evaluation of the freedpeople’s medical situation and of the symbolic appropriation of their suffering, since this appropriation distorts the view on the inadequacy of care provided and, in some cases, perpetuates an inherently racist nineteenth-century agenda that focused on the “contraband” as commodified and objectified icon and instrument within a capitalist reconstruction of the South. 2 The Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne 14 Looking at healing and healthcare within the Port Royal Experiment, at racialized symbolizations of illness and health, and at the ambivalent role of white middle- and upper-class Northern women as medical caregivers, I propose to “read” the omission of the medical crisis Downs describes as indicative also of a crisis of representation in negotiations of contemporary white women’s roles, obligations, aspirations, and their assumed entitlement. I suggest complicating the discussion of white women as agents of relief and of medical care during the Civil War by reading autobiographic texts, as Towne’s, as representative of a wartime discourse that based – in a selective, romanticizing, and formulaic manner – a re-negotiation of female status and (white elite or middle-class) women’s role in contemporary North American society on an authority gained from a field of healthcare that is discursively shaped to mirror the domestic sphere. 15 In this context, the Port Royal Experiment is of particular interest for several reasons. First, it anticipates how questions of healthcare for freedpeople were approached in the reconstructed South. Second, women, who could only travel to the wartime Sea Islands in the capacity of teachers, were expected to provide basic medical care for the freedpeople once they arrived there.5 In their autobiographic accounts, female relief workers like Towne and Esther Hill Hawks as well as Elizabeth H. Botume, Austa M. French, Susan Walker, and African American “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 6 Charlotte Forten all reference healthcare as a subject of their concern, even if they only give very few details of their medical relief work. Third, of the few trained female physicians who are known to have served in different capacities during the Civil War, two found their way to the South Carolina Sea Islands: Hawks and Towne.6 Both women left behind diaries and letters, which further singles them out.7 Several studies have discussed Hawks’s contribution both to wartime healthcare and to its discursive transformation (cf. Humphreys Marrow; Long; Schultz; Twelbeck). Towne’s efforts as teacher, educator, and administrator, likewise, have found ample consideration (cf. Butchart; Faulkner), yet her medical work remains largely ignored. In the following, I shall attempt to shed light on Towne’s individual role and on her situatedness within a broader discourse of wartime healthcare, trying to draw a balanced picture both of her achievements and of the limitations set by her embededness in a dominant system of white social privilege. 16 The fourth child of seven of John Towne and Sarah Robinson Towne, Laura Matilda Towne was born in 1825 into a prominent and wealthy abolitionist family. Her father was a successful businessman, at one time the superintendent of the Boston city gas works (cf. Butchart). After having received what historian Ronald E. Butchart calls an “advanced education in the classics, philosophy, science, and music” (17), Laura Towne was educated at the Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, a progressive allopathic institution, which was opened in 1850 as the second female medical college in the United States. Additionally, she studied independently with German-born physician Constantine Hering, one of the pioneers of homeopathy in the US, probably also enrolling in his short-lived Penn Medical University. It is unclear, Jonathan Davidson notes, whether or not she graduated from either of these institutions (26). 17 In the 1850s, Towne taught various charity schools in the North (cf. Rose, “Laura Matilda Towne” 472). At the outbreak of the Civil War, already engaged in relief work, she was presented with what, according to Rupert Sargent Holland, who edited and published her diary and letters, she thought of as “her golden opportunity”: the chance to join the Port Royal Experiment. Commissioned by the Philadelphia-based Port Royal Relief Committee, she “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 7 accompanied this organization’s first shipment of goods to the Sea Islands (cf. Holland; Butchart 16).8 On her list “Port Royalists who sailed from New York of the ‘Oriental’ Wed. Apr. 9 1862,” Towne describes herself in very few words as “Laura M. Towne, Philadelphia, Abolitionist.” 18 Towne’s self-description conveys the significance she rightly saw in her abolitionist agenda, which was not shared by other Northern officials who, for instance as cotton agents, had been sent to the islands in late 1861. In some ways, however, her self-definition also indicates Towne’s uncertainty of her own “mission”: an uneasiness that was confirmed to be justified once she arrived on St. Helena Island. On Pope’s Plantation, which remained to be named after its former owner, she found accommodation together with several other “missionaries.” It soon became her duty to order the household for the men who worked as superintendents and supervisors on the island’s plantations, a task she was to share with fellow-relief worker Susan Walker, who – as Towne – was less than enthusiastic.9 For the first weeks on the island, the contact Towne made with freedpeople was mostly by handing out, and later selling, clothes that had been donated in the North. This was a time overshadowed by rivalries and controversies between the members of the different relief organizations over the character of relief to be offered to the freedpeople, but also over the gendered hierarchies among the Northern relief workers themselves. 19 In spring 1862, Towne’s friend and partner Ellen Murray, a trained teacher, came to St. Helena Island. Murray’s arrival allowed Towne to re-order the balance of power in relation to other “missionaries” and to redistribute tasks. While Murray took over teaching, Towne commenced “doctoring” the freedpeople, a duty that she describes as important and that she connotes with the attributes of scientific authority and knowledge, which were increasingly associated with modern medicine (including homeopathy) in mid-nineteenth-century America. At the same time, Towne inscribes herself into the discourse of domesticity as realm of female authority by emphasizing her own superior understanding of domestic principles such as cleanliness and industry, which she intricately intertwines with her claim of medical authority: a conjunction that becomes particular distinct in her self-projection as “family doctor.” “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 8 20 In her first months and years on the Sea Islands, Towne seized the power to change social realities that the professional roles of physician and teacher offer in order also to gain more authority in a male-dominated wartime and postwar society. Towne’s diaries and letters bespeak her belief in her superior competence vis-à-vis her African American co-workers, patients, and students. At the same time, they document that white male contemporaries were not always taking her efforts, and those of her female fellow-relief workers, seriously: an attitude to which her self-dramatization as female doctor also reacted. Increasingly, however, reality came in the way of pre- scripted roles, leading to both dissatisfaction with the duties of a female “family doctor” and to her strategy of omitting in her diaristic accounts, accounts she probably intended for publication or at least circulation in the North, what collided with contemporary social scripts available for white women, female doctors, and abolitionists. 3 “Putting th[e] lesson to use”: Teaching “Cleanliness” and “Order" 21 By initially framing her diary and letters within scripts of imperial domesticity (cf. Kaplan) – as missionary, teacher, and medical caregiver, and as motherly figure for the freedpeople – Towne, the trained homeopath, not only aims to escape the prevailing negative connotation of a “hen doctor.” By narrating her experiences through tropes of domesticity, discursively claiming freedpeople as “family” and depicting them as children in need of education (rather than medical care), she also secures for herself a position of supreme narrative authority, an authority warranted by both experience and education within a discourse of internal US American colonialism. 22 A host of narratives by Sea Islands relief workers, including Towne’s, demonstrates the ubiquity of a formula reminiscent of narratives of colonial encounter that represent “native spaces [as] potentially dangerous, disease ridden and disorderly” (Kothari 163). Northerners frame their accounts of the Port Royal Experiment by pathologizing the South as exotic space and simultaneously spatializing and racializing disease. Both diseases and colonial spaces, at the same time, are imagined to be conquered by order, industry, and cleanliness. In this way, “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 9 disciplining Southern spaces, and African Americans who are symbolically tied to them, Northern relief workers claim a superior position within a discourse of “teaching health.” 23 The conceptionalization of what became known as tropical diseases overlapped with contemporary racist pseudo-scientific polygenic theories, which claimed that newly categorized “races” were unequally prone to be affected by specific diseases. In the following section, the analysis will focus on the appropriation and dramatization of narratives of (internal) colonialism. Discussions of health and disease, in this context, are figuratively and literally linked to the United States South while the process of othering African Americans revolves around questions of spatialized and racialized health and disease. 24 In medical texts of the first half of the nineteenth century, the United States South is increasingly conceptualized as “tropical space” (cf. Murison 32). Particularly hypochondria and malingering, characterized by somatic symptoms such as dyspepsia as well as by laziness, were not only related to Southern climates, but were symbolically and literally linked to slavery. Justine S. Murison succinctly argues that, since “slavery connected the United States South with the West Indies, physicians and writers often superimposed the supposed nervous effects of tropical climates onto the more temperate environments of the southern states” (31). Northerners, in this discourse, are not affected by hypochondria, as slaves and slaveholders alike are, since they are saved by domestic industry and cleanliness. 25 The predominant explanation of “Southern” perils was that of “bad air” in relation to an excess of stagnant water or, conversely, a lack of water: the miasma that still served as main theory of disease in contemporary orthodox medicine.10 Even though not expressed explicitly in most autobiographic texts, the relation between the Sea Islands as precarious tropical space and the description of miasms is related to a racialization of the dangers these latter pose. “[E]ncod[ing] the landscape of health in racial terms,” Kathryn Shiveley Meier argues, “Civil War medicine believed miasms caused by water to be dangerous to ‘whites,’ yet harmless to African Americans” (20). In a related vein, in Slavery in South Carolina and the Ex-Slaves (1862), Austa M. French describes the Sea Islands in a way similar to the tropical spaces of travel writing, musing “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 10 about the differing susceptibilities of African Americans and “whites” to be affected by those spaces’ harmful properties: “The sun is life to him [“the Negro”] which is death to the White man. ‘The whole secret of health here,’ said a learned military officer long acclimated, South, ‘is to keep out of the sun. Do that on the healthy shores, and the evening air is innoxious” (308). Thus, French, a staunch abolitionist like her husband, famous reverend Mansfield French, takes contemporary racializing theories of disease for granted. 26 The general tone adopted in discussions of the South as tropical space, however, is one of eventual mastery over adversities. While places are “healthy” or “precarious,” they are presented as posing fewer dangers to the Northerners than to Southern “whites” and to former slaves. Shortly after her arrival on Pope’s Plantation on St. Helena Island, Towne in fact notes that she knows “from the accounts of the negroes that this plantation is a healthy one. Salt water nearly encircles it at high tide” (“Pope’s Plantation, St. Helena Island, April 21, 1862”). Here and in later diary entries and letters, she underscores that she is not in danger of infection.In the exploration of first impressions, which directly follows the “medical” examination of Towne’s place of arrival, it is striking how closely she follows the script of travel writing with its inherent colonizing agenda. “On the left are pines, in front a cotton-field just planted, to the right the negro quarters, a nice little street of huts which have recently been whitewashed, shaded by a row of the ‘Pride of China’ trees,” Towne continues. These trees are just in bloom and have very large clusters of purple flowers – a little like lilacs, only much more scattering. There is a vegetable garden also to the right and plenty of fig trees, one or two orange trees, but no other fruit. We have green peas, though, and I have had strawberries. (“Pope’s Plantation, St. Helena Island, April 21, 1862”; my emphasis) 27 In this passage, the text’s autobiographic persona adopts the narrative position of a supreme observer, thus investing in a visual economy of power not unlike Foucault’s panopticon (cf. Spurr 16), adopting a medical gaze that catalogues her surroundings into categories of health and potential danger. The narrator’s roaming, distanced, and superior gaze meets an inviting yet exotic place that is, at first, examined. It is visually appropriated and endorsed; its riches are claimed as the author’s property. Only then are the island’s inhabitants, the actual cause for Towne’s journey, introduced: “The number of the little darkies tumbling about at all hours is marvelous. They swarm on “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 11 the front porch and in the front hall” (“Pope’s Plantation, St. Helena Island, April 21, 1862”).11 28 The autobiographic narrative’s “we” of the earlier quote encompasses the Northern newcomers on the island whose arrival is thus narrated as a tale of first explorers who take in and appropriate the beauty and health of a foreign place, to eventually meet the yet uncivilized, slightly threatening natives. Instead of framing her story in the context of African American emancipation, Towne’s entry exoticizes and others the Southern place, St. Helena Island, and links it to the former who are presented as unruly, yet affectionate, and healthy children in need of an ordering parental hand. Even without using the term whose problematic ambivalence abolitionist relief workers were aware of, Towne references the character of the “contraband” who, according to Long, was fast becoming an “icon in [wartime] American culture” (“Chap. 2”). 29 “[C]ontraband,” Kate Masur argues, is “a ‘keyword’ in the history of emancipation, race, and citizenship in the United States” (1052). In wartime America, the term was used ambiguously, also referencing its more general meaning of an “illegal good.” The term thus continued to represent African Americans as objects rather than as individuals. “[T]here is every indication that the term ‘contraband’ caught on rapidly precisely because it provided a means for Northerners to continue thinking of escaped slaves as property, without disturbing antebellum racists preconceptions,” Fahs contends (152). 30 The cultural icon of the “contraband” is characterized by its simple and loyal goodwill as well as its robust and healthy constitution. “Contrabands” are depicted, in wartime culture, as happy and healthy when set to work, and the threat posed to their health is constituted by idleness and lack of order. This trope of idleness is repeatedly evoked in Towne’s writing, as in the description of a destitute African American family she encounters, and it is linked to health and disease: “In the quarters we [...] went to,” Towne reminisces, “we saw a dirty family and two horribly ugly old women. They had got a lesson from some one and said, ‘We got to keep clean or we’ll all be sick.’ They were not putting their lesson to use” (“Beaufort, S.C., April 17, 1862”). “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 12 31 This trope of idleness as related to health, in fact, structures Towne’s understanding of the freedpeople she encounters, putting a – both figurative and literal – medical reading into place. Another important discursive trope is that of cleanliness versus uncleanliness. As Towne’s exchange with destitute freedpeople in Beaufort indicates, she equally links uncleanliness to concepts of disease and illness. In this sense, Towne, upon her arrival, frames her duties on St. Helena Island as a work of imposing order and enforcing discipline by teaching cleanliness, purity, and health, thus racializing disease and constructing it as direct result of (what she perceives as) disorder. 32 The trope of cleanliness versus uncleanliness is spatialized and related to the medical concept of the miasma, as Towne’s autobiographic writing indicates. This, importantly, aligns the Southern spaces described by abolitionist relief workers with another site of contemporary concern: the urban slum. Peter Stallybrass and Allon White have argued that the nineteenth-century city is discursively constructed around the concepts of filth and cleanliness, purity and impurity, and the fear of the transgression of these binaries (cf. 136). The discursive link between the (Northern) city and the (pseudo-tropical) Southern space directs attention to the social underpinnings of the trope of cleanliness. Referencing Stallybrass and White, Steve Pile describes the discourse of uncleanliness as part of a “bourgeois Imaginary [that] saw the ‘lower’ classes as ignoring the moral codes necessary for respectability” (179) and as related to the bourgeois fear of the social other. 33 The recurrent reference to uncleanliness in the autobiographic writings by Northern relief workers in the South, thus, transfers to the South a social hierarchy in which freedpeople are approximated with the social low- Other, as in Towne’s diary. At the same time, these categorizations of social class distinctly intersect with preconceptions of race. The evocation of the concepts of cleanliness versus uncleanliness, furthermore, also functions as assertion of Towne’s own whiteness and her own social status, and thus as authorization of a superior position within a powerful symbolic economy that connotes whiteness with both health, diligence, and industry, and that privileges this whiteness as crucial sign of authority. In this sense, “[n]eatness and hygiene,” as Bridged T. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 13 Heneghan argues, “developed […] in part as a response to [the] demand for racial purity, requiring visible spotlessness for the conferring of legal privilege’s and social status” (133). Towne’s narrative construction of a causal relation between purity and cleanliness, moral values, health, and spaces of discipline, in fact, mirrors nineteenth-century health debates that imagined disease as characteristic of colonial spaces as well as the urban slum. In this context, health is supposed to result from discipline imposed on the racialized and social other. Accepting order, thus, is the recipe for health that Towne writes out for the former slaves she encounters upon her arrival on the Sea Islands and whom she exoticizes and represents following the emerging formula of the childlike, simple “contraband” who needs to be disciplined to work in order to remain healthy. Increasingly, however, Towne became aware of the necessity of actual “doctoring” on the islands, and she begins to dramatize herself as a “family doctor.” 4 Doctoring “our people”: Healing Family 34 Together with the overwhelming majority of its white population, physicians had fled from Beaufort and the Sea Islands in November 1861. While white Southern physicians resumed practicing medicine after the war, no healthcare structures survived in the Southern territories during Union occupation. While the island’s population was growing dramatically, slave communities, on whose intimate knowledge on the part of the healer African American conjure as a form of alternative medicine relied, were disrupted as a consequence of war. Interrogated by the American Freedmen’s Inquiry Commission in Beaufort in 1863, freedman Harry McMillan stated that there are hardly enough (Western white) physicians on the Sea Islands, also intimating a lack of interest in the health of freedpeople in the few physicians who were available: “I do not think there are doctors enough; the islands are very large. If you send for the doctor, he will come; probably if you send for him one day you will see him a day or two afterwards. They do not get out of bed to go when called” (Berlin 254). 35 In narratives of Northern work on the Sea Islands, the provision of medical relief is often identified as one of the female relief workers’ tasks once they arrived, even if those “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 14 women were officially sent to the South as teachers. Towne soon started to frame her work on the Sea Islands in this way, pointing out that she does “a lot of doctoring,” yet without detailing her tasks, her experiences, her successes, and her failures. “In the afternoons,” Towne states in 1862, “so many folks come for clothing, or on business, or to be doctored, that I rarely have an hour” (“St. Helena Island, July 17, 1862”). In a diary entry from 26 August 1862, Towne describes her daily routines as follows: I get up about six and hurry down so as to have breakfast by seven for Captain Hooper […]. After that I generally have three or four patients, feed my birds, and am ready by nine for driving out to see my patients on five plantations – only one plantation or two a day, though. The roads are horrible and the horses ditto, so I have a weary time getting along […]. We come hurrying home by two o’clock or a little before […]. We snatch a lunch and begin school. [...] At four, school is out for the children. Ellen then takes the adults while I go doctoring down to the “nigger houses,” or street of cabins. [...] I generally have several patients to attend to in the evening, and the rest of the time Ellen and I are kept busy folding papers for the medicines. (“St. Helena’s, August 26, 1862”) 36 “I have a large practice as doctor” (“St. Helena’s, May 5, 1862”), Towne states on 5 May 1862, and five days later: “The day I kept school for Miss Winsor I had the hardest time of all, and I concluded perhaps I was better for this work than teaching. In my doctoring I can do much good and give much advice that is wanted” (“St. Helena’s, May 11, 1862”). While Towne, upon her arrival on the Sea Islands, had adopted a discourse that had promoted health through teaching order and cleanliness, she soon started to fill the position of a doctor for the freedpeople. Towne, in fact, was one of the very few healers on St. Helena Island. 37 Only in two cases, however, does Towne discuss her medical duties in relative detail. On the one hand, “Aunt Bess,” an elderly African American woman with chronic leg ulcers, is mentioned repeatedly. Even though Towne is unable to cure Bess, as most practitioners of her time would have been, her illness – a widespread condition in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries – fits well into Towne’s self-dramatization as faithful female family doctor. “We have got to calling them our people and loving them really,” Towne accordingly states in 1862 (“St. Helena’s, May 13, 1862”), claiming the Sea Islands’ freedpeople as “family.” 38 The other type of cases Towne refers to are related to obstetrics and to pediatric medicine. “We had the prettiest baby born here the other day,” Towne writes in July 1862. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 15 And in 1878, when she has already been complaining of her duties as doctor for years, she notes: If you had seen the three little skeleton babies that were brought to me to-day, and if you had heard one poor mother, whose baby seemed dying, say, “Me een-a-pray day and night for you to come and save my baby,” [...]. I think that baby will die before the woman can get it home, but the other two I have some hope of, now that the mothers have advice and medicine. (“September 22, 1878”) 39 While Towne thus depicts her work as doctoring women and “family,” she otherwise does not elaborate on the cases she treats, and she does not discuss the general state of healthcare on the islands. She does not even acknowledge that she treats her fellow relief workers, a fact substantiated, however, by Charlotte Forten who writes on 19 January 1863: “Miss T[owne] came to see me and did me good, as usual with her good medicines and her sunshiny face” (Grimké 438). 40 Increasingly, however, Towne complains about the physical strain that the work as medical doctor creates, also admitting to not visiting her patients regularly. Towne’s enthusiasm for “doctoring,” in fact, distinctly declines over the years. In 1864, she writes: “I am not afraid of being sick myself, but of having to nurse and doctor those who are” (“Aunt Rachel’s Village, St. Helena, February 7, 1864”). In 1867, when Towne still has a “regular doctoring levee in [her] school-room,” she asks Hering, her former mentor, to send a medical graduate. “If I could only escape from this part of my work here I should be very glad, for I do it badly and very inefficiently. I never visit, so you may know how uncertainly I must generally prescribe for all who are not able to come to me” (“March 3, 1867”).12 41 Arguably, complex reasons let to Towne’s growing disaffection with practicing medicine, or perhaps simply with discussing her practice in her diary and letters. Dominant discourse prescribed avoiding mention of freedpeople’s health in the writing she intended to make public. But refugee freedpeople were those who were most affected by serious diseases, including smallpox, and who were in dire need of medical help and relief, which Towne could only inadequately provide for lack of supplies, because of contemporary medicine’s general incapacity of effectively treating epidemic diseases, but probably also because she herself was not trained for such emergencies. Her experiences, thus, pointed out the shortcomings of a discourse that equaled health with order, cleanliness, and “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 16 wage labor and blanked out the status quo of a lack of healthcare. 42 Thus, Towne refers to her medical duties if they comply with a more general understanding of the tasks of a woman healing family, quite in line with the role of “women doctors” that Sarah Josepha Hale, the famous editor of Godey’s Ladys’ Book, had envisioned in her 1852 “Appeal to the American Christians on Behalf of the Ladies’ Medical Missionary Society,” in which she claimed the necessity of female physicians particularly in missionary projects. In her work on the Sea Islands, Towne must increasingly have understood the impossibility of doing “lots of doctoring” and relating her work according to the scripts of the contemporary white (medical) culture. Her letters and diary, however, do give indications of how the subject of healthcare for freedpeople increasingly became racialized and effaced, even in the writings of abolitionists like Towne herself who, after all, argued that these freedpeople should be treated like family, but, as she continued, “not so much individually as the collective whole – the people and our people” (“St. Helena’s, May 13, 1862”). 5 “[A]ntidotes from my little doctor’s box”: Gender, Medical Prestige, and Homeopathy 43 It is no coincidence that Towne had received a training in homeopathic medicine. Mid-nineteenth-century Philadelphia, in fact, was a stronghold of homeopathic teaching in the US. In the 1840s, Towne’s mentor Hering devised the so-called Homoeopathic Domestic Kit, a box that contained a set of labelled drugs together with a copy of his popular book, The Domestic Physician. The domestic kit, to be sold particularly to women to treat their family members and avoid calling in expensive and little-trusted allopathic doctors, became an outstanding success (cf. Kirschmann 34). At a time when orthodox medicine still had few effective drugs and cures to offer and many orthodox physicians still relied on the use of aggressive and dangerous “heroic medicine,” the success of homeopathy, also by addressing women who did traditionally nurse family members, was simply logical. Feminist activist Elizabeth Cady Stanton embraced homeopathy because it allowed women to escape “the cruel bondage of mind and suffering of body […] by tak[ing] the liberty of being [their] “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 17 own physician of both body and soul” (qtd. in Kirschmann 29). An impressive number of prominent contemporaries, furthermore, from Harriet Beecher Stowe to Louisa May Alcott Mark Twain, William James, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, to Henry David Thoreau, likewise proclaimed their belief in homeopathic medicine (cf. Ullman 26). 44 Homeopathy, in fact, was linked to “various antebellum reform impulses,” as Anne Taylor Kirschman asserts (30), which translated into a greater willingness within homeopathy as a movement to allow women to enter medical schools and to practice homeopathic medicine, both as lay practitioners as Stanton and as graduate doctors. In the context of the relative openness of homeopathy toward lay practitioners, furthermore, Towne’s willingness to “doctor” freedpeople as extended family is consistent. 45 Actual references to homeopathy in Towne’s writing are scant, yet telling. Thus, Towne writes that, should she fall ill, she wishes to be treated by “Lieutenant Belcher […], a stanch homoeopathist,” and continues: “we have promised to doctor each other should occasion require” (“Sunday, May 4, 1862”). An episode from July 1862 demonstrates that her botanical knowledge was limited, contrary to her assumed air of wisdom, but that her “little doctor’s box,” presumably a domestic kit, was at hand: I gave Ellen and Mr. Wells each a berry which I supposed was a “ground berry.” Mr. W. ate his in silence, but Ellen exclaimed that it was intensely bitter. I was alarmed, for I knew that the berry belonged to a poisonous family. We asked some people whether they were good to eat, and they said “No – poison.” I then made the two victims hurry back to Mr. Jenkins’ house and drink some strong coffee, besides giving antidotes from my little doctor’s box. No bad effects. (“July 20, Sunday”) 46 In Gullah Culture in America, Willbur Cross contends that Towne “quickly acquainted herself […] with the Gullah folk medicine that had been brought to the Sea Islands from West Africa and the uses of plants, roots, and herbs to cure or alleviate maladies” (125). While these medical practices would, in fact, not have been genuinely akin to homeopathy, other alternative medical schools, most importantly Thomsonianism with its immensely popular self-help movement as well as eclectic medicine, propagated the use of medicinal herbs and botanical remedies. If Cross’s argument is correct, however, there is no further indication of Towne’s interest in the curative qualities of local herbs and in the methods of Gullah folk medicine in her writing. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 18 47 The above episode in fact indicates, or at least claims, that this knowledge was negligible and that Towne did not take African American folk medicine seriously. “Maum Katie,” whose respectful African American title indicates that she served as healer and midwife in her community, is referred to in Towne’s writing as “spiritual healer,” “fortune teller,” and “prophetess,” underscoring Towne’s own authority rather than acknowledging the African American woman’s expertise, which is presented as inferior. Praising “Maum Katie,” furthermore, is of a tactical nature: “I am going to cultivate her acquaintance. I have been sending her medicine for a year nearly, and she ‘hangs upon top me,’ refusing all medicine but mine” (“Sunday, May 4, 1862”). Thus, Towne establishes a hierarchy of female authority, in which she herself holds a position of superior status. “Dr. Jacob,” another African American healer, is treated far less respectfully in Towne’s writing. “He is a man who has poisoned enough people with his herbs and roots, and magic,” Towne argues, “for his chief remedy with drugs is spells and incantations” (“February 15, 1874”). This hostility particularly toward male healers is provoked in no small part by the influence conjure doctors enjoyed in African American communities. 48 Increasingly over the years of “doctoring,” Towne complains about what she perceives as lack of discipline on the part of African American patients. If Towne’s writing parallels teaching and healing, both techniques of imposing discipline, she interpreted freedpeople’s resistance to this discourse as proof of an irreformable understanding of hygiene and cleanliness. This resistance seemingly validated racialized theories of disease, and particularly blamed women – whose task was believed to internalize order and to enforce cleanliness. “I am nearly ill too,” Towne writes in 1864. Every evening I fold powders and every afternoon I take my way down street and stop at every house, giving medicine at the door, but lately not going in as I used to, for they keep their rooms so dark I cannot see the patients, and if I order a window opened, I find it nailed up the next time I come. The people are beginning to follow a practice which I dislike. They will wash the patients with strong pokeroot, and vinegar and salt. (“January 7”) 49 The “practice” Towne rejects, however, was part of a folk remedy against smallpox, freedpeople’s only resort in the absence of organized healthcare and the official refusal to address what increasingly became a medical crisis.13 Downs explains that “[w]ithout vaccination, many people relied on “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 19 homeopathic [and alternative] remedies to ward off the virus. From covering the body with tar to isolating afflicted family members to a remote location, freedpeople devised ways to prevent the virus from spreading within their community” (“The Other Side…” 91).14 Towne – an alternative practitioner herself – refuses to acknowledge the effectiveness of other alternative medical treatments and medicines, placing homeopathy symbolically in strategic positions alongside or against orthodox medicine as necessary in different discursive contexts. 50 Towne’s self-presentation as homeopath and “family doctor” and her refusal to acknowledge folk medicine and folk medical practices, thus, should be read within the symbolic register of an appropriation of cultural authority through the assumption of the role of a trained physician. It mirrors the difficulties white women experienced and the possibilities they had to gain ground within a gendered and raced struggle for more influence in the public realm. Denied access to most orthodox medical schools, homeopathy – with its developing affinity to family practice – made it easier for women to gain professional knowledge, which they rightly considered necessary to exercise a broader social influence. Homeopathy was welcomed in nineteenth-century intellectual circles, and homeopaths thus held prestigious positions to contribute to a reform- oriented discourse. At the same time, homeopathy was a school tailored to the sensibilities of the contemporary intellectual elite of particularly white middle- to upper- classes. Thus if, according to contemporary critics, Thomsonianism constituted the “radicalism of the barnyard,” homeopathy was the “quackery of the drawing- room” (cf. Whorton 68), even if – at the time – the scientific connotations of allopathic versus homeopathic medicine were still in no way firmly in place and the respective scientificity of the schools was still very much embattled. If the term “modern medicine” was already used, it was attributed to both fractions. In this sense, Towne’s references to doctoring with the homeopath’s “doctor’s box,” as well as her neglect of discussing local folk medicine, bespeak more than simply medical practices of the day: they encode a struggle for authority and prestige that Towne, as a white woman, articulated against the backdrop of a white male establishment, symbolized by orthodox medicine, and against African American traditions and culture, symbolized by folk medicine. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 20 6 “The health on the island is good”: Repressing Medical Crisis 51 While Towne reacted with indignation to the freedpeople’s refusal to embrace the regime of medical discipline she teaches, she is herself increasingly forced to make note of the shortcomings of a doctrine of teaching health in light of African American refugees’ extreme poverty and its direct medical consequences that teaching alone could in no way heal. On the Sea Islands, refugees from different Southern regions arrived from 1862 onward, and, among other epidemics, there were outbreaks of smallpox between 1862 and 1868 when the disease also repeatedly affected mainland South Carolina. On Hilton Head Island with the freedmen’s town Mitchelville, where many refugees were sent, “smallpox killed freedpeople by ‘tens and twenties,’” an infected refugee reports in 1864 (Downs, Sick from Freedom “Chap. 4”). Downs shows that by 1865, “[i]n the Sea Islands, [...] it killed roughly 800 freedpeople a week” (“Chap. 4”). Northern relief organizations, however, as for instance the New England Sanitary Commission, were unwilling to support healthcare for freedpeople (cf. Silber). 52 Long established medical protocols were not followed in the treatment of this outbreak of smallpox, a failure caused by the turmoil of war, but not by it alone. It was facilitated by a growing reluctance – on the part of the Union Army, Northern benevolent societies as well as, from 1865 on, federal institutions such as the Freedmen’s Bureau – to support financially the healthcare for freedpeople in the South, leading to a situation in which doctors were no longer financed and the few existing hospitals were eventually disbanded.15 It was, at the same time, also made possible by racist theories of the origin and spread of disease and of racial differences in individuals’ susceptibility to be infected. In 1866, the New York Times reports: “The small-pox rages among them … dirt, debauchery, idleness, are the causes of this inordinate mortality” (qtd. in Downs, Sick from Freedom “Chap. 4”) 53 The only effective measure to prevent a smallpox epidemic, and to counter the disease’s worst forms, is vaccination, which had been introduced at the beginning of the nineteenth century, then displacing inoculation. To this “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 21 day, there is no cure once smallpox has set in. According to Long, “[b]uilding and maintaining ‘pest houses,’ where smallpox victims would die or recover away from non- immune people, and burying the dead before corpses could become a public health problem were twin responsibilities” (“Chap. 4”). In the absence of effective methods of treatment, the practice of nailing up windows, described in a negative vein by Towne for leading to “bad air” and uncleanliness, might have been a strategy, on the one hand, to create what came close to “pest houses” and thus to contain the disease while not forcing families apart and, on the other hand, to minimize the disease’s visibility and its association with African Americans as a group. 54 While isolated smallpox cases had occurred regularly in mid-nineteenth-century America (Kotar and Gessler “Chap. 1”), the wartime circumstances led to a spread of the virus, and smallpox – together with other infectious diseases – claimed more casualties among the soldiers on both sides than injuries incurred in battle. During the war, thousands of soldiers as well as civilians were infected, and approximately one patient in three died. This situation constituted a threat particularly to freedpeople whose risk of infection – as soldiers, refugees, but also as residents of areas to which many refugees fled – was particularly high. 55 Smallpox had already then a long history of metaphorization. Dayle B. DeLancey demonstrates that both in antebellum proslavery and abolitionist discourses, smallpox was a sign to evoke the disaster of ongoing slavery, but also proslavery fears of emancipation (308-09). Particularly in the Civil War South, this feared viral disease was increasingly racialized. 56 While relief workers such as Towne discursively linked health to cleanliness and order, thus revealing the proximity of teaching and the practice of medicine in imposing discipline, the freedpeople’s alleged susceptibility to contract smallpox was linked to their failure to follow what white relief workers propagated as the discipline of cleanliness. Towne’s writing, in fact, bears witness to the racialization of smallpox, even if only few passages indicate that smallpox did claim victims during and after the war.16 In an entry from April 1869, at a time when the actual epidemic was over, Towne includes a long paragraph on smallpox in one of her letters home, claiming “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 22 that vaccination seemed to be of no account at all and that people had it (smallpox) over three times sometimes, and died of it at last; that I vaccinated children, it took well, and in a month or two after they died of smallpox. They say white folks cannot catch diseases from blacks. Lottie Fortin was vaccinated and took it, with not half the exposure I had to it. (“April 11, 1869”) 57 Towne had probably used an inert, old, weak, or otherwise ineffective vaccine (cf. Schroeder-Lein 321). But instead of considering this explanation, the above passage, one of the very few in which she mentions Forten with whom she shared a house, implicitly elaborates the notion – popular at the time, yet in stark contrast to century-long experience (cf. Willrich; Kotar and Gessler) – that smallpox was a disease of African Americans for whom not even vaccination provided efficient protection and that it was not communicable to whites. 58 For Towne, to reduce the visibility of smallpox in her writing might have followed a number of purposes. On the one hand, it was in line with a general policy of sugarcoating the medical situation in the South. On the other hand, she might have aimed at protecting her patients, “her people.” This strategy of repressing the representation of smallpox, however, not only further marginalized those who were already affected by the disease and distorted the view on disease control. It also consolidated the symbolic link between health, cleanliness, order, and free wage labor since it was particularly refugees, and among them especially women and children, who were affected by epidemic diseases such as smallpox. Not only racializing but also gendering smallpox, Towne marginalized and pathologized women and children, who succumbed to the virus in larger numbers than men (cf. Downs, Sick from Freedom). 59 Towne’s writing, thus, gives a valuable indication of how female medical engagement during the Civil War was narrated within the broader context of two in part conflicting discourses: the relief work of white elite women and the discussion of healthcare for freedpeople in the Civil War and early Reconstruction South. In her diary and letters, it is possible to trace discursive sites that indicate how medicine was appropriated as a trope of authority and prestige in a struggle for female influence by intricately linking medicine simultaneously to the domestic (through the figure of the family doctor and the reference to homeopathy) and to the public sphere (through the claim of the expert and scientific knowledge of modern medicine). “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 23 By following the chronology of her entries and letters, it becomes evident that Towne was aware of the discursive embededness of her own writing. Thus, she chooses specific tropes in order to achieve a skillful self-dramatization as physician, administrator, teacher, and abolitionist. While this self-representation in part blocks the view on contemporary healthcare practices, it allows insights into the empowering function of medical discourses. 60 12. In 1884, Dr. Peters had arrived on St. Helena Island. Towne notes that “[t]he people all seem pleased to have a doctor of their own, and all have paid Dr. Peters so far, but he charges very little,” “Frogmore, May 22, 1884”; in the original letter, the year is illegible. Peters might have taken over Towne’s medical practice around this time, and he remained on the island for at least the next nine years: his name turns up in several articles as that of the doctor in charge after the Sea Islands Hurricane swept over St. Helena on 27 September 1893. This “Dr. Peters” was, in all probability, Dr. William Clancy Peters from Frankford, PA, a graduate of the Hahnemann Medical College in Philadelphia, as Peters’s obituary from 20 September 1916, published in the Harrisburg Telegraph, states, cf. “Obituary.” The island’s first African American physician was Dr. York Bailey (1882-1971), a Penn School graduate who took up medical practice on St. Helena as the first African American physician to continue his work for fifty years, cf. Cross 121. BIBLIOGRAPHY “A Girl’s Soldier Life: The Romantic Military Career of a Well-Known Philadelphia Lady.” St. Lawrence Plain Dealer (1887-1890): 2. Web. 14 Mar. 2014. Bellafaire, Judith, and Mercedes Graf. Women Doctors in War. College Station: Texas A&M UP, 2009. Berlin, Ira. “The Wartime Genesis of Free Labor, 1861-1865.” Slaves no More: Three Essays on Emancipation and the Civil War. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1992. 77-186. 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Oxford: Oxford UP, 2006. 78-103. ---. Sick from Freedom: African-American Illness and Suffering during the Civil War and Reconstruction. New York: Oxford UP, 2012. E-book. Fahs, Alice. The Imagined Civil War: Popular Literature of the North & South, 1861-1865. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2001. Faulkner, Carol. Women’s Radical Reconstruction: The Freedmen’s Aid Movement. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 2006. E-book. Faust, Drew Gilpin. Mothers of Invention: Women of the Slaveholding South in the American Civil War. 1996. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2007. French, Austa M. Slavery in South Carolina and the Ex-Slaves; or the Port Royal Mission. New York: French, 1862. Grimké, Charlotte F. The Journals of Charlotte Forten Grimké. Ed. Brenda Stevenson. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1988. Group, Thetis M., and Joan I. Roberts. Nursing, Physician Control, and the Medical Monopoly: Historical Perspectives on Gendered Inequality in Roles, Rights, and Range of Practice. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 2001. Hale, Sarah Josepha Buell. “An Appeal to the American Christians on Behalf of the Ladies’ Medical Missionary Society.” Godey's Ladys’ Book 54 (1852): 185-88. Haller, John S. The History of Homeopathy: From Rational Medicine to Holistic Healthcare. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 2009. Hawks, Esther Hill. A Woman Doctor's Civil War: Esther Hill Hawks’ Diary. Ed. Gerald Schwartz. Columbia: U of South Carolina P, 1984. Heneghan, Bridget T. Whitewashing America: Material Culture and Race in the Antebellum Imagination. Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 2003. Holland, Mary A.G., ed. Our Army Nurses: Interesting Sketches, Addresses, and Photographs of Nearly One Hundred of the Noble Women Who Served in Hospitals and on Battlefields during Our Civil War. Boston, MA: P of Lounsbery, 1895. Holland, Rupert Sargent. Introduction. Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne, 1862-1884. Cambridge, MA: Riverside P, 1912. E-book. Humphreys, Margaret. Intensely Human: The Health of Black Soldiers in the American Civil War. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins UP, 2007. E-book. ---. Marrow of Tragedy: The Health Crisis of the American Civil War. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins UP, 2013. E-book. Kaplan, Amy. “Manifest Domesticity.” American Literature 70.3 (1998): 581-606. Kirschmann, Anne Taylor. A Vital Force: Women in American Homeopathy. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 2004. Kotar, S.L., and J.E. Gessler. Smallpox: A History. New York: McFarland, 2013. E-book. Kothari, Uma. “Spatial Practices and Imaginaries: Experiences of Colonial Officers and Development Professionals.” Colonial Pathologies: American Tropical Medicine, Race, and Hygiene in the Philippines. Ed. Warwick Anderson. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2006. 161-75. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 25 Long, Margaret Geneva. Doctoring Freedom: The Politics of African American Medical Care in Slavery and Emancipation. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2012. E-book. Masur, Kate. “‘A Rare Phenomenon of Philological Vegetation’: The Word ‘Contraband’ and the Meaning of Emancipation in the United States.” Journal of American History 93.4 (2007): 1050-85. Web. 20 Sep. 2014. Meier, Kathryn Shiveley. Nature's Civil War: Common Soldiers and the Environment in 1862 Virginia. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2013. Murison, Justine S. The Politics of Anxiety in Nineteenth-Century American Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2011. “Obituary.” Harrisburg Telegraph 20 Sep. 1916: 18. Penn School Papers, 1862-2004. Web. . 21. Mar. 2014. Pile, Steve. The Body and the City: Psychoanalysis, Space, and Subjectivity. London: Routledge, 1996. Reverby, Susan M. Ordered to Care: The Dilemma of American Nursing, 1850-1945. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1987. Rose, Willie L. Rehearsal for Reconstruction: The Port Royal Experiment. London: Oxford UP, 1964. ---. “Laura Matilda Towne.” Notable American Women: 1607-1950: A Biographical Dictionary. Ed. Edward James, Janet W. James, and Paul S. Boyer. Vol. 3. Cambridge: Belknap P, 1971. 472-74. Schroeder-Lein, Glenna R. The Encyclopedia of Civil War Medicine. Armonk, NY: Sharpe, 2008. Schultz, Jane E. Women at the Front: Hospital Workers in Civil War America. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2004. Silber, Nina. Daughters of the Union: Northern Women Fight the Civil War. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 2005. Spurr, David. The Rhetoric of Empire: Colonial Discourse in Journalism, Travel Writing, and Imperial Administration. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 1993. Stallybrass, Peter, and Allon White. The Politics and Poetics of Transgression. London: Methuen, 1986. Sullivan, Regina D. “Orianna Moon Andrews (1834-1883).” Women in the American Civil War. Ed. Lisa Tendrich Frank. Notre Dame, IN: ABC-CLIO, 2008. 103-04. Towne, Laura M. Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne, 1862-1884. Ed. Rupert Sargent Holland. Cambridge, MA: Riverside P, 1912. E-book. ---. “Port Royalists who Sailed from New York of the ‘Oriental’ Wed. Apr. 9 1862.” Folder 335c. Penn School Papers 1862-2004 and undated. The Southern Historical Collection. University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Archival Material. Web. http://www2.lib.unc.edu/mss/inv/p/ Penn_School.html#folder_335a#1. 21 Mar. 2014. Twelbeck, Kirsten. “Reconstructing Race Relations: Esther Hill Hawks and Her Life among Freedmen.” American Lives. Ed. Alfred Hornung. Heidelberg: Winter, 2013. 173-88. Ullman, Dana. The Homeopathic Revolution: Why Famous People and Cultural Heroes Chose Homeopathy. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books, 2007. Whorton, James C. Nature Cures: The History of Alternative Medicine in America. New York: Oxford UP, 2004. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 26 Willrich, Michael. Pox: An American History. New York: Penguin P, 2012. Young, Elizabeth. Disarming the Nation: Women’s Writing and the American Civil War. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1999. ABSTRACTS In 1862, Laura M. Towne – abolitionist, teacher, educator, and trained homeopath – joined the Port Royal Experiment, a project initiated by Northern benevolent societies to provide education and relief for former slaves on the South Carolina Sea Islands, which had been occupied by Union troops in late 1861. On the Sea Islands as well as in broader Northern culture, healthcare for freedpeople – and freedpeople’s health – soon became controversial topics. This article traces how Towne as homeopathic practitioner uses medical tropes in autobiographic documents intended for publication or circulation in the North to increase her own authority within a wartime discourse and how, at the same time, she avoids reflection about medical crises. INDEX Keywords: African American culture, African American emancipation, Civil War, cleanliness, discourse of authority, Discursive sites, family doctor, female doctor, freedpeople, Gullah culture, healthcare, homeopathy, internal colonialism, modern medicine, Port Royal Experiment, race, racialization and medicine, smallpox, the South, travel writing, whiteness, “contraband, ” Sea Islands Mots-clés: Austa M. French, Charlotte Forten (Grimké), Esther Hill Hawks, Laura Matilda Towne, Sarah Josepha Buell Hale AUTHOR ANTJE DALLMANN Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, Institut fuer Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Unter den Linden 6, D-10099 Berlinantje.dallmann@staff.hu-berlin.de “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 27 mailto:antje.dallmann@staff.hu-berlin.de “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne 1 Civil War Healthcare and Female Commitment 2 The Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne 3 “Putting th[e] lesson to use”: Teaching “Cleanliness” and “Order" 4 Doctoring “our people”: Healing Family 5 “[A]ntidotes from my little doctor’s box”: Gender, Medical Prestige, and Homeopathy 6 “The health on the island is good”: Repressing Medical Crisis
work_f6ap5b23mzb4dpt3x7p76q4w6y ---- aggliko-exofillo-16 American Literature for a Post-American Era Antonis Balasopoulos Wai Chee Dimock and Lawrence Buell, eds. Shades of the Planet: American Literature as World Literature. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2007. 304 pp. $ 24.95 paper. ISBN: 0691128529. It is one of the mordant ironies of the post 9/11 era that the objective of the so-called “post-nationalist” turn in American Studies—dislodging the study of American literature and culture from the parochial framework of the nation-state—now seems at once precipitate and obsolete. It appears precipitate to the extent that what followed it in the first years of this century was a recrudescence of the most virulent forms of U.S. imperial nationalism—an eventuality which, like that of 9/11 itself, appears to have been as unforeseen by experts as it was profoundly consequential for both the U.S. and the world. But the call for a “post-nationalist” critical agenda also now strikes one as curiously beside the point, given the fact that the project of overcoming the self-indulgent insularism that dogged American Studies seems thoroughly ironized by what Immanuel Wallerstein’s eponymous study prophetically described as “the decline of American power.” The cumulative combination of waning consumer confidence, corporate insolvency, rapidly expanding national debt, rising inflation and currency depreciation has demonstrably burst the “bubble” of U.S. global economic hegemony, giving considerable weight to the forecasts of Robert Brenner’s The Boom and the Bubble (2003) a study perhaps not accidentally published in the same year that Wallerstein made his own, seemingly counterfactual, predictions. To put it otherwise, the kind of imperial nationalism the “new American Studies” sought to challenge has proven at once both far more recalcitrant to cultural dismantling than it had appeared to be, and more exposed toward the structural realities of the world system than merely https://doi.org/10.26262/gramma.v16i0.6441 https://doi.org/10.26262/gramma.v16i0.6441 cultural critique could ever hope to demonstrate. The title of Fareed Zakharia’s recent The Post-American World (2008) is in this sense an apt commentary on the historical fate of the preoccupations evidenced in John Carlos Rowe’s earlier Post-Nationalist American Studies (2000): the vision of a “post-nationalist” Americanism is now increasingly offset by a “post- American” reality, one shaped less by the voluntaristic imperative to open the disciplinary domains of U.S. history, culture and literature to the world, than by the brute weight of a particular nation state’s economic decline and the dissipation of its formerly hegemonic status. Wai Chee Dimock and Lawrence Buell’s Shades of the Planet (2007) —subtitled “American Literature as World Literature”—seems to me to reflect a consequent uncertainty as regards the present state and future prospects of the “post-nationalist” wager in literary scholarship. The primary symptom of such uncertainty here is the frequently evasive or unreflectively instrumentalized status of “literature” itself, and further, the lack of a stead-fast exposition of its cognitive and epistemological place vis-a-vis those geopolitical, spatial, and ecological markers the volume’s title incorporates: “American,” “world” and “planet.” For one, Dimock’s introduction to the volume assumes the crisis of the “fiction” of U.S. territorial sovereignty, imaging it in terms not of literary or socio- political history but in those of natural catastrophe, with hurricane Katrina functioning as a means of bringing to the surface the nation’s reduction to an “epiphenomenon,” a “set of erasable lines on the face of the earth” (1). Such a formulation eschews direct engagement not simply with the specificities of literary geography and literary history, but also with the current, socio-historical circumstances of their study: on the one hand, the affective and structural persistence of the nation notwithstanding the ritualized blanket diagnosis of its decline, and on the other, the multiple crises that have laid waste to much of its utopian, promise-based aura in the United States itself (indeed, the impact of hurricane Katrina was one among many recent reminders of the sorry state of infrastructure and welfare investments in the U.S.). Dimock’s striking unwillingness to frame the volume’s agenda in terms compatible with its nominal scope is further evidenced in her foregrounding of the essentially mathematical concepts of set and subset, whose conceptual implications—the provisionality of any strategically chosen “set” of evidentiary analysis, the reversibility of the hierarchy between “sets” and “subsets”—are anatomized both internally and in relation to their refraction in the preoccupations of the essays which comprise the volume. 316 Antonis Balasopoulos The first and last of these—Jonathan Arac’s “Global and Babel: Language and Planet in American Literature” and Dimock’s own “African, Caribbean, American”—are in turn less centered on comparative textual analysis or extensive theoretical excursions into emergent possibilities for literary study than one might have cause to expect. Arac’s essay takes stock of the pressures and challenges which the turn from Europe-centered comparative literature to “world literature” embodies for an American Studies largely shaped by traditional “area studies” models. The author views the practical consequences of such challenges as involving institutional investment in a “new language studies” (Arac’s program is rather unreflectively grounded on the curricular basis of U.S. graduate schools) that would focus on practical, quotidian foreign language skills instead of traditional models of formal language acquisition. Juxtaposing the homogenizing impact of the global to the diversification of “babel,” Arac then proposes a re-excavation of the classics of the American literary canon—Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman, Ralph Ellison—in search of a buried linguistic polyvocality, which in turn is taken to provide fragmentary evidence of the socio-historical interaction between continents, cultures, and peoples in the American contact zone. Intriguing as it appears, the hermeneutic gesture proposed here is simply that—a gesture, no sooner made than replaced with a renewed ethical plea for institutionally nourished multilingualism, including linguistic competence in “either non-Indo-European” or “global South” (34) languages. Things take a similar direction in Dimock’s concluding essay, which undertakes the task of complicating the hyphen in the category of African-American literature by way of an extensive foray into linguistics. Thus, existing linguistic contiguities between African languages and the African-American dialect, the definition of creole and of the process of creolization, the relationship between creole and culturally necessitated bilingualism and the democratic universality implied in Chomskian conceptions of syntactical deep structure are all mined for their implications for the kinship of world cultures. Such kinship, Dimock argues, is “anything but transparent,” taking as it does the form not of “linear descent” but of “arcs, loops, curves”—“complex paths of temporal and spatial displacement” (276). As with Arac’s own essay, literature occupies a quantitatively rather peripheral status, even if Dimock, unlike Arac, does invest the literary with a certain kind of seemingly counterfactual privilege: literary study takes over where linguistics stops, with the entry into the analytical field of affect (rather than cognition) and of “nonverbal” or American Literature for a Post-American Era 317 “preverbal” expressive media (290, 293)—music, dance, rhythm. Dimock is particularly suggestive in discussing some such instances in the zone that extends between U.S. and Caribbean literary engagements with the African diaspora—Paule Marshall’s, Gloria Naylor’s, Derek Walcott’s, Wilson Harris’—but the epistemological consequences of the paradoxical connection of literary study to the non-verbal are rather underdeveloped. At the antipodes of Arac and Dimock’s suggestive but elliptical forays into the significance of the literary in rethinking “America” in terms of “planet” and “world” are Eric J. Sundquist and Ross Posnock’s excursions into the East European entanglements of single U.S. authors, William Styron and Philip Roth respectively. Antithetical as regards their informing assumptions—Sundquist is meticulous in historically grounding and critiquing the assumptions of Styron’s engagement with Polish invasion and Judeocide, while Posnock privileges the freedom, unpredictability and creativity of authorial agency in forging transnational networks of literary affiliation—these two essays share a meticulous attentiveness to textual particularities that comes at the expense of generalizable—that is to say, theoretical—insight. This is the case more emphatically in Sundquist’s essay, which is so attentive to the particularity both of the fate of Polish Jews and of the overheated and slanted nature of Styron’s attempt to translate Polish national tragedy for an American audience that it deprives itself of virtually any potential for comparative usability. Theoretical underdevelopment is also a significant, if more implicit, limitation for Posnock, whose tracing of the “circles” of affective dispensation, aesthetic predilection and ontological worldview, linking Emerson to Vaclav Havel and Milan Kundera and subsequently to Roth, draws heavily upon an unreflectively deployed assumption: namely, that the link between Emersonian individualism, East European literary critiques of abstract rationality, and Roth’s espousal of attentiveness to the irreducible complexities of human (in)experience are somehow free of determinate historical and ideological ballast. Upon closer scrutiny, however, the threads that form Posnock’s transnational literary circuit—individualistic non-conformity, the distaste for organized and collectively orchestrated social reform, and the distrust of ideological abstractions—reveal themselves as anything but ideologically or historically neutral. It is, quite clearly, the “Robespierrian” and “utopian” (148) specter of Soviet communism that both overdetermines the Czech dissidents’ turn to an author like Emerson and guides Roth’s own predication of his own project on Czech dissident preoccupations with the hopelessly tangled, irreducible, and unsolvable qualities of the “human stain,” one that in 318 Antonis Balasopoulos Posnock’s own ideologically symptomatic phrasing, dictates acts of “aggressive disaffiliation from any collective ‘we’ ’’ (160). In contradistinction, the most convincing and successful essays of the volume manage a difficult balancing act, mediating between, on the one hand, a theoretical and historical attentiveness to the constitution of “national” and “global” and, on the other, an engagement with the specifically literary means through which both “nation” and “world” are fleshed out, elaborated upon, and concretized in American literature. The first of these essays, Paul Giles’ “The Deterritorialization of American Literature,” usefully periodizes the nationalization of the very concept of “American Literature” in the span between the end of the Civil War and the global economic crisis of the late seventies. Having shown how cartographical, political and literary discourses contributed to the fashioning of a national imaginary that privileged the diversity, inclusiveness, coherence, and sublime exceptionality of the U.S. territorial state, Giles traces the economic, cultural and political dimensions of the deterritorialization of this imaginary in the period from 1980 onward. To this end, he provides a particularly astute and revealing reading of the ways in which a number of contemporary U.S. authors (William Gibson, John Updike, Leslie Marmon Silko) have attempted to mediate the centrifugal pressures of (primarily economic) deterritorialization. The significance of literary form as a means of mediation—between self and other, between author and reader, between alternately diverging and converging cultures—is the theoretical core of David Palumbo-Liu’s “Atlantic to Pacific: James, Todorov, Blackmur and Intercontinental Form.” In Palumbo-Liu’s thoughtful and reflective argument, “transnational community” cannot be a “‘representation’ derived from the lexicon and assumptions of the nation-state” but can only emerge through the “mediated space of nonrepresentation” (197). The transnational thus becomes an affair not of substantive narrative content as such but rather of the desire to “find a form that allegorizes the near/far dynamics of in-forming planetary thinking” (197). The author turns to the exemplary function of Henry James’ “The Jolly Corner” in broaching the relationship between architectural/spatial and literary form and in hence producing an interface between literary aesthetics and the concern with the transformation of the built environment that resurfaces in a series of national contexts, all marked by a symptomatic attentiveness to James’ import. James’ own oblique meditation of the social and aesthetic impact of the transformation of the built environment of New York during his absence in Europe (a American Literature for a Post-American Era 319 transformation ironically drawing upon Parisian architectural models) resurfaces in Tzvetan Todorov’s own turn to James in the context of elaborating a formalist poetics in the midst of Parisian urban and suburban upheaval and protest in 1968; and then, across the Pacific, in the encounter between Japanese debates on the aesthetics and politics of urban architecture and the Japanese sojourn of New Critic R.P. Blackmur, significantly a scholar both of James himself and of the mediating, intersubjective dimensions of aesthetic form. The third of these essays is also one that remains attentive to the figural significance of space, though, in this case, the unbuilt environment gains an analytical prominence it does not possess in Palumbo-Liu’s study. Buell’s “Ecoglobalist Affects” wisely concedes that “there’s simply no possibility that the nation form … will go away any time soon” (228) and pays a welcome degree of attention to the ways in which ecocriticism has continued to invest “putatively national modes and myths of landscape imagination” with significance (228-29). Indeed, landscape ideology, from “nature’s nation” to suburban “middle landscapes” constitutes a useful way of rethinking U.S. history; by the same token, however, it unveils the “transnational repercussions and/or interdependencies” (230) that shape nominally “national” existence—from the system of price supports that have sustained national ideals of American plenty to “automotive-based transportation networks that make the United States increasingly energy- dependent on foreign suppliers” (230). What Buell terms “ecoglobalist affect” consequently becomes a means of aesthetically encoding existing economic, technological, social and political forms of mediation between the local and the planetary; the essay deftly threads together the partly converging, partly jarring eco-global sensibilities of Wendell Berry, Silko and Karen Tei Yamashita before examining the import of “figures of anticipation” (235) in nineteenth-century landscape painting and early twentieth-century literary depictions of farming [Willa Cather’s O Pioneers! (1913)], and of the admixture of local and global detail in mid- nineteenth century literature [Thoreau’s Walden (1854), Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick (1851)] and science [George Perkins Marsh’s Man and Nature (1864)]. Erudite, insightful and engaging, Buell’s essay, along with those of Palumbo-Liu and Giles, promises the sustainability of transnational American Studies beyond the end of the rhetorical, analytical and political viability of Clinton-era “post-nationalist” sentiment. What one would hope for in the years to come is that American cultural criticism may develop a 320 Antonis Balasopoulos fuller, more comprehensive vocabulary with which to gauge the lineaments of the present—one less schematically prescriptive or programmatic, more attuned to the political and economic complexities that haunt “worlded” knowledge-production, more thoughtful in explicating both the gains and the limitations of literary scholarship as a means of dealing with what is often removed from its increasingly residual domain, and more reflective about the material, spatially and historically mediated grounds on which “America,” “the world” and the “planet” take shape as figures of discourse and vehicles of thought. University of Cyprus Nicosia, Cyprus Works Cited Brenner, Robert. The Boom and the Bubble: The U.S. in the World Economy. New York and London: Verso, 2003. Rowe, John Carlos, ed. Post-Nationalist American Studies. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Wallerstein, Immanuel. The Decline of American Power: The U.S. in a Chaotic World. New York: W.W. Norton, 2003. Zakharia, Fareed. The Post-American World. New York: W.W. Norton, 2008. American Literature for a Post-American Era 321 21
work_f6pvx32fcfdftmc6kozdrszmiu ---- UC Santa Barbara UC Santa Barbara Previously Published Works Title Digital nature: Are field trips a thing of the past? Permalink https://escholarship.org/uc/item/0827s57q Journal Science (New York, N.Y.), 358(6361) ISSN 0036-8075 Author McCauley, Douglas J Publication Date 2017-10-01 DOI 10.1126/science.aao1919 Peer reviewed eScholarship.org Powered by the California Digital Library University of California https://escholarship.org/uc/item/0827s57q https://escholarship.org http://www.cdlib.org/ sciencemag.org S C I E N C E IL L U S T R A T IO N : V . A LT O U N IA N / S C IE N C E By Douglas J. McCauley I awoke in my cabin by the pond. Weigh- ing my options for the day, I decided to do some bird watching, winding between white pines and blackberries along the east shore of the pond. By their songs, I was able to identify a Mourning Dove, Blue Jays, an American Crow, and perhaps a Northern Cardinal. A mink, alarmed by my approach, dove into the pond and swam off. Unable to resist on such a sunny day, I waded into the pond and watched the sunlight play around me in the shallows. My mood that morning was appropriately reflected by my status indicators: moderately inspired, tired, and hungry. My hike took place in Walden, a Game, a video game recently launched on the 200th birthday of Henry David Thoreau (1). With a widening niche of such nature- themed video games and simulations and a rapidly growing audience of online/digital learners, the capacity to reach new audiences and carry environmental education beyond the confines of schools and universities may be a game changer, but one that perhaps comes with perils. Gamers no longer need to confine them- selves to stealing cars or building new worlds. Players can SCUBA dive on coral reefs (End- less Ocean for Nintendo Wii), indulge in a weekend of virtual bird watching in Spain (Birding Game by Swarovski Optik), or do ecological research with their PhD father in the Amazonian rainforest (EcoQuest 2: Lost Secret of the Rainforest by Sierra Gamers). Walden isn’t even cyberspace’s first digital pond. Harvard researchers created a virtual rendition of Black’s Nook Pond in Massa- chusetts, in which players can take photos of pond wildlife and catch bugs in the mud (2). From an ecologist’s perspective, this ex- panding class of opportunities for electronic engagement with nature represents an in- teresting and positive shift. Wildlife in video games have historically been typecast as agents hell-bent on consuming the gaming protagonist. Lara Croft, the archaeologist in the original Tomb Raider (1996), had to shoot and kill a diverse array of biodiversity (from bats to gorillas). The video game Afrika (for Sony Playstation 3), released a decade later, requires the gamer to maneuver in to take the perfect photo of a mother elephant lov- ingly nudging her calf. IDENTIFY, OBSERVE, EXPERIMENT But the ambitions of many of these new nature-centric games and simulations are grander than simply breaking down stereo- types about the hostility of wildlife; they’re increasingly about identifying species, ob- serving ecological processes, and even experi- menting in scientifically accurate ecosystems. Walden, a Game includes numerous species recorded by Thoreau at Walden. Interacting with them yields inspiration points needed to sustain play. Interactions with rare species, such as the mink I spotted, provide bonus INSIGHTS SCIENCE EDUCATION Digital nature: Are field trips a thing of the past? Expand the reach of science education, but choose tools Department of Ecology, Evolution, and Marine Biology and Marine Science Institute, University of California, Santa Barbara, CA 93106. USA. Email: dmccauley@ucsb.edu P O L I C Y F O R U M 2 20 OCTOBER 2017 • VOL 358 ISSUE 6361 Digital rendering of Rhino to come S C I E N C E sciencemag.org P H O T O : M IN D E N P IC T U R E S /G E T T Y I M A G E S points. Users of the Black’s Nook Pond simu- lation can go even further by measuring the virtual weather, collecting population data, and sampling water chemistry (2). Virtual reality and augmented reality platforms are rapidly adding richness to the genre. This includes offerings marketed as electronic field trips. “Field trips are a great way for teachers to engage students and give them a first-hand understanding of a sub- ject—but they’re not always practical,” says Google Expeditions, an operation that cu- rates its own brand of electronic field trips (3). This logic is hard to argue with. It is likely to be impractical to take a high school sci- ence class from Panama City snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef, or to see the Brazil- ian Amazon, leopard seals in Antarctica, or redwoods in Big Basin State Park, California, all of which are offerings in the Google Ex- pedition electronic field trip portfolio. Private vendors sell virtual reality hardware to access these experiences—at approximately $9500 USD to equip a class of 30 students (4). As a professor of ecology at a university that emphasizes the value of encouraging students to thoughtfully interact with bio- diversity and ecosystems, these new tech- nologies are intriguing. Their penetration makes them even more so. Video game markets serve more than a billion people worldwide, and electronic media are known to profoundly shape civic literacy about sci- ence and the environment (5). Children in the United States are estimated to spend approximately 7 hours a day in front of elec- tronic media—but only 4 to 7 minutes of un- structured play outdoors (6). Stark reports about disconnectedness between young people and nature redouble the imperative to vet new nature learning tools (7). A sur- vey, for example, conducted in the United Kingdom by the National Trust reported that one out of three children could identify a magpie, but 9 out of 10 could recognize a Dalek (cyborg aliens from the television program Dr. Who) (8). EVOLUTION OF INTERPRETATION Evaluating the role of these nature-centric technologies in education requires placing them in historical context. They are perhaps best viewed as the latest stage in the evolu- tion of the quite ancient human toolkit for sharing and teaching about the environment and ecology. Attempts at biodiversity inter- pretation can be traced back to the earliest human artists who incorporated images of ungulates, felids, ursids, and other species into their rock art. Nature continued to be se- quentially reinterpreted by using new media and technologies, from early Roman mosaics, to richly illustrated Middle Age bestiaries, to the dioramas of natural history museums that emerged in the 1800s. Nature interpre- tation then came further to life with wildlife filmmaking. The bards of nature cinema, such as David Attenborough, made lion kills and flamingo migrations regular occurrences in living rooms across the world. What, if anything, is different about these emerging forms of nature simulation in this historical sequence? One key difference is that designers of these new technologies are, arguably for the first time in history, moving away from simply interpreting nature toward actually replicating nature. And in some in- stances they are doing a good job. I involun- tarily ducked when a humpback whale swam over my head during a sample virtual reality SCUBA dive I trialed at Google headquarters. I have vivid memories of standing enraptured in front of wildlife dioramas in the Smithson- ian’s Museum of Natural History as a child— but none of them ever made me duck. PERILS OF SIMULATION Pedagogical research has made it clear that there is special value in field-based experien- tial learning in the sciences (9). A UK study of the widespread cancellation of field trips associated with an outbreak of foot-and- mouth disease found that the grades of stu- dents lacking field experiences were largely unaffected, but both students and instructors consistently reported that the loss of field ex- periences created a diminished learning ex- perience (10). In Slovakia, it was found that after a 1-day field trip, students positively shifted their attitudes toward biology, the en- vironment, and careers in science while also displaying a better understanding of ecologi- cal concepts (11). Can these benefits of field learning be replicated by electronic field trips and simulated laboratories? Research that has explored the general substitutability of na- ture with standard technological mimics suggests that electronic nature can gener- ate some but not all of the benefits of real nature (12). Results from the learning sci- ences suggest that virtual- and augmented- reality nature experiences may improve on these impacts but still reveal limitations. Immersive experiences have been shown, for instance, to foster interconnections and emotional linkages to nature that can be effective in promoting learning and en- gagement. In one such simulation, students undertook a “body transfer” with a coral and watched as one of their arms eroded in a virtual acidified ocean and fell to the floor with an audible and palpable thud (13). Tests of augmented-reality field trips (such as a Grand Canyon field trip designed to be run on campus quads or soccer fields) have illustrated that these tools increase student interest in science. However, virtual–field trip participants performed no better than students who received classroom-based lec- tures, and the experiences were generally less effective than field trips into nature (14, 15). Studies of the impact of the Black’s Nook Pond simulation suggested that the students improved their understanding of ecosystem concepts but did not show improvement in ability to recognize nonobvious causes for ecosystem change (2). One class of distinct educational affor- dances of virtual nature learning is that it can take students to time points in the his- tory and future of the environment that can- not otherwise be experienced. For instance, Accus nost accaes volenia quias voles que laborumende laborecto te aut vel maio. Solore doleni aute sinciis aut quo el eosae volo to voluptur suntorp oriatis mossed quae volorro is comnis doloremquodi 20 OCTOBER 2017 • VOL 358 ISSUE 6361 3 INSIGHTS | P E R S P E C T I V E S sciencemag.org S C I E N C E there is a virtual-reality experience designed to bring the Hell Creek fossil formation alive for students as it was during the Cretaceous (16). The retention of concepts learned and experiences derived in virtual field experi- ences remains an active research area. Per- ceptions of interconnection to nature derived via virtual reality experiences have been re- corded to persist for at least 1 week (13), al- though impacts from real field trips may last at least 1 year (17). Some of the differences measured between real and virtual nature field trips may derive from the fact that learning in live nature typi- cally happens with live humans. Research has very clearly shown that learning with role models and peers can substantially enhance the impact of environmental education (18). Such opportunities can be lacking in virtual nature experiences. Other possible side ef- fects of simulated nature learning are worth considering: Hyperinteractive and stimulus- rich digital nature experiences can make real nature experiences feel dull (for example, real-world whales do not allow themselves to be pet on every dive), player-centric na- ture gaming experiences may propagate the fallacious notion that humans are distinctly different from nature, and synthesized envi- ronments can provide dangerously simplistic views of the complex structure and function of nature. NONBINARY, NON-LUDDITE Is it far-fetched to assume that teaching ecol- ogy and biology in the field could ever be replaced with electronic field trips? Tempta- tions to make these kinds of shifts are real given the high costs, high staffing require- ments, and risk-management complexities associated with field learning. Large-scale replacement of field learning perhaps feels less outlandish when one recalls that other formerly irreplaceable elements of pedagogy, such as classrooms and even entire univer- sities, are being avidly replaced with online learning spaces. Similar parallels for digital replacement can be found in the increasingly widespread substitution of animal dissec- tions with virtual dissections. The future, however, may not be as bi- nary as taking students outside on field trips or running field trips from computer labs. Augmented-reality teaching tools that are more lightly enhanced than the Grand Canyon experience, and as such more simi- lar to the wildly popular Pokémon Go, cre- ate a hybrid species of technology-enhanced field trips. Technology-infused outdoor na- ture learning presents many advantages: It can allow students to see and interact with otherwise invisible features in nature, col- lect and analyze situationally relevant data, and safely undertake hazardous field sam- pling (such as field tests for pollutants) (19). For example, in an augmented-reality fol- low up to the Black’s Nook Pond simulation, students hike around the real pond while a digital park ranger on their smartphones chimes in at trigger stations to offer tips on water sampling and points out virtual car- bon atoms floating through photosynthesiz- ing plants (20). Ecologists and environmental scientists are not and cannot be Luddites. If, in our re- search, we are willing to replace costly and challenging field expeditions by using re- mote sensing technologies such as satellites to count penguins, drones to study the be- havior of Serengeti wildebeest, and acoustic sensors to go wirelessly whale-watching from our offices, we should not thoughtlessly turn our backs on next-generation environmental teaching tools. PRETTY TOYS, SERIOUS THINGS How should the environmental education community move forward? We are the first generation of educators for which digital sub- stitution of field learning is a real choice. This capacity for replacement will only increase as emerging immersive technologies become less expensive and more within reach. Rec- ognizing the exciting place in which we now stand in history empowers us to strategically, rather than haphazardly, select technologies that advance environmental learning. We need to ensure that the pace of tech- facing pedagogical research keeps up with the rapid development of these environ- mental technologies. It will become in- creasingly important that environmental educators have high-quality data from rig- orous research about which new tools and which functions of those tools promote learning and how those gains compare with those of conventional field education. Envi- ronmental researchers and educators must become more actively involved with tech- nology developers and education research- ers to constructively shape the evolution of these new technologies. Last, environmental educators must es- chew temptations to simply choose the sexi- est, newest, or easiest teaching tools. In an era when gains in environmental literacy are needed more than ever, we must commit to prioritizing the use of whatever methods yield the best learning outcomes. It is no se- cret that funds for environmental education are limited. We must continue to search for opportunities to make smart investments in new digital learning technologies. However, we must also be willing to re- sponsibly reject these tools and preserve or extend our investments in increasingly endangered traditional field learning op- portunities when they create superior learning opportunities. Google is mostly right: Field learning is not always practical. However, that cannot become the mantra that prevents us from asking hard questions about the structures of our educational in- stitutions that have contributed to making traditional field learning seem increas- ingly impractical. Possible interventions include reversing declines in the number of field-based natural history courses now required in degree programs, streamlin- ing bureaucratic pathways for permitting and executing field learning, and investing in the human and physical infrastructure required to make field learning tenable. Faculty job advertisements in the environ- mental sciences seem increasingly likely to seek applicants that can teach students to sequence, simulate, or model nature, but perhaps robustness can be added to peda- gogical communities by also actively re- cruiting educators that don’t mind taking students out to stand knee-deep in nature. Thoreau’s own relationship with technol- ogy, as revealed in Walden, was in its own way complex. His musings on the value of “modern improvements” communicate a cau- tionary observation with resonance: “[T]here is an illusion about them…. Our inventions are want to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things.” j R E F E R E N C E S A N D N OT E S 1. T. Fullerton, Walden, a Game; http://waldengame.com. 2. S. Metcalf, A. Kamarainen, M. S. Tutwiler, T. Grotzer, C. Dede, Int. J. Gaming Comput.-Mediat. Simul. 3, 86 (2011). 3. https://edu.google.com/events/iste2016. 4. http://bit.ly/2yIyr42. 5. J. D. Miller, in Science and the Media, D. Kennedy, G. Overholser, Eds. (American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 2010), pp. 44–63. 6. K. M. Kemple, J. Oh, E. Kenney, T. Smith-Bonahue, Child. Educ. 92, 446 (2016). 7. S. K. Jacobson, M. McDuff, M. C. Monroe, Conservation Education and Outreach Techniques (Oxford Univ. Press, 2015). 8. National Trust, Wildlife alien to indoor children (2008); www.nationaltrust.org.uk/what-we-do/news/archive/ view-page/item737221. 9. D. W. Mogk, C. Goodwin, Geol. Soc. Am. Spec. Pap. 486, 131 (2012). 10. I. Scott, I. Fuller, S. Gaskin, J. Geogr. High. Educ. 30, 161 (2006). 11. P. Prokop, G. Tuncer, R. Kvasničák, J. Sci. Educ. Technol. 16, 247 (2007). 12. P. H. Kahn, R. L. Severson, J. H. Ruckert, Curr. Dir. Psychol. Sci. 18, 37 (2009). 13. S. J. Ahn et al., J. Comput.-Mediat. Commun. 21, 399 (2016). 14. N. Bursztyn, A. Walker, B. Shelton, J. Pederson, Geosphere. 13, 260 (2017). 15. D. A. Friess, G. J. H. Oliver, M. S. Y. Quak, A. Y. A. Lau, J. Geogr. High. Educ. 40, 546 (2016) 16. http://store.steampowered.com/app/587450/Saurian. 17. J. Farmer, D. Knapp, G. M. Benton, J. Environ. Educ. 38, 33 (2007). 18. L. Chawla, D. F. Cushing, Environ. Educ. Res. 13, 437 (2007). 19. E. Klopfer, K. Squire, Educ. Technol. Res. Dev. 56, 203 (2008). 20. A. M. Kamarainen et al., Comput. Educ. 68, 545 (2013). 10.1126/science.aao1919 4 20 OCTOBER 2017 • VOL 358 ISSUE 6361
work_f7ulobtu3vfsdj2wxzvs6pzlei ---- polis43_14.p65 41 La resistencia civil examinada: de Thoreau a Chenoweth Mario López-Martínez Universidad de Granada, Granada, España. Email: mariol@ugr.es Resumen: Este artículo realiza un repaso por la bibliografía más importan- te que abarca desde la obra de Henry David Thoreau hasta Erica Chenoweth. La literatura sobre la resistencia civil va desde el estudio de los fenómenos de movili- zación de las masas durante el siglo XIX atravesados por los movimientos obreros, abolicionistas, pacifistas y sufragistas, hasta la lucha liderada por Gandhi en Sudáfrica y la India. Gandhi es el inventor de la satyagraha, la fuerza del alma, es decir, resistencia civil como lucha política y espiritual. La satyagraha genera muchos estudios y trabajos para comprender su potencialidad. En los años 70s, la figura del investigador Gene Sharp inaugura la corriente funcionalista y aplicada, a la resisten- cia civil. Tras la Guerra fría se extienden los «resistance studies» con una clara visión estratégica y pragmática de la resistencia. Palabras clave: Resistencia civil, Satyagraha, Noviolencia, Estudios so- bre resistencia. The civil resistance examined: from Thoreau to Chenoweth Abstract: This article reviews the most important literature, ranging from the work of Henry David Thoreau to Erica Chenoweth. The literature on civil resistance ranges from the study of the phenomena of mass mobilization during the nineteenth century crossed by the labor movement, abolitionists, suffragists and pacifists, to the struggle led by Gandhi in South Africa and India. Gandhi is the inventor of satyagraha, the force f the soul, that is, civil resistance as a political and spiritual struggle. The satyagraha generates many studies and efforts to understand its potential. In the 70s, the figure of the researcher Gene Sharp opened the functionalist and applied approach to civil resistance. After the Cold War the “resistance studies” with a clear strategic and pragmatic vision of resistance are extended. Keywords: Civil Resistance, Satyagraha, Nonviolence, Resistance Studies. A resistência civil examinada: de Thoreau para Chenoweth Resumo: Este artigo revê a literatura mais importante desde a obra de Henry David Thoreau para Erica Chenoweth. A literatura sobre resistência civil varia a partir do estudo dos fenômenos da mobilização em massa durante o século XIX atravessada pelo movimento operário, abolicionistas, pacifistas e sufragistas, até aluta liderada por Gandhi na África do Sul e Índia. Gandhi é o inventor do satyagraha, a força da alma, ouseja, resistência civil como uma luta política e espiritual. O satyagraha gera muitos estudos e esforços para compreender o seu potencial. Nos anos 70, a figura do pesquisador Gene Sharp inaugura a vertente funcionalista e aplicada da civil. Após a Guerra Friaestendem-se os “resistance Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016, p. 41-65 Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 42 studies” comuma clara visão estratégica e pragmática da resistência. Palavras-chave: Resistência civil, Satyagraha, não-violência Estudos so- bre Resistência. * * * Introducción Desafío, rebeldía y resistencia han estado presentes, desde tiempos remotos, tanto en la creación de mitos de la humanidad, desde los relatos bíblicos del Génesis con Eva a la cabeza, pasando por la mitología greco- latina (Prometeo), las obras literarias (Antígona, Lisístratas); hasta en la historia desde los inicios del antiguo Egipto, en la Edad Media o la Moder- nidad. Por supuesto, esta historia no se queda en las lejanas épocas sino que atraviesa, con multitud de ejemplos, todas las latitudes y geografías por donde los seres humanos han ido creando civilización (Hsiao y Lim, 2010; Kurlansky, 2008). Desobedecer las verdades establecidas, desafiar a los poderosos, rebelarse frente a las injusticias, resistirse a la dominación, protestar las arbitrariedades, explorar más allá de los límites fijados, transgredir el orden social y muchas más acciones similares no sólo han sido parte importante de nuestra historia sino todo un arte, sin el cual resulta difícil imaginar el progreso humano (Krippendorf, 2003). ¿Qué ha motivado los cambios en la humanidad? ¿Cuál ha sido el motor de la historia? Desde la óptica de la noviolencia, la resistencia y la desobediencia serían lo más parecido a lo que Marx (1946: 639) denominaría «comadrona» de la Historia. La insurrección no armada es uno de los muchos términos que se usan para designar a la resistencia civil. También puede hablarse de «méto- dos de acción noviolenta», «resistencia pasiva», «resistencia civilizada», «desobediencia civil», «resistencia noviolenta», «rebeliones desarmadas», «conflicto noviolento», «people power», por supuesto «satyagraha», in- cluso «revoluciones no armadas», «revoluciones noviolentas» y hasta «guerra sin armas», entre algunas expresiones más.1 Cada uno de estos términos implicaría matices. Igual sucedería con conceptos como civil, no armado y noviolento, así como expresiones tales como conflicto, insurrección, resistencia, guerra y revolución, requerirían un tratamiento específico. Sin embargo, no es objeto, en este momento, el entrar en tantos detalles y, en general, durante este artículo vamos a usar, indistintamente, algunas de esas alocuciones como sinónimos, aun siendo conscientes de lo dicho anteriormente.2 Las insurrecciones no armadas, o campañas de resistencia civil, son desafíos populares abiertos y organizados frente a las autoridades guber- nativas, realizados con métodos noviolentos, es decir, que van más allá de los usos convencionales de la política institucional, y que se niegan a sí 43 mismos el uso de armas y de la violencia. La finalidad está en hacer emerger un conflicto, en términos incompatibles, entre resistentes y autoridades, usando aquéllos todos los medios a su alcance: políticos, sociales, econó- micos, culturales, éticos y psicológicos, de manera activa o pasiva, con la excepción de las amenazas y la violencia.3 Por eso hay que advertir, desde un primer momento, que en los con- flictos estratégicos noviolentos no es que no exista violencia, sino que no es usada por uno de los actores de la contienda. El Estado, el gobierno y las autoridades –a veces incluso otros grupos armados en los que éstos se apoyan o los toleran- sí podrían ejercer la fuerza más o menos legal y, de hecho, lo hacen; sin embargo, ésta acaba volviéndose ilegítima, por cuanto el contendiente al que represalian con medios contundentes, ni les amena- za, ni va a ejercer contra ellos la violencia. A pesar de lo dicho, no en todos los casos de conflicto estratégico noviolento se da la situación ideal de haber dos actores enfrentados en términos de incompatibilidad manifiesta, cada uno en una posición muy nítida con respecto al uso o no de la violencia. Las situaciones históricas reales apuntan a una mayor complejidad de actores, procesos y opciones o elecciones de éstos. Sudáfrica fue un ejemplo de ello, actores que usaban en su estrategia, tanto métodos armados, como no armados. De hecho, quienes optan por la lucha armada no descartan el uso de métodos sin uso de la violencia, especialmente, huelgas, boicots, desobediencia, marchas, etc., que contribuyan a debilitar la voluntad del adversario y ayuden a mantener amplios apoyos entre la población civil. En Estados Unidos, líde- res como Martin Luther King (1968 y 2010), hacían ímprobos esfuerzos para que su movimiento se distinguiera de otros grupos que usaban la lucha guerrillera urbana combinada con métodos de movilización de masas. En la India de Gandhi, también hubo grupos terroristas que no dudaron en apo- yar políticamente las opciones del movimiento noviolento gandhiano. Asi- mismo, entre los miembros del Estado nos podemos encontrar muchas com- plicidades con un movimiento de resistencia civil, produciéndose desercio- nes y desafecciones, a pesar de la rigidez con la que operan burocracias y administradores de la represión. Lo importante y lo que nos permite distinguir el conflicto estratégico noviolento es que al menos un actor, que es por lo general mayoritario o, al menos, busca serlo, tiene capacidad de movilización de masas, mantiene la disciplina noviolenta, tiene muy claro que no va a usar métodos armados y que está dispuesto a soportar la represión, manteniendo su capacidad de resiliencia (resistencia e insistencia a pesar de la previsible represión) y continuando sus acciones de desafío. Advirtiendo que quienes intervienen en estas campañas no han de ser personas plenamente convencidas de una «noviolencia de principios» de carácter ideológico, religioso o ético, sino que han calculado que estos métodos son los más adecuados y efectivos para transformar radicalmente la situación de partida. No hace falta, aunque ayuda mucho, la existencia de un líder carismático. No hace falta, tampoco, ser estrategas pero sí tener desarrolladas ciertas capacidades, entrenamien- Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 44 to y disciplinas para optimizar la dinámica de las luchas. Y requiere, asimis- mo, de perseverancia y entereza para encarar situaciones difíciles y duras (Pontara, 1996), aunque todo el mundo no cuenta con tales atributos. Por tanto, conviene enfatizar que este tipo de luchas noviolentas se desarrollan en un contexto altamente conflictivo, pues ya han sobrepasado el marco político-legal institucionalizado, para ir mucho más allá. Se realizan en un contexto de confrontación abierta, con ejercicios que van más allá de la persuasión, la presión y la protesta para pasar a la no cooperación y la desobediencia en masa, incluso hasta la coerción noviolenta y la desinte- gración del poder del oponente, para obligarle –en ese proceso de pulso y desgaste- a una negociación noviolenta. En consecuencia, no se trata de métodos y situaciones más o menos reguladas como el cabildeo, la mera presión política, la recogida de firmas para aplicar iniciativas legislativas o formas amplias de mediación, arbitraje y conciliación para la resolución concertada de conflictos, sino acciones disruptivas, abiertamente desafiantes, subversivas y sediciosas (López Martínez, 2013). El propio Mohandas Gandhi, experto en este ejercicio, nos deja un texto antológico para entender en qué términos se ha de hablar de resisten- cia civil: “Es una rebelión, pero sin ninguna violencia. El que se compromete hasta el fondo en la resistencia civil no se contenta simplemente con prescindir de la autoridad del estado; se convierte en un fuera de la ley, que se arroga el derecho de pasar por encima de toda ley del estado contraria a la moral. De esta forma, por ejemplo, puede llegar hasta a negarse a pagar los impuestos o a admitir la injerencia de las autoridades en sus asuntos cotidianos. A pesar de las prohibicio- nes, puede atreverse a entrar en los cuarteles si tiene algo que decir a los soldados. Puede igualmente desobedecer a las normas de los piquetes contra la huelga y decidir manifestarse donde no está per- mitido. En todos estos ejemplos, no recurre jamás a la fuerza ni se resiste contra ella, cuando la emplean contra él. La verdad es que se sitúa en una posición en la que tendrán que meterle en la cárcel o recurrir a otros medios coercitivos. Obra de esa manera cuando cree que la libertad física de que goza aparentemente se ha convertido en un peso intolerable. Saca sus argumentos del hecho de que un esta- do no concede la libertad personal más que en la medida en que el ciudadano se somete a la ley: esa sumisión a las decisiones del esta- do es el precio que tiene que pagar el ciudadano por su libertad personal. Por consiguiente, no deja de ser una estafa ese intercam- bio entre su libertad y la sumisión a un estado cuyas leyes son, totalmente o en su mayor parte, injustas. Si llega a descubrir que el estado obra mal, el ciudadano no puede vivir resignándose a esta situación tan lamentable. Y si, a pesar de no cometer ninguna falta moral, hace todo lo que puede para que lo detengan, los demás ciudadanos que no comparten sus opiniones verán en él necesaria- mente un peligro público. Así considerada, la resistencia civil es el 45 medio más eficaz para expresar la preocupación que siente y el más elocuente para protestar contra el mantenimiento en el poder de un estado que no se comporta debidamente. ¿No es ésta la historia de todas las reformas? ¿No llegaron los reformadores a rechazar incluso los símbolos más inocentes asociados a una práctica condenable, a pesar de toda la indignación de sus contemporáneos?” 4 Finalmente, la resistencia civil, aunque es muy antigua como arma de combate, ha tomado un gran protagonismo en el último siglo y ha formado parte de multitud de procesos y situaciones de muy diversa naturaleza. La resistencia civil se ha usado para luchar contra un amplísimo elenco de situaciones de injusticia, así como contra procesos de larga duración histó- rica. Algunos de estos conflictos estratégicos noviolentos han ido contra el colonialismo, las ocupaciones extranjeras, los golpes de estado, los regí- menes dictatoriales y despóticos, en dinámicas de fraude electoral masivo, contra la discriminación racial, religiosa y de género, contra la alteración del orden constitucional, a favor de procesos de independencia nacional, por la defensa de los derechos y libertades, a favor de la protección ambiental, por la defensa y protección de las comunidades indígenas y aborígenes, de la lucha por la tierra, en cruzadas contra el intervencionismo militar e, inclu- so, en campañas contra políticas neoliberales y procesos de exclusión so- cial (Powers y Vogele, 1999; López Martínez, 2001) tal y como más adelante clasificaremos. Escenarios y contextos de resistencia noviolenta estratégica En realidad y, especialmente, durante el siglo XX este tipo de expe- riencias de conflictos conducidos mediante un combate noviolento han sido mucho más numerosos, frecuentes y significativos de lo que la historiografía histórica y politológica nos ha mostrado (Schell, 2005); han tenido, además, el «poder positivo del efecto mariposa», han constituido «una transformación social tan importante como inesperada, desconcer- tando todos los pronósticos de la real politik» (Martínez Hincapié, 2012: 38). Hemos reelaborado5 una clasificación en tres ejes de reivindicación y conflictos (luchas de liberación colonial, derribo de dictaduras y sistemas tiránicos, y defensa de los derechos humanos y un mundo alternativo) y hemos aumentado el número de casos –a la luz de nuevos trabajos que se han venido publicando-. No son todos, ni muchísimo menos, son sólo una muestra que puede ofrecer una aproximación del vasto caudal de informa- ción y análisis que nos pueden ofrecer, teniendo en cuenta que muchas de estas experiencias históricas podrían haber sido clasificadas en dos o más de estos conceptos. A) La lucha contra la dominación colonial Son resistencias contra la presencia y el dominio de los imperios, preferentemente europeos, en donde se combinaron revueltas armadas y Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 46 no armadas. En general, estas resistencias se iniciaron en cuanto la relación entre visitantes y visitados se inclinó por un vínculo de dominio, opresión y superioridad, en donde los imperios usaron todo tipo de formas de violen- cia hacia los pueblos indígenas o autóctonos (Ferro, 2005). Los ejemplos que aquí recogemos son los de respuestas no armadas y noviolentas, si bien lo habitual fue la combinación de períodos de guerra abierta, con otros de calma tensa, con otros de campañas de resistencia noviolenta estratégi- ca y, en especial eran aún más frecuentes las etapas en donde se armoniza- ban algún tipo de guerra popular con resistencia popular noviolenta. Lo interesante de la bibliografía más actual es que está comenzando a recono- cer que no todo fueron guerras y lucha armada sino que hubo extensos períodos de desafío al colonialismo en claves de resistencia civil, en la que amplios sectores de la población (mujeres, niños, ancianos) alcanzaban capacidades de ejercer la resistencia en sus múltiples formas (cultural, so- cial, política, económica, psicológica), reforzando el sentimiento de rechazo y generando formas de poder social frente a la dominación (Bartkowski, 2013; Pearlman, 2011; Sutherland y Meyer, 2000)6. B) La lucha contra los regímenes autoritarios, dictatoriales y totalitarios El uso de los métodos de resistencia civil organizada en particular, y la lucha noviolenta en general, tiene aquí un protagonismo muy destacado aunque ha sido bastante silenciado por los marcos de referencia represi- vos, pues pertenecía al patrimonio de los disidentes, los silenciados y los “sin poder” (Havel, 1990). Algunas preguntas centrales fueron comunes en estos: ¿se debe obedecer a un gobierno que tiene políticas y leyes tiránicas? O ¿qué se puede hacer cuando un país es invadido y el ejército ocupante quiere imponer sus leyes y su voluntad? Si la respuesta es no, a la primera pregunta, entonces, se deben desobedecer esas leyes e imposiciones y, si la respuesta a la segunda es se puede hacer algo, entonces, lo inmediato es organizar la resistencia por todos los medios disponibles, siendo los méto- dos no armados los más habituales (Sémelin, 1989). ¿Por qué? La represión y las violaciones en general de derechos y libertades, en un régimen dicta- torial, es un arma muy usada por el aparato burocrático-político-militar que sostiene el régimen, la lucha armada acaba legitimando la represión, en cambio una lucha noviolenta hace poco sostenible, política y moralmente, la contención violenta del adversario, puede producir justamente un efecto de rechazo (Martin, 2012), generando deserciones entre sus filas y hacien- do engrosar altas dosis de legitimidad y de poder moral entre la oposición (Ackerman y Kruegler, 1994; Ackerman y Duvall, 2000; Chenoweth y Stephan, 2011; Schock, 2008; Shell, 2005; Roberts y GartonAsh, 2009, Sharp y Paulson, 2005; Sharp, 2003; Zunes, 1999)7. C) La reivindicación de derechos y libertades democráticas y ciudadanas (luchas antiglobalización, ecologistas, identitarias). En estos casos, que son muchos, el espectro se amplía considerable- mente y recorre desde los viejos movimientos sociales (abolicionismo, obrerismo, republicanismo, democracia radical, sufragismo), tan ampliamente 47 desarrollados durante el siglo XIX y la primera mitad del siglo XX, hasta los nuevos movimientos sociales (feminismo, pacifismo, ecologismo, etc.) que irrumpieron con fuerza tras Mayo de 1968. Múltiples formas de resistencia política, social y contracultural no sólo al imperialismo político-cultural, sino a las formas adoptadas por el capitalismo (del bienestar, de consumo, de la globalización), sus modos de violencia estructural, procesos de aculturación, dependencia y dominación. Los métodos noviolentos han sido muy usados por el mundo de las ONGs, asociaciones de la sociedad civil, grupos alternativos y contestatarios que han venido aportando ideas y prácticas a favor de los derechos humanos, una ética hacia los animales, la conservación de Gaia, y un largo etcétera (Martin, 2001; Moser- Puangsuwan y Weber, 2000; Powers y Vogele, 1997; Roberts y GartonAsh, 2009; Sharp, 1985; Martínez Hincapié, 2012)8. A pesar de que es una teoría política joven, todos estos ejemplos son bien significativos, no sólo como experiencias históricas, sino en la elección metodológica, atendiendo a múltiples factores: buscar la eficacia en la transformación del conflicto, reducir costes en vidas humanas, gene- rar confianza entre la sociedad civil, organizar poder social, obligar a entrar a negociar a la contraparte, etc. Si bien, en muchos de estos ejemplos no se da la «noviolencia específica» (Pontara, 2000), aquella que busca un pro- grama creativo y constructivo con el adversario, sino que se trata de una «noviolencia estratégica» (Sharp, 1973) o «genérica» (Pontara, 2000), -elec- ción de estos medios por conveniencia, necesidad, oportunidad, etc.- o como Gandhi denominó como la «noviolencia del débil» (Pontara, 1983). A pesar de ello, se puede afirmar –como han tratado de demostrar, estadísticamente, las profesoras Chenoweth y Stephan (2011)- que las cam- pañas estratégicas noviolentas han ofrecido mejores resultados que los procesos de lucha armada. Además, siguiendo a Karatnycky y Ackerman (2005), el uso de la resistencia civil de masas ha propiciado cambios de régimen hacia democracias electorales de manera más exitosa que por la vía armada, permitiendo superar mejor traumas y mejorar procesos de consenso. Históricamente estos métodos de acción política noviolenta se han venido identificando con todo tipo de marchas de protesta, demostracio- nes multitudinarias, sentadas, huelgas generales, boicots o desobediencia civil. Tomados aisladamente estos procedimientos (prácticas, formas, tácti- cas, métodos, etc.) pueden tener un efecto reducido o limitado, sin embar- go, combinados de una manera estratégica (con maestría, competencia, ofi- cio, autoridad, experticia, de manera sistémica, etc.) pueden dar lugar a un notable abanico de posibilidades: fuerte oposición política, considerable desafío social, colapso de un sistema jurídico, subversión del orden esta- blecido, etc. Satyagraha: estrategia y espiritualidad unidas Existe una considerable literatura, desde fines del XVIII al XIX, en la que se discuten las posibilidades del uso de acciones que hoy calificaría- Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 48 mos como noviolentas. Y aunque en esa época se denominan de diversas formas: “no-resistencia”, “resistencia pasiva”, “desobediencia”, “insumi- sión”…, todas se refieren a similares realidades. ¿Se ha producido un cam- bio sustantivo con respecto a épocas anteriores en las que se hablaba de guerra justa, derecho de resistencia, tiranicidio y monarcómanos? En gran medida sí, pero también en épocas anteriores la teoría sobre estas cuestio- nes va matizando el uso de la violencia, aconsejando que sea el último recurso, e inclinándose por usar otros medios antes de llegar al derrama- miento de sangre (Laudani, 2012). Hilando fino, podemos apreciar que esos “otros medios” ya estaban en la literatura de Juan de Mariana, Francisco Suárez, Hugo Grocio, Du Plessy-Mornay, John Locke, Thomas Paine, entre muchos otros. En William Lloyd Garrison (1971-81), Adin Ballou (1848), Theodor Parker (1850) y Elihu Burritt (1854), entre otros, aparecen los métodos de protesta, no-cooperación o desobediencia, contemplando como contrapro- ducentes el uso de métodos violentos. Una historia lineal desde aquí hasta Tolstoi o Gandhi nos permite ver las múltiples interrelaciones con otros movimientos sociales (sufragistas, nacionalismos), pensadores del papel de la revolución en los cambios sociales o de la relación entre individuos y estado en un sistema liberal (Randle, 1998). Siendo uno de sus rasgos co- munes la “persuasión” moral de los adversarios. Si bien, en algunos de los movimientos emancipatorios de las clases populares se dieron formas de lucha armada y de uso de vías institucionales, lo más habitual fueron múltiples formas de resistencia, en este umbral se movieron desde las micro-resistencias (Scott, 2003), hasta las grandes mani- festaciones y huelgas generales como arma revolucionaria (Luxemburg, 1906). No obstante, el punto de unión con la literatura gandhiana lo marca Henry David Thoreau y su obra Onthe civil resistance o Sobre la desobe- diencia civil (1848-49). En él plantea no sólo cómo hacer la revolución pacífica, sino cómo las minorías, en sistemas parlamentarios-liberales, pue- den producir sanciones, conflictos y presiones contra las políticas de las mayorías. Era una manera de interpretación del derecho de resistencia clási- co –el deber de enfrentarse al tirano, en este caso la tiranía de las mayorías- en un nuevo contexto histórico. Thoreau situaba la cuestión no sólo en el derecho a desobedecer sino en términos de poder. El individuo se situaba entre la obligación y la protesta, la primera en relación con el Estado, la segunda frente a su conciencia moral. Este dilema entre razón de Estado y razón ciudadana tuvo una enorme influencia en Tolstoi, Gandhi y después en Luther King, Mandela o Havel. León Tolstoi (2010) retoma este concepto de desobediencia a través de la crítica al proceso por el cual los estados disuelven o destruyen la conciencia individual imponiendo su única soberanía. Tolstoi –adelantán- dose a Foucault- nos recuerda que la Iglesia, la cárcel, el ejército, la burocra- cia, etc., no son simples instituciones de ejercicio del poder sino espacios de destrucción de la espiritualidad humana. La vía tolstosiana para romper 49 ese dominio es la insumisión que es una desobediencia civil ilimitada frente a toda jerarquía y potestad. Se sabe que Gandhi (1940, 1944 y 1950) fue muy influido por Thoreau, Tolstoi y el movimiento sufragista, sin embargo, en el primero hay unos rasgos de activismo, estrategia y conducción de las masas que no tienen los otros, pero que sí tuvo el movimiento de las mujeres que lucharon por el voto.9 En un contexto colonialista-imperialista Gandhi va a desplegar su concepto-matriz, Satyagraha, mucho más que resistencia civil de masas o campaña noviolenta estratégica. Para Gandhi, Satyagraha es resistencia civil con espiritualidad o “fuerza del alma”. Gandhi tiene un gran conoci- miento de la lucha en términos técnicos pero no quiere renunciar a la impli- cación espiritual que hay tras el compromiso y la preparación por la lucha de valores e ideales humanos. Tras Gandhi, no sólo hay estrategia, sino una concepción humana, una visión de la historia y de cómo abordar la emanci- pación o liberación socio-política. Como nos señala Pontara (1983, 2004 y 2006), no se puede entender la Satyagraha sin otros conceptos gandhianos como swaraj (autogobierno), swadeshi (autosuficiencia), sarvodaya (bien- estar de todos), tapasya (sacrificio) o ahimsa (noviolencia). En conjunto, estas piezas o conceptos, son como ladrillos y argamasa con los que se construye el edificio complejo de la Satyagraha, pues no sólo es lucha sin armas, sino proyecto alternativo a las formas sociales y de producción capitalistas, desarrollo personal-espiritual y formas de convivencia con otros seres vivos (López Martínez, 2012 b). En términos de dinámicas, en la concepción gandhiana, no era tan importante el resultado final sino el propio proceso. Resultado y método, no podían estar separados o desconectados, pues Gandhi deducía que los métodos noviolentos había que cuidarlos escrupulosamente para cuidar así los fines. Satyagraha era, sobre todo, una manera de perfeccionamiento sin causar daño y sufrimiento a los demás. Así, bajo la mentalidad gandhiana el sentimiento de certeza era una peligrosa ilusión, siendo el conflicto un lugar adecuado para separar la falsedad de la verdad, una oportunidad de purificación de las posiciones antagónicas, un espacio para construir con- fianza y, su palabra clave, “conversión” (Pontara, 2006: 169-203). Conseguir transformar al enemigo, sin derrotarlo (Satyagraha como una “ruptura po- sitiva” del odio) (Gandhi, 1950: 94). A esta manera de resistencia noviolenta, se la ha clasificado como noviolencia de principios, específica o ética, en la que medios y fines han de ser intercambiables y orientados hacia la conversión del adversario y la reconciliación entre contrarios; en cambio, cuando la resistencia civil es sólo una herramienta de lucha, es decir, es sólo pragmática, genérica o instrumental,10 no se trata de una «fuerza moral» sino del despliegue de una fuerza aplicada, “ni romantizada, ni subestimada” (Schock 2008: 32), que pretende poner ante las cuerdas a un régimen oprobioso. En todo caso lo que se inaugura en 1906, con Gandhi, es cómo irrumpe un siglo del “poder de los sin poder” (Havel, 1990), especialmente porque Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 50 muchas de esas luchas de resistencia civil fueron anti dominación (colonia- lista, patriarcal, belicista, racial, etc.). La experiencia gandhiana permitió la confección de una literatura más sólida sobre los métodos, las dinámicas y las lógicas de la resistencia civil de masas, además de alumbrar un significa- tivo empuje conceptual. No sólo fue Satyagraha, como «persistencia de la verdad», sino conceptos como «coerción noviolenta» de Clarence Case (1923), el «jiu-jitsu moral» de Richard Gregg (1935), la «huelga general» como arma dramática de Wilfred H. Crook (1931), la «revolución sin violen- cia» de Bartelemy De Ligt (1935), el «marco estratégico» para el desarrollo de las campañas de Krishnalal Shridharani (1939), la «dinámica» o las «eta- pas» de la lucha de Joan Bondurant (1958), la «omnicracia» de Aldo Capitini (1969), la «civilian defence» (defensa civil organizada) de Adam Roberts (1969), el «jiu-jitsu político» de Gene Sharp (1973), o el «backfire» de Brian Martin (2012), entre otros muchos elementos en el juego de poder desde la noviolencia (Castañar, 2010; Sharp 2012).11 Aunque no es este el lugar para desarrollarlo sí conviene señalar que tras los conceptos gandhianos y la experiencia india, se abrió más allá de la resistencia civil como forma organizada y sistemática de lucha, un debate y una literatura ad hoc sobre cómo hacer la revolución sin derramamiento de sangre y transcendiendo posiciones convencionales (liberales y marxis- tas). El propio Tolstoi (2010), Gandhi (1973), Aldo Capitini (1969), George Lakey (1973), Lanza del Vasto (1978), entre otros, plantean que en una situa- ción de crisis civilizatoria la revolución es mucho más que toma del poder o el cambio de régimen.12 De la escuela funcionalista de Sharp a la literatura estratégica El puente entre la satyagraha (más allá de un método) y la literatura estratégica actual es Gene Sharp y su escuela. El viejo politólogo nacido en Ohio en 1928, constituyó un auténtico revulsivo en el campo de la teoría política de la noviolencia, como una ciencia social aplicada. Sharp como científico social y académico pretendió sintetizar la complejidad de la ac- ción noviolenta, ofreciendo una mirada aplicada, útil y pragmática de una filosofía muy compleja. A pesar de que Sharp se sintió muy comprometido con los valores de la noviolencia (fue objetor de conciencia), su sentido pragmático y utilita- rista se evidenció desde sus primeros trabajos sobre este tema. Sharp (1970) comenzó explorando las alternativas noviolentas a la política convencional releyendo autores como Etienne de la Boetié (1576) y Henry David Thoreau (1848) a la luz de acontecimientos contemporáneos, especialmente asocia- dos a caídas de dictaduras militares y de movimientos de masas. Esto le condujo a desarrollar su campo de aplicación con varias obras posteriores (1994 y 2009), siendo la primera: De la dictadura a la democracia (publica- da en Bangkok en plena ebullición del movimiento por la democracia liderado 51 por Aung San Su-Kyi contra los militares), la que le daría fama internacional. Esta breve obra tuvo un gran éxito (traducida a más de 20 idiomas) y una gran repercusión en el campo de la movilización de masas. No obstante su obra más precursora fue The Politics of Nonviolent Action (1973), dividida en tres volúmenes, complementada posteriormente con los estudios: Gandhi as a Political Strategist (1979) y Social Power and Political Freedom (1980), en términos de repensar la estrategia en la política. Su idea principal es tratar la noviolencia como una ciencia (y no una filosofía o una manera de vivir). Como tal, tiene su metodología, puede ser enseñada, sistematizada y, asimismo, tiene su parte técnica. Es una ciencia de la política de masas, del juego de poder, de la que se pueden deducir algunos principios para su experimentación. A Sharp lo que le pre- ocupa es encontrar un método eficaz de ejercicio del poder, más allá del bien y del mal, más allá de la ética. Una forma de acción eficiente, de «demostra- ción de fuerza, de solución práctica de problemas concretos, de disciplina de la acción, pero no de mística, no un acto de ingenuidad moralista» (Soccio, 1985: 20). Sharp buscó, como William James o Gandhi, una alternativa a la guerra y la violencia, pero sin que tuviera que ser un sustitutivo moral o espiritual, sino una ciencia del conocimiento estratégico y táctico de la acción política más allá de las fronteras institucionales de una parte o, de la lucha armada, de otra. Para su escuela, la acción política noviolenta es un sistema complejo de principios, reglas y técnicas. Cuyo profundo conocimiento permite de- sarrollar su potencialidad y eficacia, al manejar factores diversos (tácticos, humanos, jurídico-políticos, accidentales…), variables específicas (miedo, liderazgo, poder, preparación, presión, etc.), junto a otros saberes y conoci- mientos que se ponen al servicio de la lucha (psicología, política, historia, geografía, economía…), así como la combinación de todo ello. Según Sharp, el poder del príncipe, como el poder de la gente orga- nizada («people power») tienen unas fuentes similares (autoridad, recur- sos humanos, factores psicológicos e ideológicos, recursos materiales, sis- temas de sanciones) aunque se construyen y se ejercen de manera muy diversa. El desarrollo de tales fuentes sirve, a los gobernados para obede- cer o negarse a hacerlo, porque existen una serie de factores que coadyuvan a ello (hábito, miedo, obligación moral, intereses personales, identificación política con quien lidera, falta de confianza en sí mismos, indiferencia). La teoría del poder de Sharp, tan simple como directa, se fundamentaba en una concepción voluntarista del consentimiento con binomios como obedecer/ desobedecer o permitir/oponerse. Hoy día sabemos, a través de otras teo- rías del poder, que existen complejos procesos de hegemonía cultural, de disciplinamiento o de consenso (Gramsci, 1978; Foucault, 1987; Arendt, 1973) que hacen menos plausible el binomio gobernar/someterse, sin tener en cuenta más variables. Partiendo de estas bases, Sharp estudia la historia y reconstruye un elenco de métodos de acción noviolenta, hasta un total de 198, que divide Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 52 en tres grandes grupos: los que expresan altos niveles simbólicos y comunicativos que tratan de influir en el adversario y que permiten desple- gar algunos dispositivos del poder popular, son métodos de “protesta, persuasión y concienciación” (declaraciones formales, espectáculos, ho- menajes, asambleas, discursos, etc.). Un segundo grupo, que consiste en la retirada activa de apoyo o de aquiescencia hacia quienes gobiernan; bien mediante la“no cooperación social” dificultando o entorpeciendo el normal desenvolvimiento de la vida y el orden social (ostracismo, suspensión de actividades culturales y eventos sociales, etc.); bien mediante la “no co- operación económica”, afectando a toda la actividad productiva, comercial, financiera, fiscal, distributiva y de consumo de una sociedad, para ahogar al sistema y obligar a las élites a que presionen al gobierno para que éste negocie. El ejemplo histórico más divulgado fue la huelga general de traba- jadores, pero estos métodos son muy diversos e implican múltiples elemen- tos (boicot, no pagar rentas, retirar masivamente fondos, embargos, recha- zar dinero, etc.). O bien la “no colaboración política”, que implica el rechazo de la autoridad, el retiro de la fidelidad y de la obligación jurídico-política hacia el gobierno y las fuerzas de seguridad, mostrar desacato hacia los órganos administrativos y jurídicos, boicots electorales, etc. Y, un tercer grupo que denomina de “intervención noviolenta”, en los que aumenta el grado de actuación, participación y estrategia combinada en el plano psico- lógico (huelga de hambre, contra juicios, hostigamiento, escraches), físico (ocupar lugares prohibidos, incursiones aéreas, invasiones), social (crear instituciones sociales alternativas, sistemas diversos de información y co- municación), económico (crear dinero, falsificar documentos, apropiarse de bienes y capitales, provocar pérdidas económicas) y político (doble sobe- ranía, gobierno y administración paralelas). De todos ellos la estrella es la desobediencia civil de masas como incumplimiento consciente, deliberado y público de las leyes para retar y generar colapso en el sistema. Un tercer elemento que ofrece sentido a las formas de poder y a los instrumentos de acción (los 198 métodos) es el estudio de las dinámicas: cómo funcionan, su intensidad, el sistema de fuerzas, esto es, las bases de la acción noviolenta (afrontar el poder del adversario, asumir riesgos, libe- rarse del miedo, el liderazgo de la lucha, la preparación, el ultimátum); el desafío que desencadena la represión (acabar con la pasividad, recompo- ner fuerzas, perseverar, enfrentar la brutalidad); cómo combatir este importantísimo factor con solidaridad y disciplina (neutralizar, diseñar un plan b, promocionar la disciplina interna); el concepto de «jiu-jitsu político» para que se genere un quiebre entre las filas represoras; la modificación de la voluntad del adversario mediante la conversión, la acomodación o la coerción noviolenta; y, finalmente, los objetivos últimos de la resistencia civil, es decir, propiciar una redistribución del poder entre los contendien- tes, poner fin a la sumisión, superar el miedo, generar poder social alterna- tivo, crear nuevas organizaciones sociales y políticas, cambiar en definitiva el sistema político. El seguimiento de las guías bibliográficas de McCarthy y Sharp (1997), de Power y Vogele (1997) o de Carter, Clark, y Randle (2006 y 2013), permiten 53 contemplar tras la obra de Sharp (1973) una explosión de la literatura sobre la acción política noviolenta genérica, al calor de estudios sobre el desarro- llo de nuevos movimientos sociales (pacifismo antinuclear, ecologismo, fe- minismo radical), ciclos de protesta (procesos de descolonización, antiapartheid, Vietnam, afrodescendientes, 1968, indigenismo, etc.) y acon- tecimientos no esperados (el descubrimiento del “people power”, el “poder de los sin poder” o la Caída del Muro de Berlín). Todo ello desplegó una cadena de estudios históricos, sociológicos y politológicos que otorgaban más atención a los movimientos de resistencia civil, reinterpretaban ciertos acontecimientos históricos relacionados con el monopolio del paradigma de la violencia y acometían análisis estratégicos sobre procesos invisibilizados (Carter, 2012). Esta interesante literatura ad hoco estratégica recorre los últimos 20 años, y va desde los trabajos de Ackerman y Kruegler (1994) sobre la rela- ción entre las dinámicas de movilización de las masas y su importancia en los conflictos noviolentos estratégicos, con múltiples ejemplos en situacio- nes, incluso de guerra; completado con otros casos de estudio realizados por Ackerman y Duvall (2000) para el siglo XX; pasando por el estudio de la geopolítica de los movimientos noviolentos de Zunes (1999); el Congreso de Oxford de 2007 liderado por Roberts y GartonAsh (2009) sobre estudios y sistematización de campañas masivas de resistencia sin armas, analizan- do factores en juego;13 los trabajos de Schock (2008) y Nesptad (2011) que analizan estudios de casos exitosos o fracasados14 en función de una serie de variables;15 los trabajos cuantitativos de Chenoweth y Stephan (2008 y 2011) que demuestra que las campañas de resistencia civil han sido, para todo el siglo XX, más exitosas que aquellas campañas de lucha armada.16 Esta literatura ha considerado que las elecciones estratégicas de los activistas son un factor clave sobre el éxito o el fracaso de una campaña masiva noviolenta. Por tanto, no se trata de acontecimientos improvisados o fundamentados en la voluntad firme y el coraje sino en un conjunto de variables de acción estratégica (minar el apoyo del oponente, dividir sus filas, conectar acciones y objetivos, considerar las fortalezas y debilidades, mantener una presión constante, etc.) que siguen ampliándose con nuevos trabajos. Estas visiones se completan con una historiografía que trata de am- pliar casos históricos y acontecimientos claves en países, con un enfoque estratégico y ecléctico, como el de Karatnycky y Ackerman (2005),17 Sharp y Paulson (2005) o Bartkowki (2013), y todo parece indicar que los trabajos, en este sentido, están creciendo de manera notable (Castañar, 2016). Aún quedaría una amplia literatura que, de manera indirecta, se inte- resa por los métodos y las dinámicas de la resistencia civil (limitada) en relación con los movimientos sociales, su capacidad de acción, no sólo instrumental, sino simbólica y relacional. Sin embargo no ha sido objeto de este artículo. Como tampoco otra literatura que partiendo de la resistencia civil realiza análisis de su canalización hacia la defensa popular y la defensa social.18 Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 54 Si bien no se puede ignorar que, aún los estudios y avances, existe toda una batalla epistemológica para infravalorar la importancia que tienen estos procesos de resistencia civil.19 Conclusiones La resistencia civil ha podido ser una constante histórica, con más o menos éxito, sin embargo su estudio sistemático es muy reciente y está muy ligado a las épocas contemporáneas donde el poder de las masas y de los sectores populares movilizados ha sido singularmente notorio con respec- to a etapas pretéritas. Las muchedumbres en la historia presente, como factor político, se han convertido en una ciudadanía activa, comprometida y decidida a ser la protagonista de sus propios cambios. La imagen es muy nítida: ciudadanos sin armas de fuego, sin someterse a una lucha de infini- tas crueldades, presionando y ejerciendo su descubierto empoderamiento frente al poder convencional, ofreciéndonos nuevos panoramas de análisis sobre el ejercicio de la política. La resistencia civil, como materia de estudio, ha venido generando una amplia literatura, por lo general ligada a varios campos del saber: en relación con los estudios para la paz, con respecto a las teorías de los movimientos sociales, en el campo de la ciencia política y las formas de ejercicio del poder y sus teorías, entre otras muchas. La evolución desde el derecho de resistencia frente a las tiranías y la intolerancia hasta las formas de desobediencia civil nos permiten vislumbrar, en paralelo, los cambios sociales y políticos que se han venido produciendo en nuestras socieda- des modernas. El estudio de ese derecho, su ejercicio, las nuevas formas de socialización y sociabilidad política muestran elementos de interés que se han venido ofreciendo a través del vasto campo de lo que se denomina la noviolencia. Desde Thoreau -pasando por los movimientos liberal-democráticos, abolicionistas, sufragistas, pacifistas, antimilitaristas, internacional- obreristas, etc.-, hasta las primaveras árabes existen algunas conexiones donde la resistencia resulta protagonista. La literatura del siglo XIX sobre las resistencias comenzó dejando testimonio de este fenómeno ligado a las masas como sujeto político. La tensión entre razón de Estado y razón ciuda- dana se resolvía en el campo no sólo institucional sino más allá, mediante formas complejas de presión, protesta y concienciación. Frente a la maqui- naria burocrático-militar de los estados, el pueblo tenía a su disposición la no-cooperación, pudiendo colapsar al sistema de una manera aparentemen- te tan sencilla como no obedecer y no colaborar. Thoreau, Tolstoi o Gandhi se dieron cuenta de ello. No fueron los únicos, todos ellos aprendieron muchísimo de las luchas obreras y sufragistas. Fue Gandhi el que supo interpretar una nueva forma de lucha, dejan- do atrás a la mal llamada «resistencia pasiva» convirtiendo la resistencia civil en «satyagraha» (fuerza de la verdad), es decir, una lucha de masas, 55 un poder social movilizado que no sólo se conducía por intereses políticos sino que incorporaba una fuerza espiritual y moral motivadora que soporta- ba el sacrificio, el riesgo y la constancia de toda lucha política. Gandhi escribió Satyagraha en Sudáfrica (1928, versión inglesa) sistematizando, sin pretenderlo, un primer estudio de algunos de los muchos factores que intervenían en la movilización popular. A él le siguieron muchos estudiosos y militantes de la resistencia noviolenta. Case, Gregg, Crook, De Ligt, Shridharani, Bondurant, entre otros, fueron desarrollando aspectos con- cretos de la satyagraha en términos de coerción noviolenta, jiu-jitsu moral, marco estratégico, dinámicas, etc. La influencia de Gandhi fue tan inespera- da como el éxito de la independencia de la India. Los trabajos sobre sus formas de lucha, sus conceptos de conversión, humanización del conflicto o graduación de los medios ensancharon los estudios e interpretaciones sobre la resistencia civil como instrumento de cambio social. En los años 70s, emergió la figura de Gene Sharp, cuyo trabajo de tesis doctoral dio lugar a ThePolitics of Nonviolent Action, un estudio muy sistemático sobre la naturaleza del poder, los métodos de lucha y las dinámi- cas que estas generaban en campañas sostenidas de protesta. Sharp propi- ció una mirada científica al fenómeno, sistematizando los muchos factores desencadenantes y nodulares en torno a la lucha noviolenta. El funcionalismo de Sharp y su extremado pragmatismo, enfriaron el compo- nente espiritual y moral que puso Gandhi, a cambio le dio un perfil estraté- gico. Sharp era consciente de que existía una vasta historia de resistencia civil que había que estudiar y clasificar como parte de una política aplicada. No existen dudas de que la resistencia civil, tal y como la conocemos hoy día, comienza a ser moderna con Gandhi, pero se convierte en categoría de análisis con Gene Sharp y en toda una corriente bibliográfica conocida como «Resistance Studies». La intervención de la sociología ha hecho que se diera un giro a la literatura sobre la acción política noviolenta, desde el estudio de las técnicas y los medios hacia las complejas elaboraciones estratégicas con factores externos, internos y juicios relacionados con las dinámicas instrumentales y simbólicas de la resistencia civil, con una clara afectación de la bibliografía sobre los movimientos sociales tal y como la analizan las teorías sobre la estructura de oportunidades políticas, los mar- cos de referencia y la movilización de recursos. Esta literatura del conflicto estratégico noviolento (Ackerman, Kruegler, Duvall, Chenoweth, Nepstad, etc.) está teniendo un gran éxito motivado por el tipo de estudio tan aplica- do y pragmático Finalmente, entre la literatura partidaria del gandhismo y la de los estudios funcional-estratégicos, al menos, existe un consenso y es que el uso de la resistencia civil y el uso de las armas resulta antitético y no deben ser confundidos. Puede darse el caso histórico de que ciertos grupos com- binen ambas formas de lucha pero en períodos de tiempo distintos, primero la resistencia civil y luego la lucha armada, o viceversa. La bibliografía estratégica analiza por qué se produce esta situación y qué implicaciones tiene en conflictos de larga duración; en cambio, la literatura gandhiana Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 56 aunque también lo estudia, sin embargo, remarca las muchas contradiccio- nes que ello puede implicar en la relación entre adversarios o en la importan- cia entre medios/fines. Lo que no admiten de buen grado ambas literaturas es que un mismo grupo combine ambas formas de lucha en el mismo perío- do histórico. No obstante, en la realidad histórica a veces se ha producido esta situación, sin embargo a esto no le llamarían campañas de resistencia civil estratégica sino diversas formas de guerra (de alta y baja intensidad) entre contendientes, en los que uno de ellos, incluso los dos, combinan ambas formas de lucha (armada y no armada). Sobre esta cuestión ni la literatura gandhiana, ni la estratégica han elaborado un corpus cerrado que nos permita elaborar conclusiones definitivas (los estudios sobre Palesti- na/Israel, Irlanda del Norte, entre otros, apuntan algunos elementos intere- santes para la discusión de las fronteras entre armada y no armada, la rela- ción entre medios/fines o la diferenciación entre multiplicidad de actores coincidentes en los objetivos pero no en las técnicas de lucha, etc.). Una y otra literatura, coinciden en que una cuestión de fondo es la tensión permanente en la relación entre medios/fines. Se supone que en un caso por motivaciones de principios o deontológicas; en el otro por un amplio abanico de variables a tener en cuenta en un proceso de lucha estra- tégica. En realidad, la literatura gandhiana no renuncia a los análisis estraté- gicos (eficacia, oportunidad, ganar legitimidad, etc.), sino que no son sufi- cientes para caracterizar un modelo de lucha noviolenta. En el caso de la literatura pragmática aunque se distancia de la noviolencia de principios no la desprecia, sin embargo como apuntan estos estudios lo normal es encon- trar a mucha gente en estas campañas que ni saben, ni aprecian, ni sienten los principios gandhianos, sino que están luchando por reivindicar sus derechos y ven en la resistencia civil una oportunidad de vehicular sus demandas. En la práctica, una consecuencia que debemos extraer es que practi- car la satyagraha, también como expresión espiritual, no te hace renunciar a estas variables, pero son de alguna manera acompañantes deseados que van en las alforjas pero que no son ni las piernas, ni el cerebro, ni el corazón que te orienta en la lucha. 57 Notas 1 Para este artículo no consideramos otras corrientes y autores que aunque hablan de resistencia(s) y múltiples formas de disidencia, protesta, etc., el núcleo fundamental de su teorización no contempla como exigencia que tales acontecimientos y actores se comportan y buscan fines noviolentos, no sólo de manera táctica sino estratégica (otros componentes como que la resistencia civil sea genuinamente interclasista, sea limitada, no exija un cambio revolucionario, que resulte de un proceso excepcional o que pretenda una agenda más o menos exigente, etc., son cuestiones que se podrían discutir). Aquí el componente “civil” de la resistencia, no sólo hace referencia a formada por ciudadanos y ciudadanas, gente del pueblo, el estado llano, campesinado, indígenas, etc., sino que considera –de manera muy importante- que se trata de una resistencia pacífica, no armada y, más allá, noviolenta. 2 Cfr., para algunos matices en López Martínez, M. (2004 y 2005). 3 Esta definición está a caballo entre la que nos ofrece Chenoweth y Stephan (2008: 3), Zunes (1999: 33) y Schock (2005: 32). 4 Gandhi, M., Young India, 1919-1932, (10 noviembre 1921), p. 362 5 En la propuesta original (López Martínez, 2000: 294-295) se organiza en cuatro clasificaciones: a) lucha contra la dominación colonial, b) la liberación de los regíme- nes dictatoriales y totalitarios, c) la reivindicación de derechos y libertades y d) el sostenimiento y apoyo de políticas alternativas y sustentables. 6 He aquí los ejemplos más significativos tomados de la literatura citada: Las Trece colonias (1765-1775), Cuba (1810-1902), Argelia (1830-1950), Egipto (1805-1922), Ghana (1890-1950), Mozambique (1920-1970), Sudáfrica (1899-1919), Zambia (1900- 1960), India (1900-1947), Irán (1890-1906), Hungría (1850-1860s), Polonia (1860- 1900), Finlandia (1899-1904), Irlanda (1919-1921), Kosovo (1990s), Burma (1910- 1940), West Papua (1910-2012), Palestina (1920-2012), entre otros. Como se puede comprobar son períodos muy amplios de tiempo, esto implica una interpretación no sólo abierta de la resistencia civil sino la constatación de que ésta convive –en muchí- simas ocasiones- con acciones armadas procedentes de grupos afines a los resistentes. 7 He aquí algunos ejemplos, la Huelga general en Rusia (1905), El contra golpe frente al golpismo de Kapp en Alemania (1920), La resistencia noviolenta en Holanda (1940s), La resistencia de los maestros en Noruega (1940s), La resistencia en Dinamarca (1940s), La oposición a Hitler de la organización la Rosa Blanca (1940s), La resistencia civil de las mujeres en Italia (1943-45), Las campañas contra la dictadura en El Salvador (1944), Luchas y campañas contra el apartheid en Sudáfrica (1945-80s), Hungría (1956), La Primavera de Praga, Checoslovaquia (1968), Caída del Sha de Persia (1979), Campañas de Solidaridad en la Polonia del general Yaruzelski (1980s), El poder del pueblo en la caída del dictador Ferdinand Marcos (1986), Las revoluciones cantadas (Lituania, Estonia y Letonia, 1987-1990), Contra la dictadura militar en Myanmar (1980s-2000s), Movimiento por la democracia en Tiananmen (1989), El colapso de los regímenes soviéticos y la caída del Muro de Berlín (1989), La revolución de terciopelo en Checoslovaquia (1989), El contra golpe en Rusia (1991), Derribo del presidente Suharto en Indonesia (1998), Resistencia ciudadana (Otpor) en Serbia con- tra Milosevich (2000), etc. Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 58 8 Aquí algunos ejemplos: Movimiento obrero cartista (1830s), Resistencia de las nacio- nes indias, especialmente cherokees, a la concentración en reservas (siglo XIX), Mo- vimiento antiesclavista (1830s-1860s), Movimiento social feminista –sufragismo, igualdad, etc.- (ss. XIX-XX), Movimiento afroamericano de los derechos civiles (1955- 1968), Movimiento chicano de Cesar Chavez (1950s-1970s), Movimiento cristiano Plowshares contra las armas nucleares en Estados Unidos (1980s), Campañas del END (European Nuclear Disarmament) (1970s-1980s), Movimiento de objeción de con- ciencia a las guerras y al servicio militar, especialmente la Internacional de Resistentes contra la guerra (s. XX), Resistencias y despliegue del movimiento gay estadounidense y europeo (1960s-2010s), Contra la instalación de bases militares en Europa: Larzac (Francia), GreenhamCommon (Reino Unido), Cabañeros y Rota (España) (1970s- 1980s), Movimientos indígenas (Nasas en Colombia, zapatistas en México, etc.), Intervenciones internacionales noviolentas. Brigadas, cuerpos civiles, shantisena, etc., La revolución naranja en Ucrania (2004-2005), La revolución de los cedros en Líbano (2005), La primavera árabe en Tunez y Egipto (2011), El movimiento 15-M en España (2011), entre otras. 9 Si bien, Gandhi (1950) matizó esta influencia, por cuanto se había criticado al movi- miento sufragista como “resistencia pasiva”, catalogando con este mismo concepto al movimiento indio en Sudáfrica. Gandhi señaló que había diferencias entre su Satyagraha y la resistencia pasiva. Si bien ambos movimientos podían ser usados por minorías, débiles, desarmados o grupos sin derecho al voto, las diferencias mayores estaban en que mientras en la resistencia pasiva había lugar para el odio, siempre tenía intención de hostigar al adversario o podía ser una preparación para el uso futuro de la fuerza; en la satyagraha sólo había espacio para el amor, no existía la más remota intención de dañar al otro bando, postulaba la conquista del adversario mediante el sufrimiento propio o no admitía nunca el uso de la fuerza. Así lo escribió en el capítulo 13 titulado “Satyagraha vs Resistencia pasiva”, Lastra (2012: 282-286). 10 Ambas concepciones de la noviolencia están en Burrowes (1996: 100), sin embargo, esta doble concepción fue, muchos años antes, definida por Pontara (1983). 11 La ‘coerción noviolenta’ es una de las formas que adopta la acción directa en la que se constriñe y se le presiona al adversario de una manera aguda. El ‘jiu-jitsu moral’ está formulado para crear desconcierto, reflexión y vergüenza en el contrincante, el cual usa la violencia sin recibir la misma moneda a cambio. La ‘huelga general’, muy parecido al hartal indio, esto es, una paralización total de todas las actividades no sólo económico-comerciales sino de la actividad diaria. El concepto de revolución de DeLigt se puede formular con el aforismo: «a mayor revolución menos violencia, y a mayor violencia menos revolución», promoviendo el debate sobre qué es una verdadera ‘re- evolución’ sin derramamiento de sangre. El ‘marco estratégico’ es el precedente de lo que debe ser ‘el conflicto noviolento estratégico’, nada improvisado, creando condi- ciones propicias, principios de actuación, etc. La ‘omnicracia’ capitiniana es el ‘poder de todos’, contrario al poder de unos pocos propio de las democracias delegativas, el fascismo o el socialismo de estado. La ‘defensa civil organizada’ es la defensa de un país sin el uso de las armas, sólo con métodos, técnicas y dinámicas del poder noviolento. El ‘jiu-jitsu político’ consiste en usar la fuerza del contrario en beneficio propio, influyendo en los grupos cercanos y en terceras partes generando solidaridad. Final- mente el ‘backfire’ es la capacidad de provocar un jiu-jitsu político pero en fenómenos como la difamación, la censura o la tortura. 59 12 Sobre los múltiples planteamientos de esta cuestión de qué es la revolución noviolenta (Arias 1995, L’Abate, 2008 y Castañar 2013). 13 Algunos de esos factores están formulados en términos de preguntas: ¿Por qué la elección de la resistencia civil frente a la lucha armada?¿La eficacia de un movimiento depende de circunstancias favorables?¿Tiene eficacia la resistencia civil frente a las estructuras del adversario?¿Cuál es el papel de los actores externos al movimiento?¿Qué importancia tiene la provocación o desacreditación del movimiento?¿Cuánto ayudan las nuevas tecnologías al movimiento?¿Resultan importantes los apoyos externos? ¿de qué tipo?¿El uso de la resistencia civil determina la calidad democrática de un régimen? 14 Schock analiza: Sudáfrica (1983-90), Filipinas (1983-86), Burma (1988), China (1989), Nepal (1990) y Tailanda (1991-92) y Nepstad: Filipinas (1983-86), Chile (1985-88), Panamá (1987-89), China (1989), Alemania del Este (1989), Kenia (1989- 92), Egipto (2011), Siria (2011) y Bahréin (2011-12). 15 Rechazo a reconocer la autoridad del régimen, Rechazo a cooperar o cumplir con las leyes, Cambios en la mentalidad de la obediencia, Suspensión de competencias, Suspen- sión de recursos materiales y Pérdida de la potestad sancionadora del Estado. 16 Su estudio cuantifica, de 1900 a 2006, 323 campañas violentas y noviolentas. Y los datos, en algunos casos sorprenden y, en otros, rompen estereotipos. De todas las campañas: 217 fueron violentas y aproximadamente un tercio, 106, fueron de resis- tencia civil. el estudio señala que el 53 % de las campañas de resistencia civil han tenido éxito frente a sólo el 26 % de las campañas de resistencia basadas en el uso de la lucha armada: “nuestros resultados contradicen la opinión ortodoxa de que la resistencia violenta contra adversarios que son superiores en términos convencionales es la mane- ra más eficaz para los grupos en resistencia de alcanzar sus objetivos políticos” (Chenoweth y Stephan, 2008: 9). 17 Si muchos de estos factores se cumplen: resistencia civil de masas, movimientos de abajo-arriba, fuerte cohesión social de las coaliciones civiles en torno al uso de la noviolencia, capacidad de encontrar aliados, etc., entonces se incrementan las posibi- lidades de procesos exitosos y una fuerte reducción de brotes de violencia. 18 Cfr. 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Sutherland, Bill y Meyer, Matt (2000), Guns and Gandhi in Africa: Pan African Insights on Nonviolence, Armed Struggle and Liberation. Africa World Press, Trenton. Thoreau, Henry D. (1995), Sobre el deber de la desobediencia civil. Ed. Iralka, [1848], San Sebastián. Tolstoi, León (2010), El reino de Dios está en vosotros. Editorial Kairós, [1894], Madrid. Zunes, Stephen et al, eds. (1999), Nonviolent Social Movements: A Geographical Perspective. Blackwell Publishers, Malden, MA. * * * Recibido: 30.01.2016 Aceptado: 05.04.2016 Mario López-Martínez
work_faqqgp46yzdvxljgeygzyxger4 ---- Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 Elfe XX-XXI Études de la littérature française des XXe et XXIe siècles 8 | 2019 Extension du domaine de la littérature L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Sara Buekens Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/elfe/1299 DOI : 10.4000/elfe.1299 ISSN : 2262-3450 Éditeur Société d'étude de la littérature de langue française du XXe et du XXIe siècles Référence électronique Sara Buekens, « L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française », Elfe XX-XXI [En ligne], 8 | 2019, mis en ligne le 10 septembre 2019, consulté le 21 décembre 2020. URL : http:// journals.openedition.org/elfe/1299 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/elfe.1299 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 21 décembre 2020. La revue Elfe XX-XXI est mise à disposition selon les termes de la Licence Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/elfe/1299 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Sara Buekens 1 « Tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi » (« Toi, Tityre, couché sous le vaste feuillage de ce hêtre ») est l’incipit célèbre de la première églogue des Bucoliques de Virgile, dans lesquelles des bergers chantent la beauté de la forêt. Accompagnés par leurs chèvres et leurs moutons, ils y mènent une vie paisible en harmonie avec une nature pastorale souvent associée à l’amour. Lorsqu’aujourd’hui, 2000 ans après les boutades de Mélibée, on aborde la question du monde naturel, c’est surtout pour montrer comment des catastrophes écologiques dégradent notre planète et pour souligner que la défense de la nature fait partie de nos responsabilités envers les générations à venir. Maintenant que le discours environnemental est omniprésent dans les médias, nous observons aussi la place toujours grandissante que les problématiques liées à la nature occupent dans la littérature des dernières décennies. Un grand nombre de romans contemporains mettent en scène des personnages qui sont à la recherche d’une expérience de la nature en solitaire, comme Into the wild de Jon Krakauer (1996) et Dans les forêts de Sibérie de Sylvain Tesson (2011), dont les adaptations cinématographiques ont connu un grand succès. Pensons aussi à Continuer de Laurent Mauvignier et Le Grand Jeu de Céline Minard, deux romans parus en 2016 dans lesquels les protagonistes tournent le dos au capitalisme et à la société de consommation et choisissent de vivre, fût-ce temporairement, dans une nature vierge. D’autres auteurs abordent de façon plus explicite les atteintes que le progrès et l’industrialisation portent à l’environnement : c’est le cas pour Alice Ferney, qui, dans Le règne du vivant (2014), se sert d’un discours activiste pour glorifier Paul Watson, un militant écologiste canadien qui lutte contre la chasse aux baleines dans les eaux internationales : J’ai vu la violence de l’homme industriel se jeter sur la richesse des mers, ses mains de fer mettre à mort les plus gros, les plus rapides, les plus formidables prédateurs. J’ai vu les grands chaluts ramasser en aveugle une faune inconnue. J’ai su de quoi les humains sont capables. J’ai redouté ce qu’ils font quand ils se savent invisibles, en haute mer, sur la banquise, dans le face-à-face sans mot avec les bêtes à leur merci. J’ai combattu l’horreur : les tueries, les mutilations, les dépeçages, l’entassement des cadavres. J’ai vu mourir noyées dans leur sang des baleines qui L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 1 criaient comme des femmes. […] Nous leur devions une protection. […] Quel usage faisons-nous du monde ?1 2 Dans L’Homme des haies (2012), Jean-Loup Trassard met en scène un narrateur paysan qui, afin de ne pas perdre le contact physique et la complicité avec le monde naturel, continue à respecter les pratiques agricoles traditionnelles, tandis qu’autour de lui la mécanisation de l’agriculture perturbe profondément la relation entre l’homme et la nature. Le procédé du monologue permet au narrateur Vincent Loiseau de s’adresser directement aux lecteurs, auxquels il exprime souvent son indignation face au déclin du mode de vie paysan traditionnel et qu’il met en garde contre les menaces pour le monde naturel, comme la disparition d’un grand nombre d’espèces animales : Maintenant, de la graine, il n’en est plus fait, il n’y a guère de lièvre non plus ! C’est trop chassé. Les cultures ont changé, le maïs qui est semé de plus en plus n’est pas du tout bon pour le lièvre, il ne se coule point là-dedans !2 C’est là que je voyais des écrevisses, oui, des belles […]. Mais il n’y en a plus, à remonter le ruisseau si j’en trouve une ou deux petites c’est bien tout. […] d’après le journal, j’ai lu ça d’un coup, ce serait les produits qu’on sème, nous, les fermiers, qui s’en vont dans l’eau.3 Certains modes de production disparaissent parce qu’ils ne sont pas suffisamment rentables, le remembrement agraire des années soixante a fait disparaître les éléments typiques du paysage rural. Et, comme le montre le narrateur, avec ces pratiques agricoles traditionnelles a également disparu l’intimité que le paysan entretenait avec le monde naturel. 3 Dans Naissance d’un pont (2010), Maylis de Kerangal renverse les codes du genre épique pour montrer comment la construction du nouveau pont entraîne la destruction de la forêt dans laquelle des Indiens mènent encore une vie respectueuse de la nature. L’appât du gain des hommes d’affaires qui dirigent des travaux d’aménagement constitue un contraste criard avec le projet qui anime habituellement le héros classique. Dans cette épopée moderne, pleine d’ironie du sort, le sacrifice de la forêt est nécessaire pour convertir la ville à l’éthanol et en faire « l’avant-garde des enjeux écologiques mondiaux. Coca ville verte »4. Pour souligner l’hypocrisie d’une telle entreprise, qui dans ce cas cache la mégalomanie de l’homme occidental, Kerangal n’hésite pas à décrire en détail la pollution liée aux travaux : les nuisances inhérentes à de tels travaux – éventrements de perspectives aimées, poussière, bruit, pollutions hétérogènes [..]. Les percussions des bulldozers fusionnèrent avec les chocs et martèlements naturels de la cité, avec les fumées des moteurs de bagnoles et les rafales de poussière. Un nuage de pollution jaune citron plana bientôt sur la ville.5 Ecocriticism vs. écopoétique 4 On observe donc aujourd’hui, dans un monde où la nature est de plus en plus menacée, un intérêt renouvelé pour le monde concret. Tous les romanciers que l’on vient d’énumérer affichent leur sympathie pour ceux qui vivent des expériences authentiques dans la nature – que les problèmes écologiques risquent de rendre bientôt impossibles. Cette génération d’auteurs est revenue des jeux intellectuels du postmodernisme, leurs romans et récits témoignent d’un intérêt pour la nature concrète, voire, dans le cas d’Alice Ferney, d’un engagement environnemental. Néanmoins, Le Règne du vivant a pendant longtemps été le seul roman français où le souci de la protection de l’environnement s’exprime de façon militante, contrairement L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 2 à la littérature anglo-saxonne, où le discours littéraire comporte plus fréquemment un engagement écologique explicite. La littérature française tient en général très fort à distance tout militantisme explicite. L’attitude de la France face à l’écologie a toujours été ambiguë, comme le montre Michael Bess, qui dans La France vert clair6 offre un panorama des initiatives et des pensées caractérisant le mouvement écologique français dès les années 1960. 5 Suite à ce tournant récent, l’on voit apparaître dans le monde académique un intérêt toujours grandissant pour cette littérature contemporaine qui nous aide à repenser notre relation à la nature. Depuis 30 ans s’est développée dans le monde anglo-saxon une discipline qui étudie la littérature dans ses rapports avec l’environnement naturel : l’ecocriticism. Or, cette approche théorique permet difficilement d’étudier la spécificité de la littérature française pour plusieurs raisons7 : l’histoire du rapport à la nature est fondamentalement différente en Amérique, l’identité américaine étant indissociable de la wilderness et de ses grands parcs nationaux. Lorsque les théoriciens de l’ecocriticism renvoient à la nature, c’est dans la plupart des cas à une nature sauvage et vierge qu’ils se réfèrent – une réalité inexistante dans le pays essentiellement rural que la France a longtemps été. Si des chercheurs comme Timothy Morton8 questionnent la légitimité du terme « nature », de plus en plus inséparable de « culture », la question ne se pose pas pour les auteurs français. Ainsi, Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio a récemment avoué dans un entretien qu’il regrette le manque d’arbres et de jardins à Paris, contrairement à Aix-en-Provence, où cette « nature »9 est bien toujours présente au sein du milieu urbain. Pour Pierre Gascar, les arbres dans un jardin, même entourés de l’air pollué d’une grande ville, constituent en plein un élément de nature et permettent à l’homme industrialisé de « reconquérir le monde naturel en voie de disparition »10 : Au progrès de la ville et de l’industrie, à l’effacement de la nature, à la détérioration du paysage, à la réduction des forêts, à la mort des sources, l’homme d’aujourd’hui apporte un démenti […]. Le jardin [est] […] un lieu qui, réellement, […] nie l’extérieur sous son aspect présent et recrée la réalité originelle. […] Il est une œuvre de foi, et le plus modeste des jardiniers fait, à lui seul, exister la nature aussi pleinement, aussi souverainement que le croyant le plus humble fait, à lui seul, exister Dieu.11 Et même si l’expérience de la nature se limite pour les personnages trassardiens au mode de vie paysan, à la campagne et donc à une nature fortement manipulée par l’homme, cet environnement que l’ecocriticism considère comme « artificiel » au lieu de naturel (car pas « vierge ») n’empêche pas l’homme d’éprouver une véritable communion avec les animaux et végétaux et de développer une sensibilité écologique. 6 L’approche de l’écocritique est donc fortement liée à l’identité et à l’idéologie américaines et se penche principalement sur la littérature du monde anglo-saxon. Les grands textes de référence, aussi bien des pères fondateurs de la tradition littéraire de la nature writing que des théoriciens de l’ecocriticism, ne sont guère connus en France ni traduits en français. Un des premiers théoriciens, Lawrence Buell, a établi les critères pour définir la littérature « environnementale »12 : l’homme a une responsabilité éthique envers l’environnement non humain, qui est conçu comme un processus et une présence dont l’histoire influence celle de l’homme. On peut constater que dans l’ecocriticism conçu par Buell, l’écriture environnementale se définit essentiellement selon des critères éthiques et thématiques au détriment des critères esthétiques. 7 Jusqu’à récemment, il n’y avait pas d’équivalent dans les départements de lettres en France, où la littérature est essentiellement étudiée dans son rapport avec la dimension L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 3 sociale ou historique, et où l’on a consacré peu d’attention à la littérature d’inspiration écologique. Pour combler cette lacune dans l’étude de la littérature française s’est développée dans le monde académique français et francophone une nouvelle discipline, l’écopoétique, qui étudie la littérature française dans son rapport avec l’environnement. Loin d’adhérer au militantisme de l’écocriticism américaine, le projet de l’écopoétique reste avant tout littéraire et vise à interroger les formes poétiques par lesquelles les auteurs font parler le monde végétal et animal. Ainsi, l’approche écopoéticienne permet de rendre visible l’actualité des questions d’écologie dans la littérature française en mettant moins l’accent sur l’engagement et plus sur les questions de forme et d’écriture - on sait l’importance que l’université et la critique françaises accordent aux critères stylistiques pour l’évaluation et la canonisation de la littérature. 8 Néanmoins, il faut noter que les deux disciplines, aussi bien l’ecocriticism que l’écopoétique, regroupent chacune un continuum d’approches très diverses, prenant en considération aussi bien une littérature post-apocalyptique que des réflexions philosophiques sur le rapport entre l’oikos et les règnes animal et végétal. Il est d’ailleurs impossible d’établir une distinction nette entre les formes françaises et francophones de l’« écocritique » et l’écopoétique, ces deux approches s’intéressant au même corpus et présentant des champs de recherche qui se chevauchent et s’influencent mutuellement13. 9 De plus, des acquis importants de la géocritique et de la géopoétique ont marqué la réflexion en France. La géocritique, avec Westphal comme un des chercheurs les plus importants, étudie à partir de représentations littéraires et d’une approche intertextuelle le rapport entre les espaces réels, vécus et les espaces imaginaires ou imaginés, ce qui permet d’analyser dans quelle mesure la littérature propose une nouvelle lecture du monde. Kenneth White, le fondateur de l’International Institute of Geopoetics en 1989, a développé la géopoétique, une approche qui met l’accent sur la façon dont l’homme établit une relation avec l’espace à travers ses pensées, ses émotions et ses expériences sensorielles. Essentiellement interdisciplinaire, son champ de recherches ne se limite pas à la littérature. Les acquis de la géocritique et de la géopoétique sont importants pour l’analyse du rapport, dans la fiction, entre l’homme et la planète. Or, si ces disciplines se penchent sur la carte et le paysage, elles ne prennent guère en considération les menaces qui pèsent sur l’environnement. Les enjeux éthiques 10 L’écopoétique permet d’étudier la façon dont les auteurs présentent la nature et les problèmes écologiques et comment les œuvres font apparaître les règnes animal, végétal et minéral. Un vaste corpus de romans et récits font état de la relation souvent perturbée entre l’humain et le non-humain dans des environnements très variés : naturels, urbains, industriels, apocalyptiques, au niveau régional, national ou global. De nombreux textes littéraires représentent le rapport paradoxal entre le bonheur qu’apporte la nature, souvent un lieu de détente pour l’homme moderne, et les menaces provoquées par le progrès et l’industrialisation. Une des questions qui se pose est de savoir quel type de valeur les auteurs accordent au monde naturel : prennent-ils en considération la nature pour elle-même ou adhèrent-ils plutôt à une écologie L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 4 sentimentale ? Pensons par exemple dans ce dernier cas à Julien Gracq, dont la sensibilité environnementale est d’abord esthétique : De plus en plus nettement, avec la prolifération des résidences isolées périphériques, la notion de cité s’efface au profit de l’image d’une vague densification humaine cancéreuse, qui ensemence loin autour d’elle le tissu naturel de ses métastases et de ses ganglions. Des zones entières maintenant de l’ancienne campagne – et étendues – font songer à un chaos où on aurait brassé et secoué pêle- mêle les éléments urbains et ceux de la verdure circonvoisine, et où le tout serait resté à l’état d’émulsion mal liée, sans qu’aucune décantation, aucune stratification nette paraisse se faire. Mais laissons là ces ruminations écologiques.14 Voilà en quoi consistent pour Gracq les problèmes écologiques : il dénonce la laideur des paysages qui manquent d’uniformité par la coexistence d’éléments culturels, c’est- à-dire urbains ou industriels, et naturels ou campagnards. Les positions de l’auteur s’expliquent par sa formation : l’appréciation des paysages dépend du plaisir qu’ils offrent à l’œil du géographe. Gracq défend donc les espaces qui sont « beaux » à voir : bien structurés, harmonieux dans la forme et les couleurs, d’un matériau géologiquement intéressant. Cette position incite certains chercheurs comme Walter Wagner à ranger Gracq parmi les « écologistes romantiques »15. 11 Mais il y a aussi les auteurs qui, conformément à l’éthique de la terre d’Aldo Leopold, refusent une vision purement utilitaire ou esthétique et prennent en considération des éléments naturels « inesthétiques » selon les canons conventionnels de la beauté. Un de ces auteurs est Pierre Gascar, pour qui la disparition de végétaux comme les lichens, le nostoc et les mauvaises herbes, pour insignifiants et inutiles qu’ils soient, est encore plus inquiétante que la mort des fleurs, « car l’existence de ces dernières pouvait nous sembler hypothéquée par leur pouvoir florifère, par leur beauté, qui rendait déplacée, insolite, leur présence au milieu des cultures, alors que ces herbes grossières, solides, insensibles aux excès des saisons, faisaient partie de la natte permanente du sol »16. Les enjeux esthétiques 12 Outre ces enjeux éthiques, il est intéressant de voir par quelles formes d’écriture les auteurs décrivent le monde naturel et d’examiner les fonctions et les effets des stratégies rhétoriques et des figures de style dont les auteurs se servent pour problématiser l’environnement. Cette approche permet de décrire les choix esthétiques qui accompagnent leurs prises de position écologiques et de voir comment les œuvres de fiction mettent en place une véritable argumentation. Proposant une perspective attentive aux techniques littéraires qui invitent le lecteur à l’adhésion, l’écopoétique met l’accent sur le travail de l’écriture : il s’agit d’analyser par exemple la signification des métaphores et la façon dont celles-ci ajoutent un sens supplémentaire aux descriptions du monde naturel ; de voir comment les auteurs expriment le rapport entre l’homme et l’environnement par le biais des procédés d’anthropomorphisme, de personnification et de zoomorphisme. Très souvent, ces procédés permettent de donner une voix au monde aussi bien animal que végétal et d’interroger la place de l’homme dans les écosystèmes : Dans le bâtiment F (Engraissement), le Boiteux regarde mourir son voisin de case. […] Le Boiteux s’est couché en face du mourant, qui a cessé de se tordre de douleur. Il ne crie plus, il pleure. Alors le Boiteux fait ce geste, de lui tenir la tête entre ses pattes avant. Ce n’est pas un geste réservé à l’humanité, il y a toujours un porc qui console les autres au fond d’une salle, il suffit d’attendre pour le surprendre, ce L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 5 geste que font les gens partout où la vie cogne, d’attirer contre soi celui qui a mal, ferme les yeux, pars tranquille, nous sommes tous dans le même couloir.17 Dans ce passage de 180 jours, Isabelle Sorente utilise le procédé de l’anthropomorphisme pour questionner l’abîme général qui sépare les hommes et les animaux, et amène ainsi le lecteur à se demander dans quelle mesure la douleur animale serait plus justifiée que la douleur humaine. 13 Parfois, l’ironie permet à l’écrivain de changer la signification apparente de son discours pour dénoncer la situation politique ou économique actuelle ou pour souligner la gravité des problèmes environnementaux. Dans Naissance d’un pont, les noms des héros responsables de la construction du pont renvoient justement aux fondateurs de la tradition littéraire de la nature writing américaine : Katherine Thoreau et Ralph Waldo réfèrent respectivement à Henri David Thoreau et Ralph Waldo Emerson. Par ce détour ironique, ces penseurs transcendantalistes qui ont toujours milité pour une préservation du monde naturel deviennent responsables de la destruction de la forêt indienne. Jouant ainsi avec les conventions de l’épopée, Maylis de Kerangal ridiculise le désir d’expansion des grandes villes et affiche sa sympathie pour ceux qui mènent encore une vie » en harmonie » avec la nature. L’histoire de la littérature 14 Ci-dessus, nous avons posé que la littérature contemporaine présente un intérêt renouvelé pour la nature concrète. « Renouvelé », car on ne saurait oublier que les préoccupations écologiques ne datent pas d’hier, et qu’un grand nombre d’auteurs ont contribué à la création d’un discours environnemental littéraire au cours du XXe siècle. Ainsi, l’écopoétique permet de rendre visible l’actualité des questions d’écologie de certains auteurs français – comme Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, Julien Gracq, Pierre Gascar, … – qui ont écrit à un moment où les problèmes environnementaux ne faisaient point encore partie des préoccupations quotidiennes. Certaines œuvres sont aujourd’hui encore connues du grand public, comme Les Racines du ciel de Romain Gary, qu’on présente toujours comme « le premier roman écologique »18 de la littérature française. Mais on oublie trop souvent que d’autres auteurs, comme Jean-Loup Trassard ou même Nicolas Bouvier, ont également exprimé leur attachement au monde naturel et/ou ont rendu visibles dans leurs romans et récits les problèmes environnementaux de leurs temps. Ces auteurs n’ont guère été étudiés dans cette perspective, et maintenant que l’écopoétique propose des outils pour se pencher sur la littérature française dans son rapport avec la nature, l’environnement et l’écologie, un retour sur leur œuvre s’impose. 15 En outre, il existe des auteurs dont l’œuvre est tout à fait tombée dans l’oubli. Gascar fait partie de ces auteurs qui dans leurs romans se sont tournés vers l’expérience sensible du monde et se sont intéressés aux questions environnementales, à une époque où la critique affectionnait le Nouveau Roman et la Nouvelle Critique. Oublié par les théoriciens de la littérature, ce romancier, journaliste et nouvelliste, s’est pourtant vu décerner un grand nombre de prix littéraires, parmi lesquels le prix Goncourt, qu’il a reçu en 1953 pour Les Bêtes suivi de Le Temps des morts et le grand prix de l’Académie française en 1969. L’écopoétique permet donc de revenir sur des auteurs oubliés ou pas encore étudiés sous cet angle, qui marquent un intérêt particulier pour l’extérieur et s’efforcent de saisir le monde dans toute sa matérialité. L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 6 L’évolution stylistique 16 L’écopoétique repère non seulement les problématiques spécifiques auxquelles la littérature française s’intéresse lorsqu’elle traite des questions de la nature, elle montre aussi les choix esthétiques que cette littérature juge le plus appropriés à un examen des mondes végétal, animal et minéral et à une prise de conscience de la valeur de la nature. Cette perspective aide aussi à expliquer l’évolution stylistique et littéraire de certains auteurs français et de voir dans quelle mesure une prise de conscience grandissante pour l’environnement conduit ponctuellement à des choix d’écriture différents. 17 C’est le cas pour Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, qui dans ses premiers romans exprime une critique du mode de vie occidental, mais développe, à partir de son expérience parmi les Indiens, des réflexions sur la place de l’homme dans le système naturel. Selon lui, c’est le contact avec les peuples amérindiens qui lui a fait découvrir, à un moment très précis et repérable dans ses productions littéraires, d’autres façons de vivre en harmonie avec la nature. 18 Ainsi, une lecture écopoéticienne de l’œuvre de Le Clézio est d’autant plus intéressante qu’elle permet de voir comment la prise de conscience écologique naît et évolue chez cet écrivain et comment celle-ci provoque un changement de style radical. Dans ses premiers ouvrages, l’auteur décrit la société de consommation comme un endroit de chaos, où la présence de plus en plus dominante de la technologie déshumanise l’homme occidental (Le Livre des fuites, La Guerre, Les Géants). Les villes sont des « chaos de ciment »19, des endroits apocalyptiques qui « consument […] des siècles d’énergie et de pensée »20. « Nouveau réaliste »21, il s’attache à montrer ce chaos en transcrivant ce qu’il rencontre dans la rue : affiches à demi effacées, bruits de klaxons, graffitis… Non seulement la mise en page, mais aussi l’écriture même, qui se limite souvent à des associations de sons, représente le désordre de la société de consommation et la lutte permanente entre l’homme et son environnement : Ill. 1 Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, Les Géants, Paris, Gallimard, 1973, p. 93. L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 7 L’« effet de réel » qui en résulte pousse le lecteur à s’interroger sur le rôle des textes, des codes et des signes dans la société et, dans le cas des slogans idéologiques, des affiches et des magazines, à une réflexion sur la puissance et la vulnérabilité du texte écrit. 19 Or, à partir des années 1970, Le Clézio décrit comment, grâce à la rencontre des sociétés amérindiennes, il a découvert d’autres modes de vie, plus respectueux et proches de la nature et a vécu une véritable prise de conscience écologique. À cette époque, je ne me souciais pas d’écologie, et je ne connaissais presque rien du passé amérindien de l’Amérique […]. C’est la rencontre avec les Emberas, sur le río Tuquesa, qui me donna cette libération. […] Petit à petit [….] je suis parvenu à l’orée d’un monde complètement opposé à tout ce que j’avais connu jusqu’alors. Séjour après séjour (de six à huit mois chaque année durant la saison des pluies, parce qu’à ce moment-là les gens se reposaient et que je pouvais voyager sur les fleuves en crue), j’appris une nouvelle façon de voir, de sentir, de parler.22 20 Loin de se penser maître de son environnement naturel, l’homme amérindien vit selon Le Clézio en contact direct avec la nature. L’énergie n’est plus une source de chaos dans un espace artificiel, mais un système dynamique à travers lequel l’homme amérindien se sent lié aux arbres, plantes, pierres et animaux. Cette position biocentrique, qui n’est pas sans rappeler la « fontaine d’énergie »23 d’Aldo Leopold, incite Le Clézio à adopter une écriture plus lyrique qui représente cette relation harmonieuse entre l’homme et la nature. 21 On peut également repérer dans l’œuvre de Pierre Gascar24 une évolution stylistique qui est liée à une prise de conscience grandissante de la problématique environnementale. Tandis que ses premières romans et récits abondent en métaphores, comparaisons, associations poétiques, références mythologiques et descriptions lyriques exploitant l’anthropomorphisme, destinées à prêter à la nature un caractère fantastique et à évoquer l’expérience de guerre de l’auteur, ses dernières œuvres se caractérisent par un dépouillement stylistique fondamental. Ce n’est plus la guerre, mais le monde naturel qui est au centre de l’intérêt, et en particulier les dangers auxquels est exposée la nature : la pollution des eaux et de l’air, la transformation des paysages, la disparition d’espèces végétales et animales, la menace nucléaire… Afin de rendre compte de cette problématique, Gascar écarte au fur et à mesure tous les procédés esthétisants qui engendrent un effet de déréalisation et intègre de plus en plus de données provenant des sciences naturelles dans ses descriptions des règnes animal et végétal. L’auteur privilégie un style réaliste, entièrement tourné vers le concret, pour rendre présent le monde naturel et pour problématiser notre rapport à l’environnement. 22 Notons que Gascar pratique ici un procédé littéraire toujours actuel et de plus en plus répandu : on observe dans les œuvres « environnementales » de l’extrême contemporain de nombreuses références aux sciences naturelles, qui permettent de décrire les problèmes écologiques dans un discours largement accepté comme incontestable et « objectif », même à l’intérieur d’une œuvre d’art. Ainsi, il est assez frappant qu’Alice Ferney, dans Le Règne du vivant25, aussi bien qu’Aurélien Bellanger, dans L’Aménagement du territoire26, utilisent le terme « anthropocène » pour montrer que les activités humaines ont actuellement un impact signifiant sur l’équilibre de l’écosystème terrestre. Encore dans L’Aménagement du territoire, un des personnages du roman, Dominique, souligne, comme les géologues, le caractère restreint de la part de la planète habitable pour l’homme et réfère ainsi à la « zone critique », une partie de la L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 8 planète qui s’étend verticalement du sommet de la basse atmosphère jusqu’aux roches stériles dans le sol27. Dans Autour du monde, Laurent Mauvignier cède la parole à un sismologue pour expliquer de façon simplifiée, comme il le ferait dans un manuel de vulgarisation, aux autres personnages, et dès lors au lecteur, comment s’est produite la catastrophe de Fukushima28. 23 Sans vouloir réécrire l’histoire de la littérature française, l’approche écopoéticienne permet donc de voir comment la problématique environnementale peut nous apporter des vues nouvelles sur les mutations caractérisant la littérature entre 1945 et 2015. Étant donné que les manuels et les histoires de la littérature du XXe et du XXIe siècle ont prêté peu d’attention à ce courant de littérature d’imagination ancrée dans le monde concret, l’on peut espérer que l’étude écopoéticienne permettra de donner une place aux enjeux environnementaux dans l’histoire littéraire. NOTES 1. Alice Ferney, Le Règne du vivant, Arles, Actes Sud, 2014, p. 12. 2. Jean-Loup Trassard, L’Homme des haies, Paris, Gallimard, 2012, p. 159. 3. Ibid., p. 220. 4. Maylis de Kerangal, Naissance d’un pont, Paris, Verticales, coll. « Folio », 2010, p. 63. 5. Ibid., p. 133. 6. Michael Bess, La France vert clair. Ecologie et modernité technologique 1960-2000, trad. Chr. Jaquet, Seyssel, Champ Vallon, 2011 [2003]. 7. Voir à ce sujet : Pierre Schoentjes, Ce qui a lieu. Essai d’écopoétique, Marseille, Éditions Wildproject, 2015, p. 21-24. 8. Timothy Morton, Ecology without Nature : Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 2007. 9. Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, propos recueillis par Lu Zhang, « Je pense que la littérature doit beaucoup à la terre », Les Cahiers J.M.G. Le Clézio, , 2017, p. 164-165. 10. Pierre Gascar, Les Sources, Paris, Gallimard, 1975, p. 89-90. 11. Ibid., p. 83. 12. Lawrence Buell, The Environmental Imagination : Thoreau, Nature Writing and the Formation of American Culture, Cambridge/London, Harvard University Press, 1995, p. 7-8, nous résumons. 13. Pour une comparaison détaillée entre l’écocritique et l’écopoétique françaises et francophones, voir : Rachel Bouvet, Stephanie Posthumus, « Eco- and Geo- Approaches in French and Francophone Literary Studies », in Hubert Zapf, Handbook of Ecocriticism and Cultural Ecology, Hubert Zapf éd., Berlin/Boston, Walter de Gruyter GmbH, 2016, p. 385-412. 14. Julien Gracq, La Forme d’une ville, Paris, José Corti, 1985, p. 126. 15. Walter Wagner, « Ecological Sensibility and the Experience of Nature in the Twentieth- Century French Literature of Jean Giono, Marguerite Yourcenar and Julien Gracq », Ecozon@, 5 (1), 2014, p. 180. 16. Pierre Gascar, Pour le dire avec des fleurs, Paris, Gallimard, 1988, p. 75. 17. Isabelle Sorente, 180 jours, Paris, Grasset, 2013, p. 268. 18. Romain Gary, Les Racines du ciel, Paris, Gallimard, 1980, préface, p. 11. 19. Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, La Guerre, Paris, Gallimard, 1970, p. 285. L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 9 20. Ibid., p. 240. 21. Pour une analyse plus détaillée, voir Marina Salles, Le Clézio : notre contemporain, Rennes, Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2006. 22. Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, La Fête chantée, Paris, Gallimard, 1997, p. 10-11. 23. Aldo Leopold, Almanach d’un comté des sables, Paris, Aubier Montaigne, 1995, p. 173. 24. Voir à ce sujet : Pierre Schoentjes, op. cit., p. 212-226 ; Sara Buekens, « Pour que l’écologie supplante le nationalisme : l’esthétique de Pierre Gascar », Revue critique de fixxion française contemporaine, 11, décembre 2015, p. 49-59. 25. Alice Ferney, Le Règne du vivant, op. cit., p. 71. 26. Aurélien Bellanger, L’Aménagement du territoire, Paris, Gallimard, 2014, p. 188-189. 27. « L’homme était un animal de surface. Ni l’exploration minière, ni l’essor du transport aérien, ni la conquête spatiale ou la construction de gratte-ciel ne parvenaient à projeter plus d’un faible pourcentage de la population humaine sur des orbites différentes de celle de son habitat primitif : une bande de quelques dizaines de mètres autour du niveau moyen des océans — bande que les hommes occupaient comme des solides impénétrables. » Ibid., p. 143. 28. Laurent Mauvignier, Autour du monde, Paris, Minuit, 2014, p. 75-76. RÉSUMÉS La problématique environnementale est restée discrète dans la critique littéraire française. Pourtant, au XXe siècle un grand nombre d’écrivains de fiction se sont déjà intéressés aux problèmes écologiques, comme la pollution, la disparition des espèces et la menace nucléaire. Récemment s’est développée dans le monde francophone une discipline qui étudie la littérature dans ses rapports avec l’environnement naturel, l’écopoétique, qui s’intéresse à la littérature environnementale écrite en français. Etant donné qu’il s’agit d’une approche formelle, l’écopoétique permettra de voir dans quelle mesure une prise de conscience grandissante pour l’environnement dans la littérature conduit ponctuellement à des choix d’écriture différents et comment la problématique environnementale peut nous apporter des vues nouvelles sur les mutations caractérisant la littérature entre 1945 et 2017. French contemporary literary criticism has left the environmental theme largely unexplored. However, throughout the 20th century, a large number of novelists had already espoused ecological problems such as pollution, the disappearance of species and the nuclear threat. Recently a discipline arose in the francophone world that studies the relationship between literature and the natural environment : l’écopoétique. Since this discipline concentrates on the formal analysis of texts, l’écopoétique will contribute in studying to what extent an ever growing environmental awareness can lead to a change in writing methods and how the environmental theme can provide new insights in the mutations that define literature between 1945 and 2017. INDEX Mots-clés : écopoétique, littérature environnementale, écologie, histoire littéraire Keywords : ecopoetics, environmental literature, ecology, literary history L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 10 AUTEUR SARA BUEKENS Détentrice d’un Master en littérature et linguistique français–latin à l’Université de Gand et d’un Master 2 en littérature française à Paris (avec des cours à l’Université Paris IV – Sorbonne, l’EHESS et l’École normale supérieure), Sara Buekens rédige actuellement une thèse de doctorat à l’Université de Gand, sous la direction de Pierre Schoentjes. Elle étudie, à travers les auteurs français majeurs (1945-2016 : Gracq, Gary, Gascar, Trassard, Le Clézio et un choix d’œuvres contemporaines), la problématique environnementale dans une perspective écopoéticienne. Parmi ses publications, on retrouve : « Proximité avec la nature et jeu des genres littéraires : L’Homme des haies de Jean-Loup Trassard et Naissance d’un pont de Maylis de Kerangal », Études littéraires, 48.3, 2019, p. 21-36 ; « L’usage du monde : une sensibilité environnementale avant la lettre », Roman 20-50, hors série 8, 2018, p. 271-282 ; « Maylis de Kerangal répond aux questions de Sara Buekens », Revue critique de fixxion française contemporaine, 14, 2017, p. 164-169 ; « Pour que l’écologie supplante le nationalisme : l’esthétique de Pierre Gascar », Revue critique de fixxion française contemporaine, 11, 2015, p. 49-59. L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 11 L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Ecocriticism vs. écopoétique Les enjeux éthiques Les enjeux esthétiques L’histoire de la littérature L’évolution stylistique
work_fbdc56auiraete7kzanyptlb6q ---- The Lorax Complex: Deep ecology, Ecocentrism and Exclusion | Scholarly Publications Skip to main content Leiden University Scholarly Publications Home Submit About Select Collection All collections This collection Academic speeches Dissertations Faculty of Archaeology Faculty of Governance and Global Affairs Faculty of Humanities Faculty of Science Faculty of Social and Behavioural Sciences Leiden Journals, Conference Proceedings and Books Leiden Law School Leiden University Press Medicine / Leiden University Medical Centre (LUMC) Research output UL Search box Persistent URL of this record https://hdl.handle.net/1887/43838 Documents Download The Lorax Complex: Deep ecology, Ecocentrism and Exclusion Not Applicable (or Unknown) open access Full text at publishers site In Collections This item can be found in the following collections: Institute of Cultural Anthropology and Development Sociology Kopnina, H.N. (2012) The Lorax Complex: Deep ecology, Ecocentrism and Exclusion Article / Letter to editor Biodiversity preservation is often viewed in utilitarian terms that render nonhuman species as ecosystem services or natural resources. The economic capture approach may be inadequate in addressing biodiversity loss because extinction of some species could conceivably come to pass without jeopardizing the survival of the humans. People might be materially sustained by a technological biora made to yield services and products required for human life. The failure to address biodiversity loss calls for an exploration of alternative paradigms. It is proposed that the failure to address biodiversity loss stems from the fact that ecocentric value holders are politically marginalized and underrepresented in the most powerful strata of society. While anthropocentric concerns with environment and private expressions of biophilia are acceptable in the wider society, the more pronounced publicly expressed deep ecology...Show more Biodiversity preservation is often viewed in utilitarian terms that render nonhuman species as ecosystem services or natural resources. The economic capture approach may be inadequate in addressing biodiversity loss because extinction of some species could conceivably come to pass without jeopardizing the survival of the humans. People might be materially sustained by a technological biora made to yield services and products required for human life. The failure to address biodiversity loss calls for an exploration of alternative paradigms. It is proposed that the failure to address biodiversity loss stems from the fact that ecocentric value holders are politically marginalized and underrepresented in the most powerful strata of society. While anthropocentric concerns with environment and private expressions of biophilia are acceptable in the wider society, the more pronounced publicly expressed deep ecology position is discouraged. ‘‘Radical environmentalists’’ are among the least understood of all contemporary opposition movements, not only in tactical terms, but also ethically. The article argues in favor of the inclusion of deep ecology perspective as an alternative to the current anthropocentric paradigm.Show less anthropocentrism biodiversity deep green ecology ecocentrism environmental ethics environmental values radical environmentalism representation All authors Kopnina, H.N. Date 2012 Journal Journal of Integrative Environmental Sciences Volume 9 Issue 4 Pages 235 - 254 DOI doi:10.1080/1943815X.2012.742914 ©2020-2021 Leiden University A service provided by Leiden University Libraries Contact About us Recently Added Digital Collections Student Repository
work_fbltaomq7rbc3bcv6qtuwokhwe ---- 10.11648.j.ijla.20170504.11 International Journal of Literature and Arts 2017; 5(4): 26-30 http://www.sciencepublishinggroup.com/j/ijla doi: 10.11648/j.ijla.20170504.11 ISSN: 2331-0553 (Print); ISSN: 2331-057X (Online) Man and Nature in Walden Qin Liu School of Foreign Language, Yancheng Normal University, Yancheng, China Email address: hobbyc@163.com To cite this article: Qin Liu. Man and Nature in Walden. International Journal of Literature and Arts. Vol. 5, No. 4, 2017, pp. 26-30. doi: 10.11648/j.ijla.20170504.11 Received: May 6, 2017; Accepted: May 15, 2017; Published: July 13, 2017 Abstract: Since Walden publication, it has been studied from a great variety of perspectives, but these studies mainly focus on Thoreau’s views on nature in general, or his ecological ideas. A detailed and comprehensive study of the animals in Walden is rarely seen. Examining the animals in Walden, this paper intends to probe into Thoreau’s positive philosophy of life. Through a detailed analysis of man-animal relationship in Walden, we are in a better position to understand Thoreau as a realist. His retreat to nature is not an escape, but an attempt to put his belief into practice, aiming to find a model for the harmonious co-existence between man and nature. The record of his simple life in Walden proves that man and nature can live in harmony with each other, and provides a good example for human beings to solve the spiritual and environmental crises. Keywords: Walden, Henry David Thoreau, Animal, Realist 1. Introduction Henry David Thoreau is a great American writer of transcendentalism and the pioneer of modern environmentalism. Being an ardent lover of nature, he devoted his entire life to studying the relationship between man and nature, and bequeathed a legacy of works in this field. However, he is often misunderstood as a pure romanticist and an escapist. This thesis attempts to prove that Thoreau is a realist who is deeply concerned with the social issues of his time and voluntarily experiments with his life, hoping that he can find the solutions. With the rise of spiritual crisis as well as global environmental problems, Walden that is his masterpiece appeals to more and more readers for Thoreau’s prophetic vision of a harmonious world. Walden was published in 1854, and it took Thoreau five years to complete. It is based on Thoreau’s two-year solitary living at Walden Pond from 1845 to 1847. However, it is far from being a realistic account of his life at Walden. In fact, this book is a personal declaration of independence. It is full of wisdom and thoughts, reflecting Thoreau’s meditation on the meaning and purposes of life as well as demonstrating his philosophy of life which is both romantic and realistic. Thoreau advocates a simple way of living, which manifests both an attitude towards life and the way to harmony. In Walden, Thoreau maintains that the ultimate purpose of life is to live a true life, and suggests that people should restrain their desires and live a simple life. Meanwhile, Thoreau takes the small pond as the symbol of the whole ecosystem where he can freely commune with the universal soul and strive to establish a harmonious relationship with nature. Walden is made up of 18 chapters, and every chapter has its own title and theme. It is a brief summary of Thoreau’s twenty-six months’ living experiences at Walden Pond. In the first Chapter “Economy”, Thoreau criticizes the American lifestyle and persuades people to live a simple but free life. The second Chapter “Where I lived, and What I lived for” describes Thoreau’s philosophy of life, to truly live a life rather than make a living. Chapter three “Reading” introduces the purpose and significance of reading. Chapter four “Sounds” and Chapter five “Solitude” Thoreau leads the audience to appreciate the beauty of nature, and claims that he never feels lonely in the woods. Chapter six “Visitors” describes various kinds of visitors and Thoreau’s meditations upon friendship and responsibility. Chapter seven “The Bean- Field”, Chapter eight “The Village” and Chapter nine “The Ponds” are the vivid descriptions of the magnificent landscape. The “Baker Farm” Chapter tells us the author’s encounter with John Field to whom Thoreau suggests a simple life. Chapter eleven “Higher Laws” and the following Chapter “Brute Neighbors” are the vivid accounts of animals’ life in nature, here Thoreau considers seriously the problem 27 Qin Liu: Man and Nature in Walden of harmonious coexistence of man and animals. Chapter fourteen “Former Inhabitants and Winter Visitors” tells about the visits of Thoreau’s friends, such as Emerson and Channing. Chapter “Winter Animals” and “The Pond in Winter” concern Thoreau’s investigation of the pond, the observation of the flora and fauna in winter. The seventeen Chapter “Spring” records the vitality of plants and animals at the coming of the spring. The last Chapter “Conclusion” is a summary of Thoreau’s life at the woods and an explanation of why he eventually chooses to leave the place. This paper is going to discuss Thoreau as a realist rather than as a hermit who retreats to nature as a way of escaping the corrupt reality of his time. On the contrary, as my analysis will show, Thoreau attempts to figure out solutions to the social problems. His living in solitude at Walden Pond nurtures his nature consciousness and provides a peaceful place where Thoreau can meditate upon the essence of human nature and the human-nature relationship. Through his experimentation, Thoreau proves that it is possible for people to live an outwardly simple and inwardly diversified life which would help people achieve self-realization, and that it is possible for people to live harmoniously with other creatures, which will eventually lead to an environmentally friendly society. 2. Animals in Walden In Walden, Thoreau does not observe and describe the animals as a zoologist. Instead, he gives them a spiritual and philosophical significance. He endows the animals with human characteristics. Thereupon, Thoreau often describes the similarities between animals and people he comes across. People can be just as greedy and shallow as the marmot of the prairie, or as naughty and clumsy as red squirrels, or as lazy and cunning as chickadees, or as loyal as gundogs in Thoreau’s writings. In Thoreau’s eyes, human is just a “plain citizen” in nature, not a master over the creatures. Animals are equal with human beings as well as other non-human organisms. Human should not make interruptions and destructions to animals, plants and other organisms. As an equal member of the ecosystem, human should have respect for other organisms, and live in harmony with them as their neighbor [4]. In this chapter, I will focus on the animals in Walden, the diversities of animals, the human characteristics of animals, and Thoreau’s depiction of the hawk. 2.1. The Diversity of Animals In Walden, Thoreau is accompanied by a diversity of animals. They live in harmony with each other, and the various activities of animals give Thoreau a new sense of the variety of nature and the meanings of life. It can be said that the diversities of animals make a diverse mode of life. What Thoreau seeks is not to encourage people to live only one mode of life, but “to brag as chanticleer in the morning, standing on his roost, if only to wake my neighbors up” (Thoreau 147). Thoreau would not have people all give up their normal life to live in the woods. What Thoreau advocates is a diverse and harmonious life with nature, with humans and other living organisms included. The diversity of animals is one essential aspect of a diverse life. Thoreau himself would not live only one mode of life, which is the reason why he leaves the woods in the end. Naess also believes that “Life is a succession of different expeditions full of uncertainties and challenges. One stereotyped mode of life might incur spiritual stagnation and poverty.” [1] Hence, a diversity of life would promote the achievement of self- culture, and the modes of life should and could be as diverse as possible. 2.2. Human Characteristics of Animals In Walden, Thoreau views birds and animals as equivalents to human beings. Man is “a part and parcel of nature”. Fishes, frogs and water birds, like ducks and geese, are equal inhabitants of Walden just as he is. He regards these non- human lives as his neighbors, and endows them with human characteristics. In his writing, these animals are referred to with human pronouns, “he” or “she” rather than “it”. Thoreau pays great attention to the resemblance of animals to human wars. The animals’ world is not peaceful at all. Each has to fight for its survival, and the conflicts and tensions are everywhere. Only the strongest, smartest, fittest can win in the end. In the world of animals, each wants to dominate the others, once they get the dominant place, they will not let it go. Moreover, the animals cannot stop fighting all over their lives, and they are forced to live a struggling life all through their lives. Thoreau believes that the animals are fighting for a principle, a belief, just like our ancestors. They have to fight to have their essential needs satisfied. Similar to human community, animals have racial and national conflicts, and the world is also full of violence and conflicts. The attribution of human characteristics to animals helps Thoreau to enrich and deepen his understanding of nature and the mankind, for the reason that the natural laws embodied in the animals’ activities can apply to humans as well. The close observation and persistent contemplation on the animals enables people to reap the harvest of self-culture which will be analyzed in the following chapters. 3. Thoreau’s Realistic Ideas on Harmonious Coexistence of Man and Animals Thoreau has realized through his close observation of animals that man and animals, different as they are, exist in one ecosphere and are closely connected to each other. He firmly believes that man and animals can harmoniously coexist on the same earth. His realistic ideas of harmonious coexistence of mankind and animals are of great importance to the modern readers. In this part, Thoreau’s views are to be analyzed in three aspects, all of which are inseparable from each other, and the omission of any one of them would do International Journal of Literature and Arts 2017; 5(4): 26-30 28 harm to the harmonious coexistence of human and animals, and, in a broader sense, the omission of any one of the would ruin the whole ecosystem balance. 3.1. Recognition of Animals’ Values As an indispensable part of nature, animals have their intrinsic values which should not be judged from their economic interests to human beings. In Walden, Thoreau gives a vivid description of the beauty and liveliness of animals. The existence of animals adds color and vigor to the earth. Thoreau enjoys being with animals, and animals provide him with happiness and sweet remedy for a soul. The animals come and go give him “much entertainment by their manoeuvres.” [2]. He “was amused by watching the motions of the various animals which were baited by” the ears of sweet corn he threw out of his house. Animal’s value also exists for providing a model and pattern for the development of the individual. We can get deep inspiration when we see an ugly caterpillar transforms into a beautiful butterfly and a gluttonous maggot becomes a fly, animals need far less than human beings, they can “content themselves with a drop or two of the honey or some other sweet liquid.” Human beings should learn from animals, and it would be less troublesome to get one’s necessary food as simple a diet as animals’, animals need very little to survive. Uncooked foods can satisfy their hunger, and their own furs are the best clothes to keep warm. Compared with human beings, animals lead a free and simple life. Indeed, it is the mode of life Thoreau advocates. He calls for simplicity in life to realize self-value with the help of nature. He suggests that people should get rid of unnecessary material requirements to pursue the real spiritual improvements. Besides its intrinsic values, animals exist as divine entities as well. Animals are incarnations of beauty and perfection. Wandering in the wildness and talking with animals, people would be exhilarated by the beauty and liveliness of nature. Through Thoreau’s experiment at Walden Pond, we know that animals have their own intrinsic values, and they are divine entities of the earth which are not judged by their economic or scientific benefits to humans. To be in harmony with animals, we should treat them as individual entities not as subordinates to human beings. 3.2. Respect the Rights of Animals Thoreau advocates a perfect harmony between mankind and nature. He believes that man and animals are not enemies, they are friends and equal inhabitants of the earth. He criticizes the human-centered attitude towards nature. In his opinion, human beings are higher animals, who have a sophisticated brain and can influence other non-human life. But that does not mean that they can dominate the world. As one of the earliest animal conservationists, Thoreau suggests that it is a savage thing for humans to eat their own species. He equals man’s eating animals with man’s eating each other. In his opinion, people should stop eating animals to develop from brutes to civilized mankind. Animals have thoughts, souls and rights, and they are worth being respected. Animals are living organisms in the whole ecosystem, in which they have equal rights as humans. However, they are not made for mankind, and their values cannot be measured by their usefulness to human purposes. They should be respected as parts of the whole ecosystem. In no way can we achieve a perfect harmony without consideration and respect for animals. In Walden, Thoreau pleads for the rights of animals. He sees animals as equal part of nature, and frequently compares the similarities between man and animals. The only difference between animals and people lies in that people have thoughts. However, people cannot dominate nature by their pure thoughts, humans’ sophisticated intelligence does not make them the leader of nature; on the contrary, people should live in harmony with other inhabitants of nature, and show respect for their rights. Animals, as an equal part of earth, should enjoy equal living rights and space as human beings. The relationship between man and animals should be that of equal brotherhood and sisterhood. The human- centered attitudes toward nature would destroy the natural harmony and mankind would also suffer from it [5]. In other words, if humans do harm to nature and animals, humans are doing harm to themselves. Everything in the world is interrelated and interdependent, thus people should respect nonhuman individuals as parts of the whole ecosystem for the sustainable development of the world. 3.3. Being Neighbor of Animals At Walden, Thoreau regards himself as a neighbor to the animals rather than cage animals to be his neighbors. He holds the view that animals are not only wild creatures, but part of mountains, rivers, and part of nature. He realizes through his own experiences that animals have feelings, souls and minds. They are conscious, and able to suffer or even to feel pain. Thoreau once said that a rabbit would make a cry as woeful as a child. He wishes to establish a harmonious relationship with animals, and considers himself the neighbor of those animals. Thoreau shares his house and bean field with forest animals, like mice, squirrels, robins, etc. He enjoys observing their activities and living with them. As a matter of fact, the animal neighbors help Thoreau gain a deeper understanding of nature while enriching his life. Under the companion of animals, Thoreau fulfills self-exploration, self-realization, and self-development through nature. Animals are not his enemies but his true friends and intimate neighbors. The different characters of his animal neighbors add to the liveliness of nature. By living closely with animals, Thoreau comes to understand the human nature. To Thoreau, animals’ world is a mirror of human community, from which we could reflect on ourselves and get a deep understanding of life. Nature, in Thoreau’s eyes, is full of wisdom. Being neighbor with animals is conducive to man’s self-culture through nature, for the reason that animals are indispensible parts of nature. 29 Qin Liu: Man and Nature in Walden Being neighbor of animals is salutary for the harmonious coexistence of man and animals [6]. Thoreau advocates that human beings should treat animals as equals, never trying to dominate over them or taming them for social or economic purposes. Animals are not subordinate to human beings; instead, they are our neighbors who share the common residence. 4. Thoreau’s Exploration of Models for Harmony Between Man and Nature Thoreau was determined to stay away from the crowds, the noises, the society, the religion and the public opinions to ponder over the existing social and spiritual crisis, and to find a proper mode of life for the people. By living with animals and plants at Walden Pond, Thoreau intermingles with nature. He intends to find the model for the harmony between man and nature, and to solve the conflicts between man and nature. 4.1. Biocentric Equality---Foundation for Harmonious Relationship The term biocentric equality was first brought up by Arne Naess in his article “The Shallow and the Deep, Lone-Range Ecology Movement” in 1973. It means that all things in the ecosystem are equal in their intrinsic value. All organisms and entities are parts of the interrelated whole, so they should have equal rights to live in the ecosphere. It is a kind of complete equality which could extend to the whole ecosphere. According to Arne Naess and George Sessions, the deep ecology’s religious roots originate from many different religions, but its philosophical roots can be “found in ecocentrism and social criticism of Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, Robinson Jeffers, and Aldous Huxley” [3] To Thoreau, the Walden Pond is a living web that includes all organisms, human or nonhuman. It is endowed with beauty and dynamics. The book is abundant with the beautiful descriptions of the nature. As he went to the woods, Thoreau found a completely different world. He became neighbors of different kinds of plants and animals. All things contribute to the beauty and liveliness of the nature. The sight of a vast range of trees and flowers, the sounds of different kinds of birds and animals, the beautiful landscape of ponds and farms constitute a marvelous picture of harmony. All things at Walden have inseparable rights to live, to blossom and to reach their own fullness. Each living organism is interdependent on each other, and everything is equal in the web of ecosphere. The biocentric equality also finds its expression in Thoreau’s objection to man’s interruption and destruction of nature. At Walden, Thoreau witnesses man’s ruthless damages on nature. People cut down trees for money, catch fish for food, kill different kinds of animal for their meat or fur. The luxuriant trees surrounding the Walden have gone, the woods are laid waste. Thoreau records the change of Walden Pond with pity. In Thoreau’s minds, the natural beauty of Walden Pond was ruined because of man’s greediness. The disruptive human action has done great harm to the lake, and would eventually damage the whole ecosphere. This conveys clearly his idea that all things in the world are interdependent, and human beings have no rights to exploit the earth for their own economical or social purposes, otherwise, people would be punished for their own wrongdoings. Human beings should respect all organisms and entities in nature, and they all have equal rights to live and grow. Biocentric or ecocentric equality is the foundation for the harmony between man and nature. 4.2. Voluntary Simplicity of Life---On the Way to Harmony Thoreau’s simplicity is a kind of voluntary simplicity which he chooses for himself. Voluntary simplicity requires both inner and outer relinquishment on material wealth and comfort. It means to be inwardly sincere and honest to live a simplified life, and to refrain outwardly from worldly enjoyment. To Thoreau, there are two kinds of simplicity, the philosopher’s and the savage’s. He favors an “outwardly simple, but inwardly complex” style of life, or the philosopher’s simple life of wisdom. It is a style of life that lives harmoniously with nature and has minimum impacts on other kinds of species. Thoreau’s life at Walden Pond is an experiment with simple life. With the development of society, the material life of people becomes much better. However, people could not fully enjoy their life; instead, they have to work even harder to make more money. In Walden, He encourages people to abandon the redundant material possessions and pursue the true spiritual life. To Thoreau, the simplicity has two meanings. On the one hand, it calls for people to get rid of greedy requirements for material things. On the other hand, it encourages people to pursue rich spiritual enjoyment by simple means. Hence, he builds his own cabin and furnishes his house on his own, eats the food he grows, and seldom has any material possessions. In this way, he has a clear observation towards the society. He realizes that it is materialism that causes people to exploit nature excessively. Meanwhile, he suggests that people should adopt a correct attitude towards mankind and nature. The biggest misfortune of humans is to become slaves to the material things and themselves. 4.3. Self-culture Through Nature---Ideal Result In Walden, Thoreau complains that human beings have lost their true identity. They are too preoccupied with endless work and useless worries, but they ignore the true cultivation of the self. In Walden, he writes, “the oldest Egyptian or Hindoo philosopher raised a corner of the veil from the statue of divinity and I gaze upon as fresh a glory as he did, since it was I in him that was then so bold, and it is he in me that now reviews the vision.” [2]. It is evident that we have to lift the veil from the statue of the divinity to realize self-culture, to find the true self. International Journal of Literature and Arts 2017; 5(4): 26-30 30 Thoreau believes that nature is friendly and receptive to human beings, and it would help people to cultivate themselves if man and nature can live in harmony. Thoreau selects nature as the best approach to realize his self-culture, hoping to achieve self-culture through the communion and union with nature. He intends to counterbalance the disappointments of bitter reality with the help of nature, for he firmly believes that the fallen self in the material world can be saved by returning to nature to recover its innocence. In fact, Thoreau’s life is a process of constant seeking after self-culture, and the authentic and innocent nature contributes to his achievement of self-culture. He believes that the innocent and pure nature would show mankind a way back to an authentic and true life which would help mankind to find the true nature of man. For the reason that nature is not only symbolic in reflecting the spiritual part of a man, but also offers a good way towards self-culture by liberating people from the material and spiritual burdens of society Thoreau advocates that people should get close to nature and be inspired by nature. Only in this way can human fulfill self- culture, and then to live an authentic and meaningful lives. It requires constant and conscious efforts of human beings to form the union between the individual self and the universal self, embodied in nature. In other words, to live a full life by forming a harmonious relationship with nature is the ultimate and ideal result. 5. Conclusion Thoreau is a naturalist and a realist, who has devoted all his life to finding a proper lifestyle for human existence. His retreat to the woods is an exploration of the essence of life. His solitary living at the woods is a great experiment on establishing a harmonious society. Thoreau’s masterpiece Walden is an eloquent account of Thoreau’s meditation on the coexistence of man and nature. Being a keen observer of plants and animals at Walden, Thoreau not only discovers the inner connection of animals and human race, but also the mode of living for the harmony between man and nature through his living experiences with animals. Based on the above analysis, we can conclude that Thoreau’s ideas and explorations in Walden point out the way to a harmonious society. Thus it is worthwhile to reread Thoreau’s Walden from the perspective of the relationship between animals and human beings, and to better grasp the essence of his philosophy. Acknowledgements This work is supported by Top-notch Academic Programs Project of Jiangsu Higher Education Institutions, the project of Science Research of Yancheng Normal University (No. 14YCKW031), the project of Development and Reform Research of Yancheng Normal University (No. 14YCFZ011). References [1] Naess, Arne. Ecology, Community and Lifestyle: Outline of an Ecosophy. Trans. David Rothenberg. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. [2] Thoreau, Henry D. Walden. Oregon State University Press, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972. [3] Sessions, G. Deep Ecology for the 21st Century. Boston: Shambhala Publications, Inc., 1995. [4] Armstrong, Susan J. Botzler, Richard G. Environmental Ethics: Divergence and Convergence. New York: Mcgraw- Hill, Inc., 1993. [5] Buell, Lawrence. The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995. [6] Seton, Ernest T. Wild Animals I Have Known. Nanjing: Yilin Press, 2001. [7] Furui Y. Networked Solitude: Walden, or Life in Modern Communications [J]. Texas Studies in Literature & Language, 2016, 58. [8] Campbell A, Campbell J. Trails to Walden Pond: Pragmatic Aesthetics and Relational Aesthetics Approach the Examined Life [J]. Pluralist, 2016, 11. [9] Simon K. Affect and Cruelty in the Atlantic System: The Hauntological Argument of Henry David Thoreau's Cape Cod [J]. ESQ: A Journal of Nineteenth-Century American Literature and Culture, 2016, 62. [10] Bunge N. Prairie Gold: An Anthology of the American Heartland ed. by Lance M. Sacknoff, Xavier Cavazos, and Stephanie Brook Trout (review) [J]. Middle West Review, 2017, 3.
work_fbna7w6h3ze65o6w3yllpfaiie ---- Jeffrey_Henderson_working_paper_01-2009 ISSN 1662-761X Jeffrey Henderson The Meta Cultural Constraints Facing Wal-Mart No. 01/2009 The Meta Cultural Constraints Facing Wal-Mart Culture is the life blood of an organization and it can be the determining factor in the successes and the failures that an organization will experience. As an entity culture can be elusive and ever changing. As employees we exist within a corporate cultural framework. Intuitively, people understand that each organization has a specific culture and that the organization goes to great lengths to build the exact culture that they believe will be best in helping to achieve the ultimate corporate goal of increased shareholder value. However, few understand that the organization itself exists and is determined by a larger environmental culture – the meta-culture. That is, it is the larger culture of the society that gives the mandate to the corporation to exist and through that process the corporation interacts and is allowed to prosper. In the lexicon of Social Issues in Management (SIM) this is refered to as a “company’s license to operate“. Further, the meta-culture provides the backdrop on which the company specific culture may rest. All corporations are affected by their meta-culture, yet few corporations understand exactly how that meta-culture affects their specific corporate culture or how their internal specific corporate culture may in turn affect the larger meta-culture. As Wal- Mart faces the challenges of size and scope, it is the interplay between these two cultures that will shape its future success as a world organization. Corporate Culture – Efficiency At All Levels As the world’s largest retailer continues to grow, Wal-Mart faces many important challenges: some functional, some organizational, some technical and some cultural. Necessarily, these challenges all exist within the four walls of the Wal-Mart extended corporate box: figuratively, literally and virtually. Many of these challenges Wal-Mart is very well equipped to deal with due to their hard won successes at creating a virtual ecosystem of non-related, yet integrated companies. Through technology Wal-Mart has reinvented itself into a modern North American version of the Japanese Zaibatsu or Keiretsu forming an extended, virtual corporation that reaches deep into the operations of its suppliers both from a logistical and data processing function. The ability to do so has brought greater efficiencies to its operations and has helped it to remain ahead of its competition on cost structure. This is no easy feat but necessary in an industry noted for its razor thin margins. When it comes to logistics, data mining of customer information and supply-chain integration through the use of technology few companies do it better than Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart’s Virtual Kieretsu In essence, Wal-Mart has been able to take on the core aspects of its business model that creates the greatest level of competitive advantage (key success factors) and at the same time transfers other aspects that are secondary on to its suppliers and customers. Again, efficiency is the name of the game. Suppliers are forced to manage inventory in a manner that is akin to JIT, just-in-time, in order to ring out even further efficiencies within the overall supply chain. Wal-Mart provides the data management and tools for understanding customer demand and the supplier is expected to manage its inventory to the underlying cycles of that demand. It is a give and take. If we take a moment to study this symbiotic arrangement we would notice that it is a very intelligent business model. Much criticism has befell Wal-Mart for pushing inventory management on to its suppliers, but that criticism ignores an important element. That is, the suppliers are receiving in turn extremely critical data and information on the buying behaviour of their very own customers that otherwise would either be too difficult or too expensive for them to collect on their own. This is especially true for smaller suppliers whose resources are far too limited to even consider such a project in the first place. In summary, Wal-Mart shares the benefit of their own scale with the many large, medium and small suppliers within its virtual organization. The entire virtual Wal-Mart extended family of businesses, or the Wal- Mart Keiretsu, benefits from that sharing. Unfortunately, this fact is often over looked by many observers. What the above illustrates through a concrete example is how Wal-Mart never ceases to study its supply chain and find new ways of extracting efficiency. Wal-Mart incessantly re-examines its workflow processes and re-engineers its business model before others do it for them. This is another element of their competitive advantage and underlying cultural imperative. Since the chain is integrated in a virtual manner, all the participants up and down that chain benefit. Cost control at Wal-Mart is not just about pushing directives in a selfish manner on outside businesses as it is often portrayed in the media, but is a directive that Wal-Mart places on its own internal business as well. It is a give and take that increases the efficiency of the entire system. This is where Wal-Mart stands out from its competitors. Human Resource Management The company is also well known for human resource management as it is the largest employer in the United States and also credited with being the largest employer in the world. With approximately 6,500 stores worldwide Wal-Mart is estimated to employee over 2 million people at any given time. Using a conservative estimate of turnover within the worker ranks of 25% per year Wal-Mart is replacing over 410, 000 new worker – each year! This in and of itself is a great technical and organization feat. Target one of Wal-Mart’s closest rivals only employees 338,000 people within in its entire organization1. That means that on average Wal-Mart replaces each one of its main competitor’s employees each and every year. Recently, criticism has emerged that Wal-Mart is purposefully culling and capping its workforce of long-term, full-time employees and replacing them with part-time employees in an effort to maintain lower human resource cost2. However, when the cost of maintaining such a large and diversified workforce is contrasted with the annual profit, a clearer picture of the true motivation of Wal-Mart appears. In its 2006 annual report Wal-Mart reported sales of $312.4 billion with a net profit of $11.2 billion for a return on sales of 3.5%, as mentioned earlier razor thin margins. With 2 million employees world-wide that represents a net profit of $5,600 per employee. If 1 Target Corporate Factcard, October 5, 2006. Target , www.taget.com 2 Wal-Mart to Add More Part-Timers and Wage Caps, The New York Times, October 2, 2006 an employee works an average of 20 hours per week, taking into account a part-time and full-time employee mix, that average employee works approximately 960 hours per year. So even a $1.00 increase from the reported $10.11 full-time wage would reduce the stated net profit of $5,600 per employee by $960 to $4,640 per employee and reduce the return of sales to 2.9%, a reduction of 0.6%. If we take a moment to absorb the above we see that Wal-Mart must do everything possible to maintain low labour cost in order to maintain its competitiveness in an industry typified by razor thin margins. Perhaps, the greatest comment on the labour practices of Wal-Mart is the fact that at a recent store opening in Evergreen Park, Illinois, 25,000 potential employees applied for 325 store positions, a ratio of approximately 77 applicants for each position available. One could ask, if Wal-Mart is such a low-paying environment compared to the market then why are so many people applying for jobs. As rhetorical as this question may be, it shows that everything is relative and that the present wage practices at Wal-Mart, given the company’s job popularity, is desired by many and therefore most likely not out of sync with the overall demand of the economy. No matter which way you look at it, Wal-Mart clearly understands their human resource position and is able to control their cost to maintain profitability - something that many companies are unable or unwilling to do. Corporate Culture – Conflict Within and Without With over 3,800 U.S. stores and 6,500 world-wide stores the impact that the opening of a new Wal-Mart store has on a community is now legendary. For the most part, the months preceding the announcement of a store opening are filled with points and counter points identifying the pros and cons from all the stakeholders involved. The issues are well known. Accusations that Wal-Mart exploits low-wage earners and its supplier base are countered by attestations of the number of jobs that Wal-Mart creates both within and without its stores is just one such argument. There are many more. And so goes the dance between the Wal-Mart enthusiast and the Wal-Mart detractors played across the global media in a frenzy of emotion. Will it ever end? Perhaps not, as it seems the various factions are caught in a type of co-dependent relationship, each playing off the other. As consumers we love the low prices, as citizens we are leery about the noise around the company’s business practices. So the love-hate relationship goes on. This continuous dance between the opposing sides has become a symbol of what Wal-Mart is today - conflict. The context of the arguments, either pro or con, is almost of no consequence as to the fact that the conflict exists. It hijacks the media and the attention of the Wal-Mart ecosphere. It is always out there, the sense that the shopping experience at Wal-Mart isn’t what it appears to be, or is no longer what it once was. As Wal-Mart has grown and changed so has its shopping experience. And so it seems that with increasing size conflict with its customers and suppliers is almost a pre-determined fact of its business. Size has created a monster. Wal-Mart has morphed into a 2,000 pound gorilla before the eyes of its customers and suppliers and now enjoys a relative size advantage heretofore never imagined. Stores continue to grow in size which makes the underlying shopping experience more and more frustrating for the average shopper while the corporation itself grows to new levels, ever more able to exert its will on its supplier base. Size can bring with it many difficulties and any business or personal relationship based on unequal size or power is fraught with difficulty by design. However, size is not the only determinant of conflict at Wal-Mart. Along with the morphing of size has come the morphing of Wal-Mart’s underlying culture. One that originated as “Always Low Prices” that were good for everyone has changed into “Always Low Prices” that seem to cause a whole host of economic and societal problems. “Always Low Prices” have become marred with a sense of injustice, the exact opposite of the original sentiment of the founder Sam Walton. Perhaps abuses are inevitable when you are running the largest employer in the world, which also happens to be the largest retailer in history and is also credited with single-handedly controlling inflation and creating its own economic sphere of influence and effect3. With size comes scope, with scope comes power. And power has the tendency to be abusive. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely4, as the saying goes. Not the typical idea of power, but a type of power that is all encompassing - the type of power that can change a person’s destiny with the node of the head or the stroke of a pen. It is a dictatorial type of power that was known to such leaders as the Caesars in ancient times. It was power that laid in the hands of only a very few. A thumbs up or a thumbs down was all that separated the charged from life or death. This was power, this was great power, a type of power that the world had not yet seen or experienced. The power that Wal-Mart enjoys today is similar in scope to the power of Caesar. The destiny of factories, companies and the collectivity of jobs can come in and out of existence with the node of the purchaser’s head, the stroke of their pen and inevitably the stocking of the product line. Corporate Culture – The Responsibility of Great Power Politicians would remind us that great power involves great responsibility5 and it is herein that lies the conundrum or quagmire of Wal-Mart that makes all other discussions of its future pale in comparison. In the above, we discussed the underlying internal culture of Wal-Mart as an organization and its unswerving focus on efficiency. But those examples ignored the external environmental culture in which Wal-Mart operates. However, it is this external environment that is all important to the future of the company. In ancient time Caesar knew his role, he knew his power and he knew his responsibility to his subjects, himself and the state. Moreover, his subjects knew their place. Cross Caesar and you die, period. The rules were simple. In Wal-Mart’s world that understanding of power and responsibility is in flux. The collective understanding as to the appropriateness of the power and the legitimacy of the power is in question. Wal-Mart represents something new. Never before has so much corporate purchasing power been held by so few within the same organization. The power is so great that a few executives in Bentonville can move the American economy with seemingly more facility than the incumbent government. This purchasing power has 3 The Wal-Mart Effect, Charles Fishman, Penguin Press, ISBN 1-59420-076-9 4 Lord Acton in his famous letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton, 1887 5 “Great power involves great responsibility”, President Roosevelt’s undelivered Jefferson Day Address, April 13, 1945. the ability to morph into political power and if we keep the thoughts of Lord Acton in mind than that power is the most serious threat to liberty. This is what the average American intuitively understands, even if they can not verbalize it, and it is why the size of Wal-Mart causes such consternation and concern. Power in all of its guises is still power and Caesar by any other name still rules, perhaps more subtle in its application using channels of business yet as devastating in its effect and consequences: the livelihood of those it touches and the movement of the whole economy. Corporate Culture – The Need For A Great Leader It would seem ridiculous that Caesar could come to power in today’s America. But that in effect is what has happened. By providing “Always Low Prices” Sam Walton understood one thing clearly. As Caesar knew how to obtain and maintain his power accordingly, Sam Walton knew that Americans deserved “Always Low Prices” – low prices were their inalienable right. Americans work hard for their money and by providing them a place where they could stretch that dollar even further Walton knew that a powerful recipe would be borne. In his eyes “Always Low Prices” was nothing less than his civic responsibility, a service to the community - Caesar looking out for the good of all his subjects. Through his tireless efforts of providing “Always Low Prices” Sam Walton was able to invigorate his company with an over-arching goal of cost control that would accomplish two critical points from where his modern day Empire could flourish. First, it would lay the foundation for one of America’s most frugal companies and create a discipline that would be second to none. Second, it would solidify an archetypical myth figure that would survive him as founder and further lay the bedrock on top of which the Wal-Mart culture could firmly grow. Without either of these cultural necessities of discipline and myth Wal-Mart would not and could not be the Wal-Mart we know of today. Every Empire needs its army to have discipline, without discipline in the ranks of the foot soldiers all is lost. Sam Walton intrinsically knew this and gave his employees a uniform message, something that they all could believe in, something that they could rally around –“Always Low Prices”. It was simple, elegant and it was powerful. Any commander will tell you that all armies need a rallying cry or central theme to be effective - something that every foot soldier can easily understand. Kill the enemy because the enemy is evil. Kill high prices because high prices are evil. Interestingly, the assumption that the enemy is evil never gets questioned or else the whole idea of war makes no sense. In the same manner within Wal-Mart, the assumption that high prices are evil is never questioned or else the whole idea of never faltering to provide low prices makes no sense. As a commander, you don’t want your foot soldiers questioning the mission, what you want is for them to carry out the orders – “Always Low Prices”. And who would want to cross Caesar anyway! And so it was with the formation of the Wal-Mart army. Don’t question low prices just find a way to win the war, in other words be a good foot soldier. In today’s Wal-Mart we see that same never questioning attitude and the “do what you must” imperative. It drives the company to push the boundaries of ethical behaviour and is a testament to the power of the underlying message and stature of Sam Walton that it has survive for so long in tact after his death. In fact, some would argue that the message of “Always Low Prices” has becoming even more entrenched since Sam Walton’s death as myths and their primary attributes tend to follow a natural order to aggrandize over time. “Always Low Prices” would solidify his persona and legend as the driving force of the company long after he was gone. Sam Walton would be the stuff of legends. This is critical to the present day success of Wal-Mart. It is one thing to follow a coldly crafted mission statement and it is quite another thing to follow a man, even if just in memory. For the staff and managers at Wal-Mart providing “Always Low Prices” is nothing less than following in the footsteps of Sam Walton - their Caesar. It is a powerful statement of commitment, it shows loyalty to the Wal-Mart Empire, it shows that you know your place as a subject of Caesar. Corporate Culture – The Power of Philosophy For Sam Walton providing “Always Low Prices” was seen not just as a business idea that had some merit but as his civic duty. He had a drive to provide low prices not simply for profit but because it was the right of each American to enjoy low prices. Like the Roman Empire Wal-Mart has grown from a small non consequential outpost to a world dominating force and so have the woes and challenges that it must contend with. As Charles Fishman states in his book “The Wall-Mart Effect” it is one thing to be relentless at providing “Always Low Prices” when you are 3 stores in Arkansas and quite another when you are 6,500 stores strong and the largest retailer ever known to man6. The decisions that you make have more scope, they have more impact, they touch more people - a lot more people. But it wasn’t always that way. Wal-Mart started off small. It wasn’t the creation of the merging of a group of large retailers into an even larger entity that just appeared on the scene. The growth at Wal-Mart came store by store. It grew organically out of the very cultural pillars that Sam Walton laid down on the founding of his first store. This is why the power of Wal-Mart and its underlying culture is so strong today. It has stood the test of time based on a simple premise that harks back to the founding fathers of the American experience itself. Emerson would be impressed with the underlying tone of self reliance that pervades the Wal-Mart experience, for what could be more self reliant than spending your money frugally. And Henry David Thoreau sitting at Waldon’s pond would no doubt acquiesce with Sam Walton borrowing his motto of “multum in parvo”: “much in little”- little prices yielding much. And so it is difficult to understand that a company so steeped in the traditions of some of America’s most revered authors and founding philosophers would be facing such conflict with its suppliers, customers and general media as Wal-Mart presently does. And as we look for a reason behind this cultural dilemma we see that a similar manifestation has been happening to America itself. 6 The Wal-Mart Effect, p. 47, “What looks like missionary zeal when you’re a quirky regional retailer comes across much differently when you’re the most powerful company, and the largest employer, in the world. Corporate Culture – The Company As Nation Perhaps the reason why Wal-Mart makes so many people uneasy is because with its size it has become a mirror of American society, a parallel of sorts. Like Wal-Mart, American society (economy) has grown so large that even the defensive moves of the combined European Community fall short of its economic power. The very bigness it enjoys makes us nervous. As mentioned, we as people innately understand the corruptibility of great power and bigness. Great power involves great responsibility: a responsibility to use that power in a just and equitable manner. In this sense both America and Wal-Mart remain unopposed in their relative size and use of their power. The way in which that power will be used is a question of choice. It is an ethical decision with which both entities wrestle. And like all ethical decisions, the use of power is determined by the underlying culture that supports that power platform. We know through experience that acting ethically means knowing the difference between what you have the right to do and the right thing to do7 and that acting unethically is usually the result of self serving motivations. And with bigness and power comes the necessity to see beyond your own self-serving needs and requirements or face the same fate that befell The Holy Roman Empire - collapse. Perhaps that leap is easier for governments to make no matter how myopic they may presently be. For it is their primary mandate to serve. But ironically with Wal-Mart it is also their mandate to serve which may prove to be their ultimate undoing. Since day one, Wal-Mart has mandated themselves to serve the American population with “Always Low Prices”. They see themselves as the democratizers of price, the same way as America sees itself as the democratizers of politics. Both are self appointed and both are facing a battle. It is a similar master that points back to the very same constituents. As America tries to unravel the cultural imperatives of democracy so to is Wal-Mart trying to unravel the cultural imperatives that its unwavering adherence to low prices has both within and without its own culture. For a corporation, size is good as it enables you to use your own bigness as a lever against the power of your suppliers and the power of your customers. This is expected and any company would be foolish not to use its size to its own advantage. This is one of the first lessons learnt in any MBA class as illustrated through the Porter framework. Nevertheless, extreme size can bring greater ills than benefit and attack the very Liberty that enabled it to flourish in the first place. All corporations need growth, and size by its nature limits growth. It is a paradox of limited market size. Growth creates size but size limits grow. And with increased size the ability to continue to grow is limited to the corporation’s ability to manage that growth by finding new markets and new customers. If you can’t get more of the pie 7 Justice Porter Stewart, Associate Justice of The United States, served from October 14, 1958 through July 3, 1981, “There is a difference between what you have a right to do and what is right to do.” then get a bigger pie. The home country/market becomes saturated and the company is forced to go further a field to seek out new customers. And it is here that we hit other cultural paradoxes or inflection points that will determine the future of Wal-Mart. The first is the fact that the underlying assumption of the founding philosophy of the corporation which is based on the larger cultural context of Wal-Mart’s home country may not be shared by the new market participants. The second is that with expansion and ever growing business size the corporation’s purchasing power across geographic boundaries enables it not just to affect in large measure its home economy but the economies of other host nations. Purchasing power has morphed into political power which in turn has morphed into geo-political power. Firstly, Wal-Mart’s ability to find new customers and markets is predicated on the assumption that the new customers outside its home market will share the same belief and value system, read: “culture”, under which Wal-Mart has flourished, i.e.: that the value of “Always Low Prices” is shared by everyone. And by extension it is also predicated on the belief in the very values that forged the American culture. Those being the same values shared by Thoreau and Emerson, et al: thrift, discipline and self-reliance. If the new customers don’t value those underlying values and assumptions then continued growth through the opening and conquering of new markets is not assured. If those markets don’t materialize then the company will falter, growth will stall and the organization may face collapse under its own weight. Secondly, as the power base of Wal-Mart continues to grow across country boundaries and its underlying power base continues to morph from economic to geo- political power the uneasiness that customers, the general community and ultimately politicians will feel will no doubt increase to a point where action will be demanded. Lord Acton’s comments on the corruptibility of power states that it is almost an inevitable result. Power and specifically political power is the greatest threat to Liberty. If this is true then Wal-Mart’s increasing geo-political power is now diametrically opposed to the most fiercely held and defended value in American history - Liberty. The corporation is now at odds with its own home country culture, its very meta-culture. Like the Rome of Caesar, the seeds of discontent are forming. Corporate Culture – Saving The Empire All Empires go through a life cycle, as do all corporations. The Romans grew to rule the known world until the excesses of their culture borne of their very success caused their downfall. America grew from a sense of independence, self-reliance and manifest destiny wrought from democracy to the most powerful nation on earth that today brings it squarely at odds with other regions in a play of nations whose ending still needs to be written. For Wal-Mart the greatest threat facing the corporation is culture. But it isn’t coming from the internal culture that has caused it to be the incredible success that we know today. The threat against Wal-Mart comes from its meta-culture, the environment in which it exists and the culture that permits it to exercise its far reaching power. Corporate Culture – The Need To Re-Invent Is it a natural progression for entities to maximize themselves before they inevitable experience an implosion of sorts and either get broken up or dissolve into history? For Wal-Mart, the answer to this will be dependent on whether Wal-Mart can understand that as it seeks further growth it must re-examine its underlying cultural philosophy and the ethical dilemmas it faces in using its newly found geo-political power equitably within the larger meta-culture. The status-quo is no longer an option. Equity in the future may not mean “Always Low Prices” and this will be nothing short of traumatic for both the individuals within the organization and the organization itself. It will require a seismic shift from the founding principles of the corporation and its founding philosophers to an unwavering respect for the dominant American value of Liberty. By protecting Liberty at all cost by wielding its power ethically and equitably Wal-Mart may be able to refocus its energies to the higher goal of societal justice and at the same time regain its reputation within the community at large as the quintessential American company. The transition will be fraught with danger as the very fabric of the organization is re- stitched. Nevertheless, it is a necessity. If management and the organization as a whole prove unable to re-invent or re-engineer their culture, as they have been able to do in other areas of the corporation, the external forces acting upon them surely will. As was proven in Rome many centuries ago. Swiss Management Center is a truly global University, providing executive education aimed at the working professional. Supported by our centers in Europe and Latin America, as well as our partner network in the Middle East and Asia, we assist you in creating locally professional solutions
work_fheigb4rdzhe7bmnegsrgxexdu ---- European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 European journal of American studies Reviews 2015-2 Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. Despoina Feleki Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10830 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference Despoina Feleki, « Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. », European journal of American studies [Online], Reviews 2015-2, document 2, Online since 28 April 2015, connection on 22 April 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10830 This text was automatically generated on 22 April 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10830 Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. Despoina Feleki 1 Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction by Aliki Varvogli is the latest addition in the Routledge “Transnational Perspectives on American Literature” series. The writer’s ambitions to trace latest writing trends in American letters and update concerns about narratives of immigration in a post-Nelson Mandela era are expressed from the onset. Within the context of travel narratives and theories of dislocation, the book manages to show how the idea of the American in American letters has evolved according to latest political, economic, and technological determinants after World War II as this is traced in early twenty-first century fictions. More importantly, it investigates revisions of the American Dream that question America as both a destination and a point of departure in a globalized and technologically-informed world. 2 The essays in the study investigate different aspects of travel and dislocation expressed in early twenty-first-century novels in order to demonstrate the role travel, media, and politics play in the construction of culture, citizenship, and identity in the present fast-moving world. They also manage to bring into light questions about the importance of ethnicity as this is defined in present America and in the Western world. As Varvogli explores the relation between a personal and a national identity, she highlights the dynamic processes involved. For these reasons, she chooses novels that “go outward” (xv), and study what it means to be an American citizen in the twenty-first century – and often in the aftermath of 9/11 – when imaginary and real borders have been questioned. Most importantly, she raises questions about the Americanness of these American novels and the limitations of the American gaze of their writers. Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 1 3 In Part I, “Africa and the Limits of Fiction,” the first four political novels are written by white American writers who are concerned about the aftermath of slavery and how it affects transcontinental politics and human consciousness. The essays in Part I study the literariness of the novels, the combination of different genres, such as reportage and historical fiction, and the divide between fact with fiction in order to show how contemporary fiction writing is employed to give voice to human narratives of trauma. The first two novels use documentary style, when the next two use fiction writing, but still push it to certain limits. Philip Caputo, a fiction writer and journalist, in Acts of Faith is concerned about civil war in Sudan and sets his novel in this African country, where he explores the flawed nature of his American characters living there. Dealing with the contemporary political situation in Sudan within fictional contexts helps readers grasp the situation. Varvogli’s contribution lies in pointing out the efforts of the writer to distance his writing from the American gaze by displaying the not so innocent nature of his characters and by ending the novel with the point of view of a non-African. Yet, the realization that Caputo is still writing about Africa for the American market suggests the limitations of both views. 4 The investigation continues with Dave Eggers’s What is the What, which tells the real life story of Valentino Achak Deng, an American citizen and a refuge from Sudan, once a member of the Lost Boys group. The study touches upon issues of representation of safety and hostility that were raised in the previous section. Yet, hostility is now detected in the American home of Deng. The unstable authorial voices in the novel make a point about identity and fragmentation and suggest a link between spatial and internal displacement, an issue that is also explored in Part III. Although both novels begin with maps, the study questions their usefulness as “visual representations of the other and the ideology of the nation-state” (4). This brings to mind the shaky nature of international politics as well as the representational ambiguities at the time of satellite surveillance and Google maps. Furthermore, in tandem with the arbitrariness of maps as visual representations of different nation-states the arbitrariness of language in the creation of artificial distinctions and misrepresentations of otherness is discussed. Thus, Varvogli suggests that representations of Africa as a contested space and a dark continent of war continue to be common tropes of writing about space in American literature in the twenty-first century. 5 The second comparative essay focuses on Norman Rush’s Mortals and Russell Banks’s The Darling. These two novels that emphasize their literariness choose to “participate in but also subvert the literary tradition of white imaginative engagement with Africa” (7) through their use of allusion, intertextuality, and self-reflexiveness. Changing their perspective, both novels move from the political to the personal. They investigate what it is and feels to be an American citizen in Africa today. Rush sets his American characters in Botswana and deals with moral issues within disintegrated marriages and gender issues of masculinity and ethnic identity. Although the novel constitutes an example of western cultural intervention, Varvogli notes Rush’s subversive look in his choice to reject the U.S. as the ultimate destination for his characters. Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 2 6 In The Darling, Banks discusses the translatlantic dimensions of race issues by implicating a white American woman in Liberian politics. Thus, American imperialist policies are once again picked up, while Banks questions historical writing through the use of a highly discontinuous character and narrative voice. Hannah, his female protagonist leaves Africa and moves back to the U.S. only to prove that racial distinctions have not disappeared. Varvogli notes Banks’s effort to relate dominant narratives with little stories within the 9/11 context –brought up on the last page of the novel– as well as the relation of fact with fiction in the writer’s choice to write about real fears in fictional contexts. Spatial and temporal discontinuities in the novel emphasize the fragmentation of the self, issues that run through the essays in Part II and III. References to Conradian Heart of Darkness, the writers’ influences from Graham Green and the resort to Duboisian double-consciousness open up great opportunities for further studies that will explore how American representations of African space have evolved. Such issues that admittedly escape the scope of the present study could be investigated elsewhere. 7 Part II, entitled “Travel and Globalization,” continues the exploration of selves in contemporary American fiction writing and builds connections with Part I through the writers’ games with fact and fiction. The novels that are studied here change their perspective and destination; now travelling to and exoticizing Europe and other parts of the world are investigated. Varvogli proposes interesting connections with Henry David Thoreau’s concepts about travel and Washington Irving’s ideas about domestic travel, possibly creating fertile ground for further investigation. Amy Tan’s Saving Fish from Drowning and Garrison Keillor’s Pilgrims deal with how ethnicity and identity are redefined through travel and share a nostalgic look at former simpler times. Another issue that informs the study is how latest technologies affect our travel experiences and our perceptions of the “other,” by repositioning the American self in a “shrinking, homogenized world” (54). 8 Saving Fish from Drowning is a romantic adventure that offers another example of fictional writing that intentionally blurs fact with fiction. It is narrated by an omniscient narrator who is supposed to lead a group of American tourists from China to Myanmar but dies before the plot unravels. She lives only to tell the story of exploration and abduction of this group. Soon enough it becomes apparent that it is America’s view of the exotic country that readers experience. As Varvogli notes, “Amy Tan’s version of China is a China that exists primarily for American readers. It is not sanitized and re-packaged in the same way as the organic buckwheat pillows, but it is, above all, shaped by the culture that gives voice to the hyphenated American author” (59). Varvogli draws our attention to the belief that travelling to the East is also travelling into the past, which, unavoidably, implies the superiority of the West. Also, the commercialization of Eastern culture is discussed and updates the concerns of the study. Last but not least, the role of media in a globalized world is central in the novel and proves the victory of capitalism. Nationality and ethnicity become fluid notions as Google Earth has eliminated all distances. The use of comedy, romance, and satire enhance the sense of unconnectedness and fragmentation in the fictional world where media rule uncontrolled. Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 3 9 Varvogli sheds light on the artificiality of the writing in Pilgrims. As Keillor flirts with old literary tradition, intertextual references are lighthearted. The novel offers comic representations of Minnesotans in Rome, who travel there to honor the grave of a Lake Wobegon war hero. Varvogli selects this novel as it exhibits its connections with European modernist writing, which, however, contrasts with an anti-modernist trend in regional writing. In this novel, travelling to Europe is nodal in the construction and representation of its American characters. The novel raises the question of whether regionalism is a possibility within a globalized world. This is an interesting point that shifts the readers’ attention to the fact that regionalism is not authentic, but it is a constructed notion created when relating regional writing to western. This realization informs one of the central issues in the current study; the construction of a self and an identity is always in relation to the gaze of an important other, that is the western other and, more particularly, the American gaze in our case. Travel is a form of education, personal growth, and a return to authenticity where history comes to life (as contrasted to postmodern beliefs by Umberto Eco and Jean Baudrillard, who regard travelling from Europe to America as a trip from reality to hyperreality). Italy poses as a paradise for the repressed American and constitutes a subversion of the American narrative of the Promised Land. Stereotypical and clichéd material in the novel have a comic effect, while the clever reversals and the triumph of the local over the global reveal the watchful, perceptive gaze of the writer. 10 In the next essay, Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything is Illuminated and Eggers’s second contribution to this investigation with You Shall Know Our Velocity, catch up on the issue of globalization and the possibility – or rather impossibility – of connectedness of self. The idea of travel as a chance to be educated that was expressed in the previous novel alters in Eggers’s shrinking world, where “travel, then, becomes a means of escape from their feelings” (74). It is a novel that “borrows from the genres of the road novel and the Bildungsroman and creates a parodic twenty-first century version of the Grand Tour” (75). In it, Will, who comes into a great sum of money, and his friend Hand, set off on a journey around the world in order to give away this money and escape from themselves. What they, ultimately, accomplish, though, is a travel to an “Americanized homogenized world” (74) that depends solely on ticket availability. Therefore, the teleology of travelling is questioned and travelling is experienced as “displacement and dislocation” (75). Varvogli questions Fredrick Jameson’s take that globalization entails the export and import of culture due to the unsymmetrical rule of the U.S. over the rest of the world. Although Jameson sees language as a marker of identity and difference, this also poses as an impossibility in the novel because the English language is spoken everywhere and the use of technology helps American culture spread worldwide. 11 Heritage touring becomes a traumatic experience in Foer’s semi- autobiographical novel Everything is Illuminated, connecting with dark tourism in Part III. It tells the writer’s story, a Jewish American, who is in search of the woman who saved his grandfather from the Nazis. Travelling offers potentials of transatlantic dreaming and returns to the possibility of identity construction in post-traumatic situations through travelling. Among other things, all novels in Part II deal with travel as a return to the past and a desire for authenticity. Despite the gradual sameness and lack of difference that is Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 4 suggested by Eggers, the study tries to express the writers’ pressing concern about our gradually-diminishing linguistic, cognitive, and cultural ability to comprehend the fast- changing world around us. 12 As Varvogli states, American story has always been one of dislocation, and Part III, entitled “Dislocation and/ at Home,” investigates novels in which different types of dislocation and feelings of fragmentation are experienced by U.S. immigrants both in the land of origin and in the U.S. This section looks more closely at representations of domestic space within national space. In these novels, the characters are exploring routes and roots to discover new ways of being American as the result of an incessant tension between movement and stasis, home and place of origin. The novels that are examined in this part question the importance of home and belonging in the narration of the success story within the legacy of the American Dream. They investigate the relation of home as built space with feelings of dislocation and the impossibility of a stable American identity. Non-linear and rather fragmentary narration is preferred by the writers in order to highlight the fragmentation in the subjects as well. 13 Chang-rae Lee’s A Gesture Life and Ethan Canin’s Carry Me across the Water, deal with seemingly assimilated immigrants. Yet, as their characters fail to come to terms with both their past and their present, a fluid sense of home as a metaphor for nation, family, and self is established. Both novels celebrate their characters’ inability to live up to the expectations of the American society. Dislocation is a state of mind and home poses in A Gesture Life as a disguise to hide difference and a guilty past. Franklin Hata, the main character and narrator of the story, a born Korean who grew up in Japan and owns a store and a house in Bedley Run, New York, has difficulties in assimilating into the American society and achieving the American Dream since he has failed to establish a happy home and a family within the American nation. Once again, Varvogli stresses the Duboisian double-consciousness in the novel on the grounds that a seemingly perfect home can be highly discomforting for its residents. The story is narrated in flashbacks, which helps build on the idea of fragmentation. Particularly interesting is Vargioli’s idea of the house as a museum containing representations of others. Additionally, images of the mutilated body of the Korean woman and Hata’s daughter’s abortion suggest the inability of the human body to offer a stable and healthy home for a new life. As blood relations are weak in the novel, home and identity remain variables that are negotiated and never fixed. 14 The feeling of guilt of August Kleinman, a German Jewish by birth and American citizen, for his two criminal actions are central in Ethan Canin’s Carry Me across the Water. Travelling in this novel is a destabilizing factor. Varvogli sees Kleinman’s two crossings – one transatlantic from Germany to the U.S. and one transpacific from the U.S. to Japan– undermining his economic success. Narration depends on a rather unreliable narrator again, and the chronology of the telling of events is mixed up, implying that no simple narrative can be constructed of an immigrant. Although his successful assimilation into the American society is implied by the purchase of different homes, he fails to show any emotional attachment. Identities are made and re-made through the representations of houses in the novel. 15 As the readers read about the characters’ complex past and their efforts to be contained within American narratives, the final comparative essay of Dinaw Mengestu’s How to Read Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 5 the Air and Jhumpa Lahiris’s The Namesake shifts our attention to notions of national identity and how they have been informed in recent years. Mengestu, an Ethiopian- American writes about the experiences of Ethiopian-American Jonas Woldemariam in his effort to recollect snapshots of his past through his investigation of his parents’ flee from Ethiopia. As history is highly problematic and unreliable in the novel, storytelling plays an important part and fills the gaps in Jonas’s stories. At this point, this return to the African continent is particularly important and helps Varvogli round up her argument. Thus, she establishes an interesting connection with immigrant narratives in Part I, where Africa is portrayed as hell through the American gaze. Yet, in Part III, Africa is presented as hell by the African self of Jonas. The fact that he is an American citizen reveals the power of the American identity to suppress all other weaker ones. Confusing narration in non-chronological order and tropes of fragmentation in the telling of his personal and his parents’ stories are employed to tell the African immigrant experience. 16 In the Namesake, an example of Indian literature, both internal fragmentation and externally-imposed dislocation are experienced. Gogol’s identity is negotiated through two transatlantic journeys, while two train accidents represent the passage to different lives. The acquisition of a name is seen as a marker of successful assimilation into American society and Gogol’s inability to have a fixed name proposes his inability to have a fixed national identity. Being accepted by his girlfriends’ parents as her ‘ethnic’ boyfriend is a sign of their cosmopolitanism, while the cheap IKEA furniture suggest, according to Varvogli, “a metaphorical flattening of ethnicity” (134). Thus, Varvogli underlines Lahiri’s attempt to draw a new type of American home, one where origins do not really matter and ethnicity is commoditized. In the end, Lahiri rejects a conventional resolution to the immigrant novel. In having Gogol’s mother move between two homes in the U.S. and India –of which she has no ownership– she makes a point about a return to the family unit that can provide the comfort and security of a home. Concluding, it is the citizens of the world rather than their ethnic groups or nations that matter at a time when borders are shaky and ethnic or national identities are crushed. 17 The wide range and the great importance of the issues raised in this investigation constitute both its value and its weakness as the danger of jumping into hasty conclusions about new trends in American letters lurks. Yet, as stated earlier, some rather hasty attempts to share a common literary past with literary fathers, such as Ernest Hemingway, Joseph Conrad, and Henry David Thoreau can be seen as stepping stones for further and more extensive investigations. All comments about the fictional and meta-fictional games the writers of the novels play display Vargioli’s interest in the actual process of fiction writing. They demonstrate how writing is defined by political, economic, and socio-technological parameters that affect travel experiences and the way we talk about them. As it turns out, the American writers of the novels are not detached from the reality around them but are writing within and about it. The thematic, generic, and media concerns of the study reveal the novelists’ vigilant eye and their conscious efforts to keep their distance from the American gaze. As the study contributes to the widening of our understanding of contemporary American literature, Varvogli manages to foreground the lack of a general teleological approach to writing about transatlantic travelling. She concludes Part I with the realization that “transatlantic slave journeys to and from Africa continue to shape the world today” (45). By the end of the investigations in Parts II and III, the readers have acquired a taste for contemporary narratives of travel Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 6 and dislocation and realize that transatlantic journeys to and from America will continue to incite American imagination. AUTHOR DESPOINA FELEKI Aristotle University of Thessaloniki Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 7 Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction.
work_fi4rcev5tbcd7fmxijb4cagury ---- From NASCAR Condominiums To Private Mausoleums: Keeping The Vacation Home In The Family (With Sample Tenancy In Common Agreement) Wendy S. Goffe Wendy S. Goffe is a shareholder with the law firm of Graham & Dunn PC, Seattle, Washington. She is a Fellow of the American College of Trust and Estate Counsel. She has a comprehensive estate planning practice that involves all aspects of estate planning for high net worth individuals and families, advising both individuals and charitable organizations concerning planned giving, probate, and trust administration. © 2007 University of Miami School of Law. This article was initially prepared for the 41st Annual Heckerling Institute on Estate Planning, published by LexisNexis Matthew Bender. It is reprinted with the permission of the publisher, the Heckerling Institute and the University of Miami. A. Introduction 1. Some family homes serve as a magnet that pulls the family together. Others become the family bat- tleground, literally and figuratively. Stories of family arguments over ownership of a vacation home abound. Yet, families continue to desire and invest in these properties. 2. A number of things can motivate the initial purchase of a recreational cabin. These include: a. The desire to create a sense of family, cultural identity, or other affinity. Vacation communities are of- ten defined by race, religion, or other commonalities, including sexual orientation or even a passion for NASCAR racing. People gravitate toward these communities to vacation with others who share similar values or lifestyles. b. The opportunity to conspicuously display wealth. The grand homes of Newport, Rhode Island are early examples of this motivation. c. The opportunity to teach children to appreciate the benefits of nature. The Transcendentalist writers, including Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Walt Whitman, first documented their ex- periences in nature and their philosophy that a personal spiritual transformation could take place by getting away from the city to a restorative environment in the 19th century. In 1854, Henry David Tho- reau recorded the experience of his retreat to Walden Pond in “Walden.” Art Buchwald said about his own summer home on Martha’s Vineyard, “I think for most people summer houses have more mean- ing than homes in winter, because all the memories, usually, of a summer place are happy ones. When you’re in the city, you’re just in the city, but here I have been happy.” Joyce Wadler, At Home With Art Buchwald: A Defiant Jester, Laughing Best, The New York Times (July 27, 2006). d. The wish to get away from any reminders of routine daily living. The following quote from the New York Times encapsulates the desire to “get away from it all”: Forget the Tuscan villa, the chateau in Provence and the pied-a-terre in Paris. They’re so cliché, not to mention over- priced. Savvy second-home hunters are packing their passports, pouring through foreign classified ads and snapping up homes in far-flung countries from Argentina and Bulgaria to Nicaragua and Turkey. Even though these places may lack the glamour of Cannes and are sometimes harder to get to than Timbuktu, they are picturesque, not overrun by Americans and, in some cases, even fashionable. Best of all, there are still bargains to be found. Denny Lee, A Second Home in Bulgaria?, New York Times, Oct. 28, 2005. 3. The sociological component of second home ownership is fascinating and important to a thorough understanding of the related underlying issues that arise in families, but it is a subject beyond the scope of this outline. (For an analysis of the sociological component, see Ken Huggins, Essay— Passing It On: The Inheritance, Ownership and Use of Summer Houses, 5 Marquette Elder’s Advisor 85 (Fall 2003); Judith Huggins Balfe, Passing It On: The Inheritance and Use of Summer Houses (Pocomo Press 1999); and Judith Huggins Balfe, Passing it On: The Inheritance of Summer Houses and Cultural Identity, 26 The American Sociologist 29 (Winter 1995).) This outline will focus mainly on the equally important legal component of how families succeed in passing on ownership of a cabin from one generation to the next, with an emphasis on charitable planning, followed by a brief discus- sion of some unusual transfer issues—cabins on public land and cabins in British Columbia. The more daunting task of ongoing management is also discussed below. 4. Few families successfully transfer ownership of a cabin or vacation property by accident. Families that do accomplish this Herculean feat do so only with a great deal of advanced multi-generational planning, often with mechanisms to adjust the plan as circumstances and needs change. In this arti- cle, the term “cabin” is used collectively to refer to vacation properties of all shapes, sizes, styles, and fair market values. 5. Cabins are frequently located in desirable areas where property values have appreciated at a rate far beyond a family’s other assets. Often, a cabin may represent a large percentage of a family’s finan- cial holdings, posing complex estate tax and liquidity issues for the senior generation. For the junior generation, keeping a cabin in the family can create financial burdens. It can also bring the challenge of reaching a consensus among family members as to how to deal with this property, whether they want the property or not. 6. The legal mechanism for transferring the property is only the first of many challenges. Following the transfer, the next generation must determine how to maintain the property; how to pay taxes, insur- ance, and maintenance; and how to divide use of the property among the family members. The trans- fer itself is relatively easy compared to maintaining harmony among the owners following the transfer. B. Creating A Master Plan 1. Before a plan to transfer the family cabin can be implemented, it is helpful if the family can reach a consensus, in the form of a master plan, as to how that transfer will take place. (See James S. Sligar, Estate Planning for Major Family Real Estate Holdings, 133 Trusts & Estates 48 (Dec. 1994) (“Sligar, Major Family Real Estate Holdings”) for a comprehensive discussion of master plans; Stephen J. Small, Preserving Family Lands, Book I: Essential Tax Strategies for the Landowner (Landowner Planning Center 3d ed. 1998); Stephen J. Small, Preserving Family Lands, Book II: More Planning Strategies for the Future (Landowner Planning Center 1997); and Stephen J. Small, Preserving Fam- ily Lands, Book III: New Tax Rules and Strategies and a Checklist (Landowner Planning Center 2002).) The most successful transitions involve detailed and thoughtful advanced planning developed jointly by the senior and junior generations. The use of a mediator or other trained neutral third party can be invaluable in developing a master plan. (See Olivia Boyce-Abel, When to Use Facilitation or Mediation in Estate and Wealth Transfer Planning, Family Office Exchange, Vol. 9 No. 35 (1998), and Robert Solomon, Helping Clients Deal With Some of the Emotional and Psychological Issues of Es- tate Planning, 18 Probate & Property 56 (March/April 2004) (“Solomon, Helping Clients”) for discus- sions concerning the role of a facilitator.) a. A good facilitator can significantly increase the possibility of a successful outcome. Solomon, Helping Clients, supra, at 58. Family conflict is inevitable; a good facilitator can help families deal with conflict productively to mediate a mutually satisfactory resolution. Often, the presence of a mediator can pro- vide objectivity and bring family members closer to a consensus when emotions might otherwise take center stage and derail the process. b. Once the family members are informed of the various options (which may include setting aside por- tions for conservation purposes, selling portions to raise capital to support the remaining property, and transferring portions to succeeding generations), the first step in creating a master plan is to have the facilitator interview each family member. c. The interview process is an opportunity for each family member to freely express his or her wishes and apprehensions with respect to the property. Not all family members have to participate in the interview process, but all should be given the opportunity. A trained non-family member serving in an intermedi- ary capacity ideally allows the family members to focus on common interests rather than their differ- ences. To do this successfully, the participants need to feel confident that the mediator is not aligned with the interests of any of the family participants or the estate planning attorney. Id. d. Having met with as many family members as are willing to participate, the neutral third-party would prepare a report summarizing the findings, identifying areas of consensus, if any, and pointing out ar- eas where feelings and opinions diverge. The family members can share this report, and the members of the senior generation and their attorney can use it to begin to develop the master plan. e. In some cases, the facilitator’s report provides sufficient information so that family members can jointly make meaningful decisions about the property. If the family is yet unable to reach an agree- ment, one or more family meetings guided by the facilitator could follow to resolve areas of dispute, further define areas of agreement, and continue building a consensus. The development of a master plan with the assistance of a trained neutral third party is especially useful when the senior generation has already ceded control of the property to the next generation and questions and issues concerning actual management have arisen. 2. Often, the next step in developing a master plan is creating a mission statement to address the fam- ily’s goals and values with respect to the cabin. Issues to address in the mission statement could in- clude: a. What is most important to the family about the cabin? b. What does the family value most about how it uses the cabin? c. How would the family like to see the ownership of the cabin affect the ways the various members in- teract? 3. Of course, the use of a facilitator in estate planning is not going to be accepted by all clients. It is un- derstandably difficult to impress upon clients the value that could be added by employing a facilitator to guide this process. At a minimum, the lawyer could offer to distribute a survey to family members that they could respond to anonymously, to give the senior generation insight into the wishes and ap- prehensions of the next generation. As a result of the facilitator’s work or the lawyer’s survey, the sen- ior generation may discover that some or all of the members of the younger generation honestly have no interest in retaining the cabin. They also may be able to determine the apprehensions of those who do want to retain the cabin and resolve those issues before the cabin becomes a battleground. 4. It may be the case that, rather than being transferred as a whole to the next generation as part of the master plan, the property may need to be divided into separate portions, each to be dealt with differ- ently. The different uses may include development, conservation, and residential use. Next, with the help of the estate planning attorney, the family can identify techniques to accomplish these objec- tives, which are described below. C. Conservation And Preserving Open Space 1. Frequently, families determine that certain portions of their land should be preserved as open space. They may also choose to restrict development or other uses on the donated property, the retained property, or both. Outlined below are a number of methods for transferring an easement or the real property to charity. 2. Conservation Easements a. One common way to restrict development is with a conservation easement. (See Nancy A. McLaugh- lin, Questionable Conservation Easement Donations, 18 Probate & Property 40 (Sept./Oct. 2004) for an analysis of the IRS’s closer scrutiny of conservation easements and also an excellent list of further resources.) A conservation easement is a permanent restriction on the use of privately owned land to promote conservation. Granting a conservation easement typically reduces the value of the underly- ing real property for development purposes. For a family’s purposes this can also have the effect of preserving a property’s natural beauty and reducing gift and estate tax costs when the property is transferred between generations. b. The Internal Revenue Code (the “Code”) permits income, and gift or estate, tax deductions for a grant of a conservation easement over certain real property. §§170(h), 2055(f), 2522(d). (Unless otherwise indicated, all section references are to the Code.) (The Pension Protection Act of 2006, Pub. L. No. 109-280, 120 Stat. 780 (the “Pension Protection Act”) increased the deductibility of conservation easements for tax years 2006 and 2007. The Pension Protection Act at §1206, effective January 1, 2006. Section 1206 of the Pension Protection Act amends section 170 by permitting a deduction of up to 50 percent of a donor’s contribution base for certain conservation easements rather than the previ- ous deduction of up to 30 percent of a donor’s contribution base otherwise allowed under section 170(b)(1)(C). §170(b)(1)(E). Furthermore, it extends a taxpayer’s ability to carry forward unused de- ductions for 15 years, rather than five years as under prior law. §170(d)(1)(A). Other modifications in section 1206 apply for donations of non-publicly traded farming or ranching property. §170(b)(1)(E)(v).) The Treasury Regulations set forth detailed requirements for deductibility, which are summarized below. Treas. Reg. §1.170A-14. c. Qualified Conservation Contributions i. Section 170(f)(3)(B)(iii) of the Code provides an exception to the split-interest rules, which would normally disallow a deduction for the gift of a partial interest. ii. To be eligible for the deduction, the transfer must constitute a “qualified conservation contribution” as defined in section 170(h)(1), by satisfying the following requirements: (1) The property contributed must be a “qualified real property interest.” §170(h)(2). (2) The property must be donated to a “qualified organization.” §170(h)(3). (3) The gift must be “exclusively for conservation purposes.” §170(h)(4). This requirement can be sat- isfied by providing that the purposes are to continue in perpetuity. §170(h)(5)(a). iii. Each of these requirements is further defined by the statute and regulations.
work_fnbd7b473ffvdadwyko5eydlle ---- AR-465 Skip to main content Go to main site Moodle FR EN DE You are currently using guest access (Log in) Habitat et développement urbain Home Courses Architecture (AR) Master AR-465 Enrolment options Enrolment options AR-465 Habitat et développement urbain OBJECTIFS A partir de situations concrètes, le cours vise à mettre en évidence les processus de production de l’habitat urbain, ainsi que les dynamiques propres du développement en milieu construit, dans toute leur complexité. L’analyse de ces processus sociaux et territoriaux, pratiques de transformations de l’espace de la ville, s’inscrit dans une perspective de développement urbain durable, ceci autant au Nord qu’au Sud. L’objectif du cours est d’identifier les enjeux actuels, le rôle des professionnels et des habitants dans la fabrication de la ville contemporaine, à partir de cours théoriques et d’expériences de terrains relatées par les enseignants et leurs invités. Nous focaliserons notre attention, dans les cours comme dans les travaux requis des étudiants, sur l’habitat des pauvres (habitat précaire, bidonvilles) de manière à mettre en évidence les causes de ce phénomène, ses caractéristiques urbanistiques et architecturales, ses conséquences en termes de détérioration des conditions de vie au plan environnemental, social et économique, mais également les tentatives de réponses qui sont apportées, par les habitants eux-mêmes, de manière indépendantes ou organisés au plan communautaire, ainsi que par les institutions publiques et les organismes de coopération internationale. CONTENU - Problématique générale du développement en général, du développement durable et du développement urbain durable en particulier - Tendances majeures de l’urbanisation dans le monde - Les acteurs sociaux du développement urbain - L’urbanisation du monde et son impact en termes de gouvernance, de gestion sectorielle, d’espaces publics, d’habitat, et de lutte contre la pauvreté - Les modèles de ville et leur signification idéologique - Les cultures urbaines, leurs protagonistes, violences et sécurité. Ces problématiques seront abordées à la fois sur un plan conceptuel et appliqué, mettant en regard les apports théoriques des penseurs de l’urbain dans les pays du Sud et les actions menées sur le terrain par les différents acteurs sous formes de politiques, de projets de développements et d’initiatives alternatives. Professor: Yves Pedrazzini Teacher: Nadia Carlevaro Teacher: Fiona Ines Del Puppo Self enrolment (Student) Guests cannot access this course. Please log in. Continue AR-465 Home Calendar Contact EPFL CH-1015 Lausanne +41 21 693 11 11 Follow EPFL on social media Follow us on Facebook Follow us on Twitter Follow us on Instagram Follow us on Youtube Follow us on LinkedIn Accessibility Disclaimer © 2021 EPFL, all rights reserved
work_fntc7llrdraqhgk2t6m3sbc4zq ---- Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. Araştırma Makalesi | Research Article Makale Geliş | Received: 10.07.2018 Makale Kabul | Accepted: 15.08.2018 Yayın Tarihi | Publication Date: 30.10.2018 DOI: 10.20981/kaygi.475133 Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU Dr. Öğr. Üyesi | Assist. Prof. Dr. Gümüşhane Üniversitesi, Edebiyat Fakültesi, Felsefe Bölümü, Gümüşhane, TR Gümüşhane University, Faculty of Letters, Department of Philosophy, Gümüşhane, TR ORCID: 0000-0002-2473-4258 sedazsy@yahoo.com.tr Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme * Öz Siyasal düzenin işleyişinde meydana gelen aksaklıklara karşı bireyler; muhalefet etme, memnuniyetsizliğini gösterme ve haklarını koruma yönünde barışçıl yollara başvurarak çözüm arayışına girerler. Bunlardan en dikkat çekeni, direnmenin pasif biçimi olarak karşımıza çıkan sivil itaatsizlik eylemleridir. Sivil itaatsizlik, yasalara karşı gelen ve genellikle yasalarda veya yönetimin politikalarında bir değişiklik yapılması amacına yönelik kamusal, şiddet içermeyen, vicdani bir siyasi davranış olarak tanımlanabilir. Birey, böyle davranarak toplumda çoğunluğun adalet duygusuna hitap eder ve özgür ve eşit insanlar arasındaki toplumsal işbirliği ilkelerine saygı gösterilmediğini gündeme getirir. Bu durum, sadece toplumsal yaşama ilişkin unsurlar açısından değil aynı zamanda kişinin iç dünyasını, sahip olduğu değer ve ilkeleri kapsayan kişisel bütünlükle de yakından bağlantılıdır. Bu çalışmada kişisel bütünlük ve direnmenin pasif biçimi olan sivil itaatsizlik arasındaki bağlantının boyutları ve bunun eğitim ile olan ilişkisi irdelenecektir. Anahtar Kelimeler: Pasif Direniş, Sivil İtaatsizlik, Kişisel Bütünlük ve Eğitim. A Brief Evaluation on the Relationship between Personal Integrity and Civil Disobedience Abstract Persons against the disruptions in the functioning of the political order; seek to find a solution by means of peaceful ways of opposing, showing dissatisfaction and protecting their rights. The most striking of these is the acts of civil disobedience which appear as a passive form of resistance. Civil disobedience is the public act of willfully disobeying the law and the commands of an authority figure, to make a political statement. The purpose of civil disobedience is to convey a political message, which is accomplished through increased media coverage of the issue. Also, if the law broken is the law being protested, it sends the message to authority figures that people consider the law so unjust, they are willing to openly disobey it. This is not just about social life, it is also closely linked to personal integrity, which encompasses the inner world of the person, the values and principles it has. In this study, the dimensions of the relationship between civil disobedience which passive form of resistance, the personal integrity and education will be examined. Keywords: Passive Resistance, Civil Disobedience, Personal Integrity and Education. * Bu metin, 04-06 Ekim 2013 tarihlerinde Çankırı’da gerçekleştirilen “III. Ilgaz Felsefe Günleri Sempozyumu”nda sunulan bildirinin gözden geçirilmiş ve geliştirilmiş hâlidir. Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 190 İnsan, konuşmayı ve rüzgâr kadar hafif düşüncelerini geliştirdi, kentlerde yaşamanın arzusunu duydu. Kışların dondurucu ayazından, inatçı yağmurun oklarından korunmayı başardı. İnsan, kendine insan olmayı öğretti (Sophokles 2017: 14). Kendisini ve çevresinde gerçekleşen olayları anlamak ve açıklayabilmek için kendilik bilgisinden yola çıkan insan, ilk çağlardan günümüze onuruna yaraşır olanı aramaya/kurgulamaya yönelmiştir. Yerleşik hayata geçerek oluşturulan yeni yaşam biçimi, “insan için” olan pek çok farklı unsurun da devreye girmesini sağlamıştır. Bir arada yaşamayla birlikte tesis edilen toplumsal düzen; iktidar, yöneten-yönetilen, norm, meşruiyet, sistem, otorite ve itaat gibi bileşenleri gündeme getirmiştir. Mezkûr bileşenlerin kimi insan doğasından kaynaklanırken kimi de ona aykırı bir şekilde yapılanmıştır. Bu durumda insan; biyolojik, psikolojik ve sosyal yapısını -bunlar arasındaki denge ve uyumun önemi dikkate alındığında- korumak adına kendisine uygun olanları seçip yaşam koşullarını bunlara göre uyarlarken diğerlerini bertaraf etmenin yollarını aramıştır. Toplumsal ve siyasal düzen içinde iktidar, otorite ve itaat gibi unsurların kendi doğasına zarar verdiği durumlar karşısında insanın ilk olarak korumaya çalıştığı ise kişisel bütünlüğüdür. Kişinin algıladığı gerçeği, sahip olduğu sorumluluk duygusuna koşut olarak tutarlı bir şekilde düşünmesi, dile getirmesi ve davranışlarıyla ortaya koyması biçiminde tanımlanabilecek olan kişisel bütünlük; kişinin iç dünyasıyla inandığı değer ve ilkelerle ve kendisini adadığı gerçekle ilişkisi olmak üzere üç düzeye sahiptir. Bu doğrultuda kişisel bütünlüğün ilk koşulunun gerçeğe saygı duymak, ikinci koşulunun ise algılanan gerçeğin tüm sorumluluğunu almak olduğu söylenebilir (Cüceloğlu 1999: 404-405). Kişisel bütünlüğe sahip olan bir birey, tutumları ile davranışları çelişmeyen, olaylara karşı net bir duruş sergileyen ve kendini gerçekleştirme niteliği haiz bir bireydir. Bu birey; özgüven sahibidir, kendi kendisiyle ve içinde yaşadığı çevreyle uyumludur, sahip olduğu değerler ekseninde toplumda bir yeri ve görevi olduğuna inanır (Yörükoğlu 2004: 14-15). Sözü edilen özelliklere sahip olan bir insan, siyasal düzenin işleyişinde meydana gelen aksaklıklara karşı muhalefet etme, memnuniyetsizliğini gösterme ve haklarını koruma yönünde barışçıl yollara başvurarak çözüm arayışına girer. Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 191 Bu bağlamda başvurduğu yollardan ilkinin sivil itaatsizlik olduğu söylenebilir. Sivil itaatsizlik, yasalara karşı gelen ve genellikle yasalarda veya yönetimin politikalarında bir değişiklik yapılması amacına yönelik kamusal, şiddet içermeyen, vicdani bir siyasi davranış olarak tanımlanabilir. Birey, böyle davranarak toplumda çoğunluğun adalet duygusuna hitap eder ve özgür ve eşit insanlar arasındaki toplumsal işbirliği ilkelerine saygı gösterilmediğini gündeme getirir (Rosen 2006: 122). Sivil itaatsizlik, hukuk devleti idesinin içerdiği üstün değerler uğruna, kamuya açık ve yasaya aykırı olarak gerçekleştirilen ancak bu sırada üçüncü kişilerin daha üstün olan herhangi bir hakkını çiğnemeyen barışçıl bir protesto edimidir (Ökçesiz 1994: 130). Hak arama mücadelesi içinde olan insanların genellikle tercih ettiği bu yöntem, pasif direnme biçimlerinden biridir. Pasif direniş, otoriteye karşı girişilen ve şiddete başvurmayan yolları kapsayan bir direniş taktiğidir. Burada genel olarak kamuya ait olan ya da girilmesi yasak olan yerleri işgal eden ve gözaltına alınsalar ya da yetkililerin başka müdahaleleriyle karşılaşsalar dahi şiddete hiçbir şekilde yönelmeyen protestocu grupların eylemleri ön olana çıkar (Marshall 1999: 581). Bu doğrultuda pasif direnme biçimlerinden biri olarak kabul edilen sivil itaatsizliğin özelliklerini ortaya koymakta fayda vardır: Sivil itaatsizlik, şiddetten arınmışlık tutum ve düşüncesinden, başkalarının kişiliği karşısındaki saygıdan doğar ve gelişir. Temel bir soruna, başka yollarla dikkat çekilemediğinde içsel bir zorunluluktan kaynaklanır. Sivil itaatsizlik, bilinçli ve sınırlı bir norm ihlali olup; sivil itaatsiz, bunun sonucundaki yaptırımı, diğer bütün demokratik kuralların ve çiğnenen kuralın başka durumlarda geçerliliklerinin açıkça tanınması koşuluyla kabul eder. Koşulludur; sivil itaatsizlik, şiddetsiz eylemlerin ilk iki basamağı olan dikkat çekici, gösterisel ve yasal biçimde girişilen eylemler, başarı sağlamadığı takdirde gündeme gelebilir. İtaatsizlik durumunda itaatsizin, dünya görüşünün farklı olabilmesine rağmen temel bir haksızlığa karşı gelinmektedir. Haksızlığa karşı çıkma araçlarının inandırıcı olabilmeleri için amaçla çelişmemeleri zorunludur. Sivil itaatsizlik, sembolik kalmalıdır. Sembolik eylemler, yönetimi bir düşman gibi görmeyip kişi ile konuyu birbirinden ayırmaya, iletişim kurmaya ve olumlu anlamıyla birbiriyle tartışmaya çalışır. Şiddetten arınmışlık, bir düşmanlığı giderme yöntemidir. Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 192 Sivil itaatsizlik, yeni ahlaki yargının, kamu tarafından benimsenmesi, en azından siyasi bir karara dönüştürülebilecek bir çoğunlukça desteklenmesi umudunu taşır (Anbarlı 2007: 71-99). Kamusal bir eylem olan sivil itaatsizliğin, sadece siyasi gücü elinde bulunduran çoğunluğa verilen bir mesaj olması bakımından değil aynı zamanda siyasi ilkelerce yani anayasayı ve toplumsal kurumları düzenleyen adalet ilkeleri tarafından yönlendirildiği ve savunulduğu için siyasi bir eylem olduğu göz önünde bulundurulmalıdır. Kişinin, sivil itaatsizliği savunurken kendi teziyle örtüşse ve onu desteklese bile kişisel ahlak ve din öğretisi ilkelerine değinmesi doğru olmaz. Ayrıca grup çıkarı veya kişisel çıkar uğruna sivil itaatsizlikte bulunulamayacağını söylemeye gerek bile yoktur. Tam tersine sivil itaatsizlikle siyasi düzenin temelinde bulunan ve herkes tarafından paylaşılan adalet kavramına atıf yapılır (Rosen 2006: 122). Tarihsel bir geri dönüşle ele alacak olursak adaleti ön planda tutan bu terim, 1849 yılında Aesthetic Papers adlı dergide yer alan bir makalede Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) tarafından kullanılmıştır. Ülke Yönetimine Direniş ya da bilinen adıyla Sivil İtaatsizlik makalesinde Thoreau’nun kaleme aldığı görüşlerini şu şekilde özetlemek mümkündür: 1. Bir kimsenin ülkesinin yasasından “daha yüce bir yasa” vardır. Bu, vicdanın yasasıdır, “içten gelen ses”in, “kozmosu kuşatan, birleştirici ruh”un yasası. 2. Kimi zaman bu “yüce yasa” ile ülkenin yasası, birbirleriyle çatışır duruma geldiğinde kişinin ödevi “yüce yasa”ya uymak, ülkenin yasasına karşı gelmektir. 3. Kişi ülkesinin yasasına bile bile karşı geliyorsa bu eylemin bütün sonuçlarını göze alıyor olmalıdır, hapishaneye kapatılmayı bile! 4. Hapishaneye girmek, sanıldığı kadar olumsuz bir edim değildir; bu durum, iyi niyetli kişilerin dikkatini, kötü yasaya çekmeye yarayacak ve bu yasanın kaldırılmasına katkıda bulunacaktır ya da yeterince kişi hapishaneye kapatılırsa bunların edimleri, devlet mekanizmasını işlemez kılmayı, dolayısıyla kötü yasayı uygulanamaz bir hale getirmeyi sağlayacaktır (Thoreau 2012: 36-37). Thoreau tarafından ortaya konan sivil itaatsizliğe ilişkin görüşler, başlangıçta pek ilgi görmese de 1900’lü yıllara gelindiğinde Oxford Üniversitesi’nde hukuk öğrenimi Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 193 görmekte olan Mohandas K. Gandhi tarafından yeniden gün ışığına çıkarılmıştır. 1 Thoreau’nun düşünceleri ekseninde kötü yasalara karşı sivil itaatsizliğin kullanılmasını savunan Gandhi, Hindistan’ın İngiliz egemenliğinden kurtulması için girişilen harekete destek olmak amacıyla ülkesine döndüğünde otuz yıl boyunca pasif direniş eylemlerinde bulunmuştur. Bunlardan birinde, kazançlı bir tekel oluşturmak isteyen İngiliz yönetimi tuz yapımını yasaklayınca Gandhi ve beraberindekiler, bir tas dolusu deniz suyundan buharlaştırma yoluyla tuz üreterek yasayı simgesel olarak çiğnemişlerdir. Tutuklanan Gandhi, hapishanede açlık grevine başlamış ve böylece daha büyük bir kitlenin dikkatini çekmeyi başarmıştır. Buna benzer sivil itaatsizlik yöntemlerinin kullanılmasıyla 1945 yılında Hindistan, bağımsızlığını elde etmiştir (Thoreau 2012: 38-39). Sonraki yıllarda, sivil itaatsizlik yöntemlerinin etkisi, geniş bir coğrafyaya yayılmıştır. İkinci Dünya Savaşı sırasında, Nazi istilasına yönelik olarak gündeme gelen direniş, bu durumun başlıca örneklerindendir. Thoreau’nun yazdığı kitap, Danimarka’da da eylemleri yönlendiren önemli bir konuma gelmiştir. Naziler, daha sonraki uygulamalar için Yahudileri teşhir edebilmek amacıyla tüm Yahudilerden giysilerinin sırtında altı uçlu sarı bir yıldız bulundurmalarını isteyen bir yasa çıkarmışlardır. Buna karşı Danimarka’da Yahudi olsun veya olmasın hatta aralarında Kral Christian’ın da bulunduğu birçok kişi, sırtlarında sarı yıldızlarla dolaşmaya başlayınca yasanın uygulanması olanaksız bir hale gelmiştir (Thoreau 2012: 41). Gandhi’nin ardından zencilerin haklarının savunulmasına yönelik olarak Martin Luther King tarafından sivil itaatsizlik yöntemlerinin belirgin bir şekilde kullanılmasıyla yaygınlık kazanan direniş biçimleri, günümüzde de farklı uygulamalarla sürdürülmektedir. Bunlardan bazıları; oturma eylemleri, genel greve çağrı, imza toplama, sınır geçme, yolları trafiğe kapama ve kamusal alandaki birtakım düzenlemelere uymama şeklindedir (Altunel 2011: 443- 458). 1 Gandhi tarafından kullanılan direniş taktikleri, 1955 ile 1964 yılları arasında Amerika’da, 1968 yıllında Çekoslovakya’da gerçekleştirilen hak arama mücadelelerinde öne çıkmıştır. Yüksek vergilere, nükleere, ırk ve cinsiyet ayrımına, savaşlara ve şiddete karşı yürütülen sivil itaatsizlik eylemleri sonucunda Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Rosa Parks, John Lennon, John Carlos ve Tommie Smith gibi isimler önemli birer sembol haline gelmiştir. Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 194 Bu eylemler çerçevesinde yaşadığımız coğrafyadaki genel durum dikkate alındığında ise Türkiye’de demokratikleşmenin önündeki engellerden birinin, Türkiye’nin güçlü bir devlet yapısının var olmasına karşılık, zayıf bir sivil toplum yapısına sahip olmasıdır. Hukuk devleti uygulamalarının istendik ölçüde gerçekleştirilememesi, belirli konularda görüş açıklamalarının engellenmesi, kimi sivil itaatsizlik gösterilerinde ve toplumsal hareketlerde eylemcilerin olumsuz durumlara maruz kalmaları Türkiye gibi gelişmekte olan ülkelerde sivil toplumun ilerlemesini engelleyen nedenler arasındadır. Esasen yapılması gereken kamusal konuşma sürecini aynı zamanda kamusal eyleme dönüştürerek ülkenin gidişatına yön verebilmektir. Özellikle Türkiye gibi demokrasiye işlerlik kazandırma yönünde adımlar atılan ülkelerde sivil itaatsizlik, bir hukuk devleti veya demokratik bir politik gelenek yaratacak bir araç olarak kullanılabilir. Türkiye’de gerçekleşmiş bazı sivil itaatsizlik eylemleri ise şunlardır: Radyomu istiyorum, cumartesi anneleri, düşünceye özgürlük davası, memurların grev yasağını delen TÖS genel boykotu; türban yasağını bilerek çiğneyen ve cezalandırılmayı göze alan eylemler; mahkeme kararıyla müstehcen sayılıp toplatılan bir kitabın başka ve çok sayıda yayınevi tarafından müstehcen sayılan bölümler çıkartılarak fakat bunlara yer veren mahkeme kararı ile birlikte yeniden basılması; genel grev yasağına karşı “toplu vizite” eylemleri (Yılmaz 2011). Kişinin, anayasada düzenlenmiş bulunan direniş hakkına dayalı olarak gerçekleştirdiğini söyleyebileceğimiz sivil itaatsizlik eylemleri, daha önce de vurguladığımız gibi adaletle doğrudan bağlantılıdır. Anayasaya ve hukuka aykırı tutum ve davranışlarıyla yasallığını veya meşruluğunu yitirdiğine dair apaçık hukuki dayanakların olduğu bir güce karşı koyma ya da anayasa ve yasalara aykırı davranışlarıyla hukuku dışlayarak baskı rejimi kuran bir yapıya başkaldırma olarak tanımlanabilecek olan direniş hakkı, aktif veya pasif direnme biçimleriyle haksız işlemi hedef alır ve hükümeti, bu işlemini geri almaya zorlar (Taşkın 2004: 37-65). Hak arama mücadelelerinde girişilen sivil itaatsizlik eylemlerinde belki de bu yasal dayanaktan daha önemli olan unsur, kişinin ya da topluluğun adalet mekanizmasının işletilmesine yönelik olarak sahip olduğu sorumluluk duygusudur. Genelde düşünce tarihinden Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 195 özelde felsefe tarihinden herkesin bildiği bir örnek olması itibarıyla Sokrates’in baldıran zehrini içtiği döneme kadar geriye götürebileceğimiz sivil itaatsizlik eylemleri; sahip olduğu değer ve ilkeleri koruyabilen, kişi hak ve özgürlüklerine saygı duyan, sorumluluk alabilen bireylerin başka bir ifadeyle kişisel bütünlüğü haiz bireylerin, haksızlıklara karşı duruşundan kaynaklanır. Kişisel bütünlüğün oluşturulması -bahsi geçen olumlu özelliklere sahip ve sorumlu bireyler yetiştirilmesi açısından- ise sadece bireyin kendisiyle değil, tabi olunan eğitim ile de doğrudan ilgilidir. Böyle bir bireyin yetiştirilmesinde önemli olan unsurlardan biri eğitimdir. Eğitim, bireyin davranışlarında, kendi yaşantısı yoluyla ve kasıtlı olarak istendik değişme meydana getirme sürecidir (Ertürk 1982: 12). Burada yanıtlanması gereken önemli bir soru, eğitim aracılığıyla bireyde oluşturulması öngörülen istendik davranış örüntülerinin, kişisel bütünlüğe nasıl bir etkisinin olduğu ve kişisel bütünlüğe sahip bir bireyin, sorumluluk duygusuyla hareket ederek karşılaştığı toplumsal sorunlara yönelik giriştiği sivil itaatsizlik ediminin nasıl gerçekleştiğiyle ilgilidir. Diğer bir deyişle istendik davranış örüntüleri oluşturma çabasına rağmen karşılaşılan sivil itaatsizlik örnekleri nasıl açıklanabilir? Sorumluluk duygusu, toplum tarafından onaylanan davranışlar sergileme ve otoriteye karşı gelme gibi unsurlar arasında herhangi bir bağlantı var mıdır ya da bunlar, eğitim aracılığıyla istenilen biçimde dönüştürülebilir mi? İnsanın, bütün hayatını kapsadığını kabul edebileceğimiz eğitim sürecinin, eleştirel düşünme gücüne, sorumluluk duygusuna, gerçeğe ulaşma isteğine ve bilincine sahip bireylerin yetiştirilmesinde önemli işlevleri bulunmaktadır. Bu nedenle bireyi, sürekli anlatım yoluyla içi doldurulması gereken boş bir kap şeklindeki bir nesne gibi ele alan değil, bir özne olarak gören eğitim anlayışının benimsenmesi gerekmektedir. Bu bağlamda, eğitim ile ilgili olarak karşımıza çıkan -Freire’nin önerdiği isimle- bankacı eğitim modeli yerine, problem tanımlayıcı eğitim modeli yaygınlaştırılmalıdır. Karşıdaki kişiyi, mutlak bilgisiz sayarak sadece anlatılar aracılığıyla gerçeklikten uzaklaştırılmış bir şekilde bilginin aktarımı, öğrenci ile öğretmen ya da bilgiyi veren ile bilgiyi alan arasındaki ilişkiyi mekanik bir hale sokar. Böylece sorunlarla ilgili olarak analitik düşünebilen, eleştiren özgür zihinlerin tersine önüne çıkan her türlü bilgiyi Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 196 ezberlemekle malul, yaratıcılıktan yoksun zihinler oluşur. İnsanların ihtiyaçlarını en aza indirmeyi, sevinçlerini, tutkularını yok etmeyi ve onu durdurak tanımayan acımasız bir makine durumuna mahkûm etmeyi kendine ideal olarak seçmiş (Lafargue 2009: 13-14) sistemler karşısında kişisel bütünlüğün korunması ve nitelikli bireylerin yetiştirilmesi önemli ve önceliklidir. Şu halde buradaki temel sorun ise nasıl bir yöntemle gerçekleştirilecek eğitimin bahsi geçen bireylerin yetiştirilmesinde etkili olacağıdır. Bankacı kuram çerçevesinde “Dört kere dört, on altı eder.” örneğinde, anlatıcı tarafından aktarılan bilgi, öğrenci tarafından, dört kere dördün dair olduğu gerçeklik alanındaki mahiyeti algılanmadan ezberlenir ve tekrarlanır. Öğretmen, kapları ne kadar iyi doldurursa o kadar iyi bir öğretmendir ve kaplar, doldurulmalarına ne kadar izin veriyorsa o kadar iyi birer öğrencidir. Böylece eğitim, bir “tasarruf yatırımı” edimine dönüşür. Artık öğrenciler, “yatırım nesneleri”, öğretmen ise “yatırımcı”dır. Öğretmen, iletişim kurmak yerine tahviller çıkarır ve öğrencilerin sabırla aldığı, ezberlediği ve tekrarladığı yatırımlar yapar. Bu durum, öğrencilere tanınan hareket alanının, yatırılanı kabul eden ve tasnif edip yığmaktan ibaret olan “bankacı eğitim modeli”dir (Freire 2006: 48-49). Bu tür bir eğitim anlayışı ekseninde pratik olmaksızın sürekli teori ile yüz yüze gelen bireyler, eğitimin dönüştürücü gücü göz önünde bulundurulduğunda salt verili olana odaklanan, araştırma yeteneğinden yoksun ve yabancılaşmış bir şekle bürünür. Buna bağlı olarak kişisel bütünlüğün öncelikli koşullarından olan gerçeğe ulaşma ve bunun bütün sorumluluğunu üstlenme niteliklerine sahip olmak olanaksızlaşır. Bankacı eğitim modelinin insanları uyarlanan, etki altına alınan varlıklar olarak görmesi şaşırtıcı değildir. Öğrenciler kendilerine yüklenen malzemeyi istiflemekle ne kadar meşgul olurlarsa bu dünyanın dönüştürücüleri olarak mevcut düzene müdahale etmeleriyle şekillenecek eleştirel bilinçleri o kadar güdük kalacaktır. Kendilerine dayatılan edilgen rolü ne kadar kapsamlı bir şekilde kabul ederlerse dünyayı nasılsa öyle benimsemeye, kendilerinde yığma malzeme halinde biriktirilen kısmi bir gerçeklik görüşünü kabule o kadar yatkın olurlar (Freire 2006: 51). Oysa zihinlerin özgürleşmesi, pratiğe yönelik edimleri gerektirir. Yaşanılan çevreyi ve sistemin aksayan yanlarını Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 197 değiştirmek ve dönüştürmek, insan eyleminin bir ürünüdür. Ancak bu model, yaratıcılığı ortaya çıkarmak şöyle dursun bu yetiyi sekteye uğratır, kişinin eyleme geçme güdüsünü zayıflatır. Bankacı kuram ve uygulama, hareketsizleştirici ve sabitleyici bir güç olduğundan insanları tarihsel varlıklar olarak kabul etmez; diğer yandan problem tanımlayıcı kuram ve uygulama, insanın tarihselliğini başlangıç noktası olarak alır. Problem tanımlayıcı eğitim modeli, insanları olma sürecindeki varlıklar -tıpkı kendisi gibi bitmemiş bir gerçeklik içindeki ve bu gerçeklikle birlikte bitmemiş, yetkinleşmemiş varlıklar- olarak olumlar. Gerçekten de bitmemiş ama tarihsel olmayan öteki canlıların aksine insanlar, kendilerini bitmemiş olarak bilirler; yetkin olmayışlarının farkındadırlar, bu bitmemişlik ve farkındalık, yalnızca insana özgü bir ifade biçimi olarak eğitimin köklerinde bulunur. İnsanın bitmemiş karakteri ve gerçekliğin dönüşme özelliği, eğitimin sürekli bir faaliyet olmasını zorunlu kılar. Eğitim, böylece praksis içinde sürekli yeniden oluşturulur. Bankacı yöntem, insanların içinde bulundukları konumu kaderci algılamalarını doğrudan veya dolaylı olarak pekiştirirken problem tanımlayıcı yöntem bu durumu, insanlara bir problem olarak sunar (Freire 2006: 60-63). İnsan, eğitim aracılığıyla kendi iç dünyası ve çevresi hakkında farkındalık kazanır ve daha duyarlı hale gelir. Bilinçli ve özgür bireyler, haksızlık karşısında nasıl davranmaları gerektiği konusunda doğru kararlar alabilecek niteliktedir. Bu bağlamda eğitimli bireylerin kişisel bütünlüğü sağlama noktasında daha başarılı olabileceklerini ve belli değerlere bağlanan, bunlar çerçevesinde yaşamını kuranların da değerlerini muhafaza etmek için gerekli durumlarda direnme biçimlerini kullanabileceklerini söylemek mümkün gözükmektedir. İnsan, başkaldıran yaratıktır derler. İnsan, doğanın ya da geleneğin kurulu düzenine karşı ayaklandığı an insan olmuştur, insanlığını da hep yeni baştan başkaldırdıkça sürdürebilir (Erhat 2018: V). *** Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 198 Rousseau’nun da vurguladığı üzere (2007: 12-13) zayıf doğuyoruz ve kuvvete ihtiyacımız var. Her şeyden mahrum doğuyoruz ve yardıma ihtiyacımız var. Yaşamak için gereksinim duyduğumuz her şeyi bize eğitim veriyor. Peki eğitimi bize kim veriyor? Her şeyden önce doğuştan gelen yeteneklerimiz var, yaşadığımız süre boyunca insanlar tarafından eğitiliyoruz ve bizi etkileyen olaylardan edindiğimiz tecrübeyle olgunlaşıyoruz. Bize eğitim veren insanların bizim için çizdiği yol ile yaratılışımıza uygun olan yol zıt yönleri işaret ettiğinde ise ruhi karışıklıklar yaşıyoruz. Yürümemizi istedikleri yolun sonu bize mutluluk getirmeyecek ancak diğer yolda yürümemiz için de teşvik edilmiyoruz. Bütün hayatımız boyunca böyle çarpıştığımız ve dalgalandığımız için kendi kendimizle uyuşamadan, ne kendimiz için ne de başkaları için iyi işler yapamadan hayatımızı tamamlıyoruz. Tarif edilen yaşam biçimi karşısında tüm hak ve özgürlüklerden eşit olarak yararlanmayı amaç edinen, toplumun iyileşmesine katkı sağlayan, şiddete başvurmayan ve iyi bir eğitimle kendini geliştiren bireylere olan gereksinim artmaktadır. Baskıya ve haksızlığa karşı bir direnme biçimi olarak sivil itaatsizlik, şiddete başvurmadan, kamu vicdanına seslenerek dikkatleri sistemin aksayan yönlerine çekmek ve bunların düzeltilmesi için bir çıkış noktası oluşturmak adına kişisel bütünlük çerçevesinde sorumluluk alma duygusu gelişmiş bireylerin giriştiği bir edim şeklinde ortaya konulabilir. Verili olanı kabul etmeyen, araştıran, buluş sürecine dâhil olan, analitik düşünebilen, eleştiren ve sorgulayan bireylere, teori ile pratiği aynı potada eriten, özgürleştirici bir eğitim aracılığıyla ulaşılabilir. Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 199 KAYNAKÇA ALTUNEL, M. (2011). “Sivil İtaatsizlik ve Mohandas K. Gandhi”, TBB Dergisi, 93: 443-458. ANBARLI, Ş. (2007). “Baskıya Karşı Direnme Biçimi Olarak Sivil İtaatsizlik ve Meşruluğu Sorunu”, Yönetim Bilimleri Dergisi, 5(2): 71-99. CÜCELOĞLU, Doğan (1999). Anlamlı ve Coşkulu Bir Yaşam İçin Savaşçı, İstanbul: Sistem Yayıncılık. ERHAT, A. (2018). “Önsöz”, Zincire Vurulmuş Prometheus - Aiskhylos, çev. Azra Erhat ve Sabahattin Eyüboğlu, İstanbul: Türkiye İş Bankası Kültür Yayınları. ERTÜRK, S. (1982). Eğitimde Program Geliştirme, Ankara: Yelkentepe Yayınları. FREIRE, P. (2006). Ezilenlerin Pedagojisi, çev. Dilek Hattatoğlu, İstanbul: Ayrıntı Yayınları. LAFARGUE, Paul (2009). The Right to be Lazy, trans. Harriet E. Lothrop, Standard Publishing CO.: USA. MARSHALL, Gordon (1999). Sosyoloji Sözlüğü, çev. Osman Akınhay & Derya Kömürcü, İstanbul: Bilim ve Sanat Yayınları. ÖKÇESİZ, H. (1994). Sivil İtaatsizlik, İstanbul: Afa Yayınları. ROSEN, M. & J. WOLFF (2006). Siyasal Düşünce, çev. Sevda Çalışkan & Hamit Çalışkan, Ankara: Dost Kitabevi Yayınları. ROUSSEAU, J. J. (2007). Emile, çev. Ülkü Akagündüz, İstanbul: Selis Kitaplar. SOPHOKLES (2017). Antigone, çev. Ari Çokona, İstanbul: Türkiye İş Bankası Kültür Yayınları. TAŞKIN, A. (2004). “Baskıya Karşı Direnme Hakkı”, TBB Dergisi, 52: 37-65. THOREAU, H. D. & Mohandas K. GANDHI (2012). Sivil İtaatsizlik ve Pasif Direniş, çev. Hakan Arslan & Fatma Ünsal, Ankara: Vadi Yayınları. YILMAZ, S. (2011). “Demokratik Hukuk Devletinde Sivil İtaatsizlik Olgusu”, Hukukun Gençleri Sempozyumları Dizisi-2, Ankara. YÖRÜKOĞLU, A. (2004). Çocuk Ruh Sağlığı, Çocuğun Kişilik Gelişimi, Eğitimi ve Ruhsal Sorunları, İstanbul: Özgür Yayınları.
work_fufulkp45vguvdc27ooff27zqi ---- Microsoft Word - O'Connell Dyment Assess Eval in HEd Final with Revisions 2005.doc 1 Reflections on Using Journals in Higher Education: A Focus Group Discussion with Faculty Author Biographies: Tim O'Connell, Ph.D. is an Associate Professor in the School of Outdoor Recreation, Parks & Tourism at Lakehead University, Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada. Tim's research interests include psychosocial dimensions of outdoor recreation, motivations to sea kayak, psychological sense of community, and journal writing. Janet Dyment, Ph.D. is a Senior Lecturer in Outdoor Education in the Centre for Human Movement in the Faculty of Education at the University of Tasmania, Australia. Her research interests include critical environmental education, urban restoration, and school ground greening. Acknowledgements: We gratefully acknowledge the financial support from Lakehead University’s Regional Research Fund, the Outdoor Recreation Student Society Development Fund, as well as the Senate Research Committee. We would also like to thank the faculty who were involved in this research study. Contact Address: Dr. Timothy O’Connell School of Outdoor Recreation, Parks and Tourism Lakehead University 955 Oliver Road Thunder Bay, ON P7B 5E1 Canada Telephone: (807) 343-8876 Email: tim.oconnell@lakeheadu.ca 2 Abstract Reflective journals have become an increasingly popular tool used by numerous faculty across many disciplines in higher education. Previous research and narrative reports of journal writing have explored student perceptions of journal writing, but very little is understood about faculty perceptions. In this paper, we report on a study involving eight university faculty who teach courses with outdoor field components in the areas of outdoor recreation, experiential education, or outdoor education. We present the faculty member’s 1) current practices of journal writing (types of journals, types of entries, process of journal writing), 2) perceptions of journal writing (rationale, quality, evaluation), and 3) recommendations to maximize the potential of journal writing. A mixed methods approach was used that included a 32-item quantitative questionnaire and a focus group discussion. By and large, the faculty who participated in this study appreciated the pedagogical potential of journal writing. They were, however, cautious about certain aspects of the journaling process and offered numerous suggestions for improving the “journaling experience.” This paper concludes with several recommendations for consideration by higher education faculty who use journal writing as an instructional technique. 3 Introduction A modest body of research has examined the use of journals as a pedagogical tool in higher education. This research suggests that many university and college faculty require students to keep journals in a wide range of courses including, but not limited to, management (King Jr., 1998), psychology (Hettich, 1990), second language instruction (Kerka, 1996), business (Johnson & Barker, 1995), therapeutic recreation (Murray, 1997), outdoor recreation and leisure studies (Bocarro, 2003; Dyment & O'Connell, 2003b) research methods (Janesick, 1998), teacher education (Arredondo & Rucinski, 1994; Wallace & Oliver, 2003), literature (Cole, 1994), and engineering (Gardner & Fulwiler, 1999). These researchers describe how journals can be a useful instructional/learning strategy that allows students to reflect critically on material, to ground their learning in their lived experience, to develop their writing skills, and to demonstrate their knowledge/understanding in a non-traditional manner. The research also points to some disadvantages and concerns about journaling, such as the challenges of evaluation and student burnout. In exploring the use of journals in higher education, many researchers have explored student perceptions and experiences. For example, Arredondo and Rucinski (1994) investigated 69 education students’ perceptions of journaling in education courses over a two-year period. In another study in a literature class, Cole (1994) examined 14 students’ experiences of journal writing. More recently, Bocarro (2003) explored the experiences of 20 students who kept journals in a service learning course. Earlier phases of our research also explored student perceptions of journal writing in outdoor recreation courses (Dyment & O'Connell, 2003b; in press). While this research allows for a rich understanding of how students perceive and experience journal writing in higher education, surprisingly little research has been conducted that explores the perceptions of the faculty who require journals in their classes. Most resources available to faculty are limited to “how-to” books describing the method and activities related to journal writing. Important questions about faculty experiences with, perceptions of, and recommendations for journal writing in higher education remain unanswered. In regards to journal use: How are journals being used? What kinds of journals are being used? What kinds of entries are being written? In regards to faculty perceptions of journals: Why do faculty choose to use journals as a pedagogical tool? How do faculty evaluate journals? Are faculty satisfied with the overall quality of the journals? In regards to recommendations: What recommendations would faculty have to enhance the potential of journal writing? This study explores these questions. More specifically, this paper describes the fifth phase of a study that examines the use of journals in higher education. Earlier phases explored aspects of journal writing ranging from student perceptions of journaling to a content analysis of 880 student journal entries. A brief summary of the findings and recommendations from these studies follows. Sixty two students from two universities in North America participated in the first phase of this study. These students responded to a 38 question survey designed to elicit feelings regarding previous, present, and future attitudes and behaviours about journal writing. Students generally agreed that journal writing was a helpful method of encouraging reflection. They also indicated a neutral position towards keeping journals in general. These students were also very interested in learning more about journal writing. Findings revealed that men and women differed significantly in their perception of journaling in many areas (i.e., women were more proud of their journals, and had better attitudes towards journal writing). Students from the two universities had significantly different perceptions of journaling. We postulated these differences were the result of varying levels of experience with journaling as well as differing approaches towards how these journals were evaluated (Dyment & O'Connell, in press). Phase 2 of this study examined the impact of a journaling workshop on students’ attitudes and behaviours related to journaling. We developed a 45 minute workshop intended to introduce 4 students to: Bloom’s Taxonomy of Cognitive Thinking (Bloom, 1956), creative writing techniques, and various types of entries that could be written. Participants completed a survey before and after the workshop and subsequent wilderness trip. This study included a control group who did not participate in the workshop. Key findings from this study include differences between men and women in attitudes and behaviours towards journal writing (much the same as those reported in the first phase) and differences between experienced writers and less experienced writers. The workshop had the greatest effect on women who were the least experienced with journal writing (Dyment & O'Connell, 2003a; O'Connell & Dyment, 2003). For the third phase of this project, we conducted a focus group with students who were “practised” journal writers. Key findings from this phase include: student recognition of the freedom journal writing provides as a means of reflection; student concern over the mechanics and intent of grading journal writing assignments; deep-rooted socializations and stereotypes (e.g., it is more acceptable for women to keep “diaries” than men) regarding journal writing may affect attitudes and behaviours related to journal writing; and, perhaps the most interesting finding, that these students perceived themselves to be much more advanced journal writers than they actually were. In essence, they thought they were writing at a much “higher” academic level than what they indicated they were writing in their journals (Dyment & O'Connell, 2003b). The fourth phase of this study used a content analysis of over 880 distinct journal entries that were generated from Phase 2 to explore the impact of the journal writing workshop on student writing. The results related to the effects of participation in the workshop presented conflicting findings, and offered no conclusive evidence as to the effectiveness of the workshop. However, we did discover that the majority of students were writing at very basic levels (i.e., reporting facts, making general observations, etc.) (O'Connell & Dyment, 2004). Informed by findings from earlier phases of our research, in Phase 5 we were interested in understanding how faculty and instructors1 in higher education use and perceive journal writing. We were also interesting in learning about their recommendations to improve the journaling experience in higher education. We begin, however, by presenting a brief review of the literature related to journal writing. Literature Review Keeping a written record of daily events and life experiences has been evident throughout human history, and may be traced back to Greek and Roman times. In the 10th century, Japanese women of the royal courts kept journals on their impressions of daily life. During the Renaissance, enlightened individuals felt obliged to record their experiences. In the Victorian era, people kept track of their religious and political experiences in journals. Perhaps one of the greatest influences on modern journal keeping is westward expansion in North America. Lewis and Clark kept detailed accounts of their personal reactions to their experiences, as well as comprehensive field logs of flora, fauna and other natural history items. Other notable individuals who kept journals include Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, Virginia Wolf, and Anne Frank (Janesick, 1998; Raffan & Barrett, 1989). In recent times, journals have been used for a variety of purposes, in a range of learning environments, and with a number of populations. Stemming from past uses in recording experiences for use in developing new knowledge, journal writing is commonly used in the academic world as a method of encouraging students to learn, and as a means of evaluation. Literature, psychology, teacher education, and sociology are academic fields that have traditionally used journals in these ways (Anderson, 1992; Cole, 1994). Students of all ages, demographic groups (e.g., women, non-traditional students, minorities), and education levels are 1 Given that study participants included both faculty (e.g., professors) and instructors (e.g., teaching assistants), for the purposes of this paper, we have used the term ‘faculty’ to include both. 5 asked to keep journals (King Jr., 1998; Steiner & Phillips, 1991; Walden, 1995). Faculty in academic subject areas such as therapeutic recreation, nursing, and psychology ask students to write journals as a way of reflecting on learning, personal development, and positive change (Burt, 1994; Hettich, 1990; Kerka, 1996; Murray, 1997). Journals have also been used in autobiographical accounts, in qualitative research, and in experiential education (Grumet, 1990; Janesick, 1998; Raffan & Barrett, 1989). While journals have been used in a number of fields, they are also used for a variety of reasons as well. Journals may be used to stimulate thinking and assist students in developing writing skills (Kerka, 1996). As journal writing often reflects natural speech patterns, writing can be unencumbered and free-flowing. As Hammond (2002) stated, “Journal keeping can improve students’ writing, enhance visual literacy, and provide them with an open opportunity to think and express themselves graphically, poetically, metaphorically, and informally” (p. 34). Depending on the type of course in which a student is enrolled, other reasons why journals have been used include: improved listening behaviour (Johnson & Barker, 1995); sharing experiences (Hettich, 1990); helping women develop as “knowers” (Walden, 1995); and, encouraging reflection (Cantrell, 1997; Hughes & Kooy, 1997). As diverse as the types of academic fields, so too are the intended reasons why instructors use journals. Although journal writing has a long tradition, the research that has been conducted presents an unclear picture of how faculty perceive student journal writing. Many of the studies have only examined journal content, student experiences with journaling, or are based on anecdotal evidence. As Cole (1994) stated, “Unfortunately, much of the limited research on the use of journals has failed to establish meaningful goals, to provide challenging tasks, or to control for individual differences” (p. 138-139). Journal writing has been found to be of positive value for students (Cole, 1994; Hettich, 1990). These benefits include: responsibility for learning belongs to the student, students are actively engaged in the reflective process, journal writing is a student-centered approach, journal writing may take on characteristics of natural speech, and students may shape knowledge as they see fit (see Hughes & Kooy, 1997; Kerka, 1996). However, several problems with journal writing have also been noted, including overuse of journal writing in academic programs, use of the journal as a means of attacking others, “writing for the teacher,” general dislike of journal writing, challenges related to evaluating journals, and lack of clear structure and purpose (Anderson, 1992; Chandler, 1997; Cole, 1994). Studies examining student perceptions of journaling have been conducted mainly in the areas of literature and writing. Cole (1994) reported that students indicated journal writing stimulated thinking, required them to be focused while reading (instead of just “skimming” or for pleasure), and taught them to focus thoughts. Hettich (1990) found students preferred writing in a journal instead of a term paper as it allowed them to address a wider range of topics, was more personal in nature, and was a continuous process. An article by Anderson (1992) begins to address faculty experiences with the journal writing process, but is based solely on the author’s classroom experience and on informal conversations with other faculty at professional conferences. Little additional writing has described the faculty experience of using journals as a pedagogical tool. One intent of this article is to begin to fill the void of research in this area. Methods Research Participants Using a purposeful sampling approach, we invited eight post-secondary faculty (five faculty, three instructors) to participate in this study that was conducted in November, 2003. Participants were selected based on the following criteria: 1) they were involved in teaching at least one course in outdoor recreation, experiential education, or outdoor education that had an 6 outdoor field component (ranging from 3 hours to 12 days); 2) they required students to keep journals as part of their curriculum; and, 3) they assigned grades to student journals. Descriptive statistics for demographic variables appear in Table 1. There were three men and five women who participated in this study. In terms of percentage of courses in which these faculty asked students to write journals, responses ranged from 13 to 100 percent. In those courses that included a field component, faculty asked students to write journals from 50 to 100 percent of the time. INSERT TABLE 1 ABOUT HERE Questionnaire The participants completed a 32-item questionnaire designed to evaluate their use and perceptions of journaling in post-secondary courses with a field component (See Appendix A). Twenty-seven of the items questioned faculty experiences with their own and student journal writing. The remaining five items elicited demographic information. This survey was modified from the one developed for earlier Phases of our research, and was intended to explore the themes that had emerged from the previous phases of this project. Generally, alphas were acceptable (.70 to .89). One variable was not included as its alpha value was unacceptable (.42). Focus Group Discussion To expand upon our findings from the questionnaires, we also conducted a focus group discussion. The interview questionnaires were designed to allow us to gain more insight, from a faculty perspective, into the themes emerging from earlier phases of the study, our review of the literature, as well as our analysis of the questionnaires. Powell and Single (1996) defined a focus group as “a group of individuals selected and assembled by researchers to discuss and comment on, from personal experience, the topic that is the subject of the research” (p. 499). The recommended number of people in a focus group is usually six to ten. This small size is a crucial feature of focus groups in that participants are able to interact, by asking each other questions and by expanding on each other’s ideas. A focus group was selected for this phase of the research in order to draw on the faculty’s attitudes, feelings, beliefs, experiences, and reactions towards journaling in a way which would not be possible using solely other research methods, such as questionnaires or one-to-one interviewing (Kreuger, 1988; Morgan, 1997). We facilitated a two-hour focus group with a goal of exploring main themes that had emerged from the literature as well as earlier phases of our research. A list of 13 questions (with many sub-questions) was used to guide the discussion (see Appendix B). Our role within the focus group was to facilitate the discussion, by encouraging the involvement of all participants and by limiting the domination of discussion by a few participants. We provided prompting questions to elicit expansion of interesting subtopics and challenged participants to share a diversity of perspectives on the topics under discussion. As facilitators, we were aware of the drawbacks of focus group research, such as the difficulty of separating individual viewpoints from the collective view point, and made every effort to fully explore the diversity of opinions within the group as well as the degree of consensus on given topics (Kreuger, 1988; Morgan, 1997). A note taker was present during the focus group session. The session was also recorded on audiotapes and later transcribed. We listened to the tapes and read the transcriptions on multiple occasions with a view of performing a content analysis on the data. The material collected was then reduced by selecting, focusing, simplifying, abstracting and transforming the raw data (Miles & Huberman, 1994). This is an on-going process throughout the duration of the research project. As Miles and Huberman note, 7 As we see it, data reduction occurs throughout the life of any qualitatively oriented project. Even before the data are actually collected, anticipatory data reduction is occurring as the researcher decides (often without full awareness) which conceptual framework, which cases, which research questions, and which data collection approaches to choose. As data collection proceeds, further episodes of data reduction occur (writing summaries, coding, teasing out themes, making clusters, making partitions, writing memos). The data reduction/transforming process continues after fieldwork, until a final report is completed. (p. 10) Strauss (1987) refers to this method of organization as the “conceptualization of data.” The names of all participants in this study have been changed to protect their anonymity. Findings and Discussion Current Practice of Journal Writing Although the perceptions of journal writing of faculty who participated in this study are influenced by the fact that their courses included a field component (i.e., time in the outdoors), many of their thoughts reflect those found in the existing literature and may be directly related to any faculty using journal writing as a pedagogical tool. Types of journals Study participants reported four main types of journals were being used in their courses. First, the faculty expected that journals be used to objectively record information for future use. Both Harris and Paul required objective “trip logs” that could be used to decrease legal liability. Paul provided his students with a template in which they could frame their experience in an objective way. This type of journal entry serves as documentation that the student actually participated in an activity, work experience, or event. Relatively little learning might occur from this type of journal entry. Although this is an easy way of recording this type of information, this may lead to “journaling burnout” as suggested by Anderson (1992). Second, the faculty used journals as a method of encouraging students to respond to readings. As Keith indicated, “It gives them practice writing” and “practice in observation” related to what they have read. Study participants reported periodically collecting these journals at unannounced times during the semester in hopes that their students would stay current with class readings. Although this type of journal closely resembles those reported by Anderson (1992) and Hettich (1990), the intent of the journal is both for learning and perhaps primarily as a means of prompting students to read. The latter fact was not considered by the aforementioned authors. Third, study participants encouraged students to use journals to make observations about nature. For example, Sarah wanted her students to slow down and “really notice things” like “where did you see that animal track?” Tina used journal writing as a means of assisting students in developing a connection to the land and a sense of place. This type of journal records observations about environment, context, or setting in which the student experience takes place, and is perhaps the type of journal most examined by other authors (Cole, 1994; Driver, 1997; Kerka, 1996; Raffan & Barrett, 1989). Finally, the faculty reported asking students to write journals as a subjective way of linking practical experience to course material. Journals were seen as a means of encouraging students to reflect on their field experiences and make connections with and extensions to what they had read and heard in class. When responding to a survey question asking, “I think that writing in journals is a helpful way to encourage reflection on field courses,” faculty overwhelming indicated they agreed with this notion (M = 6.5, SD = .71). Additionally, the faculty indicated that they expected student self-assessment and self-reflection in journals. Harris noted he expected students “to be able to evaluate their own leadership.” 8 It appears that the types of journals faculty ask their students to keep span many of the levels of knowledge suggested by Bloom (1956), Cantrell (1997), and Young and Wilson (2000). This feature of journal writing may be an important aspect of the learning experience, especially for faculty who wish their students to go beyond memorizing facts and processes, and begin to make critical judgements about and extensions of the subject under study. Although these types of journals identified by the faculty in this study may not include all varieties used in academia, it is important to note the range of learning that may occur through each type indicated by the participants. Types of entries Within each type of journal mentioned above, the faculty reported that their students were including a number of different types of entries, many related to the overall purpose of the journal, and many as additional entries by the students for personal reasons, as a means of “spicing- up” their journal, or as supplementing faculty requirements of the assignment. Faculty indicated their students were: recording day-to-day events and happenings; making entries about personal growth and development; noting key developments in group dynamics; writing about sense of place and the environment; drawing pictures; and writing poetry. They reported students were not: making connections between class material and their experiences in the field; drawing maps of where they were; asking others to do “guest entries” in their journals; and synthesizing, evaluating, or making connections between/among theories and concepts. Results are shown in Table 2. INSERT TABLE 2 ABOUT HERE Based on findings from previous phases of our research, there is a clear discrepancy between what faculty expect students to write in journals and what students are actually writing. Congruent with our expectation, Wallace and Oliver (2003) hypothesized that preservice teachers would include more entries about their interactions with students as the semester progressed, and that students would reflect on a “deeper” level over the course of the semester. Wallace and Oliver found that only half of the students included passages about their relationships with students. However, they did find that by the end of the semester, most students had moved away from the superficial level of writing to the deeper levels of analysis, synthesis, and evaluation. Similarly, faculty participating in this study overwhelmingly assigned journal writing as a means of encouraging students to confront issues in a critical, evaluative, connective manner (i.e., at the “higher” levels of Bloom’s Taxonomy (Bloom, 1956), or the “extensions” level of Young and Wilson’s (2000) ICE Approach), but reported that students were not progressing to the “deeper” levels of reflection. All the faculty in this study indicated they provided detail on what they expected from students in their course syllabi. August (2000) and Wallace and Oliver (2003) reported using their course syllabi as a means of providing information about journal writing. Wallace and Oliver included detailed rubrics that may have allowed their students to more fully understand what was expected from them. August used a short questionnaire to get feedback about the journal writing assignment. However, many faculty in our study indicated they only received feedback from students in an informal manner, and hoped that the students would appreciate journal writing assignments for reasons outlined in the syllabi. Other researchers have indicated this incongruence between faculty expectations and student performance as well as the lack of feedback mechanisms as two of the downfalls of journal writing (Anderson, 1992; Dyment & O'Connell, 2003a; O'Connell & Dyment, in press). 9 Process of journal writing An additional three items on the questionnaire asked the participants to report on the process they provided to their students or that they perceived their students adopted while writing journals. Participants reported being “Neutral” (M = 4.40, SD = 2.07) in regards to providing structured time during field courses for journal writing and “Somewhat Agreed” in providing instruction in creative journal writing techniques (M = 4.7, SD = 2.06). Participants “Agreed” that their students “wrote the majority of their entries at the end of the course shortly before they had to submit their journal for review” (M = 5.00, SD = 1.41). These findings reflect results from earlier phases of our research (Dyment & O’Connell, 2003; Dyment & O’Connell, in press), and serve as confirmation of the recommendations of others that faculty must: provide adequate training, must clearly outline the process of journal writing, provide sufficient and timely feedback, and should model appropriate journaling behaviour and style (Bennion & Olsen, 2002; Cole, 1994; Hettich, 1990). Perceptions of the Journal Writing Process Why use journals? We were interested in knowing why faculty use journals instead of other, more conventional pedagogical tools (e.g., essays, exams, presentations). The faculty reported a wide range of reasons for using journals, suggesting that journal writing provides opportunities for students to: 1) have more freedom in expressing themselves and their learning; 2) reflect upon their own personal growth and development; 3) connect their field experiences to their in-class experiences; 4) develop their natural observation skills (e.g., weather, animal behaviour, plant identification); 5) draw on a wide range of types of intelligences (see H. Gardner, 1993); 6) develop their writing skills; 7) disrupt the focus on humans in the education system; and, 8) develop and intimate and embodied connection with the more than human realm. Quality We were also interested in knowing how faculty in the focus group perceived the quality of student journals. The faculty reported a range in the quality of journal entries. All faculty indicated that a modest percentage of journals were of poor quality, meaning that they were “mechanical,” “totally descriptive,” “the bare minimum,” and even “insulting to mark.” Harris explains, “In poor quality writing, I see just objective writing with no depth or richness. The student will write that the sun came up, it went down, we paddled and had lunch at two o’clock.” The faculty also reported that the majority of journals met their expectations and a small percentage even exceeded their expectations. When we asked for an estimate of the percentage of journals that met their expectations, faculty reported that between 40 and 60% of the journals met their expectations. This is in contrast to the findings of August, (2000), Leighow Meo (2000), and Wallace and Oliver (2003), who reported that most of their students were generally meeting their expectations. We were particularly interested in gaining an understanding of faculty perceptions of the quality of student journals given the conflicting findings that had emerged in earlier phases of the research. In Phase 3 of the research, we performed a focus group discussion with nine students studying outdoor recreation (Dyment & O'Connell, 2003b). These students were in the same program as the faculty are who participated in this phase of the study. Students in the focus group reported that they were advanced journal writers and that journals were a venue for critically evaluating their learning, experiences, instructors, and themselves. Yet in Phase 4 of this study, when we performed a content analysis on 880 journal entries of the students in this same program, we found that the majority of entries were fairly descriptive and that critical reflection, by and large, was absent. As previously noted, faculty in this study overwhelmingly thought journals were a helpful way to encourage reflection. However, counter to this belief, they 10 recognized that students were not making connections between what they had learned in class and what they experienced in the field. Other researchers, such as Anderson (1992), have also raised concerns about the quality of student journals. In reflecting upon the journal entries he read, Anderson notes that most entries have “no evidence of analysis, synthesis, deliberation, or reflection” (p. 307). Contrary to these findings, Wallace and Oliver (2003) found that their students were generally writing at “deeper” levels near the end of the semester. When we explained these conflicting findings between Phase 3 and Phase 4, the faculty had many explanations as to why the students might have inadequate and elevated perceptions of their journal writing abilities. Anna suggested that lack of preparation might explain why some of the journals are of poor quality. She explains “I think there is a real lack of adequate preparation for how to write journals…the students are so used to writing for us in an academic context that they can’t figure out how to write without instruction.” She continues, “The students have been asked to copy, summarize, and regurgitate for 14 years…and then we want them to critically reflect, think, and write in their journals…no wonder they look a little transfixed when I give them a journal assignment…like ‘what’s this?’” Keith wondered if they weren’t getting enough good feedback, suggesting that “They [the students] are either fooling you, fooling themselves, or perhaps, more likely, we haven’t done a good enough job of showing them or giving them feedback on what good quality means.” With these limitations in mind, we now turn the question of evaluating and assigning marks to student journals. Evaluation As many researchers have noted, evaluating journals can be a complicated, repetitive, daunting, time consuming, and ethically challenging task (Chandler, 1997; Ediger, 2001; Hettich, 1990). Anderson (1993) provides an excellent overview of problems with grading journals. He questions whether journals should be marked at all. Depending on the grading scheme, it might not “reward” student appropriately (e.g., consistently high quality journals get the same mark as low quality journals based on number of entries). In the reverse instance, many students may write many entries, but only summarize readings or experiences. These students feel “cheated” when receiving lower grades than their more reflective counterparts. In agreement with Anderson, Kerka (1996) recognizes the problem of marking something that may be expressly written for what the teacher wants to see. Kerka also raises issues of privacy and the teacher-learner relationship, and how perceptions of traditional power imbalances may potentially affect marking. With a view of understanding faculty perceptions of evaluating journals, we asked the faculty a variety of questions about grading journals, both in the focus group and in the questionnaire. Faculty “Agreed” with the question, “I think journals are a useful evaluation tool for assessing learning in university courses,” (M = 5.7, SD = 1.42). Faculty in the focus group reported that journals were worth between 10 and 25% of the final course grade. A number of evaluative systems were used, including rubrics, templates, pass/fail, and “subjective feelings.” Some faculty provided mid-term evaluations of journals. However, responses to the questionnaire item, “I provide a mid-course check in with my students to ensure that they are on the right track with their journals” elicited a “Somewhat Disagree” to “Neutral” reply (M = 3.60, SD = 2.22). Some faculty provided the grading criteria in the course outline, while others were “intentionally vague.” The percentage of the final mark that these faculty assigned to student journals ranged from 10 to 30 percent. This is consistent with the findings of previous studies (Hettich, 1990). The faculty in the focus group noted the challenges of evaluating journals in a fair and consistent manner. While objective entries (e.g., weather, sightings, dates, route) are fairly easy to grade via a list of predetermined criteria, the faculty reported that it becomes more difficult to evaluate the subjective (e.g., reflections) journals. Paul described (in a rather embarrassed manner) how he evaluated subjective journals: 11 Is there something written? Yes? They’re getting at least 6/10. Is there some connection to what is going on in the field or class? Yes? It would go up by almost a point. Is there some theme they’ve developed? Yes? Throw on another point. Many of the faculty agreed their approach was not too different from Paul’s: indeed it appears to be very difficult to evaluate, in an objective manner, a subjective journal entry. August (2000) agreed with the difficulties in grading journal entries, but noted “To be taken seriously, the journal entries must affect grades…” (p. 345). Study participants all agreed that providing written comments on journals is critical. Harris asserted that “the qualitative comments are the most powerful things students will take away from their evaluation…it is what they will remember and learn the most from.” Yet providing thorough and thoughtful evaluations with feedback can be difficult when you have got a large class size, and require students to hand in journals several times during a semester (August, 2000). Cecilia wondered about her ability to give feedback “when I have 60 journals sitting on my desk….I wonder if I’ll be honest enough, critical enough, write enough comments, give enough time…it can just feel so overwhelming.” We asked the faculty if they thought the students were “writing for the teacher,” a phenomenon observed by Anderson (1992, p. 307) and reported by the students in our previous focus group (Phase 3) (Dyment & O'Connell, 2003b). Some faculty agreed, reporting that when journals were evaluated, students were less focussed on being creative, critical, and reflexive, instead directing their energies towards trying to meet the evaluative criteria. “Grading journals,” Tina noted, “seems to get in the way of good pedagogy.” To that end, some faculty were in support of a pass/fail system for journals. Tina described her positive experience with a pass/fail system as a student in her graduate work, “it was incredibly freeing and I wrote much more creatively, much more critically, I was much more willing to take chances, to be contrary to the professor, go out on a limb…because I knew I was going to pass…” Overall, it appears this group of faculty believe in the potential of journals as a positive tool to encourage reflection and learning. However, it appears as though these faculty struggle with many of the same issues recognized in the existing literature on journaling (i.e., writing for the teacher, issues/concerns in marking, etc.). We asked these faculty for recommendations on how to overcome some of these hurdles to using journals effectively in a university setting. Reflections and Suggestions for Improvement By and large, the faculty who participated in this study appreciated the pedagogical potential of journal writing within the formal university system. When asked what faculty could do to facilitate more successful journal writing, they provided several suggestions, many of which they currently practiced. Many study participants suggested alternative marking schemes that could be used for journal assignments, a suggestion that has been offered by others (e.g., Anderson, 1992; Chandler, 1997; Hammond, 2002). Cecelia wondered if pass/fail marking would be adequate. Tina, when commenting on using this approach in the past, supported this scheme in a pedagogical and practical manner, “Pass/fail was incredibly freeing. I took chances to go out on a limb.” She also remarked, “It was wonderful for me as a teacher because I gave all sorts of qualitative feedback and helped them improve… – I hate grading!” Anna concurred, “It’s amazing!” Tina also suggested using a rubric, as suggested by other researchers (Hammond, 2002; Moutoux, 2002; Wallace & Oliver, 2003). She noted that using rubrics are generally easy. Rubrics also provide a framework in which students may write. Other faculty suggested that the journals not be included in the marking scheme. Paul commented that he had once only considered journals as part of an overall participation mark, and that “Over that year, there was a definite improvement [in the quality of journals].” 12 Study participants also encouraged alternative forms of journaling. Claire suggested that traditional, written journals may not serve the needs of all students. She proposed that students could keep a video journal of their experiences, and share that with the instructor and the rest of the class. Sarah encouraged her students to draw and include samples of natural objects in their journals. She arranged for a local artist to come to her class and provide elementary instruction for her students. Audio taped journals, art work, and other creative types of journals were also suggested. Study participants unanimously supported the need to provide ongoing training and support in journal writing technique. Consistent with our prior research (O'Connell & Dyment, 2003), and recommendations of others (Anderson, 1992), participants in the focus group suggested a wide variety of ways to ensure students understood the journal writing process. Claire recommended that exemplars of journals be placed on library reserve or supplied to students in some other manner. Sarah agreed, indicating that she puts the book, Nature Journaling: Learning to Observe and Connect with the World Around You (Leslie & Roth, 1998) on reserve in the library. Tina started including examples in her reading package for courses so students would have good indicators of what journal entries may look like. Training can also come through the form of regular feedback to students. Both written and verbal feedback from instructor, teaching assistants, or peers can help students improve their writing. Finally, faculty in the focus group agreed with Claire’s statement that, “Enthusiasm is contagious!” Study participants strongly agreed that instructors who wish to utilize journal writing in their courses must approach the process with a positive perspective. They must be prepared to counter the feeling that students have been “journaled to death” (Anderson, 1992). To maintain positive energy for journaling, faculty within the same department must collaborate to avoid the overuse of journals leading to “burnout.” Building on that concept, Sarah suggested that if journals were used throughout a program, a “journaling across the curriculum” approach could be taken. Burnout can also stem from the students’ prior negative experience with journals in which they have not been allowed to creatively or meaningfully reflect on matters they find relevant. As Tina said, “For some students, they don’t want to do it [journaling]. So they do the bare minimum, they look at my little rubric of what I’m expecting; they do the bare stuff because they don’t find any value in it.” As some study participants suggested, however, the challenges to journaling in higher education lie much deeper. Faculty and education systems are often limited by conventional assumptions about education: about the need for teachers to be “experts” in a subject area, about the under-reliance on student experiences, about the need to quantitatively evaluate all aspects of student learning. Such assumptions lie uneasily with the realities of journal writing, where the students are drivers of their own learning, where outcomes are less easy to control and more difficult to measure, and where learning experiences are more fully embodied. The recommendations of these faculty are influenced by the context of how they use journals (i.e., through courses including an outdoor field component). However, these recommendations, based on both a qualitative and quantitative systematic examination of how faculty employ journal writing, have confirmed the anecdotal and research-based evidence supplied by others (Anderson, 1992; Arredondo & Rucinski, 1994; Bennion & Olsen, 2002; Bocarro, 2003; Burt, 1994; Cantrell, 1997; Chandler, 1997; Cole, 1994; Dyment & O'Connell, 2003a; Ediger, 2001; Hammond, 2002; Hettich, 1990; Kerka, 1996; Murray, 1997; O'Connell & Dyment, in press; Raffan & Barrett, 1989; Walden, 1995; Wallace & Oliver, 2003). These findings may be easily adapted to most academic disciplines, and many styles of journal writing. Additionally, there is sufficient evidence to warrant a carefully planned and structured approach to journal writing. We implore faculty who wish to start using journal writing with students, as well as those experienced with this practice, to consider the intended outcomes, personal commitment, available resources, as well as the benefits and downfalls of journaling before, during and after assigning journal writing as part of coursework. 13 Conclusion In this study, we explored faculty perceptions of journaling with eight post-secondary recreation faculty members and instructors. While enthusiastic of the benefits, they also commented on the untapped potential of journals. They were cautious about some aspects of the journaling process and described numerous constraints embedded within the dominant culture of the educational system that limit the full potential of journal writing to be realized. Journal writing seems to be counter to many of the hegemonic foundations within a typical university. We have summarized many of their suggestions and encourage faculty to consider their recommendations. Given the small sample used in this study, we recognize the limits of generalizing the findings to larger populations, such as university classes using journals as a method of teaching and/or evaluation. The findings of this study do, however, provide a greater understanding of the issues that emerged in earlier Phases of our research. The findings also set the stage for more ambitious explorations of the role of journaling in higher education. We conclude by noting that study participants unanimously indicated that they learned a great deal about journaling through their participation in this research. By completing the questionnaire and participating in the focus group, the faculty were given a rare opportunity to reflect upon their own experiences with journal writing; they were able to share their journal ideas regarding what has and has not worked; and, they were able to learn innovative ideas for using journals in their own teaching. Too often, we suspect, as Anna did, that university professors are left to “know it all…and most of us haven’t been trained in teaching.” Anna admits that she started using journals “because everyone else was doing it here.” Perhaps this research also points to the need for faculty in higher education institutions to develop a culture of collaboration and sharing so that effective teaching ideas can be exchanged among faculty. 14 Table 1 Means and Standard Deviations for Demographic Variables Source Minimum Maximum M SD Years as a university professor 1 20 6.40 5.21 Age 28 44 36.00 5.25 Number of courses taught per year 3 8 5.00 1.33 Number of courses taught per year which include a field component 1 4 2.30 1.42 15 Table 2 Types of Entries Reported in Student Journals By Faculty Question M SD My students make entries about the day-to-day events and happenings (where they were, what they did, weather, etc.). 6.20 1.03 My students make drawings in their journals. 5.90 .88 My students make entries about the environment and about sense of place. 5.80 .92 My students write poetry in their journals. 4.90 1.66 My students make entries about personal growth and development. 4.70 1.57 In my students’ journals, they try to make connections between their experiences on the course and their ‘every-day life.’ 4.40 .97 My students make entries about the group dynamics that were happening. 4.00 2.54 My students draw maps of where they were. 3.90 1.29 My students only report factual information in their journal entries. 3.70 1.70 My students’ journal entries synthesize, evaluate, or make connections between/among theories and concepts. 3.50 1.96 In my students’ journals, they are able to make connections between material they have learned in other university classes and their experience in field courses. 3.40 1.84 My students have other students and instructors do “guest entries” in their journals. 1.70 1.34 Note. Based on a series of 7-point Likert scales, where 1 represents “strongly disagree”, 4 represents “neutral,” and 7 represents “strongly agree.” 16 References Anderson, J. (1992). Journal writing: The promise and the reality. Journal of Reading, 36(4), 304-309. Arredondo, D. E., & Rucinski, T. T. (1994). Using reflective journals and the workshop approach in university classes to develop students' self-regulated learning. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED 404 892). August, A. (2000). The reader's journal in lower-division history courses: A strategy to improve reading, writing and discussion. The History Teacher, 33(3), 343-348. Bennion, J., & Olssen, B. (2002). Wilderness writing: Using personal narrative to enhance outdoor experience. Journal of Experiential Education, 25(1), 239-246. Bloom, B. S. (Ed.). (1956). Taxonomy of educational objectives. New York: Longmans-Green. Bocarro, J. (2003). Maintaining the balance between service and learning: The use of journals in promoting critical thinking. Schole: A Journal of Leisure Studies and Recreation Education, 18, 7-22. Burt, C. (1994). An analysis of self-initiated coping behaviour: Diary-keeping. Child Study Journal, 24(3), 171-190. Cantrell, J. (1997). K-W-L learning journals: A way to encourage reflection. Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, 40(5), 392-394. Chandler, A. (1997). Is this for a grade? A personal look at journals. English Journal, 86(1), 45- 49. Cole, P. (1994). A cognitive model of journal writing. Proceedings of Selected Research Presentations at the 1994 National Convention of the Association for Educational Communications and Technology, Nashville, TN. Driver, J. (1997). The place of journal writing on an outdoor experience. Journeys, 2(4), 24. Dyment, J. E., & O'Connell, T. S. (2003a). Journal writing in experiential education: Possibilities, problems and recommendations. Eric Digest. Charleston, WV: ERIC Clearinghouse on Rural Education and Small Schools. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. EDO-RC-03-05). Dyment, J. E., & O'Connell, T. S. (2003b). "Journal writing is something we have to learn on our own" - The results of a focus group discussion with recreation students. Schole: A Journal of Leisure Studies and Recreation Education, 18, 23-38. Dyment, J. E., & O'Connell, T. S. (in press). Student perceptions of journaling as a reflective tool in experience-based learning. The Journal for the Art of Teaching. Ediger, M. (2001). The student, journal writing, and assessment. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED 499 195). Gardner, H. (1993). Multiple intelligences: The theory in practice. New York, NY: Basic Books. Gardner, S., & Fulwiler, T. (Eds.). (1999). The journal book: For teachers in technical and professional programs. Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/Cook Publishers. Grumet, M. R. (1990). Retrospectives: Autobiography and analysis of educational experience. Cambridge Journal of Education, 20(3), 32-37. Hammond, W. (2002). The creative journal: A power tool for learning. Green Teacher, 69, 34-38. Hettich, P. (1990). Journal writing: Old fare or nouvelle cuisine. Teaching of Psychology, 17(1), 36-39. Hughes, H. W., & Kooy, M. (1997). Dialogic reflection and journaling. Clearing House, 70(4), 187-191. Janesick, V. J. (1998). Journal writing as a qualitative research technique: History, research, and reflections. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED 420 702). Johnson, I. W., & Barker, R. T. (1995). Using journals to improve listening behaviour. Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 9(4), 473-484. Kerka, S. (1996). Journal writing and adult learning. ERIC Document ED 339413. 17 King Jr., W. C. (1998). A semester-long experiential exercise to develop workplace understanding: The role assignment exercise. Journal of Management Education, 22(6), 720-736. Kreuger, R. A. (1988). Focus groups: A practical guide for applied research. London: Sage. Leighow Meo, S. (2000). "In their own eyes:" Using journals with primary sources with college students. The History Teacher, 33(3), 335-341. Leslie, C., & Roth, C. (1998). Nature journaling: Learning to observe and connect with the world around you. Pownal, VT: Storey Books. Miles, M. B., & Huberman, A. M. (1994). Qualitative data analysis (2nd ed.). Beverly Hills, CA: Sage Publications. Morgan, D. L. (1997). Focus groups as qualitative research (2nd ed.). London: Sage. Moutoux, M. (2002). Evaluating nature journals. Green Teacher, 69, 39-40. Murray, S. (1997). The benefits of journaling. Parks and Recreation, 32(5), 68-74. O'Connell, T. S., & Dyment, J. E. (2003). Effects of a journaling workshop on participants in university outdoor education field courses: An exploratory study. Journal of Experiential Education, 26(2), 75-87. O'Connell, T. S., & Dyment, J. E. (2004). Journals of post secondary outdoor recreation students: The results of a content analysis. Journal of Adventure Education and Outdoor Learning, 4(2), 159-172. Powell, R. A., & Single, H. M. (1996). Focus groups. International Journal of Quality in Health Care, 8(5), 499-504. Raffan, J., & Barrett, M. J. (1989). Sharing the path: Reflections on journals from an expedition. Journal of Experiential Education, 12(2), 29-36. Steiner, B., & Phillips, K. (1991). Journal keeping with young people. Englewood, CO: Libraries Unlimited. Strauss, A. (1987). Qualitative analysis. New York: Cambridge University Press. Walden, P. (1995). Journal writing: A tool for women developing as knowers. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, 65, 13-20. Wallace, C. S., & Oliver, J. S. (2003). Journaling during a school-based secondary methods course: Exploring a route to teacher reflection. Journal of Science Teacher Education, 14(3), 161-176. Young, S.F., & Wilson, R.J. (2000). Assessment and learning: The ICE approach. Winnipeg, Manitoba: Peguis. 18 Appendix A Faculty Journaling Questionnaire Please respond to the following questions using this scale: 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Irrelevant Strongly disagree Disagree Somewhat disagree Neutral Somewhat agree Agree Strongly agree 1. At this moment, in my life outside of teaching, I keep a regular journal to record my daily thoughts and activities. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 2. While on field courses, I keep a regular journal to record my daily thoughts and activities. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 3. I plan on keeping a journal in the future. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 4. I provide structured time during field courses for journaling. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 5. I provide instruction in/examples of creative journal entries to my students. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 6. It seems like my students write the majority of their entries at the end of the course shortly before they had to submit the journal for review. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 7. I think that writing in journals is a helpful way to encourage reflection on field courses. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8. It is difficult for me to find time to write in my own journal during field courses. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 9. I do not make regular entries during field courses. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10. My students make entries about the day-to-day events and happenings (where they were, what they did, weather, etc.). 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 11. In my students’ journals, they try to make connections between their experiences on the course and their “every-day life.” 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 12. My students make entries about personal growth and development. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 13. My students do not make entries about the group dynamics that were happening. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 14. My students make entries about the environment and about sense of place. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 15. In my students’ journals, they are unable to make connections between material they have learned in other university classes and their experience in this field course. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 16. My students draw maps of where they were. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 17. My students have other students and instructors do “guest entries” in their journals. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 18. My students make drawings in their journals. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 19. My students do not write poetry in their journals. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 20. I give students supplies to use for journaling while on field courses (e.g., crayons, markers, tape, glue, etc.) 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 21. I think journals are a useful evaluative tool for assessing learning in university courses. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Irrelevant Strongly disagree Disagree Somewhat disagree Neutral Somewhat agree Agree Strongly agree 19 22. My students only report factual information in their journal entries. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 23. My students avoid writing about certain things because they know that the journal is going to be reviewed. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 24. My students’ journal entries synthesize, evaluate or make connections between/among theories and concepts. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 25. I think that journals are too personal to be reviewed. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 26. I provide a mid-course check-in with my students to ensure that they are on the right track with their journals. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 27. It seems as though my students end up writing “what the instructor wanted.” 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 28. How many years have you been a university/college professor? _____ 29. What is your gender? _____ Male _____ Female 30. What is your age? _____ 31. How many courses of all types do you teach per year? _____ i. In what percentage of all your courses do you ask students to write journals? (e.g., 1 out of 5 courses = 20%) _____ 32. How many courses do you teach per year that include a field component? _____ i. In what percentage of your courses that include a field component do you ask students to write journals? 20 Appendix B Questions for Focus Group with Faculty 1. Tell us about when you’ve asked students to journal in university courses. a. What do you like about having students journal for university courses? b. What do you dislike about having students journal for university courses? 2. What do your students write about when you ask them to journal for courses? a. Do they make links between the course and their field experience? b. Do they make links between their field experience and professional development? c. Do they make links between their field experience and other courses? d. Do they connect practical experience with theory/stuff they’ve learned in books/lecture? e. Why or why not for each and explain. 3. How do you evaluate journals? Should they be evaluated at all? How much of your final mark is the journal worth? 4. What are the biggest barriers to journaling on field courses? a. Probes about time: i. Structured time in field? ii. Enough time? iii. When are students writing? b. Activities and physical environment (i.e., dogsledding, winter, rain). 5. How creative are your students when they journal? a. What factors inhibit their creativity? Why? b. What factors increase their creativity? Why? c. Do you feel students can be creative and still meet your requirements/expectations? d. Do your students use special materials/supplies when they journal? (e.g., glue, tape, colored markers, pencils, and crayons). i. Do your students add other items to their journals? (e.g., photos, stickers, cutouts, etc.). ii. Do your students decorate the cover/outside of their journals? 6. Are your students proud of their journals when they are done writing it? a. What about their journals makes them proud? b. What about their journals are they not proud of? c. Does your feedback affect how proud students are of their journals? 7. What types of feedback do you give as an evaluator? a. Written comments? b. Personal meeting time to go through it together? 8. Do you feel students write differently for different evaluators? Why? (Trust, previous experience with instructor, whether or not evaluator was in field with you). 9. What is your concept of “good journaling behavior?” a. Do you or your field staff model this behavior? b. Do other faculty members model this behavior? c. What would make it easier to encourage students to have good journaling behavior? 10. Gender differences: a. (How) do men and women differ in their perceptions and experience of journaling? Why? b. Does it make a difference if the student is the opposite gender than you? 21 11. What do you think students need to journal successfully? 12. Students have told use they’d like to learn more about journaling. What do you think are important things for students to learn about journaling for university courses?
work_fp4xiihxmnblzjkxwsvtlo4eyu ---- “These French Canadian of the Woods are Half-Wild Folk”: Wilderness, Whiteness, and Work in North America, 1840–1955 Jason L. Newton In 1853 the Brown Company was a small water-powered sawmill in Berlin, New Hampshire, but by the turn of the century it had become a highly suc- cessful lumber and paper-processing company which made some of the largest timber cuts in the Northeast US.1 Its success depended largely on the French Canadian immigrant labourers employed to cut and drive logs. The company found that these workers could be hired cheaply, worked long hours, and, perhaps most importantly, it regarded them as innately suited for logging work. According to company officials, French Canadians were of a “hardy type, accustomed to the work in the bush, such as portaging, running rapids, etc., … [and were] as a rule, pretty high-grade men.” The French Canadian affinity for logging work was recognized all over North America. Adirondack scholar Alfred Donaldson wrote in the 1920s that these people “seemed naturally endowed with the agility, recklessness, and immunity to exposure that must combine to make them expert. They have always predominated as a race in the lumbering operations.” The French from “the settlements,” one Canadian sociologist wrote, “[have] the lure … of the woods tingling in their blood down through the generations.”2 1. William Robinson Brown, Our Forest Heritage: A History of Forestry and Recreation in New Hampshire (Concord: New Hampshire Historical Society, 1958), 187; James Elliott Defebaugh, History of the Lumber Industry of America (Chicago: American Lumberman, 1906), 70. 2. “First Annual Conference of the Woods Department,” Berlin Historical Society (1903), 47, 43; Brown, Our Forest Heritage, 241, 317; Edmund W. Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man: A Study of research note / note de recherche Jason L. Newton, “‘These French Canadian of the Woods are Half-Wild Folk’: Wilderness, Whiteness, and Work in North America, 1840–1955,” Labour/Le Travail 77 (Spring 2016): 121–150. 122 / l abour/le tr avail 77 From 1850 to 1930 one million Québécois migrated to the US, pushed by rapid population growth, a shortage of good agricultural land, and slow industrial development in their home country. By the 1870s, new rail lines, specifically the Grand Trunk, Québec Central, and the Canadian Pacific accelerated their immigration. By 1901 almost one quarter of the entire population of Québec moved to New England. Ninety-two per cent of these immigrants settled in urban areas in the “border states or in states immedi- ately south of them.”3 Even though most settled in urban areas, in the forests along the border and in inland lumber regions of New England and New York there were logging camps composed entirely of French Canadian workers.4 By 1890, a congressional report found that “American farmers’ sons no longer follow wood chopping for a business, and their places have been filled by the French Canadians.”5 In 1900, 33.6 per cent of New England “woodchoppers, Work and Pay in the Camps of Canada, 1903–1914 (1928; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1972), 95–96. 3. Stephen J. Hornsby, Richard William Judd, and Michael J. Hermann, Historical Atlas of Maine (Orono: University of Maine Press, 2015), plate 42; Yves Roby, “The Economic Evolution of Quebec and the Emigrant (1850–1929),” in Claire Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks: A Collection of Essays on the Franco-American Experience in New England (Worcester: Assumption College, Institut français, 1996), 7; Marcus Lee Hansen, and John Bartlet Brebner, The Mingling of the Canadian and American Peoples. Vol. 1, Historical (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1940), 180–181; Gerard J. Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage in New England (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1986), 52–53; Gary Gerstle, Working- Class Americanism: the Politics of Labor in a Textile City, 1914–1960 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 21; Bruno Ramirez and Yves Otis, Crossing the 49th Parallel: Migration from Canada to the United States, 1900–1930 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), 1; Victor Bushey (b. 1900) interview by Sue Dauphinee, 1970, p. 719069, transcript, Lumberman’s Life Collection, Maine Folklife Center, University of Maine at Orono (hereafter llc, mfc). 4. Some evidence for the high percentage of French Canadians in lumber camps can be found in Raymond J. Smith and Samuel B. Locke, “A Study of the Lumber Industry of Northern Maine,” Master’s thesis, University of Maine Orono, 1908, 13; David Nathan Rogers, “Lumbering in Northern Maine,” Master’s thesis, University of Maine Orono, 1906, 25; William James Henry Miller, James Plummer Poole, and Harlan Hayes Sweetser, “A Lumbering Report of Work on Squaw Mountain Township, Winter of 1911–1912,” Master’s thesis, University of Maine Orono, 1912, 14–15; Frank Carey (b. 1886), interview by Rita Swidrowski, 1970, p. 6980117, transcript, llc, mfc; Andrew Chase (b. 1888) interview by Linda Edgerly, 1971, p. 6970094, transcript, llc, mfc; John F. Flanagan, “Industrial Conditions in the Maine Woods,” First Biennial Report of the Department of Labor and Industry (Waterville: Sentinel Publishing, 1912), 220; Maine Department of Labor and Industry and Maine Division of Research and Statistics, “Working Conditions in Lumber and Pulpwood Camps August 1955– March 1956” (1956), Labor Standards Documents, Paper 313; Ferris Meigs, The Santa Clara Lumber Company, Vol. 1, (unpublished manuscript, typeset 1941) Santa Clara Collection, Adirondack Museum, Blue Mountain Lake, New York (hereafter AdkM). 5. United States Senate, Report of the Select Committee on Immigration and Naturalization: and Testimony Taken by the Committee on Immigration of the Senate and the Select Committee on Immigration and Naturalization of the House of Representatives Under Concurrent Resolution of March 12, 1890 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1891), 324. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 123 lumbermen [or] raftsmen” were French Canadian immigrants and the per- centage was much higher in the northern portion of the region. Their affinity for the woods made them useful for specific tasks in other rural industries as well. On railroad grades, one sociologist found, the French “prefers to be in the vanguard. The space and freedom of the trail and water routes appeal to him … assisting with ready axe to erect the big log company camps.” When it came to technical work, however, the experts claimed they were useless. 6 These com- ments on French Canadian loggers are evidence of how the perceived racial hierarchies that were constructed in the US by academics, government, and business officials pushed immigrant workers into specific industries based on their perceived racial characteristics. These rural immigrant workers were especially vulnerable to exploita- tion. They were isolated on wilderness tracts, separated from urban French Canadian communities and Church support. They were also unfamiliar with the English language and American labour laws. In northern New York, the Emporium, Santa Clara, and A. Sherman lumber companies conspired to set wages lower for immigrant workers than native “white” workers. Referring to immigrant logging labour, one 1911 government report found that “there has probably existed in Maine the most complete system of peonage in the entire country.” The preference for French Canadian loggers in American camps evolved from an informal and exploitative cross-border contracting system in the 19th century into a federal government sponsored contract labour program in the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s. During the labour shortages of World War II, the Canadian and American governments allied to create a system which “bonded a specific number of Canadian woodsmen to their American employers for fixed terms.”7 Large paper and lumber companies utilized a mode of production known as “shacking,” in which entire “bonded” Canadian families were hired to go into an isolated forested area and produce logs on a piece rate in rough, dangerous conditions. A violation of child labour laws, shacking also often led to debt peonage.8 6. Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 96–97. 7. W.C. Sykes to C.H. Sisson, 1 May 1919; C.H. Sisson to W.C. Sykes, 2 May 1919; W.C. Sykes to C.H. Sisson, 3 May 1919, box 13; E.L. Stables to Mr. Sykes, Mr. Caflish and Mr. Turner, 7 November 1912, box 5, Emporium Forest Company Records, AdkM; William P. Dillingham, et al., Abstracts of Reports of the Immigration Commission: With Conclusions and Recommendations and Views of the Minority (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 447–448; Bill Parenteau, “Bonded Labor: Canadian Woods Workers in the Maine Pulpwood Industry, 1940–55,” Forest & Conservation History 37, 3 (1993): 113–115. 8. Stacy Warner Maddern “Bonded Labor and Migration, United States” in Immanuel Ness, ed., The Encyclopedia of Global Human Migration (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), 3; Fred Alliston Gilbert Papers, F.A. Glibert to G. Schenck, 20 December 1925, box 7, Correspondence, 1924–1925 Special Collections, Raymond H. Fogler Library, University of Maine; United States, Report of the Select Committee on Immigration and Naturalization, 322–325; United States, Importation of Canadian Bonded Labor: Hearings before the Subcommittee on Labor of the Committee on Labor and Public Welfare, United States Senate, Eighty-fourth Congress, First 124 / l abour/le tr avail 77 Italian immigrant workers were employed in the Canadian and American wilderness as well, but they rarely worked in logging camps. Logger Arnold Hall said that he only ever saw “one or … two Italians in the woods in my life. They don’t work in the woods much. Pick and shovels all right, but they don’t seem to go for the woods.” The Maine Department of Labor found that “Italians who work on our dams, railroads, and other construction opera- tions in the summer are not to be found in [logging] camps. It is too cold for them.” An Adirondack area newspaper from 1883 reported that “excepting the French-Canadians the Latins have an insurmountable aversion to the ax.”9 The supposed French Canadian affinity for logging work and odd exclusion of Italians exemplifies how North Americans in the late 19th and early 20th centuries connected their ideals about race with the realities of industrial work. By the early 20th century, eugenic and racial thinking had become “so pervasive … that it attained the state of common sense,” and experts asserted that even “economic virtues … [were] a function of race.”10 As “white” Northern Europeans pushed west to civilize supposedly free, wild land, industries in the East were “directed to attracting to their workshops people representing almost static civilization.”11 These immigrants from the “static civilizations” of Eastern and Southern Europe were considered a “mobile army of cheap labor,” and – in order to maximize industrial production – progressive thinkers con- structed racial taxonomies that dictated which races best fit different types of production.12 This extended beyond logging work. The American government Session, on S. Res. 98, A Resolution to Authorize a Study of the Policy and Practice of the United States with Respect to Permitting Bonded Laborers from Canada to Enter and Work in the United States (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1955), 56. 9. Arnold Hall (b. 1892) interview by William Bonsall, 1970, p. 580038, transcript, llc, mfc; Flanagan, “Industrial Conditions in the Maine Woods,” 220; “Among the Woodcutters,” Chateaugay Record (Chateaugay, NY), 11 May 1883. 10. Daylanne K. English, Unnatural Selections: Eugenics in American Modernism and the Harlem Renaissance (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2004), 1, 33; Edward Alsworth Ross, Foundations of Sociology (New York: Macmillan Company, 1905), 377; Matthew Frye Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color: European Immigrants and the Alchemy of Race (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998), 88; Nell Irvin Painter, The History of White People (New York: W.W. Norton, 2010), 252; Thomas F. Gossett, Race: The History of an Idea in America (Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1963); Reginald Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny: The Origins of American Racial Anglo-Saxonism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1981), 156–157. 11. Theresa Schmid McMahon, Social and Economic Standards of Living (Boston: D.C. Heath, 1925), 134. 12. Gunther Peck shows that bosses and labour agents used race to help decide what groups would do different types of labour. There were particularly large racial divisions in skilled vs. unskilled positions. Gunther Peck, Reinventing Free Labor: Padrones and Immigrant Workers in the North American West, 1880–1930 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 166–169; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 137–138. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 125 found regular patterns in the type of work that different immigrant groups engaged in: The Austrians have gone principally into construction work and to the iron ore fields. The Finns have been furnished with about the same class of labor. The Greeks and Italians almost without exception have gone into section work for some railroad system. The Scandinavians and Americans have gone into almost every kind of work, but the largest percentage of them have gone into the logging camps.… The Poles and Bulgarians, almost without exception, have gone into construction work.… The Cuban and Spanish races are employed exclusively in the manufacture of cigars and tobacco … North and South Italians are most extensively employed in silk dyeing, railroad and other construction work, bitu- minous coal mining, and clothing manufacturing … the Slovaks seem to be industrial laborers rather than farmers.13 Similar sentiments were expressed by Canadian academics and officials.14 Though historians of immigration now realize that there were several reasons for the consistent occupational streaming patterns illustrated above, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries these patterns were attributed to racial char- acteristics. At their most extreme, immigration policies that followed racial dictates led to draconian exclusionary laws, such as the Chinese exclusion acts in Canada and the US. In America before the 1924 Johnson Reed Act, however, less than two per cent of immigrants were denied entry. When immigrants were rejected, it was most often because it was presumed they would become a drain on the nation’s economy – because they couldn’t work.15 Racial thinking 13. William P. Dillingham, Immigrants in Industries: Part 21; Diversified Industries, Vol. 2 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 342. 14. Canadian sociologist Edmund W. Bradwin wrote “[e]ach nationality on a frontier work seems to fit into some particular form of activity: the Slavs … become laborers’ helpers, the English-speaking delight in machinery, the Finn … in blasting … [Italians] work with cement.…” Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 110. 15. The US passed a Chinese exclusion act in 1882, and Canada passed one in 1885 and another in 1923. Even exclusion policies were tied to economics. The argument was that Chinese bare minimum subsistence would lower the living standards of all Americans. Lawrence B. Glickman, A Living Wage: American Workers and the Making of Consumer Society (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1997), 86; McMahon, Social and Economic Standards of Living, 131–155; Lucy E. Salyer, Laws Harsh As Tigers: Chinese Immigrants and the Shaping of Modern Immigration Law (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995), 12, 18; Rosanne Currarino, “‘Meat vs. Rice’ The Ideal of Manly Labor and Anti-Chinese Hysteria in 19th- century America,” Men and Masculinities 9, 4 (2007): 476–490; Vincent J. Cannato, American Passage: The History of Ellis Island (New York: Harper, 2009), 6, 11; Margot Canaday, The Straight State: Sexuality and Citizenship in Twentieth-Century America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), 39, 95; Mae M. Ngai, Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004), 77; Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 167. In his analysis of this rhetoric Jacobson found immigrants were judged by their “relative merits.” Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 8–9, 69, 78. Historians disagree on the extent to which “irrational” nativism influenced American exclusionary and restrictive immigration policy. Oscar Handlin and John Higham argued that, while economic exploitation was a factor in immigrant exploitation, racism was the primary 126 / l abour/le tr avail 77 was a major factor in deciding how the tens of millions of immigrants who were allowed into the country were treated and directed once they got here. Reflecting popular opinion, labour leaders like Samuel Gompers, Terence Powderly, and Frank P. Sargent (the latter two of whom also doubled as public immigration officials) were against allowing immigrants of questionable “whiteness” to compete with real white Americans for jobs. If questionably white people were allowed into the country, some justification was needed for why they should work the type of undesirable jobs that American labourers were leaving: monotonous factory jobs and grueling manual work like logging. The argument not only involved a debate over the low standard of living of immigrant workers, but also whether their labour was, in a fundamental way, worth less than real white peoples’ labour. One way to justify routing immi- grants into demeaning, low-paying jobs was by interpreting the valuable types of labour – clearing and civilizing supposedly wild land, for example – as work that only real white people could do.16 culprit. In Nation by Design, Aristide Zolberg argues that US immigration policy dipped in and out of periods of irrational nativism. Mae M. Ngai, “Oscar Handlin and Immigration Policy Reform in the 1950s and 1960s,” Journal of American Ethnic History, 32, 3 (Spring 2013): 64; Aristide R. Zolberg, A Nation by Design: Immigration Policy in the Fashioning of America (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009), 6–7; John Higham, Strangers in the Land: Patterns of American Nativism, 1860–1925 (New York: Atheneum, 1963). Award-winning historian Mae Ngai has added evidence to Handlin’s and Higham’s argument. Her recent Impossible Subjects shows how US policies discriminated against and exploited Asian and Mexican people in order to establish a “desired composition … of the nation” which was European and white. According to Ngai immigration laws like the Johnson Reed Act “put European and non-European immigrant groups on different trajectories of racial formation” The bracero program was an extension of that thinking. It was, Ngai argues, “imported colonialism” and based on “the subordination of racialized foreign bodies,” a legacy of “[w] estern expansion” and notions of “Anglo-Saxon superiority.” The bracero program and the bonded labour system relied on similar legal precedent and so the exploitation of seemingly white French Canadian immigrants in non-western states challenges Ngai’s understanding of immigration policy and labour. Mae M. Ngai, Impossible Subjects, 5, 13, 94. Robert F. Zeidel’s Immigrants, Progressives, and Exclusion Politics: The Dillingham Commission, 1900–1917 found that American immigration policies were less reliant on racial assumptions that Handlin, Higham, and Ngai assume. Instead, Zeidel argues that immigration policy was designed to allow for maximum economic productivity in American industry. The argument posed in this article is that the imperatives of industrial capitalism were difficult to disentangle from the racial thinking. Robert F. Zeidel, Immigrants, Progressives, and Exclusion Politics: The Dillingham Commission, 1900–1927 (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2004), 5. 16. David R. Roediger, The Wages of Whiteness: Race and the Making of the American Working Class (London: Verso, 1991); Philip S. Foner, History of the Labor Movement in the United States Vol. 3 (New York: International Publishers, 1964), 256–258; Luis L.M. Aguiar and Tina I.L. Marten, “Shimmering White Kelowna and The Examination of Painless White Privilege in the Hinterland Of British Columbia,” in Audrey Kobayashi, Laura Cameron, and Andrew Baldwin, eds., Rethinking the Great White North: Race, Nature, and the Historical Geographies of Whiteness in Canada (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2011), 136. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 127 In his book Barbarian Virtues, Matthew Jacobson focuses on how Americans created and reacted to what he calls the “image” of the immigrant, “[seem- ingly] unshakable demonstrations of this or that ethnological truth about this nation and the nature of the world’s diverse populations.” One of the many ways that these images were formed was through the observation of immi- grant workers as they attempted to transform wild land into arable or valuable land, an activity that proved a worker’s degree of whiteness and aptitude for citizenship.17 Wilderness has been defined by Americans in a number of ways. Areas designated wilderness received that designation by the fictions that were created about them. In the narrative of industrial capitalism of the late 19th and early 20th century, before preservationism became a mainstream cultural phenomenon, most North Americans of European ancestry thought of wilder- ness as an isolated tract of unproductive land that required improvement to become valuable or productive. Influential conservationist and forestry expert Gifford Pinchot was famous for saying “wilderness is waste.” In this utilitar- ian view, the pastoral landscape was the desirable landscape.18 Immigrants of questionable whiteness who proved capable at improving wilderness land might be more than just expendable industrial workers; they might have the ability to become independent agriculturalists, the bedrock of American democracy. Nativism was built into this tautology: any person descendant from a group with a long history of free citizenship in the country was pre- sumed to have descended from pioneering, wilderness conquering people and was therefore de facto white. The constructed history of the white conquest of the American wilderness explains how wilderness became a space exclu- sively for white middle-class men in the first two decades of the 20th century. Observing immigrants’ adeptness at creating civilization on wilderness land allowed state, federal, and business officials to judge their whiteness and 17. Matthew Frye Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues: The United States Encounters Foreign Peoples at Home and Abroad, 1876–1917 (New York: Hill and Wang, 2001), 97; Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 18, 166, 169–170; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 31; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 253; Glickman, A Living Wage, 25; Joyce Appleby, “Commercial Farming and the ‘Agrarian Myth’ in the Early Republic,” Journal of American History 68, 4 (1982): 833–849; Rossell Dave, “Tended Images: Verbal and Visual Idolatry of Rural Life in America, 1800–1850,” New York History 69, 4 (1988): 425–440; David Danbom, Born in the Country: A History of Rural America (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995). 18. Quoted in Richard White, “From Wilderness to Hybrid Landscapes: The Cultural Turn in Environmental History,” in Douglas Cazaux Sackman, ed., A Companion to American Environmental History (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014), 185. The government equated wilderness land with idle land and worthless land. William P. Dillingham et al, Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 1 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 95, 359, 263; Louis S. Warren, “Paths Toward Home: Landmarks of the Field in Environmental History,” in Sackman, ed., A Companion to American Environmental History, 11; William Cronon, “The Trouble with Wilderness; Or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature,” in William Cronon, ed., Uncommon Ground: Toward Reinventing Nature (New York: W.W. Norton, 1995), 69–91. 128 / l abour/le tr avail 77 sort immigrants into different types of work based on their displayed racial characteristics.19 Because of the messiness of the “racial sciences” there were people who were “in between” white and non-white, groups whose whiteness remained in question even after being tested by wilderness work. This was where the French Canadians fit into the scheme and these racial discourses are the primary reason they were exploited in the woods for more than a century.20 This type of racial thinking was applied to all immigrant groups coming into America and was responsible for other ethnically based labour systems like the Italian padrone system, tenement sweating in New York City and, by the 1940s and 1950s, federally sanctioned guest worker arraignments like the bracero Mexican farm worker program.21 The discourses that formed about French Canadians in Northeastern logging camps were distinctly rural, however, and therefore have not been the target of historical investigation to the same extent as urban discourses on race and industry have been.22 This is unfortunate because until the 1920s most Canadians and Americans lived in the countryside where the transition to industrial capitalism often had its most dramatic effects.23 The images of immigrants in the rural Northeast had a profound effect on where foreign workers settled, how they were treated, and how they adapted to industrial capitalism. As Canadian social historian Béatrice Craig found, opinions on the French Canadians depended on “whether [writers] took their cue from Longfellow or Darwin.”24 Though this point was just an aside for Craig, it reveals an 19. Paul Outka, Race and Nature from Transcendentalism to the Harlem Renaissance (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 3, 31–33, 154; James Belich, Replenishing the Earth: The Settler Revolution and the Rise of the Anglo-World, 1783–1939 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). 20. The absence of black, Mexican, or other obviously “coloured” workers in the forests of the Northeast meant that the whiteness of new immigrant groups was scrutinized closely. Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 169; David R. Roediger, Working Toward Whiteness: How America’s Immigrants Became White: the Strange Journey from Ellis Island to the Suburbs (New York: Basic Books, 2005), 13. 21. Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 16–18; Deborah Cohen, Braceros: Migrant Citizens and Transnational Subjects in the United States and Mexico (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2010); Noel Ignatiev, How the Irish Became White (New York: Routledge, 1995); Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color; 31. On ideas of immigrants’ low standard of living driving down wages see Lawrence B. Glickman, A Living Wage, 78–91. 22. Those historians who have discussed industrialization, immigration, and whiteness have usually done so using the American West or the Southwest as their setting. See Peck, Reinventing Free Labor; Elliott Robert Barkan, From All Points: America’s Immigrant West, 1870s–1952 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007); Ava F. Kahn, ed., Jewish Life in the American West: Perspectives on Migration, Settlement, and Community (Los Angeles: Autry Museum of Western Heritage in association with University of Washington Press, Seattle, 2002). 23. Sven Beckert, Empire of Cotton: A Global History (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2015), 441. 24. Beatrice Craig, Backwoods Consumers and Homespun Capitalists: The Rise of a Market “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 129 important change in the way that North Americans thought about whiteness, wilderness, and work. In the 1840s, as an influx of Irish, German, and Canadian immigrants began to complicate the US understanding of whiteness, a dis- tinctive rhetoric emerged that allowed Americans to group immigrants into different racial categories.25 The first section of this article discusses French Canadian images in literature from the 1840s to 1893. In these works, racial differences were noted by the authors and were often an important part of the text, but the causes of these differences remained obscure to the audi- ence. Ideas about whiteness began to change as Darwinian interpretations of human evolution merged with the American fixation on a vanishing frontier, and concern over the effects of industrialization – a time most clearly denoted by Frederick Jackson Turner’s presentation of “The Significance of the Frontier in American History” in 1893.26 From the 1890s into the 1930s, the images of French Canadians and other immigrants were elucidated by academics and government officials as a scientific racial consensus solidified in the minds of most Americans. This is the topic of part two. The lingering effects of the racialized French Canadian image were still apparent in the 1950s when the bonded labour and shacking system became well documented. More than a century before the bonded labour system, however, the French Canadian image was perpetuated by an influential American writer living in a shack in Massachusetts. Literature and the Early French Canadian Image One of the few people who visited Henry Thoreau at Walden Pond was the French Canadian woodchopper and post maker Alek Therien, a character who represented nearly all the attributes of the French Canadian image before 1893. In Walden (1854), as in the other works discussed in this section, the French Canadian image depicts a people who are unperturbed by modernity and almost indistinguishable from the trees they work among. Though his name is never given in the original text, Therien is introduced to the reader as a “true … Paphlagonian man,” a reference to an ancient region along the Culture in Eastern Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009), 148. 25. On increased Canadian migration into the US in the 1840s see James P. Allen, “Migration Fields of French Canadian Immigrants to Southern Maine,” Geographical Review 62, 3 (1972): 369; Ralph Dominic Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England, 1840–1900: A Geographic Analysis,” PhD Dissertation, University of Wisconsin – Madison, 1968, 132; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 7, 42–43; Roediger, The Wages of Whiteness, 118; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 166, 225. 26. The presentation of the Turner thesis also coincides with a period of extensive French Canadian migration to New England. Yves Roby, The Franco-Americans of New England: Dreams and Realities (Sillery: Septentrion, 2005), 12; Carl N. Degler, In Search of Human Nature: The Decline and Revival of Darwinism in American Social Thought (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991). 130 / l abour/le tr avail 77 Black Sea that was “rugged and mountainous with dense forests.” Dressed in homespun cloth, “a more simple and natural man it would be hard to find,” Thoreau wrote. Therien was a wage worker who owned no land and did not have the ambition to become a proprietor. He lived in a log house in the woods, and admitted to Thoreau that if he could live off of hunting alone, he would. He imbibed nature by drinking spruce, hemlock, or checkerberry tea, and by taking balls of bark from trees and chewing them. “In physical endurance and contentment,” Thoreau wrote, “he was cousin to the pine and the rock. I asked him once if he was not sometimes tired at night, after working all day; and he answered … ‘Gorrappit, I never was tired in my life.’” Thoreau wrote that “in him the animal man chiefly was developed.” He was a skillful woodsman capable of making more posts in a day than the average person. When chop- ping a tree his cuts were clean, level, and close to the ground, and his cordwood was piled right. Though attentive to his work, Therien didn’t have the “anxiety and haste” of Yankee workers. When working he was in a constant state of elation. To the French Canadian, pleasure and work were the same thing. “I can enjoy myself well enough here chopping,” he reportedly said. “I want no better sport.”27 Therien was almost the embodiment of Thoreau’s ideal austere life, a person who rejected modern civilization for the natural world. He was so “simple,” however, that he was unable to engage in the type of deep thought that was so important for Thoreau.28 For Americans in the middle of the 19th century, the French Canadian simplemindedness, connection to nature, and lighthearted passivity were partially caused by their devout Catholicism: [his] strength skill and endurance came at the expense of intelligence, a flaw bolstered by his education.… He had been instructed only in that innocent and ineffectual way in which the Catholic priests teach the aborigines, by which the pupil is never educated to the degree of consciousness, but only to the degree of trust and reverence, and a child is not made a man, but kept a child. 29 27. Henry David Thoreau and Jeffrey S. Cramer, Walden: A Fully Annotated Edition (1854; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), 139, 143, 141. 28. Robert W. Bradford, “Thoreau and Therien,” American Literature 34, 4 (1963): 501; Edward Watts, In This Remote Country: French Colonial Culture in the Anglo-American Imagination, 1780–1860 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 48; Thoreau and Cramer, Walden, 142, 143, 144–145; David E. Shi, The Simple Life: Plain Living and High Thinking in American Culture (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 147–149; Philip Cafaro, Thoreau’s Living Ethics: Walden and the Pursuit of Virtue (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2004), 36, 37, 87, 118, 119, 210, 211. 29. Thoreau and Cramer, Walden, 139–144. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 131 In his survey of French Canadians in early American literature, Edward Watts found that the French were depicted as a group “meant to be governed, not to govern themselves.”30 In Thoreau’s early life, the racial sciences were in a nascent state. The supe- riority of the Anglo-Saxon-Teutonic people was commonly understood, but hierarchies of racial characteristics that extended beyond a dichotomy of white and black were, according to historian Reginald Horsman, “confused” and “jumbled.” There was also no “sharp separation between a precise scientific racialism and literary racial nationalism,” Horsman found.31 Understanding Thoreau’s influences will explain the type of sources that perpetuated immi- grant images for American audiences before 1893. Thoreau read John Springer’s Forest Life and Forest Trees (1851), a popular account of logging labour in which French Canadians were represented as “demi-savages” with a propensity for woodwork.32 Like other Americans, Thoreau likely read Alexis de Tocqueville’s works, including “Two Weeks in the Wilderness,” in which the French settlers are “carefree,” “cheerful,” men of “instinct” who submit to “life in the wild.” “He clings to the land,” De Tocqueville wrote, “and rips from the life in the wild everything he can snatch from it.”33 One text that had a strong influ- ence on how Americans thought of French speaking Canadians was Henry W. Longfellow’s epic poem Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie (1847), a work that his- torian Naomi Griffiths found “was the most powerful cultural tool available to those constructing an Acadian identity.” Although French Canadians and Acadians were distinct people, many Americans conflated the two groups. In Evangeline, the idyllic “forest primeval” of Acadia was the birthplace and a safe haven for the French who were forcefully expelled by the British. The French people were viewed as part of the landscape, their lives gliding on “like rivers that water the woodlands.” Like the landscape, these people’s society yielded slowly to time. The pine trees sang the tale of Evangeline.34 The Therien character also reflected circulating ideas of the familial and communal connection between the French and First Nations people. This connection partially explained their “swarthy” complexion and affinity with 30. Watts, In this Remote Country, 118. 31. Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 159, 301. 32. John S. Springer, Forest Life and Forest Trees (1851; New York: Harper, 1856), 246–247. 33. Alexis de Tocqueville, quoted in Watts, In This Remote Country, 40–41. 34. The first printing of Evangeline in 1847 sold out and in the following century the poem went through 270 editions and was translated into 130 languages. Naomi Griffiths, “‘Longfellow’s Evangeline’: The Birth and Acceptance of a Legend,” Acadiensis 11, 2 (1982): 28, 37; Andrew J.B. Johnston, “The Call of the Archetype and the Challenge of Acadian History,” French Colonial History 5, 1 (2004): 78; Eric L. Haralson “Mars in Petticoats: Longfellow and Sentimental Masculinity,” 19th-Century Literature 51, 3 (1996): 343, 344; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie (1847; Boston: Leach, Shewell, & Sanborn, 1896), 15–16; Watts, In this Remote Country, 88. 132 / l abour/le tr avail 77 the forest. Thoreau read James Fenimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales, in which the French and First Nations are not only allies, but also people who share a connection with the forest. Early and mid-century nonfiction works by Zadok Cramer, Francis Parkman, and George Bancroft furthered this idea. According to Parkman, “the French became savages” in early America.35 “Hundreds [of French settlers] betook themselves to the forest, never more to return,” Parkman wrote in his The Conspiracy of Pontiac (1851). After his stay at Walden, Thoreau visited Therien’s homeland and wrote A Yankee in Canada (1850). He found that, like the First Nations people, “the French … had become savage.”36 There was truth to the history of French and First Nations linkage. Historian Richard White found that “there is no need to romanticize this rela- tionship … [French and First Nations’] knowledge of each other’s customs and their ability to live together … had no equivalent among the British.” Even though most French Canadians were not of mixed heritage, by 1911 this belief was so widespread that the United States Immigration Commission felt the need to address it in a Dictionary of Races, stating “the French Canadian race is not widely intermingled with Indian blood, as some misinformed persons think.” At mid-century, American attention was fixated on the expansion of Anglo-Saxon peoples westward and on the domination and disappearance of Native peoples. Like the seemingly weak Mexicans that the US fought a war against in the late 1840s, the French Canadians were assumed to be spoiling their bloodline by intermingling with First Nation peoples. People who were associated with First Nation blood were on the wrong side of history. They would need to assimilate or be destroyed.37 35. Wayne Franklin, James Fenimore Cooper: The Early Years (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), xxix; Allan M. Axelrad, “Historical Contexts of The Last of the Mohicans: The French and Indian War, and Mid-1820s America,” paper presented at the 17th Cooper Seminar, “James Fenimore Cooper: His Country and His Art at the State University of New York College at Oneonta,” July 2009, accessed, 20 August 2014, http://external.oneonta.edu/cooper/articles/ suny/2009suny-axelrad.html; James Fenimore Cooper, The Deerslayer (1841; New York: Dodd, Mead, 1952), 23, 41; James Fenimore Cooper, The Pathfinder (1840; New York, NY: Dodd, Mead, 1953), 164; Zadok Cramer, The Navigator (1801; Pittsburgh: Cramer & Spear, 1824), 44, 254, 388; Fulmer Mood and Frederick J. Turner, “An Unfamiliar Essay by Frederick J. Turner,” Minnesota History 18, 4 (1937): 393; Peter Cook, “Onontio Gives Birth: How the French in Canada Became Fathers to their Indigenous Allies, 1645–1673,” Canadian Historical Review 96, 2 (2015): 165–193. 36. Quoted in Watts, In this Remote Country, 72; Henry David Thoreau, A Yankee in Canada with Anti-Slavery Reform Papers (1866; Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1866), 60, 61; Charles Hallock, “Aroostook and the Madawaska,” The Harper’s Monthly 20 (October 1863): 695. 37. Richard White, The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the Great Lakes Region, 1650–1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 60–75, 316; Carolyn Podruchny, Making the Voyageur World: Travelers and Traders in the North American Fur Trade (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007), 1, 2, 71, 98; William P. Dillingham, et al., Dictionary of Races or Peoples (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 29; Jean Charlemagne Bracq, The Evolution of French Canada (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1924), 206; Madison Grant, The Conquest of a Continent; or, The Expansion of Races in America “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 133 The French Canadian connection to nature and First Nation peoples was reinforced by the popular image of the French voyageurs and coureurs de bois, frontier workers who defined the early Canadian experience in the wilderness. Importantly, 19th-century texts on the voyageurs depicted them as blending into, rather than civilizing, the frontier. The French entered the woods not to “clear and colonize,” but to range. The only enduring marks they left on the land were “names upon the map.” Thoreau wrote that they had “overrun the great extent of the country … without improving it.”38 One American author, reflecting on the settlement of the US wrote, “if these countries had contin- ued to belong to the French, the population would certainly have been more gay than the present American race … but it would have had less comforts and wealth, and ages would have passed away, before man had become master of those regions.…” Clearly American thinkers were quick to forget the real French contribution to the settling of North America when it supported their narrative of Anglo-Saxon superiority. French Canadians, like Native people, were a “vanishing” part of the landscape. Unlike Native peoples, however, French Canadians remained valuable to the growing American economy because, as Therien demonstrated, they fit into a specific industrial niche.39 The idea that French Canadians were a people who uniquely fit into wood- work was a common theme in late 19th- and early 20th-century popular fiction. A romanticized view of the arboreal and agrarian life of the French Canadians was part of la survivance, a repatriation and cultural preservation movement which gained momentum after the accelerated influx of French Canadians into the US in the late 19th century. A popular example of la sur- vivance literature was Louis Hémon’s 1916 book Maria Chapdelaine.40 In the book, clearing the forest was the passion of these people: “‘Make land!’ Rude phrase of the country, summing up in two words all the heart-breaking labor that transforms the incult woods, barren of sustenance, to smiling fields.…”41 (New York: C. Scribner’s Sons, 1933), 310–311; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 183, 216, 240, 241, 272. 38. Mood and Turner, “An Unfamiliar Essay,” 395; Watts, In This Remote Country, 37; Konrad Gross, “The Voyageurs: Images of Canada’s Archetypal Frontiersmen,” in Hena Maes-Jelinek, Gordon Collier, Geoffrey V. Davis, and Anna Rutherford, eds., A Talent(Ed) Digger: Creations, Cameos, and Essays in Honour of Anna Rutherford (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1996), 411–422; Thoreau, Yankee in Canada, 62; Béatrice Craig and Maxime Dagenais, The Land in Between: The Upper St. John Valley, Prehistory to World War I (Gardiner: Tilbury House, 2009), 48. 39. Quoted in Watts, In This Remote Country, 15, 8–9; Thoreau, Yankee in Canada, 62; See also Zadok Cramer, The Navigator; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 218; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 156, 198, 200, 230, 291. 40. The book was translated into English multiple times and adapted into several movies. Louis Hémon, Maria Chapdelaine, trans. W.H. Blake (1913; Toronto: MacMillan, 1921), 45; Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 34, 158. 41. Hémon, Maria Chapdelaine, 46; Paul Socken, “Maria Chapdelaine” in Eugene Benson and William Toye, eds., The Oxford Companion to Canadian Literature. (Oxford: Oxford 134 / l abour/le tr avail 77 Félix-Antoine Savard’s popular Menaud Maître-draveur, depicts the forests and rivers of Québec under the thrall of an Anglo-Canadian lumberman and the French take their place in the river crews, using their innate skill to bring the logs to market. There is a long list of other Canadian authors who employed similar depictions of French Canadian woodsmen.42 French Canadians are similarly depicted in American literature. In Jack London’s popular The Call of the Wild, the Québécois Francois and Perrault are idealized frontiersmen who are fundamentally important to the protagonist Buck’s reconnection with nature. Characters similar to Francois and Perrault appear in the pleth- ora of lumbermen novels and pulp fiction which were popular in the US from 1900 into the 1950s. In his famous The Blazed Trail (1902), Edward Stewart wrote that French supporting characters “typified the indomitable spirit of these conquers of a wilderness.” Similar characters are found in White’s other popular books and in Maine writer Holman Day’s forest fictions.43 Hard Race Science In the literary and fictional works written in the middle of the 19th century the French Canadian idiosyncrasies were thought to have been caused by their Catholicism, their intermingling with Native peoples, and their history University Press, 1997) accessed 27 August 2014, http://site.ebrary.com/lib/alltitles/docDetail. action?docID=10334814. 42. These include William Henry Drummond, Gilbert Parker, Cornelius Krieghoff, George Boucher, Rosarie Dion-Levesque, Reine Malouin, Camille Lessard, and Jacque Durcharme. Félix-Antoine Savard, Boss of the River (1937; Toronto: Ryerson Press, 1947); Jules Tessier “Menaud, Maître-draveur,” in Benson, and Toye, eds., The Oxford Companion to Canadian Literature; Armand Chartier, “Towards a History of Franco-American Literature: Some Considerations,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 295–306; Richard S. Sorrell, “‘History as a Novel, the Novel as History’: Ethnicity and the Franco American English Landguar Novel,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 361. 43. Jack London, The Call of the Wild (1903; New York: Macmillan, 1963), 17; Stewart Edward White, The Blazed Trail (New York: McClure, 1907), 13, 41, 46, 65. White’s other books with stereotypical French Canadian characters include The Westerners (New York: McClure, Phillips, 1901), Conjuror’s House: A Romance of the Free Forest (New York: McClure, Phillips, 1903) and The Forest (New York: Outlook Company, 1903). Day’s books include Joan of Arc of the North Woods (New York: Harper, 1922) and The Landloper: The Romance of a Man on Foot (New York: Harper, 1915). There are many other examples, including, Sara Ware Bassett, The Story of Lumber (Philadelphia: Penn Publishing Company, 1912); Levi Parker Wyman, The Golden Boys Among the Lumberjacks (New York: A.L. Burt, 1923); Stephen W. Meader, Lumberjack (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1934); Frank Gee Patchin, The Pony Rider Boys in New England: Or, An Exciting Quest in the Maine Wilderness (Philadelphia: H. Altemus, 1924); Capt. Charles A.J. Farrar, Through the Winds: A Record of Sport and Adventure in the Forests of New Hampshire and Maine (Boston: Estes & Lauriat, 1892); David C. Smith, “Virgin Timber: The Maine Woods as a Locale for Juvenile Fiction” in Richard S. Sprague, ed., A Handful of Spice: A Miscellany of Maine Literature and History (Orono: University of Maine Press, 1968), 194–195, 196. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 135 of work in the wilderness. There were few clues in these works as to why French Canadians were ostensibly predisposed to these activities. After the US census declared the official closing of the Western frontier in 1890 and Frederick Jackson Turner published his thesis on that topic in 1893, North American elites increasingly attempt to fit immigrants into a scientific “hierarchy of evo- lutionary economic stages,” which helped explain their behaviour. Just as the African American predisposition to slavery was supposedly a result of race, French Canadian Catholicism, affinity to the First Nations, and connection to the forest became, not the cause of racial difference, but the consequence.44 In this period the most useful tools to use in determining racial traits were not works of fiction (though these still helped perpetuate the images) but the social scientific disciplines of sociology, history, and anthropology.45 As the racial sciences developed, experts like anthropologist Franz Boas posited that peoples were shaped by their environment, and shaped their envi- ronment in turn as part of the progression of human evolution.46 Observing how different cultures were able to make civilization from wilderness land, historically and in the present, revealed their innate racial characteristics. Popular travel writer Richard Harding wrote in 1903 that “there is no more interesting question of the present day, than that of what is to be done with the world’s land which is laying unimproved, whether it shall go to the great power that is willing to turn it to account, or remain with its original owner, who fails to understand its value.” Supposedly “civilized” races used wild land to make a profit, and to bring forth culture and free government. Those who were controlled by nature, or lived in harmony with it, were more “savage.”47 Savage societies like the First Nations were wasteful because they did not create as much value from wilderness land as civilized people did. By not retaining the same amount of value from their labour as white people, lesser races were always working at a loss and could never be completely economi- cally independent. White races were more bodily efficient than inferior races, 44. Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues, 50–51, 145. Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), 31; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 48, 70; John S. Haller, Outcasts from Evolution; Scientific Attitudes of Racial Inferiority, 1859–1900 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1971). 45. In his Working Toward Whiteness Roediger argues that readers should be skeptical of any history that presents the racial thinking of the time as “elegant.” Peck calls the racial thinking of the time “unstable.” In retrospect it was clear that these were “messy” sciences but around the turn of the century there was a clear, collective attempt to make the racial sciences more precise. Roediger, Working Toward Whiteness, 7–8, 37; Painter, The History of White People, x; Ngai, Impossible Subjects, 33; Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 169; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 6. 46. Roediger, Working Towards Whiteness, 68; Degler, In Search of Human Nature, 65. 47. Quoted in Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues, 112, 145, 171; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 7; Adam Kuper, The Reinvention of Primitive Society: Transformations of a Myth (London: Routledge, 2005); Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 113–114. 136 / l abour/le tr avail 77 a US government report found. The Germans, for example, were better able to “apply their industry and energy” than Southern Europeans.48 Racial char- acteristics, then, innately determined the type of professions to which racial groups were predisposed. In his popular Passing of the Great Race, Madison Grant discussed the “racial aptitudes” of different people: “The Alpine race is always and everywhere a race of peasants, an agricultural and never a maritime race.… The Nordics are, all over the world, a race of soldiers, sailors, adventur- ers and explorers, but above all, of rulers, organizers and aristocrats.”49 The history of North America as it was written by the “conservative evolu- tionist” and “progressive” historians of the late 19th and early 20th centuries supported these racial taxonomies. Proponents of the “germ theory” of histori- cal progression argued that, in the civilizing of the North American wilderness land, “the inherent superiority of the Anglo-Saxon … Germanic … Teutonic or the Aryan race was a common intellectual assumption of the day.” The “free land” of America was “an Anglo-Saxon theatre, an empire which only the ‘old stock’ Americans could have developed and in which the new immigrants played no part.” Theodore Roosevelt, Frederick Jackson Turner, Herbert Baxter Adams, Edward Perkins Channing, and George Bancroft all agreed that “when Germanic people were placed in a forest environment they tended instinc- tively to evolve … free political institutions” and economic success.50 It was the prerogative of true white people to bring about civilization wherever there was free wild land. Racial thinking of the time suggested that to civilize wilder- ness land a racial group needed three crucial characteristics: 1) to be bodily able, 2) to have familiarity (actually or hereditarily) with forest land, and 3) to be self-directing or have independent inclinations. These characteristics come up again and again in texts on race and wilderness. For example, Turner described these pioneering traits as “coarseness and strength combined with acuteness and inquisitiveness; that practical, inventive turn of mind, quick to find expedience; that masterful grasp of material things, lacking in the artistic but powerful to effect great ends; that restless, nervous energy; that dominant individualism.” The last attribute, individualism, was particularly important. 48. Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 1 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 424. 49. Grant, The Passing of the Great Race, 227–228. 50. Gilman M. Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” Agricultural History 32, 4 (1958): 259; Peter Novick, That Noble Dream: The “Objectivity Question” and the American Historical Profession (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 81; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 43; Gail Bederman, Manliness & Civilization: A Cultural History of Gender and Race in the United States, 1880–1917 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 25; Bronwen J. Cohen, “Nativism and Western Myth: The Influence of Nativist Ideas on the American Self-image” Journal of American Studies 8, 1 (1974): 28–29; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 71, 206–207; Madison Grant, The Conquest of a Continent; Patricia Nelson Limerick, The Legacy of Conquest: The Unbroken Past of the American West (New York: W.W. Norton, 1987); Novick, That Noble Dream, 457. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 137 Even slaves could clear land under direction, but true white pioneers tamed the wilderness individually, civilized it, and eventually lorded over others who did the manual labour. Americans on Canadian frontier rail grades expressed their dominance by quickly rising up the ranks to become “pushers,” “drivers,” or “foremen-bullies.” “They take hold of a group of workers and get something done,” sociologist Edmund Bradwin wrote.51 The forest was a crucial part of creating civilization because it gave pio- neering races vast resources while also imposing a substantial barrier to weed out weaker peoples. According to Turner, “American democracy came from the forest.” When white people turned forest into farms, “culture” emerged. The axe was a metaphor for the advancement of civilization, but there was a presumed literal element to the metaphor. Only those capable of sustained manual labour and ingenuity were capable of creating civilization. Northern Europeans had a propensity for “unbroken forest land” and naturally avoided slavish, urban, industrial work.52 They were always owners and their own bosses. The Norwegian, for example had “never known the steamroller of feu- dalism.” The Scandinavian “insisted on getting his living in connection with soil, water and wood,” and looked for “good land rather than for land easy to subdue.” The German “chopped his homestead out of the densest woods” because, according to early sociologist Edward A. Ross, he knew “heavy forest growth proclaims rich soil.” Ross’ comments on the issue carried weight. A renowned academic, his popular audience widened in 1900 when he was fired from Stanford University for supporting Chinese exclusion, which, he argued, would prevent “race suicide” (a phrase he coined).53 51. Attribute number three was an economic and a political virtue. On the frontier, immigrants and citizens were making free markets and making free government at the same time. It is difficult to divide citizenship and economic viability into separate discursive categories like Jacobson seems to want in Whiteness of a Different Color, 72; Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 166–169; Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 2, 175; Turner, The Frontier in American History, 37; Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 98; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 72. 52. Turner, The Frontier in American History (1920; Project Gutenberg, 2007), 154, accessed 7 May 2015, http://www.gutenberg.org/files/22994/22994-h/22994-h.htm#Page_157; Michael J. Pikus, “Chopping Away at the New World: The Metaphor of the Axe in The Prairie. The Axe as a Symbol of Destruction, in The Pioneers and The Prairie” (SUNY seminar: 2001) accessed 5 November 2015, http://external.oneonta.edu/cooper/articles/suny/2001suny-pikus. html; Cohen, “Nativism and Western Myth” 25; Dillingham, et al., Abstracts of Reports of the Immigration Commission, 547–549, 551; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 47. On the importance of the forest in the myths that propagated proper whiteness see Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 72, 75, 83, 108, 169, 281; Roderick Nash, Wilderness and the American Mind (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976), 8–13; Della Hooke, Trees in Anglo-Saxon England: Literature, Lore and Landscape (Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell Press, 2010). 53. Ross, The Old World in the New (1913; New York: Century, 1914), 82, 73–74, 52; Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 1 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 424; Cohen, “Nativism and Western Myth,” 37; Painter, The History of White People, 251–252; James C. Mohr, “Academic Turmoil and Public Opinion: 138 / l abour/le tr avail 77 The harshness of the American wilderness weeded out the weak, it was thought, forging a unique American race. In Roosevelt’s words “there was scant room for cowards and weaklings in the ranks of the adventurous fron- tiersmen … who first hewed their way into the primeval forest.”54 Historian George Bancroft wrote that the “the century-training in backwoods life” gave white Americans advantages over the immigrant germ. Boas, who typically argued against some of the most harmful racial science of his time, found to his own surprise that the “American soil” could change people bodily in only a few generations.55 Since Darwinian evolution occurred over time, the study of ancient and medieval history provided important evidence to support the racial sciences. In the early 20th century there was a growing alliance between the profes- sion of history and the newer social sciences. Historical evidence was used to help explain the habit of races in the present day. For example, Ross found that Scandinavian people were drawn to “Northern lumber camps, where they wield another pattern of ax than did their forebears, who, eight centuries ago, were known as ‘ax-bearers’ in the Eastern emperor’s body-guard.” Scandinavia was, according to Ross, “the mother hive of the swarms of barbarians that kept southern Europeans in dread a thousand years.”56 They brought to the frontier of America “the spirit of the Viking race,” Bradwin found. He continued: “let us think of these things as we watch their descendants … gather in groups on some isolated work, loitering, skulking … men of massive frames, slouch about some obscure Canadian camp.” Like the Scandinavians, the Germans were a race forged in the “Hercynian forest.” Modern Germans were “descendants from the tribes that met under the oak-trees of old Germany,” making them “strong like the oak.”57 The Ross Case at Stanford,” Pacific Historical Review 39, 1 (1970): 39–61. 54. Ross, The Old World in the New, 21; Theodore Roosevelt, The Strenuous Life: Essays and Addresses (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1906), 242. 55. Quoted in Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” 258; William P. Dillingham, et al., Reports Of The Immigration Commission: Changes In Bodily Form Of Descendants Of Immigrants (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 5, 72, 75; Degler, In Search of Human Nature, 63–64; Painter, A History of White People, 238. 56. Novick, That Noble Dream, 90; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 184; Ross, The Old World in the New, 72, 73–74; Barkan, From All Points, 257, 346. On the importance of ancient and medieval history in this discourse see, Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 9–24; Meyer Reinhold, Classica Americana: The Greek and Roman Heritage in the United States (Michigan: Wayne State University Press, 1984); Andrew F. West, F. F. Abbott, Edward Capps, Duane Reed Stuart, Donald Blyth Durham, and Theodore A Miller, eds., Value of the Classics (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1917); T.J. Jackson Lears, No Place of Grace: Antimodernism and the Transformation of American Culture, 1880–1920 (New York: Pantheon Books, 1981) 141–167. 57. Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 101; Quoted in Painter, The History of White People, 182; Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues, 157. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 139 Still influential at the end of the 19th century, the works of historian of the classics Edward Gibbons reinforced these ideas. The Gallic, Nordic, or Teutonic people surpassed Mediterranean people in vigour and manliness, partly because of their ability to thrive in frontier environments. These envi- ronments bred in them physical vitality and size. Living in the wilderness was directly linked to their bellicose nature. To various degrees, these warlike people resisted the decadence of the Roman metropolis and were better off for it: “the true mission of the Germanic peoples was to renovate and reorganize the western world. In the heart of the forest, amid the silences of unbroken plains … [they] re-infuse[d] life and vigor and the sanctions of a lofty morality into the effete and marrowless institutions of the Roman world.”58 Although he became famous for his ideas on the environment, George Perkin Marsh was inspired by ideas of race and nature. According to Marsh’s Man and Nature or, Physical Geography as Modified by Human Action, Roman decadence and weakness had caused the culture to become out of sync with the environment, leading to the fall of the Empire. In a similar vein, Ross wrote that some Slavic people were destroying American soil, leaving “Death’s-head in the landscape.” He argued that North Americans would have to pay for these mistakes just like “France paid for the reckless ax work that went on under the First Republic.”59 According to Marsh and Ross the ability to make land profitable in the long term was an inheritable racial trait. With a few exceptions, the logic of the time dictated that races whose ances- tral homeland was outside of Northwestern Europe had less ability to civilize wilderness, and thus less aptitude for citizenship. Immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe carried with them this presumed racial burden. As they inhabited the seat of metropolitan decay in ancient times, Italians attained effete racial characteristics. Russian and Romanian Jews, sometimes assumed to have Mongolian blood, sometimes Mediterranean, were always a bad racial type and thus bad pioneers. Lacking physical stamina and frugality, they were a city people by nature. Journalist Jacob Riis, author of the popular How the Other Half Lives, reported that “the great mass of them [Jews] are too gregari- ous to take kindly to farming, and their strong commercial instincts hamper” their ability to cultivate the land. According to Ross, “they came from cities and settled in cities…. No other physiques can so well withstand the toxins of urban congestion. Not one Hebrew family in a hundred is on the land.… They 58. Gilbert F. LaFreniere, The Decline of Nature: Environmental History and the Western Worldview (Bethesda: Academica Press, 2007), 55–56; Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” 260; Painter, The History of White People, 17–18; 27; Quoted in Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 34, 66, 68, 69. 59. Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 181; George P. Marsh, Man and Nature or, Physical Geography as Modified by Human Action (1864; Project Gutenberg, 2011) accessed 20 May 2015, http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37957, 6, 7, 49, 279; LaFreniere, The Decline of Nature, 55–57; Ross, The Old World in the New, 203. 140 / l abour/le tr avail 77 contrive to avoid hard muscular labor.”60 Ross observed that the second gen- eration improved, but suggested that “it will be long before they produce the stoical type who blithely fares forth into the wilderness, portaging his canoe, poling it against the current, wading in the torrents living on bacon and beans, and sleeping on the ground.” The comedy films Der Yiddisher Cowboy (1910) and Der Yidisher Kauboy (1911), mocked Jewish ineptitude on the frontier and popularized these stereotypes.61 US government reports and racial scientists agreed that perceived French Canadian racial deficiencies were caused by the evolution of French society in ancient and medieval Europe, though there was mixed opinion on their exact racial genealogy. It was assumed by some that the French were Celtic or Gallic people who shared the bellicose nature of other ancient frontier peoples. Dillingham’s Dictionary of Race along with a few other sources defined the French as Teutonic, or purely white. The Gauls and Celts, however, had given into the Roman conquest easier than German, Teutonic, Nordic, or Anglo- Saxon people, demonstrating their weakness. One visitor to the Acadians of Madawaska found they were clearly “distinct in tastes, habits and aspirations from the Anglo-Saxon race.” Still other racial thinkers saw the French as a bifurcated people, the peasant class comprised largely of Roman slave blood, while the aristocracy maintained Teutonic traits. This unstable genealogical position meant that French Canadians could not immediately be considered proper white citizens.62 American investigations into the active settling of wilderness land rein- forced the idea that immigrants of questionable whiteness were unfit to create civilization from wilderness. Collected under the direction of Vermont senator William P. Dillingham (R), The Federal Reports of the Immigration Commission of 1911 constituted a series of studies on American immigration that focused on industry and agriculture. Two volumes on “Recent Immigrants in Agriculture” explored how new immigrants took to “pioneer farming” or 60. Dillingham, et al., Dictionary of Races or Peoples, 74, 75; Ross, The Old World in the New, 145, 209, 289, 290; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 6, 174; Grant, The Conquest of a Continent, 227; Joseph Jacobs, Studies in Jewish Statistics, Social, Vital and Anthropometric (London: D. Nutt, 1891), 1v. 61. Ross, The Old World in the New, 209; Ava F. Kahn, “American West, New York Jewish,” and Ellen Eisenberg, “From Cooperative Farming to Urban Leadership,” in Kahn, ed., Jewish Life in the American West, 37, 117–118; Edward Paul Merwin, “In their Own Image: New York Jews in Jazz Age American Popular Culture,” PhD dissertation, City University of New York, 2002, 190–197. 62. Painter, The History of White People, 100–101; Watts, In This Remote Country, 9, 24; John Davidson, “The Growth of the French Canadian Race in America,” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 8 (1896): 20; Dillingham, et al., Dictionary of Races or Peoples, 28–31; Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 92–95; Painter, The History of White People, 232; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 45, 162; Edward H. Elwell, Aroostook: With Some Account of the Excursions Thither of the Editors of Maine, in the Years 1858 and 1878, and of the Colony of Swedes, Settled in the Town of New Sweden (Portland: Transcript Print, 1878), 26. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 141 the clearing and civilizing of wild land.63 The site of investigation was the wilderness of Northern Wisconsin, but according to the study, wild land was any land that was valueless until hard work rendered value from it. Wild land could be swamp, sand, brush, cutover land, second growth, grassland, and any type of forest. They even referred to “wild lands” in New Jersey.64 The land in Wisconsin, however, like much of the forests of the Northeast, Pacific Northwest, and the Canadian Boreal Shield was a type of landscape that was imagined to have improved the Northern European races in early America. It also mimicked some of the features of the landscape of ancient Northern Europe.65 In a growing industrial economy, this type of land had two primary uses: lumber and other natural resources could be extracted from it and the land could be put into cultivation. This type of work was the first step in creating civilization and was only suited for the most fit races. “It is just such land as this … that hundreds of Germans, Scandinavians, Poles and Swiss have been buying, clearing and making good living on since the early [eighteen] nineties” the report found.66 The Dillingham studies found that immigrants of Southern Italian lineage were naturally ill equipped for this pioneer agriculture. They were urban “industrial workers” by nature and “ordinarily the city-bred immigrant does not make a good pioneer farmer.”67 Italians proved to be better pioneer farmers than Jewish settlers, however. One local Wisconsin man commented after watching the Jewish workers that “No 63. The authors of the studies on agriculture exposed their racial bias in the abstract, writing that they selected for study only those “races … which we are accustomed to consider inclined to industrial rather than to agricultural pursuits.” They included only those “races which come from southern or eastern Europe, and the Japanese.” Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” 258; Dillingham, et al., Abstracts of Reports of the Immigration Commission, 543; Zeidel, Immigrants, Progressives, and Exclusion Politics. 64. Dillingham, et al., Abstracts of Reports of the Immigration Commission, 595; Dillingham et al, Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 2, 555, 96, 212. 65. Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” 259–260; Novick, That Noble Dream, 87; Herbert Baxter Adams, The Germanic Origin of New England Towns (Baltimore: N. Murray, publication agent, Johns Hopkins University, 1882), 33. 66. Poles inhabited a space in the racial hierarchy that was similar to the Canadian French. Their whiteness was questionable, but they exhibited many white racial characteristics. Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 2, 145,175,190, 213, 265, 346, 262; Roediger, Working Toward Whiteness, 44; Ross, The Old World in the New, 120; Painter, The History of White People, 289; Dillingham, et al., Dictionary of Races or Peoples, 104. 67. Jacob Riis, How the Other Half Lives: Studies Among the Tenements of New York (1889; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1890), 48; Dillingham, et al., Abstracts of Reports of the Immigration Commission, 565, 574; Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 1, 41–42, 399, 431; Ross, The Old World in the New, 97, 102; There was, however, “[a] sharp cleavage” between Northern and Southern Italians, proving how specific the racial sciences had become. Dillingham, et al., Dictionary of Races or Peoples, 82; Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 169; Cohen, “Nativism and Western Myth,” 31. 142 / l abour/le tr avail 77 one could handle or sharpen an ax or a saw, or milk a cow, care for stock or conduct any sort of farming operations.… ‘Ask one to dig a post hole and he would likely dig a well.’” Ross stated the prevailing attitude bluntly: “the Hebrews are the polar opposite of our pioneer breed.”68 French Canadians were not included in these Dillingham studies because their history in the New World proved that they excelled at many aspects of improving wilderness land, yet this did not mean their whiteness was unques- tioned. The French Canadians were perceived to have white people’s physical aptitude and ability in the woods, but were lacking in the third crucial element required to bring civilization to the land: an independent inclination. The col- lection of essays edited by James George Aylwin Creighton, French Canadian Life and Character: With Historical and Descriptive Sketches (1899), demon- strates the common conception of French Canadian workers at the time: “[the] Canadian experiences developed in the old French stock new qualities, good and bad, the good predominating … such men needed only a leader [emphasis added] who understood them to go anywhere into the untrodden depths of the New World, and to do anything that man could do.” The shortcomings of the French Canadians and Southern Italians in the realm of independence was attributed to their Catholicism, adherence to which was now a sign of racial inferiority. To Creighton, the French Canadian was “a genuine survival of the Old Regime … smoke-dried into perpetual preservation” and their devo- tion to religion was likewise outdated.69 Gerald Morgan argued in the pages of The North American Review in 1917 that the will of the French Canadian people was the same as the will of their priests who had it in their best inter- est to keep the laity ignorant, isolated, and bound to tradition. The result, according to Morgan, was the “stoppage of national progress.” Convinced by the French Canadian image, Americans and British Canadians alike depicted these people’s agriculture as backwards. Conveying both the French Canadian inability to properly render profit from the land and their racial inferiority, popular author on race Madison Grant wrote they were “a poor and ignorant 68. There were a few exceptions, the report noted, and these exceptional Jewish settlers were able to clear a “large quantity of timber.” Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 2, 93, 143, 146–147; Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 108–109; Ross, The Old World in the New, 145, 289. 69. George Monroe Grant, ed. French Canadian Life and Character; With Historical and Descriptive Sketches of the Scenery and Life in Québec, Montreal, Ottawa, and Surrounding Country (Chicago: A. Belford, 1899), 73. Catholic French Canadians supposedly brought to the new world a Norman predisposition to tyranny and absolutism. Northern Europeans were depicted as the “purest Protestants” and thus the most free-thinking, free-acting, and capable people. According to Turner, Scotch-Irish were also great frontiersmen because they were not Catholic Celts, but Saxon Protestants. Barkan, From All Points: America’s Immigrant West, 185; Watts, In This Remote Country, 9; Mood and Turner, “An Unfamiliar Essay,” 393, 397; Ross, The Old World in the New, 13, 71, 82; Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” 28, 206; Watts, In This Remote Country, 3; Grant, ed., French Canadian Life and Character, 12; Craig and Dagenais, The Land in Between, 298, 327–337; Elwell, Aroostook, 25. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 143 community of little more importance to the world at large than are the Negroes in the South.”70 The French proved they could clear wilderness land, but, like “Negroes” they could never truly bring high civilization to it. In 1904 one northern New York newspaper published an article on logging in the region proclaiming “these French-Canadian inhabitants of the woods are half-wild folk.” This article encapsulated the prevailing attitudes on the French Canadian race at the time. The common belief was that First Nations made the wild their home and they had no desire to civilize it. This had made them wild and savage. French Canadians had an affinity for wild land like First Nations but they also had an affinity towards clearing it. If left on their own, however, their racial weaknesses meant they were forever stuck in the process of civilizing the wilderness. Given the fact that they were also seen to have mixed their blood with First Nations people, it is easy to understand how they were understood to be in between white/civilized (or civilizing), and savage (non-white)/wild. Therefore they were “half-wild folks.”71 By the 1950s the explicit racial thinking of the first two decades of the 20th century had been almost completely abandoned.72 Stereotypes of immi- grants remained, but they were explained using different analytical methods. Mid-20th century “Chicago School” anthropologists and sociologists created narratives of the French Canadian transition into modernity that reinforced all the characteristics of the French Canadian image. Even with their fixa- tion on data and ethnographic observation, these experts were not able to evade reifying commonly held beliefs. Anthropologists Robert Redfield and Horace Miner argued that French Canadian peasants, or habitants, were primitive people. They were not land owners like American farmers; instead they worked on behalf of another, and the full product of their labour was not their own. They had an affinity with nature that most modern people did not possess because they worked so closely with it daily. For habitants, the sea- sonal cycles of life and in agro-forestry repeat year after year, generation after generation, with little change unless change was brought from the outside. Sociologist Everett C. Hughes wrote in his French Canada in Transition (1943) 70. Gerald Morgan, “The French Canadian Problem: From an American Standpoint,” The North American Review 205, 734 (1917): 77–80; Grant, The Passing of the Great Race, 81; Outka, Race and Nature, 3. 71. According to Jacobson it was part of the imperative of imperial nations to see foreign people as “wilderness in human form.” Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues, 111; “Lumbering Operations in the Adirondacks,” The Watertown Re-Union (Watertown, NY) 9 March 1914; Jocelyn Thorpe, Temagami’s Tangled Wild: Race, Gender, and the Making of Canadian Nature (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2012), 15; Nast, Wilderness and the American Mind, 260; Colin Fisher, “Race and US Environmental History,” in Sackman, ed., A Companion to American Environmental History; Outka, Race and Nature, 33. 72. The Holocaust and a retrospective understanding of America’s eugenic policies towards African Americans had proven the dangers of these ideologies. English, Unnatural Selections, 177, 182; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 95–96, 98–99. 144 / l abour/le tr avail 77 that the small French Canadian farmers were “bound by sentiment, tradition, and kinship to the … countryside.” According to Hughes, when the French did industrialize it was because of British Canadian or American catalysts not because of their own ability.73 As depicted in Savard’s Menaud Maître- draveur, the natural transition for these peasant lumberers in an increasingly industrial world was work in commercial logging interests. The French Canadian image made these workers specific targets for labour agents in the lumber hubs of the Northeast. Immigrant workers were often dependent on these middle men to find work in American camps. The Foran Act of 1885 banned immigration of contract labourers but the Immigration Act of 1917 allowed “skilled workers” to be imported if there was no native labour available to do the work. Under the 1917 act immigrant workers were subject to an eight to ten dollar head tax, a charge that was often factored into the labour agents’ fees.74 Workers who took the jobs from labour agents often accumulated debt of around $30–$35 from fees, transportation, and advances. If they spent liberally at the wangan, or camp store, they might accumulate $40 or $50 of debt to different parties. With wages between $25 and $30 a month some indebted workers needed to work nearly 2 months before they were even and the logging season was only between 4 and 6 months long.75 Once in camp, there is evidence that French Canadians were subject to very harsh treatment. Tough bosses in wilderness camps pushed foreigners hard and dis- ciplined them severely, hoping to weed out unfit workers. A boss in charge of a lumber operation in St. Lawrence County, New York shot and killed a French Canadian worker in 1908 after a disagreement about camp food.76 This type of 73. Robert Redfield, Peasant Society and Culture: An Anthropological Approach to Civilization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1956), 25–29. 116, 144; Horace Miner, St. Denis: A French-Canadian Parish (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), 20, 158–159; Brigitte Lane, “Three Major Witnesses of Franco-American Folklore in New England,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 416; Everett C. Hughes, French Canada in Transition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1943), 2; Marlene Shore, The Science of Social Redemption: McGill, the Chicago School, and the Origins of Social Research in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1987), 253–260. 74. Fred Alliston Gilbert Papers, “F.A. Glibert to G. Schenck, 20 December 1925,” box 7, Correspondence, 1924–1925 Special Collections, Raymond H. Fogler Library, University of Maine; Meigs, The Santa Clara Lumber Company, 113–114. 75. Farm Labor National Agricultural Statistics Service, United States Department of Agriculture, Agriculture Marketing Service, 12 January 1940, accessed, 31 March 2015, http:// usda.mannlib.cornell.edu/MannUsda/viewDocumentInfo.do?documentID=1063; William F. Fox, A History of the Lumber Industry in the State of New York (Washington, DC: US Dept. of Agriculture, Bureau of Forestry, 1902); Meigs, Santa Clara Lumber Company, 56; Flanagan, “Industrial Conditions in the Maine Woods,” 219, 223–226; Paul H. Douglas, Real Wages in the United States, 1890–1926 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1930) 41, 130, 177; James H. Blodgett, Wages of Farm Labor in the United States: Results of Twelve Statistical Investigations, 1866– 1902 (Washington, DC: US Dept. of Agriculture, Bureau of Statistics, 1903), 14. 76. Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 163; Robert E. Pike, Tall Trees, Tough Men (New York: “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 145 rough treatment may have even led to the famous French Canadian “jumping” disease, a type of post-traumatic stress disorder reported among immigrant workers in a few Northeastern camps. 77 Rough treatment was one of the many reasons why some workers jumped camp and returned to Québec without working off their debt, a practice that became known as taking the “French Leave” or “jumping the line.”78 In 1907 the Maine legislator followed the lead of Minnesota and Michigan and enacted a statue which allowed authorities to arrest loggers and river drivers who did not pay off advances. If found guilty of “intent to defraud” they faced up to 30 days of jail or a $10 fine even though most debts did not exceed $10 or $20. Many rural justices either did not understand, or willingly misinterpreted, the “intent to defraud” provision and punished any worker caught with outstand- ing debt who left camp, even those with legitimate reasons for leaving. The threat of punishment pressured many workers to continue to work and few cases ever made it into the courts. When workers were arrested “in nine cases out of ten the men are made to go back to work” according to one labour agent. A rural justice in Maine admitted that he would wait for debtors to get drunk in mill towns and when they were arrested for some related offense he would check to see if they had any unpaid debt with an operator. If so the justice forced the man to work off both the state fine and the debt in camp. Labour advocate John Clifton Elder studied debt peonage around 1907 and he testified that “the Labor Law of Maine … make virtual slaves of the labouring classes.”79 W.W. Norton, 1967) 57; Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 163; White, The Blazed Trail, 218–219; Wyckoff, The Workers, 236; “Telephones After Murder” Chateaugay Record and Franklin County Democrat, 5 June 1908, Page 6, Image 6, Northern New York Library Network, accessed 31 March 2015, http://nyshistoricnewspapers.org/lccn/sn87070301/1908-06-05/ed-1/seq-6/. 77. Robert Howard and Rodney Ford, “From the Jumping Frenchmen of Maine to Posttraumatic Stress Disorder: the Startle Response in Neuropsychiatry,” Psychological Medicine 22 (1992): 700, 702; George Beard, “Remarks upon ‘Jumpers or Jumping Frenchmen,’” The Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases 5 (1878): 526; Marie‐Hélène Sainte-Hilaire, Jean‐ Marc Sainte-Hilaire, and Luc Granger, “Jumping Frenchmen of Maine,” Neurology 36 (1986): 1269–1271; George M. Beard, “Experiments with the ‘Jumpers’ or ‘Jumping Frenchmen’ of Maine,” Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease 7 (1880): 487–490. 78. John F. Flanagan, “Industrial Conditions in the Maine Woods,” First Biennial Report of the Department of Labor and Industry (Waterville: Sentinel Publishing: 1912), 209, 224; Victor Bushey (b. 1900) interview by Sue Dauphinee, 1970, p. 719069, transcript, llc, mfc. 79. John Clifton Elder, “Peonage in Maine (A Manuscript Report sent to the Attorney General of the United States),” 28 March 1910, RG 60, Department of Justice file 50-34-0, 13-21, pg. 5–7, 10, 15, 16–17, 20, 21, National Archives, Washington, D.C.; “Does peonage Exist in the Maine Lumber camps?” Paper Trade Journal, (November 1915): 16; Robert J. Steinfeld, Coercion, Contract, and Free Labor in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 279; Flanagan, “Industrial Conditions in the Maine Woods,” 225; “May Repel Law Protecting Lumbermen,” Paper: A Weekly Technical Journal for Paper and Pulp Mills 20 (New York: Paper, 1910); “Is it a Feats or a Famine?: Symposium by High and Low Authorities on the Epicurean Delights of Maine Logging Camps – Forestry Student Refutes Vile Slanders,” Bangor Daily News, 8 March 1910. 146 / l abour/le tr avail 77 The shacking system of lumber production that was documented in the 1950s likely evolved from the system of debt bondage described above.80 Between 1951 and 1955 an average of 5,920 French Canadian workers were “bonded” to logging companies throughout New York, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine, though some years there were more than 7,000.81 In Maine during these years the pulpwood cutting force was on average 78.4 per cent French Canadian and a portion of these were shackers. The shacking system mimicked the way that French Canadian habitants were thought to have lived in Québec. An employee of Maine’s Great Northern Paper Company described it thusly: A shacker is a man, usually with a family, and one or two relatives who will move onto company land, build himself a shack to live in, cut pulp through the cutting season and haul it to the designated hauling point … Usually the whole family, regardless of age, works with the father in the woods. The children rarely attend school … The shacker invariably is semi-literate.… If a contract can be drawn that will make these shackers independent con- tractors we will be able to relieve ourselves of a great deal of responsibility and will be able to produce wood much cheaper.…82 The French Canadian image from Thoreau to Miner inspired this labour exploitation, but the image did not reflect any innate characteristics of French Canadians. Instead the image was a reflection of the shallow understand- ing that many people in the US had of the political, economic, and religious history of Québec. Historian Bruno Ramirez found in his comparative study of immigration in Canada that “clearing forest land in Québec required work techniques and an endurance that not all prospective settlers were willing to endure.” Thus Italians, Jews, and even many French Canadian and Northern European settlers failed at civilizing wild land simply because of the “physical and mental difficulty it entailed.” In Québec, frontier colonization efforts led by clergy, lumber companies, and the Canadian government put many French Canadian families in a position that disallowed economic or educational advancement. It was just these types of small pioneer farmers who tended to migrate to the US, bringing with them pioneering skills. Approximately 62 per cent of French Canadian textile workers in New England had been farmers or farm labourers before coming to the US.83 Many French Canadians were not able to own land right away so their “supreme resource, as a release from … poverty … was to take to the ax …” It is also possible that the perpetuation of 80. On the various types of debt bondage see Félix Albert, Immigrant Odyssey: A French- Canadian Habitant in New England-a Bilingual Edition of Histoire D’un Enfant Pauvre, (Orono: University of Maine Press, 1991), 68–69, 95–97. 81. Parenteau, “Bonded Labor,” 113. 82. On the standard of living of peasants see Glickman, A Living Wage, 82–84; Quoted in Parenteau, “Bonded Labor,” 115. 83. Bruno Ramirez, On the Move: French-Canadian and Italian Migrants in the North Atlantic Economy, 1860–1914 (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1991), 77–79; Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 95; Vicero, “Immigration Of French Canadians To New England,” 214. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 147 the French Canadian image within this immigrant community created what social psychologists call “stereotype lift,” whereby exposure to positive ste- reotypes causes “an elevation in their self-efficacy or sense of personal worth [and] performance.” Whatever caused the French Canadian affinity for logging work, the contradiction in depicting French Canadians as a primitive peasant class is glaring, since moving to American lumber camps proved their adapt- ability toward modernization and progress at a time of economic trouble in their home country.84 It is important to note, however, that the racial discourse on whiteness, wil- derness, and work was not as strong a factor in deciding where immigrants would work as was the iron law of supply and demand. Most immigrants coming to the US, regardless of their race, settled in factory towns and cities. By 1900 French Canadians made up 50 per cent or more of the entire popu- lation of Southbridge and Spenser Massachusetts; Biddeford, Lewiston and Old Town, Maine; Woonsocket, Rhode Island; Danielson, Connecticut and Suncook, New Hampshire.85 It was estimated that only 10 per cent of all the French Canadians in New England lived in rural areas and as few as one per cent of workers went into “forest work” (there are problems with this latter figure, however).86 A majority of French factory workers were immigrants. While the lumber industry had the second highest percentage of French Canadians as a portion of the workers employed in 1900, the brick and tile making industries had an even larger number – more than 50 per cent.87 84. Albert, Immigrant Odyssey, 34–37, 40, 56; Richard William Judd and Patricia A. Judd, Aroostook: A Century of Logging in Northern Maine (Orono: University of Maine Press, 1988), 194–195; Ramirez and Otis, Crossing the 49th Parallel, 5, 8, 63; 11–12, 16; Vicero, “Immigration Of French Canadians To New England,” 70, 197–198; J.I. Little, Nationalism, Capitalism and Colonization in Nineteenth-Century Quebec: The Upper St. Francis District (Kingston and Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1989), 7, 16, 31–35, 47, xii–xiii; J.I. Little, Crofters and Habitants: Settler Society, Economy, and Culture in a Quebec Township, 1848–1881 (Kingston and Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1991), 149, 154; Brault, The French- Canadian Heritage, 34, 158; Ramirez, On the Move, 47; Gregory M. Walton and Geoffrey L. Cohen, “Stereotype Lift,” Journal of Experimental Social Psychology 39, 5 (2003): 456–467; Margaret Shih, Todd L. Pittinsky, and Amy Trahan, “Domain-specific Effects of Stereotypes on Performance,” Self and Identity 5, 1 (2006): 1–14. 85. Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England,” 119, 121; Hornsby, Judd, and Hermann, Historical Atlas of Maine, plate 42; Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 54–55. 86. These figures are drawn from Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England.” The nature of logging in eastern North America make precise employment figures in the lumber camps difficult to surmise. Logging was inseparable from the agricultural sector, it was seasonal work, most workers took up other jobs when they were not logging, and loggers rarely self-identified as such. By combining figures from several categories of work in Vicero’s study which were closely allied with logging (agriculture, forest workers, pulp and paper, saw and planing mills, general labour, teamsters, railroad and street railway workers, and other occupations) we see the figures could have been as great as 31 per cent. Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England,” 298. 87. Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England,” 347. 148 / l abour/le tr avail 77 In urban areas another French Canadian image developed which reflected the type of work found there. It was assumed that the French habitants who moved to cities were a simple people who would work for below subsistence wages. Their strong nationalism, and adherence to traditional culture, lan- guage, and religion worried Protestant New Englanders. In cities like Lewiston, Maine and Woonsocket, Rhode Island immigrants were able to virtually reconstruct the social, religious, and political order of Québec in immigrant enclaves. The la survivance movement made many New Englanders worried that the Québécois had no desire to assimilate or nationalize and were only present for quick monetary gains.88 In 1891 the state of Maine passed a consti- tutional amendment targeting French Canadians by disallowing anyone who could not “read the constitution in the English language, or write his name” from voting or holding office.89 As in rural logging areas, the French Canadian adherence to Catholicism seemed to prove they had a greater devotion to the tenets of their religion then to the tenets of Republicanism. Finding Irish Catholic churches disagreeable, the first thing that many French Canadian settlers did when they came to New England was build their own churches. By 1900 there were at least 82 parishes in the region. Some French immigrants were comfortable settling political and workplace problems within the Church, giving the Québécois a reputation as an insular and clannish people. The rise of the second Ku Klux Klan in the US in the 1920s was a time of rampant anti-Catholicism and anti-Semitism. During this period French Canadian workers were publicly intimidated by members of the Klan in two different cities in Maine because of their adher- ence to Catholicism.90 As obedient female Catholics the Québécois factory workers were seen as a people who followed orders well and respected authority. “They are industrious in the extreme” one employer wrote and they “do not grumble about pay, are docile, and have nothing to do with the labour agitations.” Their large family size, and their need to send their children into the factories young worried 88. Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 67; Roby, The Franco-Americans of New England, 58–59, 66–67; Gerstle, Working-Class Americanism, 27; Michael J. Guignard, “The Franco- Americans of Biddeford Maine,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 128. 89. The law was on the books until 1982–83. Rebecca Dirnfeld, “Research Note: Maine ‘Jim Crow’? The Forgotten Maine Constitutional Amendment of 1891,” in Nelson Madore and Barry H. Rodrigue, eds., Voyages: A Maine Franco-American Reader (Gardiner: Tilbury House, 2007), 370. 90. Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 68–69; Gerstle, Working-Class Americanism, 35–37; Mark Paul Richard, “This Is Not a Catholic Nation’: The Ku Klux Klan Confronts Franco-Americans in Maine,” New England Quarterly 82, 2 (2009): 296–297; Philip T. Silvia, Jr., “Neighbors from the North: French-Canadian Immigrants vs. Trade Unionism in Fall River, Massachusetts” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 145; David H. Bennett, The Party of Fear: From Nativist Movements to the New Right in American History (New York: Vintage Books, 1995), 223–225. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 149 Progressive reformers but were a boon to factory owners.91 A representative of a Fall River company testified in a Massachusetts Bureau of Statistics of Labor (mbsl) report that he sought these workers out because “they are not so apt to rebel as others … They are quiet; they don’t raise much disturbance around the factory village.” Through the leadership of their priest, Rev. Pierre J.B. Bedard, French Canadians in Massachusetts became strikebreaker during the Fall River strike of 1879, perpetuating the idea that they were an anti-labour group.92 These distorted views of French Canadian immigrants in factory towns led the mbsl to famously condemn them as “the Chinese of the Eastern States” in an 1881 report. Comparing the Chinese with French Canadians conveyed the perceived chasm between native white Americans and Québécois immigrants and shows how pervasive the hierarchies of whiteness were at the time. Almost immediately after the report was issued coalitions of Franco Americans from Cohoes, Fall River, Lewiston, Manchester, Nashua, Woonsocket, and Worcester publicly refuted these claims in a meeting, the views of which were published as The Canadian French in New England. They hoped to distance themselves from undesirable immigrants.93 The “Chinese of the Eastern States” comments shows that the rhetoric on whiteness, wilderness, and work in the logging woods was not the only way that French Canadian immigrants were defined in America. Images of immigrants were adaptable and worked symbiotically with specific industries. The images also reflected the gender of the workers in different industries, as most factory workers were women and all loggers were men. The image of the French as “half- wild” was supported in rural industries and it was used to help fill isolated work camps with a racially desirable type of labour. This image ensured that all the industrial niches of this vast heterogeneous economy would be filled efficiently. Conclusion Ideas about wilderness, whiteness, and work evolved out of a long process of immigrant image formation which began in the 1840s as Americans strug- gled to comprehend different European immigrants. After 1893, Americans meshed their ideas about race with an industrializing economy, a disappeared frontier, and a large population of exotic immigrants. Bolstered by evidence from history, sociology, and anthropology, characters from literature like 91. Quoted in Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England,” 119; Guignard, “The Franco-Americans of Biddeford Maine,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 137; Gerstle, Working-Class Americanism, 23; Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 62–63; Roby, The Franco-Americans of New England, 65. 92. Massachusetts Bureau of Statistics of Labor, Thirteenth Annual Report (Boston: Wright & Potter Printing, State Printers, 1882), 64; Gerstle, Working-Class Americanism, 22–23, 37; Guignard, “The Franco-Americans of Biddeford Maine,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 153. 93. Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 68. 150 / l abour/le tr avail 77 Alex Therien or London’s Francois and Perrault came to represent categories of workers in the minds of many American businessmen. The racial world- views that formed made the rapidly changing world of modern America more digestible for many “white” Americans. Under the dictates of this racial logic almost every group of immigrants had a unique place in this new industrial economy, and native white peoples’ standard of living was ensured. The objec- tives of government and business officials were not strictly nativist, however. In creating these immigrant images they were attempting to fit different types of workers into industries where they would be economically efficient and most likely to succeed. From this vantage point it is clear that the chronology of American immigration is not characterized by successive dips into “irra- tional” nativist thinking, as some historians have argued, but instead there was a consistent goal of advancing the American economy by whatever means necessary. Applying “common sense” racial science to immigration and indus- trial policies simply helped improve the economy. Nativism was not at odds with capitalism because the desire for a “white republic” was synonymous with a desire for an economically robust republic. By 1950s systematic racism had been a part of American political and economic thought for more than a century so its effects on immigrants remained even as the explicit discussion on racial whiteness began to disappear. The French Canadian image, with its “unshakable demonstrations … of … ethnological truth,” made the label of savage/wild hard to dislodge, and the exploitation of French Canadians in the woods remained a problem into the 1970s.94 I would like to thank the Maxwell School at Syracuse University and the Forest History Society for their generous support of my research on logging and French Canadian immigration. None of this research would have been possible without initial funding from the New England Regional Fellowship Consortium. I would also like to thank all the librarians and archivists who helped me locate and access material as well as my colleague Philip D. Erenrich at Syracuse University for his help and advice. 94. Zolberg, A Nation by Design, 3, 7; Cannato, American Passage, 9; Ngai, Impossible Subjects, 165. Jacobson’s assertion in Whiteness of a Different Color that “Economics alone … cannot explain why this government was made on the ‘white basis’” needs to be reexamined because it is clear that the economic imperatives shaped immigration policy and even ideas of race. Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 18–19; Michael Hillard and Jonathan Goldstein, “Cutting off the Canadians: Nativism and the Fate of the Maine Woodman’s Association, 1970–1981” Labor: Studies in the Working Class History of the Americas 5, 3 (2008): 67–89; William C. Osborn, The Paper Plantation: Ralph Nader’s Study Group Report on the Pulp and Paper Industry in Maine (New York: Grossman Publishers, 1974), 159–163.
work_fuyis3jtf5cgpm2k6fw4x2bzra ---- 1 Accepted author manuscript version reprinted, by permission, from Sociology of Sport Journal, 2018, 35 (4): 386-393, https://doi.org/10.1123/ssj.2017-0033. © 2018 Human Kinetics, Inc. Ricky and Stick Icky: Marijuana, Sport, and the Legibility/Illegibility of Black Masculinity Nikolas Dickerson University of Lincoln Dept. of Sport and Exercise Science, University of Lincoln, Lincoln, United Kingdom. Address author correspondence to Nikolas Dickerson at ndickerson@lincoln.ac.uk. In November of 2016, California, Maine, Massachusetts and Nevada legalized recreational marijuana, while Arkansas, Florida, Montana, and North Dakota passed legislation to allow for the medicinal use of marijuana. As of July 2017, 37 states and the District of Columbia having legislation that allows for the medicinal or recreational use of marijuana. Coinciding with the increasing legalization of marijuana, at both the recreational and medical level, 61% of Americans are now in favor of marijuana legalization (Ingraham, 2016). The changing attitudes towards the legalization of the plant and legalization of marijuana in certain states suggests that prohibition of marijuana may be coming to an end. At the same time, current attorney general, Jeff Sessions is currently advocating to repeal and outlaw legal marijuana. Thus, despite the growing challenges to marijuana prohibition there is still a large effort to keep the plant illegal. These tensions highlight the contradictory and complex narratives marijuana is engulfed in. 2 After all, in the United States, marijuana is legal for recreational use, legal for medicinal use, and a source of comedy in stoner films such as, Cheech and Chong: Up in Smoke, Half Baked, Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, but also illegal at the federal level in all 50 states. The hazy landscape of marijuana reform creates a context where marijuana use is legal for some but illegal for others, and this contradiction is clearly visible within racial disparities of arrest rates for marijuana. A 2013 American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) report documented, that while marijuana use among blacks and whites is relatively the same, blacks are almost four times as likely to be arrested for marijuana possession (http://www.aclu.org/files/assets/aclu- thewaronmarijuana-rel3.pdf). In Colorado, where marijuana is legal for recreational and medicinal use, the arrest rates for whites between the ages of 10-17 has fallen by almost 10 percent from 2012-2014, while the arrest rate for Latino and black teens has risen by 20 percent and 50 percent respectively (Markus, 2016). Thus, while the legalization of marijuana has opened space to conceptualize marijuana outside negative stereotypes, racial minorities are still suffering at a higher rate than white Americans when it comes to the enforcement of the prohibition of the plant. The inequities within the current enforcement of marijuana prohibition stem from drug policies that are designed to control groups that are situated as dangerous or a threat to general society (Betram et al., 1996). Regarding marijuana, the perceived need to safeguard society from marijuana users is embedded within discourses of race, gender, and nation. During the 1930s, the Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) used yellow journalism and propaganda films that drew on fears of the racialized body by depicting black and Mexican marijuana users as violent, criminal, and hyper-sexual to build support for marijuana prohibition (Provine, 2007). White middle-class women were also situated within these narratives to further highlight the danger of marijuana and http://www.aclu.org/files/assets/aclu-thewaronmarijuana-rel3.pdf http://www.aclu.org/files/assets/aclu-thewaronmarijuana-rel3.pdf 3 the racialized other. Anti-marijuana propaganda characterized white women as innocent individuals who were susceptible to marijuana pushers, and once under the influence of the plant, these women could easily violate norms of sexual respectability by having sex with men of color (Boyd, 2008). More specifically, these potential acts of sexual deviance were mapped onto nationalistic and racialized discourses about the superiority of the white race, and white women birthing mixed race babies threatened these narratives (Boyd, 2008). The construction of these early anti- marijuana narratives relied on dehumanizing representations of racial minorities and women. Black bodies were portrayed as either a threat to the social order or to the purity of the white race through sexual transgressions with white women. These narrow constructions of marijuana users would expand during the 1960s. White marijuana users were depicted as young individuals who were good people that engaged in a minor transgression by smoking marijuana in popular culture (Himmelstein, 1983). Such depictions, coincided with the changing of a marijuana possession charge from a felony to a misdemeanor (Gerber, 2004). The shift in meanings of the marijuana user-as well as the changes in criminal policy-symbolizes the humanity granted to white marijuana users, a fate that was not granted to racial minorities. In 2017, there is still a discrepancy regarding which bodies can use marijuana that is heavily influenced by relations of power. To explore the shifting and contradictory narratives of marijuana in the US, I draw on the experiences of former National Football League (NFL) player Ricky Williams. Birrell & McDonald (2000) argue that critical analysis of narratives surrounding athletes offers unique points of access to the construction of meaning and power relations within larger society (see also McDonald & Birrell, 1999). Thus, Williams is the entry point to larger discourses of race and masculinity within sport and general society. While, many professional 4 athletes have used or tested positive for marijuana (Michael Phelps, Tim Lincecum, Randy Moss, Joakim Noah, Ross Rebagliati, among many others) Williams has been referred to as “America’s most infamous stoner athlete” (Bishop, 2016, p. 50). In part, this description is connected to the popular belief that he retired in 2004, during the prime of his career, to travel the world and smoke pot (Stoda, 2006; Wilbon, 2005). Right before training camp, Williams was suspended for testing positive for marijuana. Williams then decided to retire and spend time traveling through Asia and Australia, which only perpetuated the belief he was more interested in pot than football. Williams returned to the NFL in 2005, and was subsequently suspended for marijuana use again in 2006 and 2007. Williams’s marijuana use, retirement, and return to the NFL in 2006 resulted in several complex and contradictory narratives within the sport media, and it is these diverse range of discourses that make him a pertinent point of exploration. For example, by retiring early, Williams was situated within narratives that framed him as selfish (Attner, 2004; Stoda, 2006), and a quitter (Bohls, 2008; Kaufman, 2004). The fact that his early retirement was preceded by a positive marijuana test also helped perpetuate these negative constructions of Williams, as he became the “Bob Marley of football” (Saraceno, 2005), someone that just wanted to travel and smoke (Wilbon, 2005), and a bad role-model because of his pot use (O’Neil, 2004). Some journalists downplayed the seriousness of Williams’s marijuana use, noting marijuana use was not as serious as the use of steroids (Wyld, 2007), marijuana use was banal in general (Radawanski, 2006), and Williams’s marijuana use paled in comparison to violent criminal activity (Myers, 2007). Additionally, Williams’s own discussion of his marijuana use and retirement offer another way to understand these acts: “I didn’t quit football because I failed a drug test. I failed a drug test because I was ready to quit football” (Myers, 2004, p. 102). 5 Ricky Williams is thus ensnared within several competing discourses about marijuana use and sport. More so, these narratives about Williams cannot be separated from larger understandings of race and gender, much like contemporary marijuana policies in the United States. As of July 2017, 29 states and the District of Columbia have legalized medical marijuana, while eight states and the District of Columbia have legalized recreational use of marijuana. Yet, marijuana is still illegal at the federal level, and it is racial minorities who suffer the most from this prohibition, as they are arrested almost four times more than whites-despite no greater use (Nadelman, 2010). Thus, Williams is situated as a repository of important narratives of black masculinity in relation to sport, marijuana, and the policing of black bodies. To make sense of the variety of meanings produced concerning William’s marijuana use, I draw on several forms of media. The analysis of Williams’s marijuana use and retirement includes the printed press coverage of these incidents, and the documentaries Run Ricky Run (2010, and A football life: Ricky Williams (2014). I read Williams’s marijuana use as a “text”, to gain insight into the racialized and gendered understandings of marijuana use in the NFL and larger society (Birrell & McDonald, 2000; McDonald & Birrell, 1999). I argue that narratives that countered the framing of Williams’s marijuana use as selfish failed to gain traction within the sport media due to the illegibility of these performances of black masculinity. In other words, the narrow representations of black masculinity within popular culture rendered the more complicated identity of Williams unrecognizable (Neal, 2013). Thus, such illegibility lead to the discursive construction of Williams as a stereotypical selfish black athlete overshadowing more radical discourses of black masculinity. Illegible and Legible Blackness 6 Mark Anthony Neal (2013) uses the term legible black masculinity to refer to easily recognizable performances of black men in popular culture such as, the criminal/thug or individuals that have fully assimilated to white middle-class cultural norms (The Bill Cosby Show). These conceptualizations of black masculinity become legible through their constant reproduction within popular culture. Within sport, the most legible forms of black masculinity are the good black (assimilated to white cultural norms) and the bad black (criminal, egotistical, individualistic) (Wilson, 1997). These representations provide relief to US citizens as they either reaffirm that black bodies should be policed and surveyed, or present a black body that is safe for consumption as it has been stripped of any dangerous signs of blackness (Neal, 2013). Maintenance of these limited versions of black masculinity work to sustain the racial hierarchy while also dehumanizing the black body. While there are several scholars that examine the larger issues of race and understandings of being human (see Spillers, 1997; Weheliye, 2014), I use the term dehumanizing to refer to representations of black masculinity that do not account for the complexities and emotional experiences of black men. The limiting and dehumanizing constructions of legible black masculinities are perpetuated through color-blind ideology. Color-blind ideology is a modern form of racism that uses non-racial dynamics to explain racial inequalities (Bonilla-Silva, 2010). Color-blind ideology divorces racial inequality from historical and contemporary racist practices, and instead uses racialized beliefs such as African Americans are criminal or lazy to explain racial inequity. Legible forms of black masculinity help sustain this power structure, as successful blacks can be used as an example that systematic racism no longer exists, and that issues of race no longer matter. At the same time, the criminal black is used to justify the surveillance of black bodies and racist practices such as, the prison industrial complex (Neal, 7 2013). In an era, where overt forms of racial discrimination are not as acceptable as in previous eras, legible forms of black masculinity are one way in which systematic forms of racial discrimination are kept intact. In relation to the use of illegal drugs, mediated representations of this behavior have primarily depicted racial minorities as dangerous drug users that pose a threat to the moral order of society (Boyd, 2002). These representations cannot be separated from the ways in which the prohibition of illegal drugs such as marijuana are enforced. Members of poor urban neighborhoods are surveyed at a higher rate than those who live in the suburbs because of differences in how drug deals are arranged in these two areas (Alexander, 2010). In the suburbs or on college campuses, drug deals often happen between friends in private homes or apartments, while in the inner city they often happen on the street (Provine, 2007). This exposure of course makes it easier to police the inner city, and makes this area and the people who inhabit it, the ones who suffer the most from the War on Drugs (Betram et al. 1996). These racialized and classed discrepancies are also reinforced through actual legislation. The legible black body is consistently used to justify the policing, surveillance, and the incarceration of black men (Neal, 2013). Contemporary policing practices and policies such as stop and frisk make it legal for police officers to stop and search anyone on the street in search of drugs and weapons (Alexander, 2010). Most people do not know they legally have the right to refuse these searches and the absence of this knowledge helps to perpetuate more drug arrests. Furthermore, as Michelle Alexander (2010) argues minority bodies, particularly the bodies of black men, have come to connote criminality, and hence are more often the subject of these random stops and frisks. The perceived innate link between the black body and criminality is also reproduced through representational practices within the sport media. 8 Philip Cunningham (2009) argues that overrepresentation of black male professional athletes that have committed high profile crimes such as the dog-fighting ring funded by Michael Vick, the nightclub gun fight of Adam “Pacman” Jones, and other such activity has led to the infusion of the black athlete and the criminal. More specifically, the overrepresentation of black athletes as criminals has rendered the two synonymous within the public imagination. The disproportionate attention given to black athletes who have committed crimes, in relation to white athletes who have committed similar acts, only exacerbates the connection between the black body and criminality (Ferber, 2007). This representation of the black male body has deep historical roots. Historical representations of black men as violent, criminal, and hypersexual have been used to justify dehumanizing and disciplining practices such as slavery, police brutality, and mass incarceration (Collins, 2004). However, representations of the marijuana using athlete tend to focus on attributes of morality, as opposed to physical violence. Jonothan Lewis & Jennifer Proffitt’s (2012) “Bong hits and water bottles: An analysis of news coverage of athletes and marijuana use” is a rare piece that examines media coverage of both white and black athlete’s marijuana usage. They found that the printed press tended to downplay the marijuana use of white athletes (Ex. Michael Phelps) and use these athletes’ transgressions as an opportunity to discuss the irrationality of marijuana laws. However, the press’s discussion of the marijuana use of black athletes (Ex. Michael Vick) was often used as an opportunity to vindicate a pattern of negative behavior, and the ineffectiveness of marijuana legislation was omitted. On a similar note, David Leonard (2017) argues, that black athletes such as Williams, are represented as selfish players who lack self-control or discipline in their inability to refrain from smoking pot, while the use of marijuana by white athletes in mostly white sports like snowboarding is often celebrated and normalized. Thus, press coverage of the 9 marijuana using black athlete has worked to constitute and preserve the criminal and selfish label as a legible form of black masculinity. Kyle Kusz (2007) argues the selflessness and morality of white athlete such as Pat Tillman is sustained through the constant juxtaposition with black athletes that are labeled as selfish and attention seeking (see also Andrews 1996b; Cunningham, 2009; Ferber, 2007). The framing of black athletes as selfish and attention seeking often emerges from these athletes challenging the status quo. Black athletes like Allen Iverson that are not subservient and seen as challenging the status quo within sport are often labeled as disrespectful and in need of civilizing (Ferber, 2007). In this manner, the body of the criminal black athlete and selfish black athlete are connected. Both are a threat to violate the social order and therefore need to be disciplined and controlled (Leonard & King, 2011). The overrepresentation of black athletes as selfish works to sustain beliefs that the black athlete is immoral compared to their white counter-parts, but this racialization process is obscured because it is explained through non-racial dynamics (Bonilla-Silva, 2010). For these myths to be sustained, there needs to be the concept of the good black to be juxtaposed against the criminalized black body. The commodification process is a central site for the representation of the good black. The commodification of black athletes such as Tiger Woods or Michael Jordan help to reinforce color-blind ideology, as these athletes become symbolic of a post-racial America where success is possible through hard work (Ferber, 2007). Hence, both forms of legible black masculinities, the criminal and the assimilated black, are needed to sustain current racial ideology. Representations of the black criminal athlete sustains beliefs that the black body should be feared and surveyed, while the assimilated and sub- servient black is used as proof that racial barriers no longer exist if individuals adopt proper 10 values (Neal, 2013). At the same time, even though the commodified black athlete is used as a sign of racial progress, this athlete is still often reduced to their body. Gamel Abdel-Shehid (2005) argues that as the black body becomes increasingly relied upon to sell products it becomes more difficult to understand the black body outside of the attributes it is asked to sell such as, power, strength, sex, and speed. Therefore, whether the black body is labeled as criminal or selfish or used to sell products, discourses of fear, envy, and desire surrounding what the black body can do become the familiar tropes of black masculinity. Ricky Williams presents a conundrum as he is situated within contradictory discourses of the good black, bad black, as well as a person who cannot be defined. Bryant Keith Alexander (2006) argues that without the proper cultural toolboxes we are unable to make sense of unfamiliar cultural groups (see also Andrews, 1996b). Therefore, the repeated discursive constructions of black masculinity within a narrow dichotomy does not give those that are unfamiliar with the African American experience the toolbox to understand someone like Williams whose attributes are situated across numerous discourses. By re-reading the narratives surrounding Williams’s retirement and marijuana use this project seeks to demonstrate how normalized discourses of race and masculinity are constructed (Abdel-Shehid, 2005; McDonald, 2002; Oates, 2014), while also opening a larger discursive space regarding what it means to perform black masculinity (Neal, 2013). Methods Susan Birrell and Mary McDonald (2000) argue that reading a sport celebrity or athletic event like a “text” offers a unique point of access into understanding relations of power within our larger social world. This approach to critically examining sport relies on an analysis of narrative. Texts such as film, newspapers, and television are ideologically coded and therefore 11 work to construct discourses about race, gender, the nation, and sexuality (McDonald & Birrell, 1999). In this analysis, I focus on the ways both issues of race and gender inform the various narratives of Ricky Williams. As Birrell & McDonald (2000) argue this is necessary because lines of power do not work independently of each other and therefore must be understood through the complex way race, gender, sexuality, etc. work together. Newspaper articles and documentaries were examined in this study to gather insight into how race and gender informed the narratives of Williams. The databases Google, Lexis Nexis, and Sport Discus were used to search for articles between 2004-2012. These three databases were chosen to gather a substantial and variety of printed press accounts of Williams’s marijuana use and retirement. Given the high-profile status of Williams, and his abrupt retirement, it was likely that these events would get a lot of press coverage. Thus, Lexis Nexis was used to gather newspaper sources, while Google and Sport Discuss were used to gather articles from other printed press sources such as, Sports Illustrated and The Sporting News. Each database was searched via key words such as, Ricky Williams & Marijuana use, Ricky Williams and pot, and Ricky Williams retirement. Only articles that discussed Williams’s marijuana use, suspensions, or retirement were included. Articles that simply reported that Williams had been suspend or retired were excluded from analysis, as they just reported this information and did not make attempts to make sense of the events. In total, 55 articles met the previously mentioned criteria. The timeline of this analysis is from 2004-2014. The year 2004 is the starting point for this project because it coincides with Williams first retirement and publicized marijuana use. Williams retired in 2012, but the extended timeline allows for the inclusion of ESPN’s 30 for 30 documentary, Run Ricky Run, and NFL films A football life: Ricky Williams. The inclusion of these documentaries allowed for an intertextual examination of Williams’s marijuana use. The 12 texts in question are all interrelated, and their meaning is produced through the ways they interact and reference each other. As a result, the inclusion of these end-of-career documentaries help gather an understanding of Williams’s public biography, as they help create meaning about Williams through their interactions with other texts about the former player (Birrell, 2007). Run Ricky Run, was released on April 27, 2010 and was directed by Sean Pamphilon and Royce Toni. The film was aired on ESPN and was a part of a series of documentaries made to celebrate the 30th anniversary of ESPN, while shedding light on important sport stories that had been forgotten (Vogan, 2012). This film was released during Ricky Williams second to last season in the NFL and three years after his one-year suspension from the NFL. A football life is an episodic documentary series where each episode focuses on the life of one player, coach, or owner. The episode featuring Ricky Williams was part of the fourth season. Both documentaries cover his multiple suspensions, marijuana use, and discuss his yoga practices and holistic healing training. In both the printed press articles and the documentaries my analysis focuses on what was emphasized, obscured, and left out of the larger narratives of Williams’s marijuana use and retirement. Williams’s marijuana use and retirement is analyzed to uncover the ideological consequences of the varying narratives of these events. Larger societal understandings of race and gender were used to analyze these competing narratives (Birrell & McDonald, 2000). Williams’s performance of black masculinity was illegible to most sport journalists, as Williams was repeatedly characterized as strange and abnormal for a football player. Williams’s illegible black masculinity, functioned as a catalyst for the re-articulation of more legible forms of black masculinity. Specifically, sports journalists often used Williams’s marijuana use and retirement 13 to label him as selfish and ungrateful, as opposed to exploring more complicated understandings of these events. The Strangeness of Ricky Williams Williams’s marijuana use and retirement oscillate between an array of complex and often competing discourses of race and masculinity (Andrews, 1996). On one hand, his marijuana use and retirement are thought to be the epitome of selfishness (Attner, 2004; Bohls, 2008; Wood, 2005), while other journalists dismiss his marijuana use as a minor transgression compared to steroids and criminal violence (Myers, 2007; Wyld, 2007), and Williams presents a narrative of a player struggling mentally and physically who then uses a positive marijuana test to help him step away from the game of football (Pamphilon & Toni, 2010). The dominant narrative about Williams tends to focus on the perceived selfishness of his actions. However, this legible form of black masculinity relies on other narratives that situate Williams as someone who cannot be defined. For instance, in 1999, before the start of his rookie season, Ricky Williams and his coach, Mike Ditka, posed for the cover of ESPN the Magazine. This cover depicted them as bride and groom with Williams in a wedding dress and Ditka in a tuxedo. This cover photograph is often used as a reference point signifying the illegibility of Williams. For example, Dan Daly (2004) of The Washington Times states, After the Williams-Ditka nuptials, it hardly seemed strange at all that Ricky would conduct postgame interviews with his helmet on. Nor was it the least bit surprising when he tested positive for marijuana. The guy had to be on something, right? (p. C01) 14 This short quote exemplifies the difficulties the mainstream press had in trying to make sense of Williams. In this case, it is Williams’ violation of masculine norms by wearing a wedding dress that is subsequently used to explain other “odd” behavior. Marijuana is also used as explanation of why a male football player would pose in a wedding dress and other behavior that falls outside of the norm. Yet, while the Williams and Ditka nuptials are marked as unusual, in many ways it is symbolic of traditional assumptions about black and white men in sport. The black male body has been continuously constructed as violent, animalistic, and hypersexual to justify control, regulation, and surveillance of the black body (Collins, 2004). Consequently, the untamed black body is constituted as in need of discipline. In the world of sport, it is often the white male coach that has symbolically served as the figure to rule over the undisciplined black male, and it is through the acceptance and embracement of this role that the black male athlete is accepted and seen as non-threatening (Ferber, 2007). Thus, when he poses as the bride, Williams is submitting to control of the white male authority figure by occupying the subservient role of the bride in traditional norms of gender and heterosexuality. Thereby the photo works to symbolically reinforce his subservient role in racial hierarchy of professional sport and society in general. Ricky Williams’s strangeness is marked by journalist through his performances of gender. “Ricky’s personality is the furthest thing you’d expect from a football player. He’s more like a writer, a poet” (Colbourn, 2006, p. C04). Williams is also more like a “bohemian” (Silver et al., 2004), or Henry David Thoreau (Wilstein, 2004). Additionally, the documentary A football life: Ricky Williams draws on this connection by opening the film with a shot of Williams in front of a statute of the artist, Rembrandt. These characterizations discursively construct 15 Williams outside of the boundaries of hegemonic masculinity, as they emphasize emotion and the cerebral instead of physicality. More so, these attributes situate Williams beyond the borders of legible black masculinity, as they do not reduce Williams to the physical outputs of his body. Rather, labels such as, bohemian, writer, artist, or poet connote understandings of intellect, whiteness, and emotional sensitivity. More so, descriptions such as, bohemian or Henry David Thoreau also signify anti-establishment political viewpoints, a stance that is often demonized within sport, particularly for black athletes (Collins, 2004). Hence, these narratives that place Williams outside legible understandings of black masculinity help perpetuate characterizations such as, Williams is “someone who cannot be defined” (Fitzgerald, 2006, p. B9), quirky (Weisman, 2004), and an enigma (Kernan, 2004). When Williams is labeled as an enigma or someone that cannot be defined, this discursive practice redraws the boundaries of legible black masculinities. There is no attempt to use descriptors such as bohemian or poet to expand notions of black masculinity. Instead, these labels are used as evidence that Williams falls outside the boundary of black masculinity and hence verifying the binary of legible black masculinity. Constructing the bad black Williams’s illegibility is perpetuated by markers of gender that emphasize sensitivity and intellect situating him outside the boundaries of dominant discourse of black masculinity. Williams’s illegible blackness, combined with his marijuana use and early retirement, create a context for the reproduction of narratives of legible black masculinity. Williams becomes the bad black through the positioning of his marijuana use and retirement as selfish acts. For example, Paul Attner (2004) states 16 he has always been one of the most selfish, unpredictable, purposely bizarre and more than slightly off-kilter athletes of recent times-a man who doesn’t think or act conventionally or care for one mini-second how his behavior and decision might affect anyone around him (p. 44) In the case of this critique, Attner (2004) is unable to see Williams as an individual who has certain needs and the right to make his own decisions. Instead, more importance is placed on how Williams’ decision to retire would impact his teammates and the larger Dolphins organization (see also Bell, 2004; Bohls, 2008; Woods, 2005). This thread is picked up when Williams attempted to return to the NFL. Randy Rorrer (2005) of the Dayton Beach News Journal argues, that Williams was a quitter and couldn’t be trusted. Greg Stoda (2006), of The Palm Beach Post, states Williams “doesn't care about anybody except Ricky Williams” and it is because of this selfish attitude that “Williams is exactly what the Dolphins don’t need” (p. 1C). These discourses fail to engage with any discussion of why retirement might be good for Williams, and instead focus on the perceived violation of team dynamics and thus selfish actions Williams participated in by walking away from the game. Williams discussed his early retirement in, A Football Life, mentioning that he began to see his own mortality due to the abuse his body was taking playing in the NFL (NFL Films, 2014). Furthermore, Williams later revealed his ambivalence toward his football career stating “If I was excited about playing, I wouldn’t have been smoking dope” (Crouse, 2004, p. 1B). Williams adds to this narrative in a later segment in A Football life. He admits to wanting to retire before the 2003 season, but says, “he chose against himself and decided to keep 17 playing”. He also admits to not being that invested in the NFL. Williams frames his decision of going onto the NFL not as a goal, dream, or something that he was heavily invested in, but rather as just something you do after winning the Heisman trophy (NFL Films, 2014). In this instance, Williams offers some insight into how legible and illegible forms of black masculinity may impact black men. The inability of Williams to envision anything else to do with his life besides play professional football hints at the limited framework black men may have of what is possible in their lives. In fact, bell hooks (2004) argues that the predominance of limited and negative stereotypes that circulate about black men over determines the identities that black men can create for themselves. Williams’s own narratives about becoming indifferent to football but not knowing what to do with himself are indicative of the illegibility of more complex representations of black masculinity. Yet, the dominant racial and gendered discourses of the NFL do not leave room for understandings of black men that may become indifferent to being successful at the sport of football. Instead, given the white working class culture within the NFL that asks players to suppress their individualism and sacrifice their bodies for the collective (Andrews, Mower, & Silk, 2011) combined with the disproportionate demonization of acts by black players that are perceived to be individualistic (Cunningham, 2009), Williams is easily situated as the bad black. Greg Cote (2007) of the Miami Herald, discussing Williams on National Public Radio (NPR), sums this up by stating He’s a man who has a lot going on in his life and sometimes manages to fit football in. And that’s what people in football sort of can’t fathom, is the idea that this guy is not as 18 passionate about their beloved sport as they want him to be (quoted in Chadwick, 2007, ¶ 3). The legible scripts of black masculinity objectify black men and strip them of their agency and humanity. Therefore, as this quote highlights, it is difficult for the public and the sport media to comprehend a black male athlete engaging in acts to heal the body and mind, as opposed to harming their body and mind through the violent sport of football. More so, black athletes that are believed to violate the norms of sport to do things in their own way are routinely vilified (Lorenz & Murray, 2011). Thus, to make sense of Williams, his decision to retire, is often transformed into to an act of selfishness. Without more complex scripts that account for the emotional complexity and humanity of black men, Williams’s more complex emotional needs and interests are rendered illegible. Williams decision to retire is further simplified through discussions of his marijuana use. For instance, in response to a former teammate of Williams contemplating Williams potential to go crazy, Greg Colbourn (2006) states “Williams did, mailing himself overseas and walking away from the NFL and millions of dollars. He preferred to regularly smoke marijuana like his hero, Bob Marley, and to search for the other side of himself” (p. C04). In this quote, Williams is marked as abnormal and his marijuana smoking is highlighted as a behavior that is synonymous with an irrational state of mind. In the previous quote, Bob Marley is also reduced to a marijuana smoker, as opposed to a musician, political figure, and Rastafarian. The connection between Bob Marley and Ricky Williams is also illustrated through the following: “Ricky Williams, whose pot history is positively Marleyesque” (Perkins, 2005, p. E01) or Jon Saraceno (2005) calls Ricky Williams the “Bob Marley of football” (p.6C). In these one-liners, Bob Marley becomes a signifier of 19 marijuana use and is reduced to one legible characteristic. These descriptions do not allow for any nuanced understandings of his marijuana usage, which when connected to Williams discounts the potential to understand Williams’s usage of the plant outside of self-indulgence. For instance, Williams had a prescription for medical marijuana for his social anxiety issues, which he reported as being more effective than prescription drugs (Bennett, 2013). However, the inability to link Williams’s marijuana use to anything other than self-indulgence then becomes another way to discursively construct him as the bad black. Making the illegible, legible While playing with the Toronto Argonauts, Williams was asked what he would do if he knew a teammate was using drugs, and his response offers a counter-narrative to his own treatment by the media: I’m a guy who truly believes in to each his own. I smoked for a couple of years, but I wouldn’t necessarily tell someone to smoke because it’s obviously illegal and it’s a drug. But if a teammate came up to me, I wouldn’t berate him, yell at him or tell him he’s a bad person. The problem is we always tell people what to do and not look at why they do it (Naylor, 2006, p.S.1) There are a small number of journalists that attempt to empathize with Williams’s decision making and praise his willingness to apologize to teammates and fans for the consequences of his early retirement (see Cote, 2008; Kernan, 2005; Maskke, 2004; Wilbon, 2005). Nonetheless, none of these articles engage with a narrative that presents marijuana use as something other than self-indulgence. The ability to look past the act of marijuana smoking to answer the larger question of why does a person choose to use pot is incredibly relevant to the contemporary NFL. Former 20 NFL players, such as Jamal Anderson, have estimated that during his playing days 40-50% of the league smoked, and Anderson believes about 60% of the league smokes marijuana currently (Freeman, 2015). Additionally, both current and former players are beginning to advocate for the use of marijuana to deal with chronic pain and concussions, because of its effectiveness over traditional painkillers (Bryant, 2013). For example, former NFL players such as Jim McMahon, Scott Fujita, and Brendan Ayanbadejo are advocating for the use of medical marijuana for players (O’Keeefe, 2016), while current player Eugene Monroe of the Baltimore Ravens recently donated $80,000 towards medical research investigating the impact of medical marijuana on football players (Wood, 2016). Yet, to move forward with this, the players of the NFL would have to be understood as more than people who want to get high. In other words, understandings of what it means to be marijuana user would have to be expanded for any sport league to accept the use of medical marijuana by their players. Waddington (2000) argues it is the illegality of recreational drugs such as marijuana, as well as fears about public sentiment that are the driving forces of sport organizations like the International Olympic Committee (IOC) banning the substance (see also Wenner, 1994). Issues regarding the representation of marijuana users becomes even more complicated with leagues like the NFL, given the racial make-up of the league. As, the problem of recreational drug use within sport is predominantly framed through the black body (King et al., 2014). However, more expansive narratives of black marijuana users are hindered by the dichotomy that exists between recreational drug use and sport. CL Cole (1996) discusses the ways the popular press represents sport and gangs as oppositional entities competing for the souls of African American youth. She argues that the problem of gangs is made to matter through the constant juxtaposition with sport whereby there 21 is a perceived inverse relationship. This relationship is framed through the perceived struggles for character and morality by black youth in the inner-city, and sport and gangs represent opposite ends of this battle for morality (Cole, 1996). Sport and recreational drug use, specifically marijuana can be thought of in a similar manner. Sport historically has been constructed as a site to build a sense of morality and counter the ills of society (Dyerson, 1998), while marijuana has often been constructed within prohibition circles as a substance that causes the user to slip into passive fantasy world (Himmelstein, 1983). Thus, while sport is meant to make the individual a healthy productive member of society, marijuana use makes the user passive and unproductive. The perceived inverse relationship between recreational drug use and sport hinders the ability to understand the marijuana using athlete in a nuanced manner. This is particularly true for black athletes that use marijuana, as they tend to be framed in a negative manner compared to their white-counter parts (Lewis & Proffit, 2012; Leonard, 2017). The limited framing of the black marijuana using athlete combined with narrow construction of the black male athlete in general, create a context where it is difficult to imagine alternative forms of black masculinity. The case of Ricky Williams helps to illustrate this larger point, as dominant discourses of Williams’s marijuana use as selfish reinforces the sport/pot dichotomy, and highlight how the use of marijuana by the black body create a space for the reinforcement for legible black masculinities. Yet, Williams’s illegible performances of black masculinity offer a way forward. When presented with narratives of Williams that associate him with art, yoga, and disinterest in performing on the football field he represents a complexity that cannot be explained through the dominant representations of black men. Thus, while the use of marijuana by black athletes 22 creates a context that is likely to perpetuate narratives of legible black masculinity, a critical analysis of these discourses creates a space for the articulation of more nuanced understandings of black men. Ben Carrington (2010) argues that when black athletes themselves begin to critique forms of hyper-masculinity, they begin the work of forming less damaging forms of black masculinity (see also hooks, 2004). More so, the rejection of the white construction of the black athlete allows for a recovery of humanity that is denied through white patriarchal standards for black men. Revisiting some of the more marginalized narratives of Williams opens space for this type of work. For example, during his first retirement Williams moved to California to study the holistic form of healing called Ayurveda. In Run Ricky Run, Williams mentions that after he moved to California, he lost interest in money and houses, and then says, “It hit me that I don’t need money” (Pamphilon & Toni, 2010). More so, in A football life: Ricky Williams, Williams discusses that his idea of success is based on gaining new knowledge and experiences, as opposed to racking up football stats (NFL Films, 2014). Williams’s critique of the solitary pursuit of economic and athletic fame opens a space for alternative conceptions of what it means to be a black athlete. Placing emphasis on narratives such as this provide an opportunity to widen understandings of black masculinity, while also breaking links in the public imagination between the black body and anti-blackness (Neal, 2013). Williams’s discussion of his yoga practice is another example of how alternative discourses of black masculinity can be used to displace negative understandings of blackness. Per Williams, yoga helped him grow as a person and find balance in his life (Lefko, 2006), and it helped him learn how to relax without the help of marijuana (NFL Film, 2014). Additionally, 23 through his experiences in becoming a yoga instructor Williams believes he concluded that his gift is to help people heal (Pamphilon & Toni, 2010). Injecting these marginalized narratives into larger understandings of Williams help refute many of the damaging constructions of the black male athlete. The narratives of self-improvement, emotional management, and the assisting others disrupt discourses of the black athlete as animalistic, bound to physiological impulses, and selfish (Carrington, 2010). Thus, these marginalized narratives offer potential to open new and wider possibilities of what it means to be a black athlete and a black athlete that uses marijuana. The most legible form of black masculinity, the black criminal, is produced and reproduced to sustain the racial hierarchies of the US (Neal, 2013). Therefore, the belief that the black body is criminal helps perpetuate the disproportionate policing of the black body in the enforcement of marijuana prohibition. Currently, black men are arrested at higher rates than whites despite no greater use (ACLU, 2013). 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(2006, May 29) An athlete with a poet’s personality. Toronto Star. Cole, C. L. (1996). American Jordan: PLAY, consensus, and punishment. Sociology of Sport Journal, 13(4), 366-397. 28 Collins, P. (2004) Black sexual politics: African Americans, gender, and the new racism. New York, NY: Routledge Cote, G. (2008 August 1) Redemption; Ricky Williams has returned hoping to clear his name and restore his football legacy. The Miami Herald, B12 Crouse, K. (2004 November 10) Ricky accepts being players’ scapegoat. Palm Beach Post, 1B Cunningham, P. (2009) “Please don’t fine me again!!!!!”: Black athletic defiance in the NBA and NFL. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 33 (1), 39-58 Daly, D. (2004, July 27) ‘Truth’ about Ricky is pretty strange. The Washington Times. C01 Dyerson, M (1998) Making the American team: Sport, culture, and the Olympic experience. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press Ferber, A. (2007) The construction of black masculinity: White supremacy now and then. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 31, 11-24 Fitz-Gerald, S. (2006 May 30) See Ricky run: No matter where Williams’ rambling ways take he running back, controversy has never been far behind. National Post (Toronto Edition), B9 29 Fitz-Gerald, S. (2006 November 3) Fun and games: Outside of a smaller paycheque, the CFL was a perfect detour for Williams. National Post (Toronto Edition), S1 Frank, V. (2015 July 3) Recent suspensions show just out of touch NFL’s marijuana policy is. Forbes. Retrieved from http://www.forbes.com/sites/vincentfrank/2015/07/03/recent suspension-shows-just-how-out-of-touch-nfls-marijuana-policy-is/#30b4bb083260 Freeman, M. (2015 June 30) Banned, but bountiful: Marijuana coveted by NFL players as invaluable pain killer. Bleacher Report. Retrieved from http://bleacherreport.com/articles/2486218-banned-but-bountiful-marijuana-coveted-by nfl-players-as-invaluable-painkiller Gerber, R. (2004) Legalizing marijuana: Drug policy reform and prohibition politics. Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers Giambrone, A. (2014 December 1) Will congress let DC legalize pot? The Atlantic. Retrieved on January 28 from https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2014/12/will-congress-let washington-dc-legalize-weed/383276/ Himmelstein, J. (1983) The strange career of marijuana: Politics and ideology of drug control in America. Westport: CT, Greenwood Press. hooks, b. (2004) We real cool: Black men and masculinity. New York, NY: Routledge http://www.forbes.com/sites/vincentfrank/2015/07/03/recent http://www.forbes.com/sites/vincentfrank/2015/07/03/recent http://bleacherreport.com/articles/2486218-banned-but-bountiful-marijuana-coveted-by http://bleacherreport.com/articles/2486218-banned-but-bountiful-marijuana-coveted-by https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2014/12/will-congress-let https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2014/12/will-congress-let 30 Hyde, D. (2012 February 12) What’s next?: Ricky Williams’ world without football full of possibilities. Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, C2 Ingraham, C. (2016 March 25) Support for marijuana legalization has hit an all-time high. The Washington Post. Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2016/03/25/support-for-marijuana legalization-has-hit-an-all-time-high/ Johnson, G. (2006 September 23) The Ricky experience: Argos running back is one different kind of cat. The Calgary Herald, D1 Kaufman, I. (2004 November 28) Ricky Williams isn’t worth the risk. The Tampa Tribune, 11 Kernan, S. (2005 July 30) Give Williams the benefit of the doubt. Daytona Beach News-Journal, 2D King, S., Carey, R., Jinnah, N., Millington, R., Phillpson, A., Prouse, C., & Ventesca, M. (2014) When is a drug not a drug? Troubling silences and unsettling painkillers in the National Football League. Sociology of Sport Journal, 31, 24-266 King-White, R. (2010) Danny Almonte: Discursive Construction(s) of (Im)migrant Citizenship in Neoliberal America. Sociology of Sport Journal, 27, 178-199 Kusz, K. (2007) From NASCAR nation to Pat Tillman: Notes on sport and the politics of white cultural nationalism in post 9/11 America. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 31, 77-88 https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2016/03/25/support-for-marijuana https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2016/03/25/support-for-marijuana 31 Le Batard, D. (2004, July 30) Dolphins’ Williams chooses pot over NFL. The Miami Herald. Lefko, P. (2006 May 30) Sorry to be so abstract: The Williams interview part 2: Yoga, religion and marijuana. The Toronto Sun, S4 Leonard, D., & King, C. Richard (2011) Commodified and criminalized: New racism and African Americans in contemporary sport. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. Leonard, D. J. (2017). Playing While White: Privilege and Power on and off the Field. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press Lewis, J., & Proffitt, J. (2012) Bong hits and water bottles: An analysis of news coverage of athletes and marijuana use. Journal of Sports Media, 7, 1-21 Lorenz, S., & Murray, R. (2011) The Dennis Rodman of hockey: Ray Emery and the policing of blackness in the great white north. In D. Leonard & C.R. King (Eds) Commodified and Criminalized: New racism and African Americans in contemporary sports. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers Inc. Markus, B. (2016, June 29) As adults legally smoke pot in Colorado, more minority kids arrested for it. National Public Radio. Retrieved on August 20, 2016 from http://www.npr.org/2016/06/29/483954157/as-adults-legally-smoke-pot-in-colorado more-minority-kids-arrested-for-it http://www.npr.org/2016/06/29/483954157/as-adults-legally-smoke-pot-in-colorado http://www.npr.org/2016/06/29/483954157/as-adults-legally-smoke-pot-in-colorado 32 Mascaro, C. (2014, May 14) NFL to change drug policy regarding marijuana use. Sports Illustrated. Retrieved on June 1, 2016 from http://tracking.si.com/2014/05/13/nfl-drug-policy-change-regarding-marijuana/ Maske, M. (2004 July 27) Williams joins runners who walked away. Washington Post, D01 McDonald, M. G. (1996). Michael Jordan's Family Values: Marketing, Meaning, and Post Reagan America. Sociology of Sport Journal, 13(4). McDonald, M., & Birrell, S. (1999) Reading sport critically: A methodology for interrogating power. Sociology of Sport Journal, 16, 283-300 McDonald, M. (2002) Queering whiteness: The particular case of the Women’s National Basketball Association. Sociological Perspectives, 45, 379-396 McDonald, M. (2006) Beyond the pale: The whiteness of sport studies and queer scholarship. In J. Caudwell (Eds) Sport, sexualities, and queer/theory. New York, NY: Routledge Messner, M. (2007) Out of play: Critical essays on gender and sport. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press Myers, G. (2004, July 30) Ricky tells how career went to pot. New York Daily News. 33 Myers, D. (2007, April 10). NFL should reinstate Ricky Williams. La Crosse Tribune, Nadelman, E. (2010 December 27) Breaking the taboo. The Nation, 11-12 Naylor, D. (2006, May 30) Williams finds his karma: Running back lured to Toronto by chance to teach yoga for free. The Globe and Mail Neal, M. A. (2013) Looking for Leroy: illegible black masculinities. NYU Press NFL (2015) National Football League Policy and Program for Substance Abuse. Retrieved on April 15, 2016 from http://images.nflplayers.com/mediaResources/files/PDFs/PlayerDevelopment/201 0%20Drug%20Policy.pdf NFL Films (2014 October 31) A football life: Ricky Williams [Television Broadcast]. United States: NFL Films Oates, T. (2014) Failure is not an option: Sport documentary and the politics of redemption. Journal of Sport History, Summer 2014, 401-409 O’Keefe, M. (2004 October 10) The search for truth: Esquire scribe’s big adventure with Ricky Williams. New York Daily News, 88 http://images.nflplayers.com/mediaResources/files/PDFs/PlayerDevelopment/201 http://images.nflplayers.com/mediaResources/files/PDFs/PlayerDevelopment/201 34 O’Keefe, M. (2016 June 18) Jim McMahon, other NFL veterans push for marijuana as painkiller. New York Daily News, Retrieved on February 10, 2017 from http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/football/jim-mcmahon-nfl-veterans-push-marijuana- painkiller-article-1.2679087 O’Neil, D. (2004 August 8) A toke isn’t just a token thing. St Louis Dispatch, D02 Pamphilon, S., Toni. R. (Directors). (2010) Run Ricky Run [DVD]. United States: ESPN Perkins, D. (2005, April 23) NFL drug pitch a scam. The Toronto Star. Provine, D. (2007) Unequal under law: Race in the War on Drugs. Chicago: University of Chicago Press Radwanski, A. (2006, May 12) Playing the hypocrisy game. The National Post. Retrieved on May 16, 2016 from www.lexisnexis.com Rorrer, R. (2005 July 30) Underneath it all, has Ricky really changed? Once a quitter, always a quitter. Ricky Williams abruptly left the Miami Dolphins a year ago, sending the team into turmoil. A year later he’s back at camp, but how should he be received by his teammates? Daytona Beach News-Journal, 2D Saraceno, J. (2005, August 22) Catch the buzz on NFL pot scene. USA Today. ttp://www.nydailynews.com/sports/football/jim-m http://www.lexisnexis.com/ 35 Silver, M., Bechtel, M., Cannella, S. (2004 August 2) He’s going to Rickyland. Sports Illustrated, 101 (4), p. 23 Spillers, H. J. (1987). Mama's baby, papa's maybe: An American grammar book. diacritics, 17(2), 65-81. Stoda, G. (2006 April 26) Suspended; Dolphins must quit habit of forgiving and forget. Palm Beach Post, 1C The Province (2004 November 23) Retired RB studying to be a healer: From holes in the line to holistic medicine. The Vancouver Province, A52 Vogan, T. (2014) Keepers of the flame: NFL films and the rise of sport media. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press Waddington, I. (2000) Sport, health and drugs: A critical sociological perspective. London: Routledge Weheliye, A. G. (2014). Habeas viscus: Racializing assemblages, biopolitics, and Black feminist theories of the human. Duke University Press. Weisman, L. (2004 July 26) Finally free, Dolphins tailback retires. USA Today, 01C Wenner, L. (1994) Drugs, sport, and media influence: Can media inspire constructive attitudinal 36 change? Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 18, 282-292 Wenner, L. A. (1995). The good, the bad and the ugly: race, sport and the public eye. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 19(3), 227-231. Wilbon, M. (2005 July 7) Iconoclastic backs leading parallel lives. The Washington Post, E01 Wilson, B. (1997) Good Blacks and Bad Blacks: Media construction of African-American athletes in Canadian basketball. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 32, 177 189 Wilstein, S. (2004 July 27) What makes Ricky run?: Former Dolphin is searching for a truth that doesn’t include football. The Vancouver Sun, E3 Wood, S. (2005 July 26) Dolphins greet Williams’ return with caution. USA Today, 03C. Wood, S. (2016 May 14) NFL tackle donates $80K to Penn for marijuana research. Philadelphia Inquirer. Retrieved on February 5th, 2017 from http://www.philly.com/philly/health/20160514_NFL_tackle_donates__80k_to_Penn_for_ marijuana_research_on_players.html Wyld, A. (2007, October 1) Reefer madness in NFL’s drug rules. San Francisco Chronicle. Retrieved on May 15, 2016 from www.ebscohost.com http://www.philly.com/philly/health/20160514_NFL_tackle_donates__80k_to_Penn_for_ http://www.ebscohost.com/
work_fx5uxzymanccrk3hrv2gdb26pu ---- 537 Craig Howley is the coauthor of 15 books and book chapters and more than 40 peer-reviewed research articles. Journal for the Education of the Gifted. Vol. 32, No. 4, 2009, pp. 537–564. Copyright ©2009 Prufrock Press Inc., http://www.prufrock.com the Meaning of Rural Difference for Bright Rednecks Craig B. Howley Ohio University, ACCLAIM Research Initiative this essay considers the intellectual engagement of rural people in the context of their schooling. it argues that rural schooling shares the miseducative purposes common to american schooling in general (i.e., purposes associated with sustaining american global economic dominion). it frames rurally appropriate education as an on-the- ground pursuit of rural alternatives in american life, alternatives explained as the engagement of rural ways of being, living, and knowing—alternatives that only a small minority of rural schools currently embraces. the essay applies the insights it develops about intellectual engagement in rural life to school provisions for academi- cally able rural students. Because gifted students demonstrate a high degree of aca- demic aptitude, the recommendations concern engagement with formal literatures about rural ways of being, living, and knowing. introduction This essay treats the meaning of rural difference for bright rednecks. My use of the epithet is ironic, but it forces readers to confront the fact that the related bigotry remains socially acceptable. The issue for gifted education is whether or not bright rednecks can develop intellect. By rednecks, of course, the essay does not refer to the children of rural and small-town elites, but to the children of the rural work- ing class. If diversity is difference and if the opposite of diversity is exclusion,1 then the rural working class harbors a realm of meaning- ful difference largely excluded from considerations of diversity, and from considerations of racism and hatred in America. Of course, a key issue for cosmopolitan and metropolitan Americans is whether Journal for the Education of the Gifted538 or not ordinary rural people (i.e., rednecks) are more racist than cosmopolitans and metropolitans. This judgment, however, is not a problem treated in this essay because racism operates everywhere in America, and whether the city or the country is more racist is not just debatable but pointless. This essay is instead concerned to treat the intellectual engage- ment of rural people in the context of an on-the-ground pursuit of a rural alternative in American life. This is the problem because schooling has largely withdrawn, or been withdrawn, from this proj- ect, and it is a withdrawal that runs from kindergarten through doc- toral instruction. The essay sets these rural issues of diversity in the context of racism, corporate authority over the purposes of schooling and curriculum, and the significance (the meaningfulness) of rural ways of being, living, and knowing. The narrative that follows, however, asks the reader to await the middle of the discussion to hear what rural is because the definition is best given after some examples and some unpacking of the important ideas.2 The entire article concludes, moreover, with a specific example of rural studies conducted with rural students in a unique doctoral program in mathematics education, and it suggests ways that lessons from that experience seem applicable in rural K–12 schooling con- cerned to engage the intellectual development of academically able rural students. Three propositions ground the considerations of this essay. First, some rural children exhibit prodigious facility with the academic part of their schooling. Second, this schooling strangely continues to miseducate these children along with the rest. Third, this miseduca- tion takes peculiar and largely unappreciated forms in rural places. Although doubting the mission of rural schooling, this framework informs a critique that still prizes education.3 On the matters to be considered here, this essay is less troubled about the fate of these rural children as individuals, and far more troubled about the fate of the rural communities to which these children belong. “Belonging” figures here because it often seems that, with schooling, the state or the nation asserts a primary claim to children; more distressing still is the more recent assertion that children belong to the global economy. This function of removing The Meaning of Rural Difference 539 rural children from rural places via rural schooling , though, has a very long history. Rural schools have long been understood as a talent-extraction industry (e.g., Corbett, 2007; DeYoung, 1995; Theobald, 1997), as part of the saga of American industrialization and urbanization. The saga means that rural communities have been places that the ambi- tious, modernist individuals have, for a hundred years, learned to leave. The belongingness of rural children to their families and com- munities is of little consequence to the institution of schooling, but it is of immeasurable consequence to their education—and to the futures of rural communities. the pity of “Diversity” Being “different” has practical implications for schooling and for educators not because of simple and honest difference, which is surely interesting and educative, but because of the imputations of inferiority associated with someone else’s perception of difference. The great advantage of cultural relativism, as a gift of anthropolog y, is that it has permitted some part of the populace to distance itself from 19th and 20th century certainties about the world-wide virtues of white-ish skin color and being English. As the appearance of the epithet redneck in this essay perhaps shows readers, this intellectual advantage seems not to benefit rural people and cultures. Why not? Most rural people (82%) are White (U.S. Department of Agriculture, 2005), and, according to one rural observer (Bageant, 2007), this fact is apparently confusing to the 80% of Americans who live in metropolitan areas, where social problems are so often associated with the politics of race.4 A worse confusion, however, is that the devotion of schooling to industrial culture, not to say “bour- geois” culture, remains strong nearly everywhere. Indeed, most of the maneuvering around the concept of diversity seeks to assimilate (include) people with darker skins in(to) the existing bourgeois cul- ture of schooling. For centuries, rural people and rural communities have served as the standard of backwardness for the entire industrial- izing world (DeYoung, 1995; Goad, 1997; Herzog & Pittman, 1995). To smug inhabitants of the cosmopolitan mainstream, this history Journal for the Education of the Gifted540 makes it seem wasteful to engage intellectual matters among ordi- nary rural people (aka rednecks). Once rural is understood in this way—that is, as yet another allegation of inadequate variation from an idealized Anglo standard that turns out, in the contemporary cir- cumstance, to be a suburban and professional norm—the need for the present consideration should also be understandable. In the case of Blacks, Hispanics, and American Indians, the misat- tribution of cultural and intellective incapacity has been persistently linked (ludicrously linked) to skin color and facial features. With rural people and communities, few such spurious and overtly hateful markers of (inappropriately attributed) inferiority exist, but this very lack apparently strengthens the existential claim: Rural inferiority is then more securely misunderstood to be the real condition of rural existence—an allegation that goes well beyond individual bigotry and even beyond institutional racism, engaging a deeper structure of invidious discrimination.5 Whereas people with darker skins feel the immediate outrage of being judged inferior on the basis of superficial- ities, the affront to rural people is based on the fundamentals of bour- geois economic and cultural power that are recognized as the way the world rightly is by the supposed necessities of contemporary society (e.g., the supposedly necessary replacement of the horse by the auto- mobile and tractor). These supposed necessities are open to doubt. In 1848, Marx and Engels famously referenced “the idiocy of rural life” in the Manifesto of the Communist Party, explicitly con- textualizing this view of rural people, however, to the bourgeois out- look and accomplishment.6 This is precisely what the societal status norms represent in setting up suburban residence and professional occupation as “the best.” This best, not surprisingly, is precisely what gifted education commends to academically talented rural young- sters, almost without exception.7 Such a construction appeals inher- ently to the rural elite but is less appealing to other rural people (Woodrum, 2004). Rural places are relatively powerless in political, economic, and cultural terms. Rural ways of living and being and knowing are deval- ued—literally marginalized. To keep breathing the rural air is, in part, to breathe in the acknowledgement of this state of affairs, and the allegations of one’s own inferiority. Rural people are, in this way, simply divided from their own meaningfulness and power because The Meaning of Rural Difference 541 the bourgeois victory identified so very long ago by Marx and Engels continues to dictate to them many of the detailed terms of day-to-day existence in rural places. Just uncovering the outrage (the cosmopolitan idiocy) requires facility with words and numbers sufficient to call critique and doubt into existence with actual effect on the terms of the deception. These evocations are rare accomplishments anywhere, but they are perhaps rarest where there is no need of them; that is, among the most com- placent professionals in the most affluent suburbs. The “21st century skills” (“Partnership for 21st Century Skills,” 2004) almost univer- sally promoted by big business will not come close to the require- ments to bring appropriate doubt, critique, and action into being. Who can do this work? That issue is partly addressed in the last sec- tion of the essay. In the meantime, however, we turn to the bourgeois version of societal needs, so-called 21st-century skills. Suffering 21st-century Skills in Rural america State education agencies (SEAs), the U.S. Department of Education, the National Science Foundation, and many other august bodies pre- sume to understand the requirements of the 21st century. From this presumption, they articulate the aims of schooling in distinctly cor- porate terms: global economic combat, high levels of qualification in math and science, corporate teamwork, and problem solving. The chief state school officers of the rural states of Maine, South Dakota, and West Virginia have, for instance, recently become enthusiastic founding members of a network of state superintendents devoted to this view (“Partnership for 21st Century Skills,” 2004). The corporate authorities behind this particular effort include Dell, Apple, Intel, Texas Instruments, Cisco, Microsoft, Adobe, Verizon, and AT&T. Public schooling now looks less and less covertly public and more and more overtly corporate. Scratching the surface is not necessary; a light buffing will suffice. In fact, lying to oneself may be the unstated 21st-century skill most important to the corporate outlook. John Gaventa’s (1980) study of “quiescence and rebellion in an Appalachian valley” interpreted the ideological enslavement as lies that corporations ensure that people Journal for the Education of the Gifted542 tell themselves, and these lies are communicated and reinforced partly through schooling. Duncan (1996), in an account more politi- cally liberal than radical, showed even more explicitly than Gaventa some of the ways in which Appalachian and Mississippi Delta rural schools are complicit.8 My colleagues and I (all family, actually, in this case) have also documented how seldom a libertory agenda is articulated in impov- erished rural schools. Among more than 100 educators interviewed for one of our studies of rural schools, just one spoke of educational purpose other than employment (C. B. Howley, A. Howley, C. Howley, & M. Howley, 2006). This rural teacher was, predictably, a vocational agriculture (vo-ag ) teacher. The predictability lies in the fact that the vo-ag curriculum has traditionally cultivated the con- nection between farming and rural community leadership (Elliott, 2002). The termination of vo-ag programs in rural schools means that even this lonely voice is being effectively silenced.9 What supplants such voices in rural schools? Standardization and anti-intellectualism replace them with chatter about preparation for global economic combat with 21st-century skills. The conspiracy is not one of individuals, of course, but of institutions, especially large firms, transnational firms, and the governments they shape and domi- nate. If common purpose (also known as “community”) and intellect (or informed thoughtfulness) were finally vacated from our national and local cultures and from the schooling intended to sustain and inform them,10 what would remain available to any schooling that is educative? Only the resistance of a few outraged individuals. alternative pathways in Rural lives Rural communities and people are different from the valued cosmo- politan mainstream. Indeed, many rural places are sufficiently differ- ent that one might hope for something even more different in the future. That stubborn possibility explains why, when things periodi- cally have gotten bad in cities, human beings have aspired to redis- cover their humanity in rural places (e.g., Borsodi, 1933; Orr, 1995; Williams, 1973; Yarwood, 2005). Practices and views exist here (in rural life) worthy of study and extension. The Meaning of Rural Difference 543 What practices? These might include self-provisioning, neigh- borly mutuality and cooperation, improvisation and reuse, invention and use of appropriate technolog y, small-scale enterprise (“cottage industry”), biodiverse farming,11 logging with horses, refusal of bad schooling, and so forth. Such practices receive almost no attention, even or especially in rural schools, because they so little resemble the skills that the corporate mindset hawks as up-to-the-moment. Honoring these things widely within the curriculum of even rural schools would be a surprising turn of events. Rural views can help. What views? These include philosophies, critiques, interpre- tations, literatures, and rural arts and sciences outlined by rurally attuned thinkers such as Wendell Berry, Wes Jackson, David Orr, and Paul Theobald, not to mention Helen and Scott Nearing, Liberty Hyde Bailey, Henry David Thoreau, and Thomas Jefferson. As an instantiation of “American” culture, the American novel articulates strong rural themes throughout its history. The novel is one institu- tion that assiduously honors the country’s vast regional variation and significance. Even in the contemporary era, celebrated writers like Barbara Kingsolver, Annie Proulx, and Jane Smiley represent alterna- tive rural lifeways with both grace and complexity—and also with ample critique. The wisdom of generative rural works is even such that Americans ought to be grateful to ordinary rural people for sustaining rural life- ways alternative to the massively consumptive corporate mainstream. It was in Walden, after all, that Thoreau (1854/2004) observed: Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed and in such desperate enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away. (p. 216) Walden, one may as well remember, is the original American text about the difference between miseducation and education. Unfortunately, miseducation has generally prevailed in schooling, especially school- ing for ordinary people, as generations of school critics have persua- sively argued from Thoreau, Mark Twain, and Henry Adams (in the 19th century) to Ivan Illich, Neil Postman, and Jean Anyon (in the 20th century, and to name nonrural critics only). Journal for the Education of the Gifted544 Part of this miseducation is the promotion in contemporary schools of the one-best way to live—the middle-class professional way. Perhaps, however, the insistent marketing given this path is another dubious form of consumption (for the original argument describing credentials as a consumer product, see Collins, 1979). Most disturbingly, this marketing effort constructs schooling, not only in myth, but more importantly in reality, as the likeliest path to economic security. More schooling, more earnings—on average. The subtlety of this “on average” is glossed over, however, in the market- ing campaign. In the space available, this essay cannot conclusively demonstrate the validity of this outlook on miseducation, but it must at least examine the promotion of the middle-class path a bit more closely as the manifestation of schooling’s one-best way to live. The One-Best Way to Live As Isaacson (2003) argued in his biography of Benjamin Franklin and as Hanson (1995) argued in his book about the origins of democracy in farming, the American middling classes (farmers and shopkeepers and small-scale merchants) were a bedrock of American life through the middle of the 20th century. To give the historical context briefly, the country-life reformers of the early 20th century were concerned to preserve a rural middle class (traditional petty- bourgeoisie) to balance the influence of a growing urban proletariat (Theobald, 1991). Their intentions were subverted first as the Great Depression (1930–1940) impoverished rural people, driving them to abandon rural places. Then, after the Second World War, the full industrialization and monetization of the farm economy (driving self-provisioning underground) resulted in clearances through farm consolidation. These twin assaults, part of a larger national restruc- turing of production and markets, destroyed the old independent rural middle class. The shopkeepers have been replaced by consolidated, national “shopkeepers”—the magnates of the big-box stores.12 The farmers have been replaced by bad times (continuing low commodity prices and cyclical farm crises) and big machines (large capital investment is typical in commercial farming operations). Many small rural The Meaning of Rural Difference 545 schools closed and many rural districts consolidated as farmers left the countryside. What has replaced the farmers and shopkeepers in the middle- class role in rural America? The new middle class is the middle class of managers and professionals (Griffith & Smith, 2005). According to Flora, Flora, Spears, and Swanson (1992), this new class exhibits entirely different commitments from the localized petty-bourgeoisie of Franklin’s small cities (Isaacson, 2003) and the independent yeo- man farmers that concerned Hanson (1995). The new class is con- cerned with national and global allegiances, not with local ones, according to Flora and colleagues. In addition, the new class puts devotion to schooling and financial success above attachment to family and community. The middle class to which children of the contemporary rural poor might be recruited is more interested in personal advancement than in sustaining local community. Parents in this new and more corporate middle class fear losing, not their independence, but the privileges their children have enjoyed contin- gent on their own dependence on corporate allegiance and employ- ment. Schooling is the path to such privileges for their children, and schools are run to ensure that end (Griffith & Smith, 2005). Many rural families are situated very differently from their sub- urban counterparts. In the first instance, they do not enjoy privileges like those accessed by the corporate middle class. They depend, in the second instance, on a series of jobs of limited duration, rather than on a durable career allied with corporate interests. They therefore see the educational issue quite differently. Rural parents often realize that pursuit of a great deal of schooling by their children means that the young will leave their rural communities and families, never to return (Corbett, 2007; DeYoung, 1995; Sher, 1977). Because they want to live near their children, then, they regard schooling much more suspiciously than members of the new, more footloose rural middle class—who anticipate separation from their adult children as inevitable and necessary, perhaps even welcome. Rural education researchers often hear from local educators in impoverished rural communities that “of course, these parents around here don’t value education.” The claim never ceases to take one aback: If learning is professionally understood to be a natural human activity, then a formative series of learning events (education) Journal for the Education of the Gifted546 must also be natural to humans (if of varying quality, in school and out). Perhaps educators lodging such a complaint do not understand the claim they are advancing : Their neighbors are less than human. A far more honest and accurate claim, therefore, is that rural parents (some or many, as the case may be) do not value schooling. An acknowledgement of this sort makes impoverished parents the comrades of Henry David Thoreau, Mark Twain, Henry Adams, Neil Postman, and all the legion of more recent critics of schooling. It acknowledges that such parents have (at the very least) a time-hon- ored point. If one, then, does make this different claim, and if one acknowl- edges that rural people have valid reasons for skepticism about schooling, one might begin to make appropriate alterations in how schools work. Where might one get the helpful clues? Voting With Their Feet: Refusing the One-Best Way The life paths elaborated by thoughtful young people who are already exercising rural alternatives might harbor some useful insights about how schooling might be appropriately altered in rural communities. This is a novel idea. Does any such record exist? Indeed it does. Beverly Burnell (2003) provided a detailed account of college refusal among “college- capable” rural young people. Burnell’s interviewees were bright rural youth who refused to go to college directly after high school gradua- tion, despite encouragement from school professionals. Some did not intend to pursue baccalaureate degrees, some opted for a plan to pur- sue postsecondary options later (e.g., after starting a family or starting a line of work), and some put aside planning future schooling in order to resolve more seemingly urgent personal or family situations. This study is full of surprises (from the vantage of the conven- tional wisdom of the middle-class path), but perhaps the most poi- gnant passage is this: The students were likely not fully aware of all the factors influencing their decision, and as several of them said, were surprised by many of the topics raised for discussion [i.e., by Burnell during the interviews], and in some cases, surprised The Meaning of Rural Difference 547 that someone valued hearing about facets of their lives and decisions that they themselves valued. Why should this kind of conversation be unfamiliar and even a surprise to them? Is no one talking with them? (Burnell, 2003, p. 111) Not only could these young people explain and defend their thinking about the future, they received no assistance in imagining such “alter- native” futures from their rural schools. No one is talking to them, one might imagine, because counselors receive no incentive to do so and would confront disbelief if they did. The conventional wisdom (the one-best way of living ) is backed by a great deal of corporate and state ideolog y and power (see the discussion of 21st-century skills) in enforcing the silence that struck Burnell so forcefully. The choices articulated by Burnell’s (2003) students, moreover, are exactly the sorts of life paths my colleagues and I have observed throughout our careers in rural communities, not only among aca- demically capable young people in rural schools, but also among many seasoned adults working in rural schools.13 A common theme among nearly all such people, young and old, is the desire to keep liv- ing in a rural place, especially the one they grew up in, remaining close with their families—which, in rural places, often constitute a durable extended network of relatives and not just the typical middle-class professional’s kinship-free Standard North American nuclear fam- ily (see Griffith & Smith, 2005, pp. 38–41 on the “Standard North American family”). Burnell (2003) concluded that schools could do a lot more to enhance the odds of success and fulfillment for rural young people who want to remain near family and community. Improvising a decent and frugal life in rural places is a deft accomplishment, as a few of the personal stories in Duncan’s Worlds apart (1999) suggest. Rural schools could surely support this option much better than they now do in many communities. Except for the ideolog y, it would not seemingly be so difficult. Rural communities also need not only farmers and mechanics (the old middle class) and therapists and physicians (nominal mem- bers of the new middle class) but freethinkers and critics disposed to help sustain rural places and positioned in social classes other than the elite. Schools, with their supposed interest in academics and the Journal for the Education of the Gifted548 intellect, could do something important here as well, and advocates of place-based education already recognize this possibility (Corbett, 2007; Gruenewald, 2003; Smith, 2002; Sobel, 2004; Theobald, 1997). Oddly, the purveyors of 21st-century skills express no interest in the role of social critic or public intellectual. They want, instead, willing players of their own game: workers eager to go wherever they are sent to do whatever the corporate interest requires there. Being footloose, it seems, is a matter of teamwork. The Best Practice of Living: A Misconstruction of Schooling As nearly all of us realize from everyday life, a great many paths to a decent life exist, not just one. And for most humans these diverse paths lead through a variety of trials that are in themselves educative. Indeed, the quality of one’s engagement with these trials determines the character of one’s life more certainly than a few years’ difference in amount of schooling. Schooling is not unimportant, but it becomes important only in light of such trials. This is a perhaps subtle reality, and one that escapes the consideration of many educators. The young- sters in Burnell’s (2003) study, however, seem to have understood. In this light, when educators anywhere, but particularly in rural schools, insist so strongly that a baccalaureate degree and a middle- class professional destiny is “best” for everyone, they make two seri- ous errors. First, they err about the superiority of “professional” work over other forms of work: Considerable integrity and intelli- gence necessarily characterizes excellent work of all sorts, including manual work of all sorts, whereas considerable evasion and slavish- ness remains an option in professional life (see Wendell Berry’s many works that elaborate this point; e.g., 1977). Second, and perhaps more significantly, they act out of hubris in counseling a life course based on such an error. The hubris not only amounts to educational malpractice, it threatens American democracy itself, at least accord- ing to the sociologist Christopher Lasch (1995), among many others. Lasch (1995) warned Americans of the danger to democracy from what he termed “the revolt of the elites.” Those elites are being cre- ated, in part, through the errors of schooling just described. The alternate pathways to a decent rural life that were being explored by the young people in Burnell’s (2003) study, therefore, The Meaning of Rural Difference 549 represent a critical line of work that rural schools might embrace. Indeed, they must embrace this sort of work if rural communities are to retain local talent locally, rather than exporting it to the national or the “globalized” economy (where it will be used to further under- mine rural communities). This work is an uphill struggle, a monu- mental struggle, for reasons that should be apparent: the norms of the profession, the authority and power of state departments of edu- cation in the thrall of corporatist ideolog y, and the general failure of common purpose (i.e., of “community”) throughout contemporary America—and all of this for many decades (e.g., Bellah, Madsen, Sullivan, Swidler, & Tipton, 1985; Tam, 1998; Theobald, 1997). intellectual life and Rural cultures The foregoing discussion, and from several approaches,14 raises the issue of the circumstances of intellectual life in the rural U.S. Notably, the U.S. is a nation in which intellect itself is widely disparaged (Hofstadter, 1963; C. Howley, A. Howley, & Pendarvis, 1995). The problem of engaging intellect in rural places, however, is not very dif- ficult to conceive, because of what rural is. Addressing the problem successfully may be difficult—but conceiving it is easy. Readers unfamiliar with rural studies may have been very impa- tient, throughout this essay, to know what rural is. Of course, many useful schemes exist for separating rural from nonrural real estate,15 but neither rural education nor rural sociolog y is much concerned with real estate. These useful line-in-the-sand definitions of rural rep- resent not what rural is, but where what-rural-is would be most likely on view in everyday life corralled by lines drawn on a map. What Is Rural? Recently, concerned to be succinct and direct, I offered the following remarks to a group of urban educators: Colleagues always want to know what rural is, often because they are mystified, and so I’ll tell you. Rural people have con- nections to working the land, and to a set of concepts about Journal for the Education of the Gifted550 place, kinship, and community. The associated meanings and purposes are what distinguishes rural education as a field of work and study. (C. Howley, 2007, ¶6) Rural education, then, is about realms of meaning already in play in everyday life in rural communities and families. The definition dis- closes the standpoint of those who adopt it: Rural education should confront the divide between rural life (and rural education) and what has become of rural schooling (in general, but not everywhere). This standpoint could frighten some professional educators, who do not as a rule put community life at the center of interest (courageous exceptions to the rule exist, of course, and they are perhaps becom- ing more common). The upshot of this possibly unsettling definition, however, is that the actual connection between intellect and rural life becomes rather more obvious, as the discussion explains next. Intellect and Rural Life The related meanings of intellect and rural life are so momentous that they have helped constitute philosophy and literature since time immemorial (when the world was almost entirely rural), and they are of ongoing practical significance in the struggle for land, place, community, and family. One may perhaps object that these meanings are not rural qualities per se, but human qualities. If this be the case, it may well be that rural lifeways are more human than urban ones. David Orr (1995) would seem to agree, and that is perhaps why he has counseled reruralizing education. Cosmopolitans do not, in my experience, entertain this argument willingly, but the argument has, in fact, been articulated by several generations of critics of American-style industrial culture (e.g., Bailey, 1911; Berry, 1977; Borsodi, 1933; Hanson, 1995). The basic outlook of all these writers proceeds from a land ethic, that is, from the notion that care of the land is a defining human activity, and that the worth of humans can be judged from the quality of their stewardship of the land. This argument, moreover, ought to be more convincing to the present generation than to previous ones, especially if the word earth replaces the word land. The Meaning of Rural Difference 551 Have we cared well for the earth (and its lands)? The doubts are serious. Perhaps when more of the nation’s people were farmers, this obligation was sensed and addressed more strongly. Perhaps not, but one can at least claim that a much larger percentage of the population was aware of the obligation, especially if one recalls the Judeo-Christian obligation to care for the Creation (and the similar obligations in nearly all religious traditions). Perhaps only a civiliza- tion that has become inattentive, lazy, blind, and cravenly profane could take the earth to its current precarious state (i.e., mass extinc- tion of species, global climate instability, accelerated deforestation, depletion of fossilized energ y sources, depletion and contamination of water resources—not to mention the continuing threat of nuclear destruction and contamination). Where did human society go so palpably wrong ? One well-worn argument is that in the corporate rush to realize profits, the accumu- lation of wealth has accelerated to the point that progress elsewhere in life’s projects (safety, justice, aesthetics, and the quality of human relationships) occurs at such a slow pace as to seem unpromising or even irrelevant (Bowers, 2004). This regime of accumulation is, of course, known as capitalism (the usage here is descriptive rather than pejorative), and its founding principle is that accumulation of wealth must proceed without limit and must also feed endlessly back into the process of accumulation—thus dramatically acceler- ating it (Hobsbawm, 1962). The pace of accumulation thus reaches planetary limits with alarming swiftness, with industrialization the arguably accelerating condition. In decades to come, planetary limits will prove a trenchant worry for this regime of accumulation (e.g., Kunstler, 2005). This circumstance—the evident existence of natural limits and the economic imperative to ignore limits—explains why discussion of limits to growth are repudiated as pessimistic and negative by cor- porate leaders (Lasch, 1991). Mere recognition of limits (no matter how obvious their existence) would require humans to engineer a radically different economic regime. Reference to this dilemma may be anathema in the heartland of capitalism, but the reality is none- theless going to require a great deal of thought and action, whether capitalism survives as a system of economic life or not. Journal for the Education of the Gifted552 However the reader may judge the foregoing accounts, the discus- sion ought to demonstrate the relevance of the life of the mind— of a critical disposition toward ideas and plans—to rural places. Momentous issues are involved in rural living, now and for the fore- seeable future. the Relevance of Extreme talent in Rural places Because rural places and cultures exist and because rural people are as subject to “compulsory miseducation” (Goodman, 1962) as anyone, the construct of giftedness is relevant. What ought a rurally located school do with such creatures as “bright rednecks”? The cosmopoli- tans have one idea (e.g., export them to Singapore and have them concentrate on surpassing the limits to planetary growth); the author and his colleagues in rural education have a different one—arguably a more diverse one. Our stance on such matters is easily given: Rural schools should serve rural families and communities, not a national and global eco- nomic machine. Rurally located schools can render this service only by supporting and helping families and communities to further develop rural lifeways (DeYoung, C. Howley, & Theobald, 1995; A. Howley, C. Howley, & Pendarvis, 2003; C. Howley & Harmon, 2001; Theobald, 1997). Unfortunately, this stance begs the question of what “proper” rural lifeways might entail and where a demonstrable and unusual capacity for academic work fits in. These two projects seem almost incompatible—but they are not. This essay ends, then, with some reflections about the sorts of meaningfulness to be conserved, and not only conserved but developed and extended practically. One Example: An Existence Proof For the past 6 years, I have been involved in directing the research ini- tiative of and unusual doctoral program in mathematics education, The Appalachian Collaborative Center for Learning, Assessment, and Instruction in Mathematics (ACCLAIM).16 The program is unusual in several ways, one of which is engagement with rural issues. We did not want our program to operate as a rural extraction indus- The Meaning of Rural Difference 553 try, and so we recruited students with a commitment to their rural communities and regions. We also wanted our students to know more about rural places and so included three courses addressing the his- tory, sociolog y, and education of rural places. None of our students (45 total across three cohorts) had ever encountered rural issues in their previous professional training, and much less had they been asked to examine their work as being somehow connected to rural ways of being in the world—all of this despite the fact that nearly all had grown up rural and were at the time of the initial enrollment in our program working in institutions (K–12 schools or colleges) enrolling rural people. External evaluators have reported that our students tell them that thinking about rural issues and dilemmas is one of the most memo- rable features of their experience in the program (Helms, St. John, Smith, & Huntwork, 2005). Although we did not require it, most students have chosen to conduct dissertations (in mathematics edu- cation) on topics that address issues relevant to rural communities and ways of living. These developments are the more remarkable in that mathematics is commonly regarded as that part of the cur- riculum most free from the influence of context. To foil this sort of thinking about school mathematics, one of the Center’s leaders likes to respond: “Mathematics is a natural science, but mathematics education is a social science” (personal communication, Bill Bush, October 24, 2002). One mathematician on our team observes that “because mathematics is not tied to any locale it is relevant to all locales” (personal communication, Carl Lee, July 29, 2005). The work of our rural mathematics education center is perhaps what mathematicians call an “existence proof ”: Its existence shows that rural ideas and dilemmas can be treated in schools, in actual coursework, with a durable impression on students and toward a rurally appropriate end—that of cultivating locally responsive math- ematics education leadership in rural places. Our rural students (ages range from late 20s to early 60s) exhibit exceptional academic capac- ity. They never heard the story of their lives in an academic setting. What’s the relevance to gifted education? Journal for the Education of the Gifted554 Promoting the Necessary Rural Work Extending this work to other levels is conceptually easy and practi- cally difficult. One should not underestimate the challenges, which are legion. These challenges have been intimated already: an inherent cultural bigotry that misconstructs rural as definitively inferior; an anti-intellectual culture that disables the critique needed to conceive and sustain this work; a regime of schooling with an instrumental conception of educational purpose; and an authority system that valorizes individual greed far above the common purpose of commu- nity. These are formidable foes, but courage, integrity, and alliances can confront them successfully, at least on local terms, and at least sometimes; sources to guide this work populate the reference list. This essay has discussed gifted programs not at all, but its dis- cussion of intellect and rural ideas and reference to classic rural texts is relevant to gifted education professionals already at work in rural places. Within gifted education, of course, a long tradition of addressing real audiences exists, as does concern for critical thinking. Additionally, in recent years the field has critically examined its own elitism and ethnic biases. These recent learnings of the field are avail- able for local application relevant to place—to a land ethic. So often in American education, well-intentioned leaders speak of adaptations to context in the process of addressing the familiar “problems” of education: low achievement, achievement gaps, thin parental engagement with local schools, technolog y refusal, rare use of projects and field work, top-down management, inhuman scale— and on and on. The problems exist, in this way, at the center of atten- tion, while “context” surrounds the center of attention. Strangely, the problems persist, unsolved despite the desperate attempts to find, impose, or declare solutions. Rather than blame our own weak think- ing, we educators tend to blame the context: bad parenting, bad cul- tures, bad luck, bad genes. Working from “rural context,” this essay has argued for a very different outlook from the one described in the preceding para- graph—one in which place figures as the central meaning , a mean- ing that already exists and is available for use by educators, students, families, and communities. Instead of constituting a set of draw- backs, the central meanings of rural place are a generative set of The Meaning of Rural Difference 555 educational ideas already on site and in operation. “So what’s the snag ?” one might ask. The difficulty (for the rural application) concerns the illusions of our profession. Even many rural educators find it difficult to circum- vent these illusions. All of us, indeed, have been inducted into the profession via these same illusions. The illusions construct a reality of practice that is difficult to subvert: (a) best practice (belief that there is a one-best way to do everything ); (b) belief that schooling is the same as education; (c) representation of knowledge as defini- tive rather than contingent; and (d) dependence on political and economic power rather than intellect for authority. My colleagues and I have written elsewhere of these matters at considerable length (e.g., A. Howley et al., 2003; A. Howley, Spatig, & C. Howley, 1999; C. Howley, 2006; C. Howley & A. Howley, in press; C. Howley, A. Howley, & Burgess, 2006; C. Howley et al., 1995); I mention these illusions here only to characterize the way our own professional norms deflect us from a pedagog y of place that engages the intellect. For rural students explicitly identified as possessing exceptional academic capacity, it would be an easy matter to include the read- ing and discussion of rurally relevant texts in their schooling. Classic texts exist and are in fact too numerous to be covered completely, even in a sequence of courses like those in our Center’s doctoral pro- gram. Not only texts, but students’ families’ own (culturally mar- ginalized) experiences are relevant, and engaging the texts and the experiences jointly is arguably liberating (to judge from the Center’s external evaluation). A place-based flavor, then, can be readily added to any rural gifted program. The challenge for gifted programs, I think, would be to include other willing students and the community in whatever might be done. Here too, a great many examples exist in the literature on place-based education, and new books are appearing regularly on the topic. For a practical grip on the whole sweep of education (not just schooling ) that honors place, I still recommend Toni Haas and Paul Nachtigal’s Place Value (1998). It’s available as a PDF file online and free thanks to ERIC. Many additional resources are available, as well, on the Rural School and Community Trust Web site. What one won’t yet find, however, is a professional develop- ment network that can assist interested rural teachers and admin- Journal for the Education of the Gifted556 istrators in taking up this sort of work. As this essay indicates, SEAs and national business organizations work (in nearly all states) from a devotion to corporate commitments and the agenda of global eco- nomic dominance. These commitments function to confine concern for rural place and community to the periphery of the institution of schooling, no less so in rural than in other schools. Indeed, many local school leaders (with some exceptions) insist that concern for the wel- fare of their local communities is not their business (see DeYoung, 1995, for one example). Maximizing individual student achievement is (they say) their concern. Hobart Harmon and I (C. Howley & Harmon, 2001) discovered, however, that a large plurality of rural superintendents among those we interviewed understood that the continuing existence of their schools depended on the strength of community engagement. Doubtless, some rural gifted programs exist in such circumstances, which are far more auspicious for undertaking efforts that honor place. And in such places, the success of the effort would be more likely, on average, than elsewhere. Because gifted students are those with propensities for engaging texts and thinking mathematically, they are able to engage texts and projects that would usually be considered inappropriate for students with other propensities. Most of the readings we demand of our doc- toral students would be suitable for gifted high school students. Although the circumstance of American schooling may be bleak overall in the eyes of those of us who value intellect and thoughtful- ness (and reading and writing as the means to think and to invoke intellect), and although the odds that many SEAs will seriously honor place in their curriculum and standards efforts seem slim at present, opportunities do exist in many rural communities (and in a few states). The reason for the survival of these opportunities is that rural communities do not go willingly out of existence. The furor that rural school consolidation evokes from communities is ample evidence for this claim (DeYoung, 1995; DeYoung et al., 1995; C. Howley & Harmon, 1997; Peshkin, 1982). The proposed work furnishes rural students with an alternative account of rural places—one that represents rural meanings and commitments robustly and even combatively. My colleagues and I found in one of our studies that rural gifted students were both more critical of and more attached to their local communities than other The Meaning of Rural Difference 557 rural students (C. Howley, Harmon, & Leopold, 1996). Helping aca- demically talented rural students to engage the existing literatures on rural place will strengthen their attachment and focus their critique. In the end, academically talented students might understand that they can invent decent lives for themselves in the places they love. References Adams, H. (1918). the education of Henr y adams. Boston : Houghton Mifflin. 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Education in rural america: a reassessment of the conventional wisdom. Boulder, CO: Westview. Smith, G. A. (2002). Placed-based education: Learning to be where we are. Phi delta Kappan, 83, 584–594. Sobel, D. (2004). Place-based education: Connecting classrooms and communities. Great Barrington, MA: The Orion Society. Tam, H. (1998). Communitarianism: a new agenda for politics and citizenship. New York: New York University Press. Theobald, P. (1991). Countr y lifers reconsidered : Educational reform for rural America. Journal of research in rural Education, 7(2), 21–28. Theobald, P. (1997). teaching the commons: Place, pride, and the renewal of community. Boulder, CO: Westview. Thoreau, H. D. (2004). Walden. New York: Signet. (Original work published 1854) Tyack, D., & Cuban, L. (1995). tinkering toward utopia: a century of public school reform. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tye, B. (2000). Hard truths: Uncovering the deep structure of school- ing. New York: Teachers College Press. U.S. Department of Agriculture. (2005). rural population and migration: trend five—diversity increases in non-metro america. Retrieved February 24, 2009, from http://www.ers.usda.gov/ Briefing/Population/Diversity.htm Williams, R . (1973). the country and the city. New York: Oxford University Press. Woodrum, A. (2004). State-mandated testing and cultural resistance in Appalachian schools: Competing values and expectations. Journal of research in rural Education, 19(1). Retrieved September 16, 2007, from http://www.umaine.edu/jrre/19-1.htm Yarwood, R . (2005). Beyond the rural idyll: Images, countryside change and geography. Geography, 90, 19–31. End Notes 1. Diversity is variation and the opposite of variation is better understood as standardization than as exclusion. In most discussions of “diversity,” however, exclusion is regarded as the opposite. It seems, Journal for the Education of the Gifted562 though, that the real issue is who is including whom in what. That, in a sense, is the subject of this essay. 2. The definition of rural is given in the section titled Intellectual Life and Rural Culture, under the subheading What Is Rural? 3. Schooling is to education as the legal system is to justice— both institutions disclose truly appalling slips ’twixt cup and lip, and these slip-ups perhaps come down to an inequitable distribution of resources. The slip-ups, however, cannot be understood without theory and empirical inquiry. Both research and improvement are enterprises requiring doubt and skepticism: they are, in this sense, necessarily dubious. 4. Ethnicities are also sorted in the countryside, although it would perhaps be better to observe, as does the U.S. Department of Agriculture, that culture and poverty are regionalized in rural America: the Mexican border region sees many concentrations of impoverished brown-skinned people, the Appalachian highlands many concentrations of impoverished white-skinned people, the southern “Black belt” many concentrations of impoverished “black”- skinned people, and sections of the west many concentrations of impoverished red-skinned people. Whose racism is responsible for these concentrations, urban and rural? 5. The deeper structure concerns who is number one—one of the most fatuous of American, or perhaps human, preoccupations. This deeper structure of fear and loathing also applies to people with dark(er) skins. Bigots, of course, see this matter rather differently, which is why we call them “bigots.” 6. The urbanized and literate proletariat was the intended audi- ence—the supposed destined class of history. Scholars who quote this passage to suggest Marx’s hostility to rural life ignore the fact that this passages was part of a critique of bourgeois society: The bourgeoisie has subjected the country to the rule of the towns. It has created enormous cities and has greatly increased the urban population as compared with the rural, and has thus rescued a considerable part of the population from the idiocy of rural life. Just as it has made the coun- try dependent on the towns, so it has made barbarian and semibarbarian countries dependent on the civilised ones, The Meaning of Rural Difference 563 nations of peasants on nations of bourgeois, the East on the West. (Marx & Engels, 1848, electronic version from the Gutenberg Project, ¶ 22) One can read Marx and Engels too literally: “rural idiocy,” “barbar- ian,” and “civilized” are all used with considerable irony. 7. Not so long ago, WASP (White, Anglo-Saxon Protestant) ancestry would have topped the list of the best people, and the lack of children with darker skin pigmentation in gifted programs—and the profession, and the suburbs—was regarded as expected and therefore acceptable. There are those, of course, who continue to argue in favor of the expectation, asserting the genetic heritability of IQ. 8. Public schooling has been described largely, and for a long time, as a compliance routine by a great number of authors of var- ied commitments (e.g., Adams, 1918; Cohen, 1988; Depaere, 2000; Foucault, 1979; Goodman, 1962; Kohl, 1967; Tyack & Cuban, 1995; Tye, 2000). Gaventa and Duncan provide specific rural examples. 9. The vo-ag teacher’s lone voice also suggests what the loss of farming as a common rural occupation has seemingly meant not only for rural communities but for the nation as a whole—a point made at interesting historical length by Hanson (1995). A corporate alle- giance subverts the teacher’s voice and its consistent devotion to a locally realized common good. 10. The conclusion that both intellect or community are endan- gered institutions in America has been reached by a number of writ- ers (e.g., Bellah et al., 1985; Putnam, 2000; Theobald, 1997). 11. A recent retrospective of 20th century agriculture published by the U.S. Department of Agriculture (Dimitri, Effland, & Conklin, 2005) notes that farms raised an average of 5 crops in 1900, but now raise an average of one. Monocropping is identified as a disastrous way to farm by many observers of American farming (e.g., Berry, 1977; Hanson, 1995) 12. Most recently in our region, The Tractor Supply Company has arrived, and many independent local feed and farm-supply stores (notably including the regional cooperative) have foundered. 13. Rural school professionals, far more than is the case in cit- ies or suburbs, come from the local community. Teaching jobs are prized positions in most rural communities precisely because they Journal for the Education of the Gifted564 enable a middle-class option that permits winners of such positions to remain close to family. At the same time, rural teachers have been subjected during their professional preparation to the ideolog y (perhaps “ideological distortions” would be a more apt term) of the middle-class path. 14. For instance, educational purpose, the significance of rural place, class interest or struggle, and the relationship of life and work. 15. The curious are invited to consult the definitions of the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Economic Research Service (http:// www.ers.usda.gov/Briefing/Rurality/WhatisRural/), the U.S. Bureau of the Census (http://www.census.gov/geo/www/ua/ua_2k.html), and the U.S. Department of Education (http://nces.ed.gov/surveys/ ruraled/page2.asp) for quantitative definitions that, in essence, draw lines on maps to separate rural regions from the rest of the nation. 16. The work of the Center’s researchers, which represents work conducted consistent with the stance taken in this article, can be accessed at http://www.acclaim-math.org/researchPublications.aspx.
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work_g3pplmuhrfbq5fyn3gz7stilmi ---- 02 clanak.qxp Dr. sc. Saša Šegvić, docent Pravnog fakulteta Sveučilišta u Splitu LEGITIMNOST GRAĐANSKOG OTPORA – NEKI TEORIJSKI ASPEKTI UDK: 342.721.73 Primljeno: 15. 02. 2007. Pregledni rad U suvremenim ustavnim režimima koji se smatraju “približno pravednima” i “približno demokratičnima” ne postoji nijedno proceduralno pravilo koje može jamčiti da će sva prava biti zaštićena ili da se neće kršiti. Isto tako, ni praktična provedba svih pravila ne može jamčiti u svim slučajevima da će oni biti prihvatljivi za sve društvene skupine i individue. Čak i u najdemokratičnijim sustavima pojedine skupine ili pojedinci mogu se osjećati ugroženi ili nepravedno deprivirani glede ljudskih i demokratskih prava. U takvim uvjetima za pojedince i skupine otvara se temeljna dilema: lojalnost ili neposlušnost. Autor u radu pokušava analizom različitih načina ispoljavanja građanskog neposluha i prigovora savjesti, kao oblika građanskog otpora, utvrditi gdje su legitimne granice takvim pravima pojedinaca i skupina, ne samo u odnosu na prava drugih građana već i u odnosu na temeljno demokratsko pravo - pravo većine, odnosno da li spomenuti oblici građanskog otpora mogu i smiju dovesti u pitanje temeljne vrijednosti većine, a time i cjelokupni ustavni aranžman. Ključne riječi: građanski otpor, moralna autonomija, lojalnost, građanski neposluh, prigovor savjesti ”Čovjek (je) osuđen na svoju vlastitu savjest, ali u isto vrijeme to je najveći dar koji je čovjek primio. Dar velik, ali zato ozbiljan, čak i opasan“ J.P. Sartre, 1947. UVOD Mreža neovisnih stručnjaka vezanih uz temeljna ljudska prava1 početkom prošle godine izdala je 40 stranica opširnog mišljenja koje optužuje koncept sporazuma između Vatikana i Republike Slovačke, a koji dozvoljava medicinskim stručnjacima da odbijaju vršiti pobačaje i slične postupke koji su 177 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 1 Europsku mrežu neovisnih stručnjaka za ljudska prava osnovala je Europska komisija 2002. godine na preporuku Europskog parlamenta. Svaka zemlja članica ima svog predstavnika koji dolazi iz redova akademika ili starijih odvjetnika. Tijelo izvješćuje europske institucije o stanju temeljnih prava na području Unije. 2 Ovaj slovačko-vatikanski konkordat omogućava zdravstvenim djelatnicima u bolnicama koje financira Katolička crkva da zbog prigovora savjesti odbiju izvoditi pobačaje ili medicinski potpomognutu oplodnju. U tekstu sporazuma stoji da se isti temelji na: “prepoznavanju slobode savjesti u zaštiti i promociji vrijednosti svojstvenih značenju ljudskog života”. Iako je cilj sporazuma da se svakom pojedincu omogući prigovor savjesti on stimulira široko pravo na prigovor savjesti i ne osugurava zaštitu od zlouporabe ovog prava. 3 Vidi izvješće na: www.poslovni.hr./Content 4 Komisija o ljudskim pravima OUN u svojoj Rezoluciji 46/87. preporučila je svim državama članicama, što je ostao stav neizmijenjen do danas, da se države trebaju suzdržavati od zatvaranja onih koji se pozivaju na prigovor savjesti na vojnu obvezu, te alternativnu službu i nepristrano odlučivanje u proceduri potaknutoj postavljanjem prigovora savjesti. 5 Republika Hrvatska spada u red onih europskih država koje su u svojim ustavnim tekstovima legalizirali pravo prigovora savjesti na vojnu obvezu. Jedna od rijetkih država članica EU koja do danas nije regulirala ovo pravo na prigovor savjesti je Grčka. Vidi čl. 47. Ustava RH (pravo na prigovor savjesti vojne obveze) i Zakon o obrani (NN33/02., čl. 38.) 178 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. protivni njihovim religijskim uvjerenjima, pozivajući se na pravo prigovora savjesti.2 Prema stručnjacima EU, zakonsko pravo osobe na pobačaj odbija pravo ostalih da ga ne provedu, ukoliko to ima kao posljedicu ne obavljanje pobačaja. “Pravo na prigovor savjesti zbog vjerskih uvjerenja može i mora biti poštovan, ali se mora osigurati mogućnost pobačaja ženama koje to žele” rečeno je u izvješću.3 Prakticiranje tih prava ne smije doći u konflikt s pravima drugih, uključujući i pravo svih žena da prime određene medicinske usluge i savjetovanje bez diskriminacije. Uz to, mišljenje spomenutih stručnjaka se ne odnosi samo na pobačaj. Između ostalih tema o temeljnim ljudskim pravima koja se jamče građanima EU spominju se i eutanazija, potpomognuto samoubojstvo, istospolni brakovi i dostupnost kontracepcije. Pri tome treba naglasiti da je Vatikan do sada već potpisao sličan sporazum i s Italijom, Portugalom i Latvijom, ali da ti ugovori imaju više ograničenja, te da se klauzule o prigovoru savjesti odnose samo na izuzeće od služenja vojne obveze. Iako pravo prigovora savjesti na vojnu obvezu nije u tom dokumentu bio tematiziran, niz prethodnih dokumenata i stavova OUN, EU, kao i mnogih drugih međunarodnih institucija, aktualiziraju i to područje temeljnih ljudskih prava, što sve zajedno govori da iako se pravo prigovora savjesti dugo držalo za jedan od oblika građanske neposlušnosti i kao takvo se smatralo manje značajnim pravnim pitanjem, ono ipak ima svoj pravni i politički značaj jer predstavlja značajan kriterij za ocjenu kvalitete određenog pravnog poretka.4 Činjenica je da je u suvremenim europskim državama pravo prigovora savjesti regulirano ustavnim ili zakonskim odredbama, pri čemu postoji ipak razlika u načinu na koji je to pitanje regulirano i koja je područja zahvatio, ali je u većini zajedničko da je zajamčeno pravo prigovora savjesti na vojnu obvezu.5 Na taj način utvrđen je pravni okvir, ali je niz pitanja u teorijskom i praktičnom dijelu ostalo upitno ili u najmanju ruku otvoreno. Suvremeni demokratski sustavi ustanovljeni su na opće prihvaćenim načelima vladavine većine, vladavine prava i socijalne pravde. To osigurava legitimnost u rješavanju sukoba interesa putem legalnih institucija i mehanizama. Ipak, nijedan politički aranžman nije savršen, a k tomu društvo je živi organizam, koji u svom 179 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. razvitku uvijek iznova otvara neka pitanja svoje konstitucije i demokratskog funkcioniranja.6 Zbog tog razloga bolje je govoriti o “približno pravednim” i “približno demokratičnim” ustavnim režimima.7 Naime, nijedno proceduralno pravilo ne može jamčiti pravedan ishod u smislu da će sva prava biti zaštićena ili da se neće kršiti, pa, dakle, ni njegova praktična provedba u svim slučajevima ne može biti prihvatljiva za sve društvene skupine i individue. U stvarnosti, čak i u najdemokratičnijem sustavu pojedine skupine i pojedinci mogu se osjećati nepravedno depriviranim za svoja ljudska i demokratska prava. Treba li se takvim skupinama ili pojedincima dopustiti pravo na otpor8 ili djelovanje na svoju ruku? Ima li ikakvog opravdanja za kršenje zakona ili odbijanje izvršenja zakona koji su propisno proceduralno usvojeni na demokratskim zakonodavnim tijelima? Je li pozivanje na moral ili savjest i odbijanje izvršavanja propisa ne krši pravo većine u donošenju obvezujućih zakona i time dovodi u pitanje kako liberalna tako i demokratska načela?9 Može li se masovnijim pozivanjem na moral, vjeroispovijed ili savjest u odnosu na izvršavanje neke pravne norme, dovesti u pitanje temeljne vrijednosti većine, i gdje su granice takvim pravima pojedinaca, a da se ne ugroze prava drugih, odnosno gdje su granice između prava i dužnosti, prava i morala? Na koncu, kad je riječ o građanskoj neposlušnosti i pravu na prigovor savjesti, kao oblicima prava na otpor i zajamčenim ljudskim pravima, uvijek se kao bitna tema nameće i pitanje same lojalnosti državljanina koju on duguje svojim konstitucionalno uspostavljenim institucijama, a i drugim članovima zajednice. 6 Tome u prilog ide i činjenica da iako je nužan uvjet za dobro funkcioniranje demokratskog sustava princip većine, on ne funkcionira uvijek, niti uvijek dovodi do najboljih rezultata. Mogućnost neučinkovitosti principa većine jest bitan nedostatak, no nije dovoljan da izazove krizu u demokratskom uređenju. Vidi šire u: Bobbio, N, Pravilo većine: ograničenja i aporije, u: Kasapović, M., Zakošek, N., Legitimnost demokratske vlasti, Zagreb, 1996., str. 297. 7 Cohen, Jean and Andrew, Arato, Civil Society and Political Theory, Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1992., pp. 566. 8 Kako postoje različite vrste otpora (usmjereni protiv vanjskog ili unutarnjeg ugrožavanja političke zajednice, protiv unutarnjih tlačitelja ili protiv uredbi neke strane pobjedničke sile, nasilan ili nenasilan, aktivan ili pasivan) i različiti oblici otpora (od atentata do sabotaža, od građanskog neposluha do odstupanja ministara), došlo je do inflacije uporabe pojma, pri čemu se gotovo svaka politička aktivnost danas etiketira kao otpor. U strožem smislu se pod otrporom podrazumijevaju samo slučajevi kada osoba koja pruža otrpor svjesno uzima u obzir opasnost zapostavljanja ili kažnjavanja i kada se u svom odbijanju da slijedi zapovijedi, upute ili zakone može pozivati na svoju savjest ili na neko više pravo. Pri tome je veoma važno razlikovati otrpor od puke povrede dužnosti, zanemarivanja naredbi ili prekoračenje zakona. Otpor ima konzervativni cilj: obrana odnosno ponovno uspostavljanje - status quo ante. Vidi šire: Herfried Münkler, Otpor, u D. Nohlen, Politološki rječnik, Panliber, Zagreb, Osijek, Split, 2001., str. 262.-263. 9 Ideja liberalne demokracije podrazumijeva da ispod zakona postoje moralni principi koji legitimiziraju sam pravni poredak. Vidi: Cohen, Arato, op. cit. pp. 582.-583. 10 Radi se o izuzetno dugoj epohi u kojoj je čovjek u skladu sa svojom naravi, posredstvom svijesti i slobode, putem svoga uma poimao svrhoviti poredak prirode kao izvor načela što ih treba ostvariti u vlastitoj egzistenciji. 11 U takvom sustavu obični građani pokušavaju ili očekuju od svojih vođa da jasno izražavaju njegovo zamagljeno, ali čvrsto uvjerenje da oni nisu samo pioni u bilo kojoj političkoj igri, niti vlasništvo ma koje vlade ili vladara, već je pojedinac koji živi i protestira zbog kojega se igraju sve političke igre i zbog kojega su ustanovljene sve vlade. Radi se zapravo o sustavu u kojem “najsiromašniji čovjek treba imati život za življenje kao i onaj najveći”. Vidi: MacDonald, Margaret, Prirodna prava, cit. u: Matulović, Momir, Ljudska prava, Zbornik tekstova iz suvremenih teorija ljudskih prava, II. izmijenjeno i dopunjeno izdanje, Rijeka, 1992., str. 41. 12 To je u suprotnosti sa idejom stvaranja građanskog društva koje je zapravo i nastalo kao rezultat sporazuma da bi prirodna prava bila bolje čuvana (vladavina na temelju suglasnosti!). “Čovjek nije ušao u društvo, kaže Paine, ustupanjem svojih prirodnih prava da bi mu bilo gore nego što mu je bilo ranije već samo da bi ih bolje osigurao”. Vidi: MacDonald Margaret, op. cit., str. 45. 13 Doktrine o prirodnom pravu i prirodnim pravima imaju dugu i upečatljivu povijest od stoika i rimskih pravnika do Atlantske povelje i Rooseveltove Četiri slobode (sloboda govora i vjere, sloboda od oskudice i straha svih osoba i na svakom mjestu!). 1. GRAĐANSKA NEPOSLUŠNOST – IZRAZ MORALNE AUTONOMIJE ČOVJEKA Poslušnost i otpor dugo su vrijedili kao komplementarni pojmovi europskog političkog poretka: pružanje otpora zločinačkom naredbama i nepravednim zakonima predstavljalo je poslušnost uzvišenom pravu i prihvaćanje uzvišenih vrednota. Pitanje granice poslušnosti uvijek je bilo povezano s pitanjem granica prava države na upletanje. Od vremena od kada su ljudi postali svjesni svojeg postojanja, njihova misao je bila usmjerena na razmišljanje i priželjkivanje političkog sustava u kojem bi svi pojedinci bili slobodni i dostojanstveni, odnosno u kojem bi svi članovi bili međusobno politički jednaki, kao kolektivitet suvereni i u kojem bi oni posjedovali sve kapacitete, izvore i institucije koji im trebaju vladati nad sobom samima.10 Moderna demokratska država koja od XIX. stoljeća crpi svoje motive iz koncepta liberalne demokracije danas se uzima, uz određene modifikacije i nadogradnje, otvorenim i poželjnim okvirom uređenja suvremene države. U takvom konceptu demokracije, gdje je država zajednička institucija svih svojih članova, ne bi se smjelo ekonomski tiranizirati ekonomski slabije od strane ekonomski moćnijih, odnosno tiranizirati politički slabije od onih koji su politički jači.11 Stalna i uporna nastojanja ljudi da kao slobodna bića, izgrađuju zajednicu u kojoj će uskladiti svoje interese s interesima zajednice, s ciljem zaštite svojih individualnih (prirodnih) prava, doveli su do postupnog mijenjanja njihovog odnosa prema politički organiziranoj zajednici, na način da se država počinje promatrati kao prisilna organizacija koja nastoji na niz načina ograničavati čovjekovu slobodu, iako se on rađa kao slobodno biće (“a svugdje je u lancima”! – J.J.Rousseau), jednako i ravnopravno sa svim drugim članovima društvene zajednice.12 Tome je doprinijela i moderna prirodno pravna teorija13 svojim 180 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. stavom da ljudska prava nisu samo moralno već, posebno izrazito, pravno pitanje, jer vlast svojim pravnim normama mora priznati ta prava i zajamčiti im pravnu zaštitu.14 Iako se danas smatra da ljudska prava nalaze svoje najpotpunije ostvarenje u uvjetima demokracije, jer se pretpostavlja da je demokracija takav oblik političkog poretka ili vladavine za koji se može reći da bi trebao biti poredak poštivanja ljudskih prava, može se konstatirati da suvremena ustavna demokracija do sada ipak nije uspjela u cjelini pomiriti vladavinu većine s individualnom neovisnošću, kao i osigurati sve učinkovite mehanizme obrane od trajne potrebe većine da drugima nameće svoj sustav ideja, vrijednosti i način razmišljanja. Danas se, za razliku od prethodnih perioda kada se primjenjivala gruba fizička represija nad pojedincima radi sprječavanja slobodnog razvoja individualnosti, vladajuća većina koristi suptilnijim i sofisticiranijim metodama nametanja većinskog mišljenja i diktiranja načina ponašanja, prvenstveno koristeći monopol ili stečenu političku poziciju u sredstvima informiranja. U takvim uvjetima u kojima vlada tiranija mišljenja većine teško se javljaju pojedinci koji imaju drugačije ili oprečne stavove, jer se takvi pojedinci koji se bore za istinu, ljubav i integritet često moraju osim javne osude nositi i sa mogućim ugrožavanjem vlastitog fizičkog opstanka.15 Na taj način suvremena demokracija često sprječava ljudsko duhovno oslobađanje i čovjekovu realizaciju u njegovoj punini. Društvo u kojem se pojedinac nalazi u situaciji da zbog konformizma zadržava svoju ideju u sebi ili na jednom mjestu, odnosno ako ta ideja nema mogućnosti izraziti se, predstaviti zajednicu u kojoj je sloboda misli, savjesti i govora zapravo bezvrijedna i predstavlja samo puku formu.16 Takvo društvo govori zapravo o uspostavljenim odnosima između građana i vlasti, ali i između samih građana, kao i o odnosima između samih državnih vlasti. 181 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 14 Pri tome se mora polaziti od činjenice da ljudska prava, kao kvintisencijalni element pravne države, nisu nešto što država “daje” svojim članovima, već ona predstavljaju granicu preko koje država i njen pravni poredak ne smiju preći! Vidi: J. St. Mill, O slobodi (prijevod), Beograd, 1990., str. 8. 15 Zaštita slobode misli i izražavanja i njihova praktična realizacija uveliko ovisi o tome ima li određena država tradiciju neovisnog i aktivnog sudstva, jesu li ustavna prava od jučer ili su ta prava tek skovana u određenom društvu, te kako su se pojedina prava i slobode tretirala ranije. Također su od velike važnosti i šira kulturna obilježja određene sredine, odnosno radi li se o zemlji u kojoj se kultura uvijek uživala, je li je praktična filozofija zemlje individualistička ili stavlja naglasak na položaj pojedinca unutar zajednice. Vidi: A. Bačić, Leksikon Ustava RH, Split, 2000., str. 326. 16 Sloboda govora predstavlja ključni način kojim ljudi komuniciraju jedan s drugim, i kao takva je nezamjenjivi odušak za emocionalna stanja i vitalni aspekt razvoja nečijeg karaktera i ideja. Realizacija slobode misli i govora doprinosi otkrivanju istine. Budući da su ljudi tijekom vremena izloženi različitim tvrdnjama, razumljiva je želja da se otkriju one tvrdnje koje su najbliže istini. Sloboda govora doprinosi i akomodaciji interesa, odnosno prilagodbu međusobno suprotstavljenih interesa i želja. Ona omogućava ljudima da ukažu i na svoje želje, čime se olakšava donošenje odgovarajućih odluka i propisa. Sloboda misli i govora doprinosi i razvijanju tolerancije različitosti, a time se pomaže u ostvarivanju stabilizacije ustavnodemokratskog ustrojstva države i društva. Na koncu sloboda misli i govora podstiče autonomiju pojedinca i njegovu slobodu izbora. Vidi šire u: A. Bačić, Komentar Ustava RH, Split, 2004., str. 109.-119. 17 O političkom individualizmu i moralnoj autonomiji vidi: Joseph Raz, Moralnosti utemeljene na pravu, u: M. Matulović, op. cit. str. 160.-167. 18 Prema nizu teoretičara, u demokratskom društvu se većine najčešće nažalost ne formiraju od najslobodnijih osoba, nego od najvećih konformista, te stoga suvremenu demokraciju poistovjećuju s društvom komformizma. Vidi: N. Bobbio, op. cit. str. 299. 19 O tome vidi šire u: H. Arendt, Građanska neposlušnost, u: Eseji o politici, Antibarbarus, Zagreb, 1996., str. 261. Ustavno demokratska država liberalnog tipa mora jamčiti granicu preko koje vladajuće mišljenje većine ne može zadirati u individualni moralni i intelektualni integritet jer je obrana te granice važan uvjet slobode na isti način kao i zaštita pojedinca od samovolje i nasilja vlasti. Bez obzira da li se radi o društvu “tiranije mišljenja većine”, ili pak o društvu u kojem su prihvaćeni i afirmirani svi demokratski principi, te usvojena koncepcija pravednosti kao temeljno načelo političkog uređenja u kojem građani uređuju svoje odnose, pojedinci, članovi društva se mogu naći u situaciji, bez obzira je li se sustavno i trajno krše njihova ljudska prava ili ne, da se norme većine sukobljavaju sa njihovim sustavom vrijednosti (moralnim, vjerskim i sl.) i tada se otvara jedno od ključnih pitanja u odnosima između građanina i države: bezpogovorna lojalnost ili pravo na politički individualizam i moralnu autonomiju (gdje pojedinac zauzima kritički stav prema pravnim i političkim aktima),17 odnosno pojednostavljeno: pokoravanje (komformizam) ili otpor - protivljenje (građanski neposluh).18 1.1. Građanska lojalnost ili o savjesnom građaninu koji nastoji ostati čovjek! Od državljanina svake demokratske države se traži ne samo participacija u oblikovanju političkih odluka, već i lojalnost, odnosno da poštuje zakone države u kojoj živi te da predano ispunjava i određena prava i obveze. Građani mogu na različite načine biti motivirani na lojalnost državi i njenoj vlasti: interesno, ideološki ili emocionalno. Da bi građani voljeli svoju državu i osjećali je kao svoju, država ne smije tolerirati postojanje privilegija i diskriminacija, te mora ohrabrivati participaciju u političkom životu. Politička participacija nije samo sredstvo da bi se imali dobri zakoni i sprječile zlouporabe, već je i najbolja škola za odgoj dobrih građana. Poštovanje prema državi građani iskazuju kroz moralnu snagu koja ih podstiče da djeluju za zajedničko dobro i da se odupru neprijateljima zajedničke slobode. Pri tome, teško je odrediti granicu gdje prestaje građanska lojalnost prema idealu države, a gdje počinje građanska lojalnost prema strukturama vlasti, koja građane često svodi na status objekta kojima se može manipulirati.19 Dokle može otići takva logika zorno su pokazali totalitarni režimi prošlog stoljeća koji su u praksi funkcionirali kao masovne organizacije izoliranih pojedinaca. Potpuna lojalnost moguća je jedino kada se vjernost liši bilo kakvog konkretnog sadržaja koji po 182 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. prirodi stvari može dovesti do kolebanja u mišljenju. Kako pojedinac ne bi došao u situaciju da njegova lojalnost bude zloupotrebljena od strane vlasti i okrenuta protiv njega samog, potrebno je da građani steknu političko obrazovanje o državi u kojoj žive. Obrazovanje građana pretpostavlja informiranost o društvenim i političkim tokovima i minimalno poznavanje pravnog sustava i institucija. Obrazovanje građana je posebno važno iz razloga što država nije neutralna i anonimna vlast, nego institucija kojom upravljaju ljudi koji imaju svoje interese. Ukoliko je država u funkciji takvih interesa tada je lojalnost građana takvoj državi obična prevara koja dovodi do pristajanja većine pojedinaca na privilegije manjine. S druge strane, priznavanje građanskih i političkih prava ne podrazumijeva neutralnost vlasti i odsutnost njenog interveniranja u društveni život. Iz navedenih razloga u svim suvremenim društvima otvara se kao jedno od bitnih pitanja u okviru građanske lojalnosti: kako biti savjestan građanin i pritom ostati čovjek?20 Savjestan građanin bi trebao biti pojedinac koji je lojalan državi i vlasti sve dok su oni u funkciji općeprihvaćenih načela jednakosti i pravednosti. Međutim, ukoliko vlast prekrši ta načela, savjesni građani bi se trebali mobilizirati i priskočiti u pomoć žrtvama nepravde. Snažan stimulans za pokretanje građanske vrline mogao bi biti osjećaj nužnosti. Građani u takvom zajedničkom angažmanu moraju otkriti vrijednosti koje zaslužuju biti branjene po načelu da se štiteći prava i slobode jednog čovjeka brani sloboda i čast čitavog društva. No, bez obzira na sve izneseno vjerojatno će uvijek postojati razlika između savjesno-lojalnih i interesno-lojalnih građana. Prvi, lojalnost državi doživljavaju kao lojalnost demokratsko-humanističkim idealima i takvi su uvijek spremni da se kroz oblike građanske neposlušnosti suprotstave svim anomalijama vlasti, dok drugi slijepo vjerujući vlasti koja je za njih “od Boga” ostaju uvijek vjerni i bezpogovorno lojalni, ali i spremni da svoju lojalnost naplate privilegijama i napredovanjem u društvenoj hijerarhiji. Na suprotnom polu od građanske lojalnosti nalazi se pojam građanske neposlušnosti koji označava javan, nenasilan, ilegalan, svjestan politički čin suprotan pravu, ali i prigovor savjesti (ili odbijanje zbog savjesti) koji je za razliku od građanske neposlušnosti individualni čin odbijanja izvršavanja neke dužnosti zbog vjerskih ili moralnih uvjerenja, u nizu zemalja danas priznat kao legalan čin, ali pod određenim uvjetima. Upravo u uvjetima odanosti političkom individualizmu i moralnoj autonomiji, gdje pojedinac zauzima sve kritičnije stavove spram političkim i pravnim aktima države, prigovor savjesti predstavlja posebno pravno i etičko pitanje. 183 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 20 Iako je osobna savjest ono što teoretičari ističu kao motor građanskog aktivizma i dovoljan razlog legitimnosti građanskog otpora, neki teoretičari, kao npr. H. Arendt, termin savjesti su odvojili od termina građanske neposlušnosti, jer je pravno opravdanje otpora koji se vrši isključivo na osnovu savjesti teško izvedivo iz dva razloga. Prvo, savjest je subjektivna (jedna savjest stoji nasuprot druge). Drugo, opravdan je otpor samo onog čovjeka koji je sposoban razlučiti dobro od lošega, te je zainteresiran za svoj boljitak, a zajednica nije sposobna procijenjivati da li neposlušnik ima takve osobine. Osobna savjest, po njoj, postaje politički značajnom tek kad se određeni broj pojedinačnih savjesti podudara i kada zajedno nastupe u javnosti. Time se pojedinci mogu pozivati na cijelu zajednicu neposlušnih građana. Vidi: H. Arendt, op. cit. 221. 21 Pojam građanske neposlušnosti se prvi put javlja 1866. godine u knjizi “Yenkee in Canada” u kojoj su urednici knjige naslov Thoreauovog eseja “Otpor građanskoj vladi” promijenili u “Građanska neposlušnost”. Sam Thoreau nikad nije koristio navedenu sintagmu. Henry David Thoreau predstavlja historijsku paradigmu, kako građanske neposlušnosti tako i prigovora savjesti. 1846. godine bio je osuđen u SAD na zatvorsku kaznu nakon četvorogodišnjeg upornog odbijanja da plati porez državi, jer je smatrao da bi plaćanjem poreza sudjelovao u podupiranju države u provođenju nasilja izraženom u ratu protiv Meksika, u podržavanju robovlasničkog sustava na Jugu SAD i nehumanog odnosa prema američkim starosjediocima. Taj svoj stav kasnije je izrazio u svojim poznatim esejima o neposlušnosti prema državi, predstavljenim javnosti 1848. pod nazivom “On the Relation of the Individual to the State” i svojim riječima: “Jedina obveza koju imam jest pravo da si dopustim da činim uvijek što mislim da je pravo”. Cijela politička filozofija Thoreaua bila je utemeljena na premisi individualne savjesti kao jedinog istinskog kriterija kod ocjene toga što je politički ispravno i pravedno, kao i na mišljenju da kada čovjekova savjest dođe u koliziju s pravom tada ta osoba mora slijediti svoju savjest. Vidi o tome u: D. Vukadin, Pravo prigovora savjesti, Filozofska istraživanja, Zagreb, 2003., sv. 2., str. 423.-424. 22 Građanska neposlušnost po definiciji predstavlja nelegalan čin. Budući da se građanska neposlušnost suprotstavlja nepravdi u granicama poštivanja zakona ona sprječava kršenje prava i ispravlja ga kada se dogodi, te se u stvarnosti zato može govoriti o opravdanosti građanskog neposluha. Pojam legitimna akcija se uzima upravo iz kriterija pravednosti i pravičnosti, a ne zakonitosti. Za razliku od liberalnih teoretičara J. Habermas predlaže ozakonjivanje građanske neposlušnosti, na način da sudovi ne bi trebali suditi neposlušnim građanima na isti način kao i kriminalcima iz razloga što “svaka državno- pravna demokracija koja je sigurna u sebe samo promatra građansku neposlušnost kao normalizirajuću i neophodni sastavni dio svoje političke kulture”. Legitimnost građanske neposlušnosti kao oblik neinstitucionaliziranog nepovjerenja prema državi jest onaj element koji izdiže državu iz cjeline njenog pozitivno ustanovljenog poretka. “Pravna država potiče i održava u budnom stanju nepovjerenje prema nepravdi koja nastupa u legalnim oblicima.” Vidi: J. Habermas, Građanska neposlušnost – test za demokratsku pravnu državu, Gledišta, Beograd, sv. 10.-12., str. 54.-58. 1.2. Pravo na građansku neposlušnost - (prirodna dužnost spram pravednosti)? U ustavno demokratskim državama liberalnog tipa polazi se od pretpostavke da državljani duguju svoju lojalnost svojim konstitucionalno uspostavljenim institucijama. Ako se legislator drži procedure i načela pravde koja su zajamčena ustavnim aranžmanom, te ako se ne krše politička ili građanska prava državljana, tada neposluh nije legitiman način političkog djelovanja. Prema liberalnoj doktrini dužnost poslušnosti ovisi o vladinu poštivanju prava, i nema ništa sa stupnjem participacije građana u političkom životu. Iz ove perspektive je moralno utemeljenje ustavne demokracije locirano u principu prava pojedinca. Cijeli raspon od temeljnih, osobnih do političkih prava koja pripadaju članovima zajednice, a kojima se osiguravaju sloboda izražavanja, okupljanja, udruživanja i sl., smatraju se upravo pravima koja omogućavaju participaciju u političkom sustavu putem institucija kao što su stranke, tisak, izbori, parlamenti i interesne grupe. Ta prava i njihovi institucionalni okviri predstavljaju zaštitu od zloupotreba vlasti. Kada reprezentativna tijela rade dobro, ne bi trebalo biti nikakve potrebe za određenom nelegalnom vaninstitucionalnom političkom akcijom, osim ako se ne radi o akciji koja ima za cilj obranu nekih individualnih prava. Građanski neposluh21 može predstavljati legitimnu akciju ili čin samo u slučaju uskrate pravde, shvaćene kao povrede individualnih ili manjinskih prava koja je počinila odgovarajuća konstituirana demokratska većina.22 Na taj način, 184 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. građanski neposluh je usmjeren na zaštitu individualnih prava prema demokratskoj političkoj zajednici. Jedan od najistaknutijih liberalnih teoretičara današnjice John Rawls definira građansku neposlušnost kao “javni, nenasilni, a ipak politički akt savjesti, suprotan zakonu, koji se obično čini sa ciljem provođenja promjene u zakonu ili politici vlade”.23 S ovom definicijom je u skladu i Habermasovo određenje, iako bi on spadao u skupinu radikalno demokratskih teoretičara građanske neposlušnosti, prema kojem u građansku neposlušnost ubrajamo “one postupke koji su po svom obliku ilegalni, mada se razvijaju u okviru pozivanja na zajednički priznate osnove legitimiteta demokratsko-državno-pravnog poretka” (teorija demokratske legitimacije).24 Za Gandhija, građanski je neposluh podvrsta Satyagraha djelovanja (nenasilni otpor prakticiran u Južnoafričkoj Republici i Indiji u prvoj polovici XX. stoljeća) koji označava “kršenje zakona od onoga koji pruža otpor, na civilni, odnosno nenasilni način. Kršitelj priziva zakonsku kaznu te radosno podnosi boravak u zatvoru”.25 Sličnog je stava, glede kazne za neposluh, i J. Rawls koji smatra da ukoliko je pojedincu iskreno stalo do pravednog poretka, on će prihvatiti kaznu koju je zaslužio prema postojećem (nepravednom) zakonu te će prihvatiti čak i neke nepravedne zakone, ukoliko oni ne prelaze određenu granicu nepravednosti. Pojedinac se mora žrtvovati kako bi uvjerio ostale članove društva da njegovi postupci imaju dostatnu moralnu bazu u političkim uvjerenjima zajednice. “Ova vjernost zakonu pomaže da većina shvati da je čin zaista politički svjestan i iskren, i da je usmjeren ka javnoj svijesti o pravednosti”.26 Za razliku od spomenutih H. Arendt smatra da je sintagma građanska neposlušnost raširena u svijetu, ali je po podrijetlu i svojoj biti primarno američka, te u skladu s duhom američkih zakona – čak ističe da ni u jednom drugom jeziku ne postoji izvorni termin koji bi odgovarao značenju američkog termina “civil disobedience”.27 H. Arendt smješta građanski neposluh između kriminaliteta i direktne revolucije, ali za razliku od liberala, za nju nenasilje nije njegova temeljna karakteristika, nego njegov duh. Međutim, ona ne želi afirmirati nasilje kao oblik legitimnog otpora već ga promatra u proturječju s političkim djelovanjem, a građanski neposluh je, za nju, politička akcija par exellence.28 185 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 23 Rawls John, Teorija građanske neposlušnosti, u: M. Matulović, op. cit. str. 127. 24 Habermas Jürgen, op. cit. 55. 25 Gandhi Mahatma, Satyagraha (Non-Violent Resistance), Navajivan Publishing House, Amedabad, 1958., str.4. 26 J. Rawls, op. cit. 139. 27 H. Arendt spada s Habermasom u najistaknutije teoretičare demokratske legitimacije, koja polazi od načela demokratske reprezentacije prije nego od ideje individualnih prava prema državi. Ova teorija reafirmira utopijske demokratske norme neposredne participacije građana u javnom životu. Unutar ovoga kruga postoji snažna tradicija koja teži odbacivanju građanske neposlušnosti u demokratskom političkom društvu. Prema Arendt liberalni pristup ne može primjereno razdvojiti građansku neposlušnost od prigovora savjesti (conscientious objection) jer civilni neposluh ne podrazumijeva izoliranog pojedinca, u liberalnom smislu, već djelovanje kolektiva, grupe. Prema njoj “građanski neposlušnici nisu ništa drugo nego najkasniji oblik dobrovoljnih asocijacija, pa su oni u suglasju s najstarijim tradicijama zemlje”. Vidi o tome H. Arendt, Crisis in the Republic, New York, 1969., pp. 74.-98. 28 Ibid., str. 96. Poseban doprinos teorijskoj razradi fenomena građanske neposlušnosti dao je Ronald Dworkin, koji je za razliku od većine liberalnih teoretičara građanske neposlušnosti koji su nastojali utvrditi legalne granice aktivnosti (nasilnost), odnosno kad se neposluh pretvara u protupravno osporavanje načela ustavnog poretka, ponudio posve drugačiji pristup. Po Dworkinu akcije civilnog neposluha su jako složene pa je tako teško utvrditi kad je na djelu “upotreba sile”, osobito ako su sudionici u akcijama neposluha bili izazvani primjenom sile od strane organa reda. U tom smisli on vrši razliku građanske neposlušnosti na način da je jedna “utemeljena na pravdi” (justice-based), a druga “politički utemeljena”. Prva se tiče slučaja gdje netko krši zakon u ime obrane prava manjine naspram interesa ili ciljeva većine. Druga je na djelu kada netko ne poštuje zakon, ne zbog uvjerenja u nepravednost ili nemoralnost politike, već iz uvjerenja da se radi o neprimjerenom, glupom ili po društvo štetnom zakonu. Po njemu oba tipa su “ofenzivna” jer im je cilj promjena politike ili zakona. Uz ovo, Dworkin je vršio podjelu građanske neposlušnosti prema obliku i intenciji na način da ih je podijelio na: uvjeravajuće - diskuzivne (pervasive) i neuvjeravajuće – nediskurzivne. Uvjeravajuće imaju za cilj prisiliti većinu na slušanje protuargumenata s nadom da će nakon toga promijeniti mišljenje (ne dovodi u pitanje većinski poredak) dok neuvjeravajuće ciljaju povećavanju troškova u provođenju neželjenih zakona ili politike kako bi na koncu većina shvatila da je to neisplatljivo zbog previsoke cijene. Dworkin prihvaća sve aktivnosti građanskog neposluha sve dok su motivirane uvjerenjem u zbiljsku nepravednost zakona koji osporavaju, ali ukoliko se radi o akcijama koje su rezultat sukobljenih interesa, a ne pokušaja obrane manjinskih prava, takve su aktivnosti nelegalne i ne mogu se ničim opravdati jer udaraju u samu srž principa većine.29 Iz svega iznesenog može se doći do zaključka da građanska neposlušnost, uopćeno promatrano, nije usmjerena ka neposrednom svladavanju konkretnih problema, već je njen cilj prije svega potaknuti javnost na razmišljanje, pobuditi etička razmatranja, preispitivanje legitimnosti vlasti te stvoriti društvenu klimu koja će tako prisiliti vlast na promjene. Što se tiče legitimnosti odnosno, opravdanosti građanskog neposluha neke teorije daju potpuno apstraktne kriterije (kao npr. radikalna teorija građanske neposlušnosti – nepravednost zakona opravdava neposlušnost takvim zakonima), dok druge pokušavaju dati ipak preciznije kriterije opravdanosti. Među teoretičarima građanske neposlušnosti Rawls je utvrdio najkonkretnije kriterije opravdanosti građanske neposlušnosti. Prema Rawlsu, “opravdanost neslaganja sa zakonom i institucijama ovisi o mjeri u kojoj su ti zakoni i institucije nepravedne”, a slučajevi očitih i bitnih nepravdi bi bili: negiranje načela jednakog prava na slobodu; uskračivanje prava glasa i prava na rad; uskračivanje slobode kretanja ili ako se vrši represija nad nacionalnim manjinama i nekim religioznim 186 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 29 Dworkin Ronald, A Matter of Principle, Cambridge, 1985., pp.107.-111. sektama. Uz to Rawls postavlja još dvije pretpostavke: iscrpljenost svih legalnih oblika za uklanjanje nepravde i jasno određivanje granica građanske neposlušnosti da ne dođe do masovnog nepoštivanja ustava i zakona.”30 Uz Rawls teoretičar koji je najkonkretnije razradio kriterije legitimnosti građanskog neposluha je Franz Neumann prema kojem postoje četiri situacije u kojima pojedinac ima pravo na pružanje legitimnog otpora: kada se ne poštuje doktrina o pravnoj jednakosti svih ljudi; kada zakoni koji pogađaju život i slobodu nisu opći zakoni; kada postoje retroaktivni zakoni koji narušavaju princip univerzalnosti zakona i kada izvršavanje zakona koji pogađaju život i slobodu nije prepušteno organu odvojenom od državnih institucija koje donose odluke.31 1.3. Oblici i elementi građanske neposlušnosti Ukoliko pogledamo tradicionalnu klasifikaciju moralno i politički motiviranih oblika neposlušnosti (prema kriteriju intenziteta u objektivnom društvenom kontekstu) moguće ih je uopćeno razvrstati u tri kategorije: - revolucionarna neposlušnost (politički motivirano kršenje zakona s krajnjim ciljem promjene vlasti); - građanska (civilna) neposlušnost (politički motivirano kršenje zakona s ciljem promjene pozitivnopravnog propisa ili vlasti; javni protest kojim se iskazuje neslaganje s pravom ili državnom politikom); - prigovor savjesti (kršenje zakona od strane pojedinca koji smatra da bi postupanje po normi bilo moralno zabranjeno; radi opće prirode određene norme; ili se norma odnosi na određena pitanja na koja se po pojedincu ne bi trebala odnositi).32 Na temelju istih kriterija, ali nešto diferenciranije mogle bi se građanske (civilne) neposlušnosti razvrstati u četiri oblika i to: - pravni oblik neslaganja – najuža razina gdje se pojedinac protivi normi, ali u dopuštenim pravnim okvirima; - nelegalna neposlušnost pri kojoj pojedinac ne pristaje na sankciju za svoje ponašanje jer institucije kojima se protivi smatra nelegitimnim ili nepravednim; - oblici neslaganja koji su usmjereni ne na neko specijalno područje već teže općoj reformi državnih institucija. Ovakve se radnje teže mogu opravdavati od strane pojedinaca koji su u njima zatečeni; - revolucionarna neposlušnost usmjerena, ne na reformu državnih vlasti, već na reorganizaciji društva na drugačijim načelima i vrednotama.33 187 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 30 J. Rawls, op. cit. 132.-135. 31 Franz Neumann, O granicama opravdane neposlušnosti, u: Demokratska i autoritarna država, Zagreb, 1992., str. 181. 32 Vidi o tome u: M. Cerar, Nekateri pravni in moralni vidiki ugovora vesti, Zbornik znanstvenih rasprav, Ljubljana, 1993., br. LIII., str. 32. Prema većini autora koji se bave problemom građanske neposlušnosti može se zaključiti da bi nužni elementi koji određuju ovu građansku aktivnost morali biti: - protupravno (protuustavno, nezakonito) djelovanje; - svjesno djelovanje; - javno djelovanje (javni čin); - argumentirano djelovanje; - u pravilu političko djelovanje; - vrijednosno usmjereno djelovanje; - djelovanje u krajnem slučaju (iscrpljena sva druga sredstva); - nenasilno djelovanje (pasivni otpor); - djelovanje kojega je cilj ostvariti određenu promjenu u pravnom sustavu ili politici države;34 1.4. Subjekti građanske neposlušnosti 1.4.1. Pojedinac Individualizam, razum, iskustvo, istina, sloboda, obrazovanje i pravednost predstavljaju one vrijednosti koje određuju građanina kao aktivnog sudionika u procesu donošenja političkih odluka, ali koje ga i potiču na svjesno kršenje zakona i suprotsavljanje vlasti. Bitno teorijsko polazište je da je građanin sposoban formulirati zahtjeve koji će mu omogućiti slobodu, služeći se razumom i stečenim iskustvom, odnosno da je sposoban prepoznati kada je vlast pravedna te se protiv takve vlasti ima pravo buniti.35 U političkom smislu, na žalost, nikada velike skupine ljudi ne reagiraju na nepravdu istovremeno, već sve ovisi o iznimno hrabrim i mudrim pojedincima. Takvi pojedinci, vođeni spomenutim idealima i ohrabreni slobodnim mislima i slobodnom imaginacijom osjećaju dužnost ka kršenju zakona i poduzimanju onih radnji koje smatraju ispravnim, ne želeći da prepuste svoje živote sudbini konformističke većine36 Pri tome je jedno od temeljnih pitanja može li osobna savjest jednog pojedinca biti dovoljan razlog za građanski otpor i mogu li se njegovi postupci smatrati građanskom neposlušnošću. Stav većine teoretičara je da se treba odvojiti termin otpor zbog savjesti od građanske neposlušnosti. Tako H. Arendt smatra da se teško može pravno opravdati otpor pojedinca koji se vrši isključivo na temelju savjesti iz dva razloga. 188 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 33 Ibid., str.34. 34 Vidi npr.: J. Rawls, op. cit., str. 128.-130., C. Bay, Civil Disobedience: Prerequisite for Democraty in Mass Society, Boston, 1971., pp. 225., H. Bedau, On Civil Desobedience, Obligation and Dissent, New York, 1969., pp.205., J. Raz, The Authority of Law, Essays on Law and Morality, Oxford, 1986., pp. 269. 35 U svezi s ovim stavom Marcuse tvrdi da je : “istina cilj slobode, dok se sloboda mora definirati i odrediti uz pomoć istine”. Vidi: Herbert Marcuse, Represivna tolerancija, u: Kritika čiste tolerancije, Globus, Zagreb, 1984., str. 82. 36 O ulozi pojedinaca u građanskom neposluhu pisali su osim Thoreaua i Gandhi, pripadnici frankfurtskog kruga kao i mnogi drugi. Prvo, zato što je savjest subjektivna (savjest stoji nasuprot druge savjesti!) i drugo, zato što je otpor opravdan samo od strane onog građanina koji je sposoban razlučiti dobro od zla, a zajednica nije sposobna to procjenjivati. Prema njoj privatni otpor utemeljen na osobnom stavu, moralnim imperativima ili pozivanju na viši zakon ne može se smatrati građanskom neposlušnošću.37 Sličnog je stava i J. Rawls koji smatra da je individualni čin koji nije podvrgnut zakonskim odredbama i koji nije u javnom forumu i ne priziva uvjerenja zajednice zapravo prigovor savjesti – odbijanje iz razloga savjesti, a ne građanska neposlušnost.38 Za razliku od navedenih teoretičara, neki kao npr. Thoreau i Gandhi, smatraju da u borbi za pravedan cilj nije nužan veliki broj ljudi jer je uspjeh moguć čak i kad postoji samo jedan odlučan neposlušni građanin, a tom se stavu priklonio i J. Habermas, koji smatra da se građanskom neposlušnošću može smatrati i čin pojedinca ukoliko je javan, ako se može obavezati ustavnom konsenzusu, te ako se ne vrši samo zbog ostvarivanja privatnih uvjerenja.39 1.4.2. Manjina Građanin osim što je indivudualno određen, kao pojedinac, iz niza interesa ili uvjerenja, od onih političkih i ekonomskih do kulturnih i sl., uključuje se formalno ili neformalno, trajno ili povremeno u pojedine društvene institucije, grupe ili skupine koje se mogu naći i u situaciji da pružaju otpor vlasti, čak i kad tu vlast podržava većina. Nepolušni građani tada djeluju u ime i zbog grupe, a ne zbog toga što žele postići neki ustupak za sebe. Oni se odupiru vlasti, ustanovljenim autoritetima ili zakonima iz osnova temeljnog razilaženja njihovih stavova i uvjerenja sa onima većine. Te manjine nisu političke stranke već organizacije, koje su u nekim situacijama i nastale isključivo sa tim razlogom i koje nestaju kad dostignu zadati cilj. Pojedinci djelujući u grupi imaju legitimitet pri građanskoj neposlušnosti isključivo ukoliko su utemeljeni na moralnim principima koji su svima razumljivi, a na kojima se temelji očekivanje svake moderne ustavne države da će biti priznata na temelju osobnog motiva svakog građanina. 2. PRAVO PRIGOVORA SAVJESTI KAO PRIRODNO MORALNO PRAVO GRAĐANINA U okviru teorijskih rasprava o građanskoj neposlušnosti prigovor savjesti je najčešće bio tretiran kao jedan od oblika građanske neposlušnosti. Međutim, 189 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 37 “Neposlušni građanin nikada ne postoji kao usamljeni pojedinac; on može funkcionirati i preživjeti jedino kao član grupe”. Arendt, op. cit., str. 228. 38 Rawls, op. cit., 130-131. 39 J. Habermas, op. cit., str. 63. učestalost pozivanja pojedinaca na odbijanje izvršavanja određenih dužnosti u društvu zbog sukoba određenih pravnih normi sa savješću pojedinaca, ovo pitanje je postupno dobijalo sve više prostora u javnosti, da bi danas kao corpus separatus u velikom broju konstitucija suvremenih demokratskih ustavnih država našlo svoje mjesto i postalo čak legalno pravo građana. 2.1. Savjest i društvena prisila Uspostava ustavne demokracije ne znači ujedno da su temeljna prava građana u potpunosti zajamčena, odnosno da se pojedinac ne može u izvršavanju prava i obveza naći ponekad i u sukobu sa svojim svjetonazorom, moralom i savješću. Kao svjesno biće čovjek ima sposobnost samoopažanja. To znači da može kontrolirati i izražavati svoje vlastite postupke. Preispitivanje svojih postupaka često se naziva “glas savjesti” (to Kant naziva “praktični um”), a to znači da pojedinac svojim umom objašnjava i analizira svoje praktično djelovanje. Savjest je spoznajni proces kojim provjeravamo da li smo točno odredili nešto prema onome u stvarnosti, odnosno da li nam je procjena ispravna i da li je primjena našeg postupka odgovarajuća situaciji. Ona je slična pravnom postupku pa se često naziva unutarnjim sudijom. Savjest i sudi i izriče kaznu. Isto tako, savjest zahtijeva promjenu u ponašanju. Budući da je to subjektivna kategorija, često se događa da je pojedinac postiskuje i ne iskazuje kajanje za svoje postupke. Kako je čovjek društveno biće on je odgovoran prema drugim ljudima, članovima zajednice, i njihovim savjestima, te je zbog toga dužan svoje postupke opravdavati argumentima. Čovjek mora imati savjest o dužnostima, a dužnost se shvaća kao dobro djelovanje. Tko nema savjest o dužnosti taj nema ni prava. Prema Tomi Akvinskom osnovno načelo praktičnog uma je: “Dobro valja činiti, za njim težiti, a zlo valja izbjegavati”. Savjest predstavlja subjektivnu i relativnu kategoriju, te će pojedinci zbog toga i različito djelovati u određenim prilikama vođeni svojom savješću (npr. odbiti ili prihvatiti vojnu službu ili otići u rat). Ona je vezana za sam identitet čovjeka pa gubitkom savjesti nestaje i identiteta pojedinca. Savjest je osobiti izričaj samosvjesnosti odnosa pojedinca i društva. Prihvaćanje društvenih normi “iznutra” predstavlja najbolji odnos prisile i stabilizacije društvenih odnosa.40 Za svakog pojedinca savjest je izbor kojim se ugrađuje u društvene odnose. Ljudi se u svom ponašanju ufaju u svoju savjest, stvarajući vrijednosne sudove o svemu što se dešava oko njih, pa tako i o pravnim normama i političkim aktima državne vlasti. Kada pojedinac osjeti unutarnji otpor prema pravnoj normi, on nema mogućnost izbora i mora reagirati u skladu sa svojom savješću, bez obzira na negativne posljedice po njega. Individualna 190 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 40 Tako na primjer E. Fromm iznosi interesantan stav da čovjek usvaja zakone i sankcije koje tim činom postaju dio njegovog “ja”, jer ih taj isti pojedinac čini unutarnjim. Na taj način taj pojedinac umjesto da se osjeća odgovornim prema nečemu izvan sebe, on se osjeća odgovornim prema nečemu u sebi, svojoj savjesti, koja je učinkovitiji regulator ponašanja nego strah od vanjskih autoriteta, jer dok ljudi od tih istih autoriteta mogu pobjeći, ne mogu pobjeći od sebe samih. Vidi: E. Fromm, Čovjek za sebe – istraživanje psihologije etike (prijevod), Zagreb, 1986., str.133. savjest predstavlja jedini kriterij kod ocjene toga što je politčki ispravno i pravedno, te kada čovjekova savjest dođe u koliziju s pravom tada ta osoba u pravilu slijedi svoju savjest. Pri tome treba naglasiti da je od posebne važnosti i podsvjesni element koji formira savjest - strah od kazne. Za svakog pojedinca koji se ogriješio o normu, glede odnosa zločina i sankcije, savjest je kritični čimbenik društvene preobrazbe kažnjenog. Na koncu, iako se do danas nije uspjelo proniknuti u determinante supstancije savjesti, može se reći da savjest, kao unutarnji glas čovjeka i ljudsko moralno čulo, predstavlja čovjekovu težnju da donosi moralne sudove o tome što je dobro, a što loše, odnosno njegovu sposobnost da razlikuje i da stvara vrijednosna opredjeljenja koja su, isto tako, vrijedna koliko i ostali sudovi koji dolaze od razuma. Savjest prosuđuje ljudsko funkcioniranje, a po nekim mišljenjima ljudi, zapravo ne trebaju biti niti svjesni onoga što im nalaže savjest da bi trpjeli njezin utjecaj.41 2.2. Pravni i etički aspekti Prigovor savjesti u pravu ne predstavlja značajno pravno pitanje, ali se sve više u suvremenim demokracijama smatra bitnim kriterijem za ocjenu kvalitete određenog pravnog sustava, kako s aspekta pravne teorije i njene evaluacije u pozitivno pravo, tako i s etičkog aspekta. Prigovor savjesti predstavlja otpor pravnoj normi i/ili političkom djelovanju vlasti iz razloga što je ista norma i/ili politika nametnuta, te pojedinac kao zatočenik savjesti, zbog osjećaja dužnosti i vođen Kantovim kategoričkim imperativom, odbija izvršiti, ili se ne želi podvrgnuti, zapovijedi izraženoj u nekoj pravnoj normi ili političkom aktu.42 Ukoliko se pođe od stava da je svakom pojedincu njegova savjest glavni kriterij koji usmjerava njegovo ponašanje ili prosuđivanje, dolazi se do zaključka da je prigovor savjesti po svojoj prirodi moralno pravo, čak više moralna dužnost, nego pravno pravo.43 Iz konstatacije da je prigovor savjesti moralna dužnost pojedinca proizlazi da isti mora prigovoriti zbog neizdržive unutarnje potrebe koja je izazvana kolizijom pravne norme (koju ne može prihvatiti) i njegovog moralnog suda (religiskog, filozofskog i sl.), koja ga dovodi u situaciju da taj konflikt riješi u korist svog morala. Budući da je ljudska savjest neograničena, i ujedno subjektivna, pravna norma, objektiviziranjem kriterija u društvenoj zajednici, nastoji ograničiti tu savjest (u slučaju prigovora savjesti). Tako se pojedinac, vezano za prigovor savjesti, nalazi u pravnoj sferi – on prihvaća ili pristaje na pravnu sankciju. Kako se s moralne strane prigovarač savjesti ne smatra odgovornim jer je vođen moralnom dužnošću, dolazi do sutuacije da pojedinac može biti pravno kažnjen, ali ne i kažnjen na autentični moralni način. 191 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 41 Ibid., str. 131.-133. 42 D. Vukadin, op. cit., str. 421. 43 Takva tvrdnja se zasniva na stavu da u području morala pravo egzistira kao zamišljena korelacija moralne dužnosti. Šire u: M. Cerar, op. cit., str. 35. Na taj način stvara se razlika između moralne i pravne sankcije, jer moralna sankcija djeluje iznutra, a pravna sankcija izvana. Moralna sankcija djelujući iznutra, u slučaju prigovora savjesti, predstavlja autentičnu sankciju – pojedinci je sebi nameću u slučaju da su u određenoj situaciji postupili protivno svojoj moralnoj dužnosti. To sve govori u prilog tezi da je prigovor savjesti, osim što je pravno pitanje, i izuzetno značajno etičko pitanje. Kako savjest predstavlja čovjekovu težnju da donosi moralne sudove, prigovor savjesti predstavlja prirodno moralno pravo, jer je njegova osnovna značajka u protivljenju morala pojedinca pravnoj normi, u čemu se ogleda i njegova protupravnost. S druge strane, prigovor savjesti je i ljudsko prirodno pravo koje proizlazi iz ljudske prirodne težnje da suprotstavlja svoje moralne stavove pozitivno-pravnim normama, što u određenoj mjeri mora priznati i pozitivno pravo. Pri tome, treba naglasiti da se prigovor savjesti ne može shvaćati kao opće, temeljno i neotuđivo čovjekovo pravno pravo.44 Prigovor savjesti je specifično pravilo koje se primjenjuje u relativno kraćem vremenskom periodu. Ono predstavlja odbijanje povinovanja normi iz razloga što je norma nametnuta, a ovisno o situaciji, vlastima je poznato da li pojedinac pristaje na nju. Tipični primjeri jesu odbijanje prvih kršćana da sudjeluju u nekim obredima pobožnosti koje je propisala poganska država, ili odbijanje Jehovinih svjedoka da iskažu počast zastavi. Poznati su i primjeri protivljenja pacifista da služe u oružanim snagama ili protivljenje vojnika da se pokore zapovijesti za koju su smatrali da je očito oprečna moralnom zakonu rata. Javno iskazivanje vlastitog vjerskog stava ili pacifizma u suprotnosti je s društvenom normom, ali istovremeno se tolerira jer je u skladu sa širom normom. Dualizam u kojem se priznaje da pojedinac ima pravo na striktnija pridržavanja društvenih pravila uže grupe koje nisu suprotstavljene interesu šire grupe, već su samo čin nepriznavanja unutarnjih regula šire grupe, moguć je samo kao oblik pasivnog otpora. Naime, šira grupa nikada ne prihvaća čin aktivnog otpora, budući da to predstavlja aktivni sukob. Ukoliko bi prigovor savjesti prešao u mučeništvo, to može destabilizirati normu šireg društva budući je mučeništvo dokaz da je moralna norma zbog koje se prigovor savjesti provodi važna. Značenje ljudske savjesti posebno je valorizirano, u recentnom dobu, njezinom verifikacijom kao kategorije međunarodno-pravno zaštićenog ljudskog prava. Time doktrina ljudskih prava ne pridaje pravu na slobodu savjesti samo značaj univerzalnosti već i atribut neutralnosti, jer polazi od pretpostavke da ljudska prava ne smiju biti ovisna o subjektivnoj ocjeni kreatora pravnih normi, donositelja političkih odluka ili o konkretnom političkom sutavu. Uz to, u suvremenoj međunarodnoj zajednici, kao rezultat međunarodnog konsenzusa, afirmiran je stav o postojanju univerzalnih moralnih ljudskih prava (među koje spada i pravo na slobodu savjesti). Pri tome, mora se naglasiti, da ne postoji apsolutna univerzalnost ljudskih prava, već egzistiraju isključivo ona moralna ljudska prava koja su rezultat međunarodne normativne suglasnosti.45 192 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 44 Ibid., str. 35. 2.3. Karakteristike i elementi prigovora savjesti Za razliku od građanske neposlušnosti koju promatramo kao pojedinačno ili grupno svjesno, argumentirano i nenasilno protivljenje pravnim propisima ili političkim odlukama vlasti, s ciljem uvažavanja nelegalnih, ali legitimnih društvenih vrednota, pristajući na sve pravne posljedice takvog čina, prigovor savjesti predstavlja kršenje prava od strane pojedinca zbog opće prirode pravne norme ili zato što smatra da bi postupanje po pravnoj normi bilo protivno njegovom moralu, uz pristajanje na sve legalne sankcije. Iako se prigovor savjesti u nekim elementima podudara s građanskom neposlušnošću oni se u nekim elementima i drastično razlikuju. Kad govorimo o razlikama onda su one sljedeće: a.) prigovor savjesti ne predstavlja oblik apeliranja na većinski društveni osjećaj pravednosti ili na neku drugu društvenu vrednotu, jer pojedinac postupa primarno na temelju svog morala i savjesti, a ne šireg ili općedruštvenog; b.) prigovor savjesti, kao individualni čin pojedinca, u pravilu nije javnog karaktera, što ne znači da takva aktivnost mora ostati prikrivena tijelima državne vlasti, već da pojedinac – prigovarač nema namjeru upozoravati javnost na svoj moralni stav. Pojedinac iz osjećaja dužnosti jednostavno odbija izvršenje zapovijedi ili podvrgavanje pravnom nalogu. On se ne poziva na uvjerenje zajednice i u tom smislu prigovor savjesti nije javan čin. c.) Prigovor savjesti se ne mora nužno temeljiti na političkim načelima, već se može zasnivati i na religioznim, filozofskim, humanističkim ili drugim načelima oprečnim ustavnom uređenju.46 Načelo pravednosti i načelo jednakog prava na slobodu neka su od pitanja koja se najčešće nalaze u prigovorima savjesti, a njihova upozorenja i protesti u pravilu služe jačanju demokracije u društvu. U slobodnom društvu nitko ne može biti primoran da religioznim činovima krši jednako pravo na slobodu, ili da se u statusu vojnika pokori nepravednoj zapovijedi dok čeka priziv na viši autoritet.47 193 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 45 Tome u prilog govore brojni međunarodni dokumenti koji su, između ostalog, afirmirali i pravo slobode savjesti (prigovor savjesti se tretira kao “legitimno vršenje slobode misli, savjesti i vjeroispovijesti), kao što su npr.: Opća deklaracija o ljudskim pravima, Međunarodni pakt o građanskim i političkim pravima, Europska konvencija o ljudskim pravima i fundamentalnim slobodama, Američka deklaracija o pravima i dužnostima i Afrička povelja o pravima ljudi i naroda. Prve tri konvencije ne dopuštaju, ni pod kojim uvjetima, poništenje/ ukidanje prava slobode savjesti. Afrička povelja ne predviđa suspenziju nijedne svoje odredbe. 46 Kad se radi o prigovoru savjesti na vojnu obvezu religijski motivi bi bili: zagovaranje nenasilja, i ljubav prema bljižnjima ili odbijanje prihvaćanja drugih zastava, obilježja ili unuformi; humanistički bi se motivi temeljili na načelima: “dobro čovjeku” “dobro svim ljudima” koji rat i pripremu za njega smatraju apsurdom i pripremom za zločin; filozofski i politički motivi se iskazuju u suprotstavljanju izdvajanju novca za vojne svrhe, vojnoj industriji i svim drugim djelatnostima koje crpe resurse društva za tu namjenu; pacifistički i mirovnjački motivi se često isprepliču sa filozofskim jer su dosta slični, a iskazuju se zalaganjem za politička sredstva, a ne nasilna u razriješavanju konflikata u društvu i međunarodnoj zajednici, te se nadovezuju na čovjekov osobni otpor prema oružju i njegovoj primjeni. Kao širi pojam, koji se rjeđe navodi postoji i prigovor savjesti protiv nasilja gdje pojedinci prigovaraju: protiv uporabe nasilja kao načina rješavanja problema; protiv sudjelovanja u planiranju i 2.4. Legitimnost prigovora savjesti Svaka rasprava o prigovoru savjesti ima kao neminovnu posljedicu i raspravu o njegovoj legitimnosti. Pri tome, prije svake rasprave o legitimnosti, treba poći od nekoliko općih stavova. Kao prvo, treba poći od opće konstatacije da u globalnom ljudskom društvu prioritet uvijek moraju imati težnje da se nastoje zadovoljavati i razvijati temeljne ljudske duhovne potrebe (afirmacija ljudskog dostojanstva). Kao značajno polazište kod rasprave o legitimnosti može poslužiti i stav da suvremeno društvo treba afirmirati individualističku moralnost koja zapravo predstavlja humanističku moralnost,48 pri čemu se problem umnožava zbog apsurdne činjenice da u društvima s većim stupnjem pravednosti, gdje ne postoje razlozi za ograničavanje bilo kojeg ljudskog prava, istovremeno postoje tendencije učvršćivanja i očuvanja institucija pravednosti, s jedne strane, te sankcioniranje prigovarača savjesti, s druge strane. Normalno, to se ne odnosi na one situacije u kojima bi došlo do kršenja prava drugih zbog toleriranja individualnog prava na otpor. Da bi suprotstavljeni moralni koncepti bili dopušteni i tolerirani, odnosno da bi dobili jednako mjesto u pravednom pravnom sustavu ljudskih prava, neophodno je da korištenje jednog prava ne isključuje ili ugrožava prava drugoga, jer bi to vodilo ka uspostavi neravnopravnih odnosa među članovima zajednice.49 Legitimnost prigovora savjesti, kao individualnog otpora pravnim normama ili političkim aktima vlasti, primarno je potrebno promatrati kroz odnos pojedinac – državna vlast (zakonodavna većina vlasti). Bitna karakteristika tog uzajamnog odnosa je da kad god se pojedinčeva savjest sukobi sa pravnom normom pojedinac mora postupati po svojoj savjesti. Prigovor savjesti, kao legitiman i prihvatljiv čin pojedinca, posebno dolazi do izražaja i dobija na značaju zbog činjenice da nedopuštanjem apeliranja za društvenom pravednošću vladajuća većina može biti motivirana da poduzima pojačano represivno djelovanje u političko-pravnom području. Pravedno društvo se očituje po tome da ne želi sankcionirati pojedince koji prigovaraju zbog savjesti. Komplementarnost deklariranih koncepcija pravednosti bit će realizirana ako upravljači prigovor savjesti učine prihvatljivim vidom neslaganja s pravnim normama ili političkim aktima vlasti. Pri tome se pojedincu prepušta da sam odluči da li je njegov čin pravedan i adekvatan datim okolnostima.50 Da bi prigovor savjesti bio legitiman i prihvatljiv mora se zasnivati na moralnim principima pojedinca, koji upravlja tumačenjem i shvaćanjem pravnih 194 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. proizvodnji sredstava za izvođenje nasilja; protiv osposobljavanja za izvođenje nasilja; protiv sudjelovanja u organizacijama koje su namijenjene izvođenju nasilja. Vidi o tome u: C. Moscos at al., The New Consientious Objection – From Sacred to Secular Resistance; Oxford UniversityPress, New York, Oxford, 1993. 47 Vidi o tome u: J. Rawls, op. cit., str. 130.-132. 48 J. Raz, op. cit., str.160. 49 O tome šire vidi u: D. Vukadin, op. cit. 426. 50 Prema J. Rawlsu da bi prigovor savjesti bio opravdan potrebno je da se ispune sljedeći uvjeti: moraju normi ili političkih akata vlasti, a ne na osobnim interesima ili drugim iskonstruiranim oblicima političke lojalnosti. Kad se pojedinac na temelju svojih moralnih principa odluči na otpor, on tada postupa svjesno i savjesno, pa čak i ako nije u pravu.51 Ukoliko je zbog prigovora savjesti došlo do ugrožavanja nacionalne sigurnosti ili jedinstva pravnog sustava zemlje odgovornost ne snose pojedinci koji pružaju otpor već upravljači koji su svojim nasiljem ili zlouporabom vlasti doveli do ovog oblika građanskog otpora.52 Uporaba represivnih sredstava radi održavanja nepravednog sustava smatra se činom nelegitimnog nasilja protiv kojega članovi zajednice imaju opravdan razlog poduzimati aktivnosti građanskog otpora. Legalnost prigovora savjesti mora se promatrati i u kontekstu stava, koji je duboko ukorijenjen u čovjekovo shvaćanje prava, po kojem obveze koje nameće pravna norma ili politički akti vlasti same po sebi nisu dovoljan razlog da se nešto čini ili nečini, jer pravne ili političke dužnosti ne vode računa o moralnom značaju razloga za činjenje.53 Glede legitimnosti prigovora savjesti može se na koncu reći da za ocjenu i tumačenje danas služe i univerzalno priznati i afirmirani međunarodnopravni principi, koji se mogu primijeniti u odnosima između država, ali i pojedinaca u nacionalnoj državi, kao što su: pricip jednakosti (jednaka prava država, ali i građana u ustavnom sustavu); načelo samoodređenja (pravo naroda da odlučuje o vlastitim stvarima bez miješanja drugih država i čovjeka u odnosu na druge pojedince); pravo na samoobranu (opravdanost rata, ali i akata pojedinaca ukoliko su podvrgnuti nasilnim radnjama); princip pravednosti (pravedni uvjeti, pravedne institucije međunarodne zajednice i pravedni ratovi, odnosno pravedni uvjeti života građana, pravednost državnih institucija i pravednost pravnih propisa i akata vlasti). 195 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. biti pokušani standardni načini postizanja satisfakcije; predmet protesta mora biti realno kršenje pravde; pojedinac koji protestira mora dragovoljno izjaviti ili izraziti svoj stav, da svatko drugi, koji je na sličan način podvrgnut nepravdi, ima pravo protestirati na sličan način; da akt neposlušnosti treba biti racionalno i promišljeno planiran u postizanju ciljeva onoga koji protestira. Vidi: J Rawls, op. cit., str. 136.-137. F. Neumann iznosi tri teorije koje bi trebale biti kriterij kod odlučivanja o opravdanosti izražavanja neposlušnosti: funkcionalna teorija, po kojoj je pružanje otpora opravdano ako “vođa” više ne izvršava svoje funkcije; teorija prirodnog prava, po kojoj je otpor opravdan kada “vođa” zaboravi na ograničenja koja mu nameće prirodno pravo, ili kada ne postupa u skladu s tim propisima; moderna demokratska teorija, po kojoj je narod taj koji odlučuje da li je neki otpor pravedan ili ne. Vidi: F. Neumann, op. cit., str. 174. 51 “Čovjek se može oduprijeti svakoj zapovijedi svoje vlade ako mu to nalaže savjest”. F. Neumann, op. cit., str. 179. “U demokratskom društvu, dakle, svaki je pojedinac odgovoran za svoje tumačenje načela pravednosti i za svoje ponašanje prema tim načelima”. J. Rawls, op. cit., str. 143. 52 Prema Rawlsu, svaka uporaba represivnog državnog aparata u namjeri očuvanja institucija nepravednosti, sama po sebi predstavlja oblik nelegitimnog nasilja kojemu se ljudi imaju pravo suprotstaviti. Vidi: J. Rawls, op. cit., 135. 53 Radi se zapravo o dihotomiji jer moralnosti utemeljene na pravu često ne uvažavaju moralne vrednote ljudskih vrlina i njihovih težnji ka pravednosti. U tom smislu se i traži da svaka teorija morala mora uzimati u obzir postojanje dužnosti, ali i postojanje razloga koji ne predstavljaju dužnosti. Vidi: Raz, op. cit., ste.159. 54 Države s protestantskom tradicijom su relativno lakše i prije priznale pravo na prigovor savjesti i ti 2.4.1. Kako pravno tretirati prigovor savjesti – neke ideje i stavovi U modernim pravnim sustavima, koji počivaju na izmijenjenim stavovima o ljudskim pravima, sve se više nalazi razloga za zauzimanje pozitivnog stava spram prava na prigovor savjesti, jer ono u većoj mjeri ne ugrožava društvenu zajednicu.54 Pri tome se, na temelju sudske prakse, u nekim zemljama, i većeg broja teorijskih radova, dade zaključiti da bi se legalni organi, oni koji su kao legislatori ovlašteni da reguliraju materiju prigovora savjesti, te oni koji su nadležni da po prigovoru savjesti postupaju, trebali pridržavati određenih pravno relevantnih smjernica i kriterija:55 • Glede prigovora savjesti, kao pravno dopuštene radnje ograničenog opsega, država može polučiti jednak učinak ako ukine neki propis ili obvezu (opća vojna obveza) ili ako odobri pravo na prigovor savjesti na vojnu obvezu, pri čemu je u ovom drugom slučaju prigovor savjesti iznimka od pravila i restriktivno ograničen, te uvjetovan činjenicom da ne vrijeđa prava drugih pravnih subjekata;56 • Pri tumačenju prava na prigovor savjesti treba vršiti razliku između moralnog i pravnog shvaćanja prigovora savjesti.57 Pri tome, treba imati na umu da postoje izvanpravne pojave, stanja ili činjenice koje zbog svog društvenog značaja (kao što je danas i prigovor savjesti) moraju u određenim situacijama biti i pravno potvrđene. To se ostvaruje na način da pravo konstituira svoje institute i pojmove, sa svojim specifičnim shvaćanjem i tumačenjem. Time se omogućava da sud kao pravna instanca, u našem slučaju glede prigovora savjesti, utvrđuje ili tumači sadržaj moralnih, religioznih, filozofskih ili humanitarnih razloga za prigovor savjesti.58 • Pri ocjeni pravne dopustivosti konkretnoga slučaja prigovora savjesti prednost treba dati subjektivnom stavu pojedinca-prigovarača u odnosu na autoritativno tumačenje objektivnih pravnih mjerila.59 Iako se subjektivni stav pojedinca ne može nikada stvarno utvrditi, ili se u njega potpuno uvjeriti, onaj koji presuđuje mora uzeti u obzir prigovaračeve razloge za prigovor.60 Subjektivni stav pojedinca treba uporediti s objektivnim kriterijima (zakonskim 196 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. regulirale i u pravnim propisima. Norveška je to regulirala već 1990. Države s katoličkom vjeroispovijedi su znatno zaotajale u tretiranju ovog problema, pa je tako Francuska tek 1963. godine priznale pravo na prigovor savjesti, Njemačka je priznala kao ustavno pravo 1968. (čl.12. a.), a Italija je ovo pravo regulirala samo zakonom 1972. godine. Hrvatska je to regulirala Ustavom 1990. u čl. 42. Za razliku od njih pravoslavne države još uvijek odbijaju legalizirati ovo pravo (npr. Grčka iako je članica EU). 55 O nekim otvorenim pitanjima i smjernicama glede tretiranja prigovora savjesti vidi šire u: M. Cerar, op. cit., str. 42.-45. 56 Može se raditi isključivo o pravnoj dopustivosti prigovora savjesti u ograničenoj mjeri (moralni stav pojedinca ne smije zadirati u prava drugih pravnih subjekata), jer bi opća pravna dopustivost prigovora savjesti bila s pravnog motrišta proturječna, budući je sam prigovor savjesti contra legem. 57 Autentično moralno tumačenje - razumijevanje prigovora savjesti je uvijek subjektivno, dok je pravno tumačenje objektivizirano. Kako u pravu pri presudi glede utemeljenosti prigovora savjesti prednost ima subjektivni stav pojedinca može se zaključiti da se radi o prednosti pravno objektiviziranog subjektivnog stava nad pravno objektiviziranim stavom. 58 O vrstama i načinima tumačenja vidi npr.: Moskos Ch. at all, The New Concientious Objection, From odredbama i sudskom ili upravnopravnom praksom), te u duhu suvremenog prava prihvatiti one prigovore koji ne proturječe objektivnim kriterijima. U skladu s načelom in dubio pro reo, ukoliko je ovlaštena osoba u postupku prigovora savjesti neodlučna, prednost treba dati razlozima pojedinca- prigovarača. Objektivizirano motrište utemeljenosti prigovora savjesti može biti značajnije od subjektivnog stava pojedinca, jedino u situaciji ako prigovor predstavlja ujedno i zahtjev za dopustivost takve radnje odbijanja i od strane drugih, jer se tada ne radi o prigovoru savjesti već o mogućoj ugrozi dijela pravnog sustava i građanskoj neposlušnosti; • Prigovor savjesti se može izraziti aktivno i pasivno, odnosno određenom konkludentnom radnjom aktivno se suprotstaviti normi ili propustiti činjenje radnje (napuštanje obveznog liječenja pacijenta). Ovo je pitanje bitno u slučaju da prigovarač ne želi objašnjavati svoje razloge i da pri tome može svoju pasivnost lažno obrazlagati (npr. zbog straha ili srama). Od ovlaštenog tijela, koje postupa po prigovoru savjesti, se zbog toga očekuje da poduzme sve moguće radnje kako bi utvrdio prave razloge prigovarača, pod uvjetom da iz svih činjenica predmeta može utvrditi da je određena osoba i stvarno prigovarač. U slučaju da prigovarač odbija obrazložiti razloge za prigovor savjesti može biti relevantna i činjenica da li pravna norma propisuje dopuštene razloge za prigovor savjesti. Ako propisi šute kriterij može biti da će se odobriti onaj prigovor savjesti koji nije obrazložen, ali se pretpostavlja da se temelji na savjesti prigovarača;61 • U postupku utvrđivanja dopustivosti prigovora savjesti, pored ograničenja koja izričito utvrđuju pravni propisi, treba uzeti u obzir i neka načelna ograničenja: - pravo na prigovor savjesti se ne odnosi na razne oblike građanske neposlušnosti; - pravo prigovora savjesti nije opće pravo; - pravo prigovora savjesti ne smije zadirati u prava drugih ljudi; - pravni položaj i postupanje pojedinca koji ga prisiljavaju na prigovor savjesti mora biti prisilno nametnut (vojna obveza), a ne kao rezultat dobrovoljnog i svjesnog ulaska u određenu pravnu situaciju (liječnici, suci i moralno vjerski stavovi); 197 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. Sacred to Secular Resistance, Oxford Univerity Press, New York, 1993., pp. 3-6., Košir M, Ugovor vesti vojaški dolžnosti, Ljubljana, 1998., Chalk R., Drawing the Line: An Examination of Conscientious Objection in Science, Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, Vol. 577., New York, 1989. 59 O tome vidi: Murray J. C., War and Conscience: Obligation and Dissent, Boston, 1971., pp. 334. 60 Premda bi prigovor savjesti trebao biti dovoljan razlog da se, recimo, izbjegne vojna služba, ponekad se kao dokaz iskrenosti, ali i kao korak koji bi trebao obeshrabriti stvaranje običaja, u nekim državama traži dokaz ozbiljne posvećenosti religiji. 61 Iako se na savjest koja počiva samo na moralnim uvjerenjima i vrijednostima, i koju ne podupire religijska vjerska pripadnost, često gleda sa sumnjom, u SAD je tako npr. u praksi Vrhovnog suda kao formalni razlog prigovora savjesti prihvaćeno i moralno uvjerenje i motivacija. 62 M. Cerar, op. cit. str. 45. - prigovor savjesti mora biti rezultat uvjerenja pojedinca da time štiti temeljne i najviše vrednote (život, zdravlje, sloboda pojedinca);62 • Ukoliko je prigovor savjesti pravno nedopustiv, prigovarač se mora sankcionirati, pri čemu je moguće, u ovisnosti o pojedinom primjeru, voditi računa o olakšavajućim okolnostima. Ukoliko bi pak takva osoba bila oslobođena bilo kakve odgovornosti, sud bi poslao poruku da prigovarač nije niti bio u sukobu sa pravom i u nadležnosti i domenu prava, odnosno radilo bi se o osobi kojoj je, kako kaže Hegel “uskraćena (ukradena) kazna kao njegovo pravo”.63 ZAKLJUČAK Problematika teorije građanskog otpora mnogo je složenija nego što se to obično smatra. Pri tome, mora se naglasiti, na različiti način se tretira pitanje prava na građansku neposlušnost od prava na prigovor savjesti. Ukoliko pod građanskom neposlušnošću podrazumijevamo striktno određeni nenasilni i javni čin pojedinca koji ima za cilj da utječe na stvaranje pravednih zakona, onda se može konstatirati da takva akcija ne dovodi do bezvlašća, već da teži ka društvenom napretku i jačanju civilnog društva. Iako se radi o činu koji je protuzakonit, on je duboko moralan jer stremi postizanju ili održavanju pravednog režima. Građanska neposlušnost, kao način političke participacije, može postati poželjan način protestiranja pa čak i građanska dužnost, isključivo ukoliko bude legalizirana. U takvim uvjetima bi građanska neposlušnost mogla postati „normalizirajući i neophodni sastavni dio političke kulture“ svake suvremene demokratske države. Ukoliko do toga ne dođe građanska neposlušnost će ipak ostati duboko moralan čin koji predstavlja oblik neinstitucionaliziranog nepovjerenja prema državi i ujedno element koji izdiže državu iz cjeline njenog pozitivno ustanovljenog poretka. Za razliku od građanske neposlušnosti, prigovor savjesti je ograničeno pravno dopustiv. Pravo na prigovor savjesti, dakle nije contra legem već exceptio legis, jer su zakonodavci u okviru pravnog sustava iskazali tendenciju da to pravo relativiziraju s namjerom da moralni stav pojedinca ne zadire u prava drugih pravnih subjekata. Glede pravne dopustivosti prigovora savjesti, da bi se izbjegla različita tumačenja ili zlouporabe, utvrđeni su određeni opći pravni kriteriji i ograničenja, dok se u svakom konkretnom slučaju uzimaju u razmatranje i određena načela koja prelaze okvire pozitivnog prava jer je prigovor savjesti primarno moralna kategorija. Legalizacija prigovora savjesti, odnosno njegova ograničena pravna dopustivost, predstavlja značajan korak u razvoju modernog prava, posebno 198 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 63 M. Cerar, op. cit., str. 45. onoga dijela koji se odnosi na zaštitu najviših ljudskih vrijednosti, od prava na fizički integritet do slobode govora, misli, savjesti i vjeroispovijedi. LEGITIMACY OF CIVIL RESISTANCE – SOME THEORETICAL ASPECTS In modern constitutional regimes which are considered to be “approximately just” and “approximately democratic” no procedural rule exists which can guarantee that all rights will be protected or will not be breached. Similarly, not even the practical implementation of all rules can guarantee in all cases that they will be acceptable for all social groups and individuals. Even in the most democratic of systems, certain groups or individuals can feel threatened or unjustly deprived in regard to human and democratic rights. Under such conditions, for groups and individuals a fundamental dillema presents itself: loyality or disobedience. In this paper, the author attemps, by analysing the various ways civil disobedience and conscientious objection are manifested as forms of civil resistance, to establish where the legitimate boundaries of such rights of individuals and groups are, and not only in relation to the rights of other citizens but in relation to the basic democratic principle – majority rights. That is, whether the mentioned forms of civil resistance can and may question the basic values of the majority and thereby also the entire constitutional arrangement. Key words: civil resistance, moral autonomy, loyality, civil disobedience, conscientious objection. 199 Doc. dr. sc. 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work_g6nytfr7znhpvadelrn5igjvda ---- A passion for walking 353Launer J. Postgrad Med J June 2019 Vol 95 No 1124 On reflection A passion for walking John Launer I have just finished walking a route across the UK from east to west— specifically from Margate in Kent to the north-west tip of Wales. At around 620 miles (1000 km) it is half the length of the more famous walk from Land’s End to John O’Groats and I completed it in a somewhat random fashion: my original plan had been to walk the Offa’s Dyke Path along the border between England and Wales (see figure 1), but once I finished this I could not resist adding other walks including the Thames Path until I completed the whole route. Anyone with a passion for walking will understand. It has still given me a special sense of pride to be able to point to a map of my country and to say I have travelled every step across it on foot. Long-distance walks fundamentally alter your relationship with your native geography. Every kilometre brings an unexpected discovery: who would ever guess that the river Thames, for instance, flows underneath somebody’s house in Wiltshire? (see figure 2). The grada- tions of landscape, vegetation, history and architecture—all of which whizz by indistinguishably when passing in a car or train—become intimately familiar. Walking also tests your ingenuity, espe- cially with regard to circumnavigating fields full of frisky bullocks, or farms guarded by overzealous dogs, not to mention finding transport back to a railway station when rural bus services in some places have become close to extinct. But none of these rewards or challenges can fully explain why one walks, or goes on walking, or seeks yet another walk to complete. For such explanations, one must look elsewhere, and especially to writing by walkers. By a rather wonderful coincidence, one outstanding book about walking was published on almost on the same day I completed my own walk. It is called ‘Walking: one step at a time’,1 by the Norwegian explorer and writer Erling Kagge. The author’s accomplishments make my own seem somewhat feeble: he has walked to the South Pole, and also to the North Pole by himself, and has climbed Everest. He is rather better placed than most people to provide some good answers to the question: ‘why walk?’ Effort And joy Kagge offers a gentle, purposefully mean- dering but erudite meditation on walking. Indeed, he tries to recreate the experience of walking itself. His book draws you in slowly as if to overcome the stiffness of early morning, but then gradually opens up wider and wider landscapes of thought as your mind becomes accustomed to the exercise. He also hints, brilliantly, at the aspects of walking that are almost beyond words. Among these are its sheer useless- ness, by comparison with so much else that we have to do or, more accurately, feel we ought to do. Kagge writes: No-one has to climb Everest, and there’s hardly anything else we have to do either. There are so many things we should do or could do but rarely something we have to. If you go for a long walk, you’ll be fine; if you stay at home you’ll be fine as well. But when something is too easily obtained, it rapidly loses its pleasure. Although walking may sometimes arise from more mundane motivations like a desire to become fitter or to see remote places, its true essence, according to Kagge, resides in the effort for its own joyous sake. In the course of his contemplation on walking, Kagge cites many great writers and thinkers who have themselves been devoted walkers. These include Word- sworth, Kierkegaard and Darwin. The absence of female writers about walking is curious. Possibly for most of history and in most places it was too risky for women to take long walks unaccompa- nied by men—although Kagge might have mentioned that Wordsworth’s constant companion on his excursions was his sister Dorothy, and that some female explorers like Gertrude Bell, although accompanied by servants and pack animals, did go off on solitary walks during their expeditions. Two writers figure significantly in Kagge’s thinking. One is the Swiss author Robert Walser, whose novella ‘The Walk’2 eerily captures the shifting inner cloud- scape of thoughts, imaginary conversa- tions, memories, fantasies and real-life encounters that accompany every walker. Another is the American philosopher and naturalist Henry David Thoreau, whose book ‘Walking’3 has become a classic manifesto for the habit, and who wrote: I think I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours at least— and it is commonly more than that—saun- tering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements. WAlking And crEAtivity All these writers, along with many others, share an intuition that walking and writing are in some ways complementary. Walking generates ideas that can then be written about, while writing itself re-enacts the experience of exploration and discovery. (For my own part, I can disclose that I have scarcely ever written an article or chapter that was not at least partly crafted correspondence to Dr John Launer, Postgraduate Medical Journal, London WC1B 5DN, UK; johnlauner@ aol. com figure 1 Offa's Dyke Path near Monmouth figure 2 River Thames in Wiltshire o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p o stg ra d m e d j-2 0 1 9 -1 3 6 7 9 8 o n 2 2 Ju n e 2 0 1 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://pmj.bmj.com/ http://pmj.bmj.com/ 354 Launer J. Postgrad Med J June 2019 Vol 95 No 1124 on reflection in my own mind while walking, and I have probably never gone for an extended walk without an idea entering into my head that I wanted to commit to paper.) The link between walking and health is well known. Apart from the obvious benefits to musculoskeletal fitness, regular walking and other forms of moderate phys- ical activity are associated with primary prevention of coronary heart disease and stroke, as well as type 2 diabetes.4–6 Research also confirms a clear link with creativity. The most commonly quoted paper in this respect is by Marrily Oppezzo and Daniel L Schwartz from Stanford University, entitled ‘Give your ideas some legs: the positive effect of walking on creative thinking.’7 Their article reports on four separate experiments involving exercise followed by standard psycholog- ical tests of both creative and convergent thinking. The exercise was of two kinds: indoor on a treadmill, and walking outside (with comparisons also being made with indoor sitting and being wheeled outdoors in a wheelchair). All four experiments showed consistent results, namely that walking substantially increases creativity, especially if it takes place outdoors. In three of the experiments, participants were more creative after walking than sitting in 81%, 88% and 100%, respectively. In the fourth study, 100% of those who walked generated more novel ideas compared with 50% who were seated outside. The authors conclude with the following argument: Walking is an easy-to-implement strategy to increase appropriate novel idea genera- tion. When there is a premium on gener- ating new ideas in the workday, it should be beneficial to incorporate walks. In ad- dition to providing performance benefits, it would address concerns regarding the physiological effects of inactivity. While schools are cutting back on physical edu- cation in favour of seated academics, the neglect of the body in favour of the mind ignores their tight interdependence. This will chime with the experience of every walker, and of any doctors who have seen their patients’ mental well-being, and their whole lives, improved by regular walks. funding The authors have not declared a specific grant for this research from any funding agency in the public, commercial or not-for-profit sectors. competing interests None declared. Patient consent for publication Not required. Provenance and peer review Not commissioned; internally peer reviewed. © Author(s) (or their employer(s)) 2019. No commercial re-use. See rights and permissions. Published by BMJ. to cite Launer J. Postgrad Med J 2019;95:353–354. Accepted 22 May 2019 Published Online First 22 June 2019 Postgrad Med J 2019;95:353–354. doi:10.1136/postgradmedj-2019-136798 RefeRences 1 Kagge E. Walking: one step at a time. London: Penguin Viking, 2019. 2 Walser R. The walk, and other stories (translated by Middleton C and others). 1992. London: Serpent’s Tail, 1917. 3 Thoreau HD. Walking. 2017. Thomaston, ME: Tilbury House, 1862. 4 Lee I-M, Buchner DM. The importance of walking to public health. Med Sci Sports Exerc 2008;40(7 Suppl):S512–S518. 5 Vogel T, Brechat P-H, Leprêtre P-M, et al. Health benefits of physical activity in older patients: a review. Int J Clin Pract 2009;63:303–20. 6 Hanson S, Jones A. Is there evidence that walking groups have health benefits? A systematic review and meta-analysis. Br J Sports Med 2015;49:710–5. 7 Oppezzo M, Schwartz DL. Give your ideas some legs: The positive effect of walking on creative thinking. J Exp Psychol Learn Mem Cogn 2014;40:1142–52. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p o stg ra d m e d j-2 0 1 9 -1 3 6 7 9 8 o n 2 2 Ju n e 2 0 1 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1136/postgradmedj-2019-136798&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-06-26 http://dx.doi.org/10.1249/MSS.0b013e31817c65d0 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1742-1241.2008.01957.x http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1742-1241.2008.01957.x http://dx.doi.org/10.1136/bjsports-2014-094157 http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/a0036577 http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/a0036577 http://pmj.bmj.com/ A passion for walking Effort and joy Walking and creativity References
work_gck6sxuowndb5lec6hn3d4em64 ---- 1144 Received October 18, 2018 Accepted for publication October 20, 2018 “What we have here is a failure to communicate.” Cool Hand Luke Communication between the brain and muscle plays a key role in maintaining the function of an individual. A classical example of this failure to communicate is after a stroke which leads to a failure of the brain to communicate with the periphery resulting in the muscle becoming flaccid. With aging there is a gradual decline in the communication between the central nervous system and skeletal muscle. This leads to a decrease in speed of movement, weakness, an increased tendency to fall and eventually a decline in function. A number of studies have shown that deterioration in brain function leads to a decline in grip strength and walking speed. For example, older persons with the lowest MiniMental Status Examination score and poor verbal ability had lower grip strength (1). Ten percent variance in gait speed is due to the amyloid-beta burden in the brain together with the presence of the apolipoprotein E4 gene (2). A classical example of the brain-muscle communication decrease with aging is the decline in the ability of old persons with dementia or Parkinson’s disease to “dual task” (3). “Dual tasking” deficit is the inability to maintain walking speed while being asked to carry out a mental task. Both children up to 12 and older persons have a decrease in walking speed when asked to do an arithmetic problem. With aging there is a decrease in axonal communication leading to a decline in the connection between the cortex and the spinal cord (4). The decline in dopamine receptors with aging results in slowed reaction times (5). With aging there is a decrease in motor unit numbers leading to fiber size heterogeneity and fiber grouping similar to the changes seen in amyotrophic lateral sclerosis and a loss of type 2 muscle fibers (6). When this is pronounced, it results in sarcopenia. In addition, the increase in adenosine (A1) inhibitory receptors over the adenosine 2A receptors results in decreased muscle force (7). From Muscle to Brain “Methinks that the moment my legs begin to move, My thoughts begin to flow” ~Henry David Thoreau, 1851 Physical exercise increases hippocampal volume in older persons (8). In persons with mild cognitive impairment there is an increase in brain activation after 12 weeks of training (9). Exercise increases mental performance and function in older persons (10-13). Overall, exercise increases neurogenesis, neuronal maturation, angiogenesis, hippocampal volume and learning and memory in mice (14). Exercise directly increases BDNF, APP and BACE-1 in Alzheimer’s disease rat brain (15). For muscle to produce these effects it produces a variety of myokines that have a direct effect on the brain (16). Among these myokines the ones that have been shown to have effects on the central nervous system include insulin-growth factor-1, brain derived nerve growth factor, cathepsin-B, fibroblast growth factor-1 and irisin (17). Irisin has been considered a major peptide communicator (18), but recently studies have suggested that the assays that have been used are very nonspecific (19, 20). Another effect of muscle on the brain is to increase fatigue (21). Exercising muscle increases tryptophan and branched chain amino acids release in the blood leading to an increase in tryptophan in the brain (22, 23). In the brain tryptophan is converted into serotonin that inhibits neuronal activity leading to a sense of fatigue (24). Exercise also reverses depressive behaviors (25). Cognitive Frailty Cognitive frailty is defined as a person with reduced cognitive reserve associated with physical frailty (26, 27) (Figure 1). Persons with cognitive frailty have worse physical outcomes than persons who only have frailty (28-30). Persons who have an increase in regional white matter burden (vascular disease) have increased balance and gait disorders, falls, urge incontinence, functional decline, and disability and worse executive function (31-33). Besides the EDITORIAL BIDIRECTIONAL COMMUNICATION BETWEEN BRAIN AND MUSCLE J.E. MORLEY Division of Geriatric Medicine, Saint Louis University School of Medicine, St. Louis, Missouri, USA. Corresponding author: John E. Morley, MB,BCh, Division of Geriatric Medicine, Saint Louis University School of Medicine, 1402 S. Grand Blvd., M238, St. Louis, MO 63104, Email: john.morley@health.slu.edu Key words: Brain communication, muscle, function. © Serdi and Springer-Verlag International SAS, part of Springer Nature J Nutr Health Aging. 2018;22(10):1144-1145 Published online November 26, 2018, http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s12603-018-1141-2 THE JOURNAL OF NUTRITION, HEALTH & AGING© J Nutr Health Aging Volume 22, Number 10, 2018 1145 role of vascular disease producing cognitive frailty, another causative factor is inflammatory cytokines. Inflammatory cytokines are elevated in physical frailty (34). The cytokines can cross the blood brain barrier leading to impaired cognition (35). Figure 1 Pathophysiology of Cognitive Frailty and Its Outcomes Motoric Cognitive Risk Syndrome is similar to cognitive frailty (36). It is defined as an older person with slow gait and memory complaints, without dementia. Its pathophysiology is considered to be due to decreased gray matter volume and hippocampal volume together with an increase in white matter hyperintensities. Conclusion A failure to communicate between brain-muscle-brain plays a significant role in the aging process. This failure leads to frailty, sarcopenia, fatigue, depression and cognitive frailty (Figure 2). . Disclosures: The authors declare there are no conflicts References 1. Carson RG. Get a grip: Individual variations in grip strength are a marker of brain health. Neurobiol Aging 2018;71:189-222. 2. Del Campo N, Payoux P, Djilali A, et al; MPT/DSA Study Group. Relationship of regional brain β-amyloid to gait speed. Neurology 2016;86:36-43. 3. Chu YH, Tang PF, Peng YC, Chen HY. Meta-analysis of type and complexity of a secondary task during walking on the prediction of elderly falls. Geriatr Gerontol Int 2013;13:289-297. 4. Manini TM, Hong SL, Clark BC. Aging and muscle: A neuron’s perspective. C u r r O p i n C l i n N u t r M e t a b C a r e 2 0 1 3 J a n u a r y ; 1 6 ( 1 ) . D o i : 1 0 . 1 0 9 7 / MCO.0b013e32835b5880. 5. MacDonald SW, Karlsson S, Rieckmann A, et al. Aging-related increases in behavioral variability: Relations to losses of dopamine D1 receptors. J Neurosci 2012;32:8186-8191. 6. Drey M, Grosch C, Neuwirth C, et al. The motor unit number index (MUNIX) in sarcopenic patients. Exp Gerontol 2013;48:381-384. 7. Kandel ER, Schwartz JH, Fessell TM, et al. Principles of Neural Science. 5. McGraw-Hill Companies, Inc; 2012. 8. Firth J, Stubbs B, Vancampfort D, et al. Effect of aerobic exercise on hippocampal volume in humans: A systematic review and meta-analysis. Neuroimage 2018;166:230-238. 9. Smith JC, Nielson KA, Antuono P, et al. Semantic memory functional MRI and cognitive function after exercise intervention in mild cognitive impairment. J Alzheimers Dis 2013;37:197-215. 10. Loprinzi PD, Blough J, Ryu S, Kang M. Experimental effects of exercise on memory function among mild cognitive impairment: Systematic review and meta-analysis. Phys Sportsmed 2018;Sep 22. Doi:10.1080/00913847.2018.1527647 [Epub ahead of print]. 11. Du Z, Li Y, Li J, et al. Physical activity can improve cognition in patients with Alzheimer’s disease: a systematic review and meta-analysis of randomized controlled trials. Clin Interv Aging 2018;13:1593-1603. 12. Auyeung TW, Lee JS, Kwok T, Woo J. Physical frailty predicts future cognitive decline – a four-year prospective study in 2737 cognitively normal older adults. J Nutr Health Aging 2011;15:690-694. 13. Miyawaki CE, Bouldin ED, Kumar GS, McGuire LC. Associations between physical activity and cognitive functioning among middle-aged and older adults. J Nutr Health Aging 2017;21:637-647. 14. Guerrieri D, oon HY, van Praag H. Exercise in a pill: The latest on exercise-mimetics. Brain Plasticity 2 (2016/2017) 153-169. 15. Alkadhi KA. Exercise as a positive modulator of brain function. Mol Neurobiol 2018;55:3112-3130. 16. Delezie J, Handschin C. Endocrine crosstalk between skeletal muscle and the brain. Front Neurol 2018 Aug 24 doi.org/10.3389/fneur.2018.00798. 17. Son JS, Chae SA, Testroet ED, et al. Exercise-induced myokines: A brief review of controversial issues of this decade. Expert Rev Endocrinol Metab 2018;13:51-58. 18. Grygiel-Gorniak B, Puszczewicz M. A review on irisin, a new protagonist that mediates muscle-adipose-bone-neuron connectivity. Eur Rev Med Pharmacol Sci 2017;21:4687-4693. 19. Kaluzna M, Hoppe K, Schwermer K, et al. Preanalytical, analytical, and postanalytical errors in the measurement of irisin levels. Authors’ reply. Pol Arch Intern Med 2017;127(9):643-644. 20. Hecksteden A, Wegmann M, Steffen A, et al. Irisin and exercise training in humans – results from a randomized controlled training trial. BMC Med 2013 Nov 5;11:235. Doi:10.1186/1741-715-11-235. 21. Taylor JL, Amann M, Duchateau J, et al. Neural contributions to muscle fatigue: From the brain to the muscle and back again. Med Sci Sports Exerc 2016 Nov;48(11):2294-2306. 22. Cervenka I, Agudelo LZ, Ruas JL. Kynurenines: Tryptophan’s metabolites in exercise, inflammation, and mental health. Science 2017 Jul 28;357(6349). Doi:10.1126/science.aaf9794. 23. Shortz AE, Pickens A, Zheng Q, Mehta RK. The effect of cognitive fatigue on prefrontal cortex correlates of neuromuscular fatigue in older women. J NeuroEngineering and Rehab 2015;12:115. Doi:10.1186/s12984-015-0108-3 24. Cordeiro LMS, Rabelo PCR, Moraes MM, et al. Physical exercise-induced fatigue: The role of serotonergic and dopaminergic systems. Braz J Med Biol Res 2017;50:e6432. Doi: 10.1590/1414-431X2017643. 25. Schuch FB, Vancampfort D, Firth J, et al. Physical activity and incident depression: A meta-analysis of prospective cohort studies. A, J Psychiatry 2018;175:631-648. 26. Malmstrom TK, Morley JE. Frailty and cognition: Linking two common syndromes in older persons. J Nutr Health Aging 2013;17:723-725. 27. Kelaiditi E, Cesari M, Canevelli M, et al. Cognitive frailty: Rational and definition from an I.A.N.A./I.A.G.G.) international consensus group. J Nutr Health Aging 2013;17:726-734. 28. Yu R, Morley JE, Kwok T, et al. The effects of combinations of cognitive impairment and pre-frailty on adverse outcomes from a prospective community-based cohort study of older Chinese people. Front Med (Lausanne) 2018 Mar 6;5:50. DOI: 10.3389/fmed.2018.00050. eCollection 29. Morley JE, Morris JC, Berg-Weger M, et al. Brain health: The importance of recognizing cognitive impairment: An IAGG consensus conference. J Am Med Dir Assoc 2015;16:731-739. 30. Canevelli M, Cesari M. Cognitive frailty: What is still missing? J Nutr Health Aging 2015;19:273-275. 31. Morley JE. White matter lesions (leukoaraiosis): A major cause of falls. J Am Med Dir Assoc 2015;16:441-443. 32. Pantoni L, Fierini F, Poggesi A; LADIS Study Group. Impact of cerebral white matter changes on functionality in older adults: An overview of the LADIS study results and future directions. Geriatr Gerontol Int 2015;15(Suppl 10:10-16. 33. Pantoni L, Poggesi A, Inzitari D. The relation between white-matter lesions and cognition. Curr Opin Neurol 2007 Aug;20(4):390-397. 34. Chode S, Malmstrom TK, Miller DK, Morley JE. Frailty, diabetes, and mortality in middle-aged African Americans. J Nutr Health Aging 2016;20:854-859. 35. Banks WA, Farr SA, Morley JE. Entry of blood-borne cytokines into the central nervous system: Effects on cognitive processes. Neuroimmunomodulation 2002- 2003;10:319-327. 36. Allali G, Ayers EI, Verghese J. Motoric cognitive risk syndrome subtypes and cognitive profiles. J Gerontol A Biol Sci Med Sci 2016;71:378-384.
work_gd2xzxttavgwhfuvprmw357mea ---- Microsoft Word - 4. Da Silva & Moreira Cruz.docx BIOPOLITICS AND THE ANTHROPOCENE ERA: IDEAS OF NATURE IN HENRY DAVID THOREAU’S WALDEN Claiton Marcio da Silva Universidade Federal da Fronteira Sul (UFFS) Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz Universidade Federal da Fronteira Sul (UFFS) ABSTRACT This article discusses Thoreau’s Walden; or, Life in the Wood (1854) as an interpretative key to rethink contemporary relations between humans and nonhumans in ecological systems. While Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience came to be seen as his main political work sensu stricto, Walden’s socio-environmental criticisms has commonly been regarded as outside the scope of his political commitment. As this essay demonstrates, Thoreau’s social critique focused not solely on human life, but it widely encompassed the relevance of nonhuman beings, such as plants and animals or the pond’s ecosystem as a whole. Yet, how can such a critical discussion be adopted in order to reflect on the relations between humans and nonhumans in the current Anthropocene era? Informed by the critical tools of the environmental humanities and ecocriticism, we seek to expand Foucault’s concept of biopower to nonhuman beings through a critical reading of Thoreau’s Walden, what we consider as a cutting-edge attempt to present a less anthropocentric idea of ecological systems. Keywords: Thoreau; Walden; Biopolitics; Biopower; Anthropocene. INTRODUCTION n this article we analyze how the concepts of biopower and biopolitics can be applied to the theoretical infrastructure of the environmental humanities in order to construct a less anthropocentric idea of social relations.1 Using Henry David Thoreau’s book Walden; or, Life in the Woods as litmus test, we suggest a notion of biopower/politics more consistent with the current Anthropocene era.2 Walden was 1 For a more complete debate about recent uses of categories as biopower and biopolitics, see Srinivasan 2017, and Nimmo 2019. 2 According to Arias-Maldonado, Anthropocene “designates the massive anthropogenic disruption of natural systems at a planetary level—a disruption so pervasive that some geologists advocate the end of the Holocene and the official recognition of a new geological epoch” (2020, 2-3). Assuming this position, the Anthropocene Era refers I | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 51 written during and after Thoreau’s life experience at the eponymous pond between 1845 and 1847, in the city of Concord, Massachusetts. In his text, originally published in 1854, the author provides a deep consideration of human and nonhuman relations. Reflecting on the dichotomous relationship between human society and nature, Thoreau raises several critical points about American society at the time, touching upon themes such as slavery, the Mexican-American war and the national rhetoric of alleged “progress.” Although the text was produced in the mid-19th century, the author already presents a less dichotomous worldview concerning the Cartesian division between humans and nature present in Western social thought. Thoreau compared the ways of life of native Americans and European/American settlers, focusing on the relationship between human groups and nature. In his observations, he denounced the anthropogenic impact on the local landscape, analyzing indigenous culture and traditions as a counterpoint. This article proposes a reading of Thoreau’s social criticism as an interpretative key to rethinking contemporary relations between humans and nonhumans in ecological systems. While Thoreau’s book Resistance to civil government—today known as Civil Disobedience3—came to be seen as Thoreau’s political work sensu stricto, Walden’s socio-environmental criticisms commonly have been regarded as outside the scope of his political commitment. However, Thoreau’s social critique focused not solely on human life, but it widely considered the relevance of nonhuman beings, such as plants, to the current relationship between humankind and the natural systems, the increase predatory anthropic to alarming levels, climate change, and large other global environmental problems. For a more complete debate see Ellis 2018, Lynch and Veland 2018; Nicholson and Jinnah 2019. 3 Thoreau was arrested in July of 1846 for nonpayment of poll tax. He believed that tax payment supported the Mexican-American War and the slave trade. So, he had stopped paying the tax since 1842. In 1849, after his brief arrest, Thoreau wrote the essay “Resistance to Civil Government,” approaching the complex issues between the sovereignty of the State and the sovereignty of the individual. Concord’s philosopher defended the right to disobedience, especially in cases of injustice committed by the government—in this case, his strongest opposition was in relation to the slave regime and the Mexican-American war. He stated: “I heartily accept the motto,—That government is best which governs least; and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which also I believe,—That government is best which governs not at all.” His reflections are on the genealogy of many political terms still in use currently as “non-violent resistance,” “civil disobedience,” and “non-violent revolution,” among others. The book “Resistance to Civil Government” was, since its publication, important reading for social revolutionaries such as Liev Tolstoi (1828-1910), Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948), and Martin Luther King (1929-1968). For a more complete picture of the influence of “Civil Disobedience,” see López-Martínez 2016; Miller 2017; Jahanbegloo 2018; Arendt 1972; Losurdo 2015. Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 52 animals, or the pond itself. In Walden, the relationship between human and nonhuman forms of life appears as a recurring theme. What were the specific patterns of power relations described by Thoreau? How can these be useful to reflect on the relations between humans and nonhumans in the current Anthropocene era? In Walden, Thoreau described the distinctive relations between dissimilar humans groups and nonhuman beings with a longue durée approach. Although he produced the text in the middle of the nineteenth century, in his narrative the author references the history of New England until his current time, with particular emphasis on the experience of the first British who settled in the region—which would become the city of Concord. In addition, Thoreau repeatedly developed comparisons between his “civilized” contemporaries and the remaining indigenous population who still inhabited the constantly changing environment. In a sense, Walden not only narrates the successive and concomitant experiences of colonial populations but also observes how these settlers interacted with the those previously occupying the same space—and the impact of the industrial revolution with the violent expansion to the American West. Thoreau’s book tells a story of dramatic transformations in the relationship between human and nonhuman, comparing the way of life of Native American indigenous societies with that of European colonizers. As argued by Mary Louise Pratt (2007), the eyes of the conqueror—or the settlers in this case—can display a certain empathy during his task of conquering. In a similar fashion, Thoreau draws a significant picture of power-relations in the United States during the nineteenth century, as a white, Anglo-Saxon, and protestant man, belonging to the country’s intellectual elite. On the other hand, by temporarily abandoning the nascent industrial civilization in favor of primitivism, Thoreau indirectly fosters the emergence of several movements alternative to industrial and capitalist society.4 4 A large number of activists and social theorists were influenced by Thoreau’s work. However, his experiences and texts were read more often under the anarchist and environmentalist lens. For anarchists, especially adherents of non-violence, the notion of “civil disobedience” has been widely used. Environmental movements, on the other hand, consider Thoreau, sometimes along with Emerson and Muir, the founder of ecological thinking. Also, during the 1960s in the United States, the hippie movement was inspired by Thoreau’s life and work. In addition, several | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 53 Although Thoreau was descendent of European settlers, his text moves beyond the idea of Europeans/Americans as colonizers, attempting to understand nonhuman agency and human/nonhuman interactions in that specific habitat. Adopting a neomaterialist perspective, one could agree with Serenella Iovino and Serpil Oppermann (2012b, 79; 2012a, 454) that the nonhuman narrative “focuses on the way matter’s (or nature’s) nonhuman agentic capacities are described and represented in narrative texts (literary, cultural, visual),” as well as on the “power of creating configurations of meanings and substances, which enter with human into a field of co- emerging interactions.” Drawing from a neomaterialist perspective, this article proposes a expansion of Foucault’s notion of biopower (1998; 2003; 2007; 2008), adopting Thoreau’s Walden as a narrative landmark. We maintain that his autobiographical experience can be considered as an example of what philosopher Jane Bennett (2010, xiv) defines as the concept of “affect” as the central point of political and ethical debates, looking at the “the agency of the things that produce (helpful, harmful) effects in human and other bodies.” In the current Anthropocene era, characterized by severe anthropogenic environmental catastrophes, a neomaterialist notion of biopower can inspire ecological narratives of care, hope, and resilience. BIOPOWER AND BIOPOLITICS: A DEBATE Foucault’s idea of biopolitics stems from an anthropocentric tradition that hardly considers the possibility of nonhuman power. As argued by American historian Robert Darnton (1986, 250), while early modern philosophers “dared” to modify the ancient order of knowledge in early modern era, this new order of knowledge was extremely influential for modernity, outlining new hierarchies and placing philosophy as the main trunk the “tree of knowledge.” Towards the end of the twentieth century, post- structuralist and postmodernist thinkers radically pruned the Enlightenment’s tree of anti-colonialist and anti-racist movements were also influenced by the writings of the Concord philosopher. (Altran 2017; Rocha 2018). Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 54 knowledge.5 While this group of social thinkers challenged both the ideas of reason and science, they continued to be intrinsically anthropocentric, regarding nature as a projection of human subjectivity, as did Foucault (1970). In other words, philosophical notions strongly grounded on human-centered approaches are still predominant over less anthropocentric paradigms. Regarding the notions of biopower and biopolitics Foucault (1998, 139; 1999, 138; 2003, 241-247; 2007, 16) maintained that the emergence of biopower technology was a phenomenon related to “the set of mechanisms through which the basic biological features of the human species became the object of a political strategy, of a general strategy of power.” In other words, biological aspects were absorbed by the political field and supported the rationality of government practices, considering only humans as the subjects of socio-political life. If the concepts of biopower and biopolitics proposed by Foucault are based on anthropocentric premises—where power emanates from the institution for the individual—his concept has inspired several disciplines. As argued by Srinivasan (2017), several studies have followed Foucault’s concept of biopower, seeking theoretical- methodological conjunctions, in which concepts such as discipline, subjectivity, and mechanisms of power are adopted in order to explain socio-environmental problems. However, all this research is still fundamentally anthropocentric.6 5 The first use of the concept of postmodernity was in François Lyotard’s “La Condition postmoderne” in 1979. According to the author, the postmodern condition was linked to “the state of our culture following the transformations which, since the end of the nineteenth century, have altered the game rules for science, literature and the arts.” (Lyotard 1984, XXIII) In this sense, the changes perceived by Lyotard denoted the weakening of the great discourses that legitimized progress. 6 In his article, Nimmo is aware regarding the anthropocentric approach provided by the original biopolitics: “For all its acuity in other respects, Michel Foucault’s vision rarely if ever extended beyond human beings, the relations between human beings, and the things created by humans.” In order to find a solution for this gap, Nimmo offers an explanation about the emergence of the earliest mechanical devices for the milking of cows through combining Foucauldian biopolitics and actor-network theory (ANT): “These are not inevitable features of this sort of approach, but risks that can be avoided, particularly—I want to argue—by drawing upon theoretical sensibilities from actor- network theory (ANT) and bringing these into productive dialogue with Foucauldian biopolitics. Theoretical syntheses can often be deceptive in their appeal, tending to gloss over subtle yet vital differences between traditions. But synthesis is not what I propose here, but rather a reading of biopolitics through certain currents from ANT” (Nimmo, 2019, 121). Bringing these two approaches together for a dialogue, we consider as very conjectural in epistemological terms, since those theories are not complementary. For this reason, we argue that the “original” biopolitics has problems in explaining nonhuman—or even human—phenomena, as we will argue in the following pages. | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 55 In contrast, recently the sociologist Nimmo (2019, 119) has demonstrated how human-animal studies have recognized the role of nonhuman animals in historical constructions. Following Foucault’s idea of subjectivity as the product of the ongoing political processes of subjectivation, Nimmo argues that in the same way other “subjects and subjectivity are perpetually shaped by techniques and devices of historical change in power, knowledge, and discipline.” In this light, the relationship between nonhumans, humans, and technology can be interpreted as a potential modifier of subjectivity. As argued by Holloway and Bear, “bovine and human agency and subjectivity are entrained and reconfigured in relation to emerging milking technologies so that what it is to be a cow or human becomes different as technologies change” (2017, 234). Through technological development, the relations between humans and the material world are modified. This transformation is the result of a “mediation” realized by technology, modifying human agency and discourse, as well as the relations with nonhuman beings. Thus, if objective reality has an agency over subjective human constructions, it is possible to affirm that technological changes produce a modification in the material world and in the construction of subjectivity. Such a non- anthropocentric perspective would pose a solution to an anthropocentric philosophical approach, proposing a more-than-human critical paradigm.7 Naturally, applying a less anthropocentric perspective to Foucault’s notion of biopower presents several theoretical-methodological challenges. However, recent studies from the environmental humanities can be related to concepts of biopower and biopolitics thanks to current reinterpretations. As an example, a short article published by Etienne Benson (2014, 88) demonstrates how the rise of national states, and the 7 This short quotation about the relationship between technology, humans, and cattle leads us to two premises that criticise post-anthropocentric assumptions, at least the post-structuralist line: first, in this narrative, if we observe well, is there no objectification of subjectivity? It seems to us that subjectivity and its changes are mediated objectively by technological changes and, also objectively, measured in their modifications. Second, the example discussed is intended to be a response to what he considers, in Marxism and Feminist approaches, to be an “essentialist” notion of the nonhuman. However, situating the relationship between technology-human-bovine in time and space does not guarantee a satisfactory answer. More than that, it insists on an essentialization; or rather, on the theoretical construction of an “ideal type,” of a supposed interposition of this type of relationship in an industrial society—also essentialized. There are extremely powerful variables in time, in space, in other actors and, above all, in economic relations that can lead to countless results. Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 56 growing control of land within national borders, would have influenced the interpretation of ornithologists on the role of territoriality over the life of birds. In other words, the emergence and consolidation of national states between the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century would also leave its mark on the sciences, as ornithologists began to interpret fauna from exacerbated human notions. Birds like warblers, as well as humans, were therefore regarded as organized life forms, acting within a strong territorial perspective, because scientific studies on these animals happened in a much-territorialized landscape. The idea of an increasingly anthropogenic formation of landscapes in recent centuries, imposing novel territorial or epistemological boundaries, adds a more complex notion to the top-down approach to biopower and biopolitics. In his text, Benson demonstrates that humans, especially scientists, continually reinterpreted elements of fauna because of changing historical and ecological contexts. According to this theoretical framework, one could maintain that biopower and biopolitics do not only address human governance over other humans and nonhumans, but that different forms of life also exercise power over humans and other nonhumans in constant contact, conflict, and interaction. In this light, can birds, trees, swamps, mountains or rivers just be “objects” of observation and research? Are historical and social factors solely shaping the interpretation of animal behavior, or do nonhumans exercise some form of power—or may we say biopower?—over humans? In the next lines, we regard the vibrant environmental circumstances captured by Thoreau's view as a transforming agent, actively influencing the philosopher’s notions of society, environment, and subjectivity. Analyzing the symbiotic socio-environmental relations present in Walden, we maintain that this text should be regarded as Thoreau’s real political manifesto in the age of the Anthropocene. WALDEN: FROM INDIGENOUS TO COLONIAL The landscape that Thoreau experienced in the nineteenth century was neither pristine nor wild: it was the result of human occupation long before the emergence of the American nation and European colonization. In the mid-nineteenth century, Thoreau | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 57 gave a description of Walden Pond that evaded the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains or the Appalachians.8 In fact, he considered Walden an important place for the purity of the water and its depth, while his landscape, in general, was not characterized by any exotic beauty: “the scenery of Walden is on a humble scale, and, though very beautiful, does not approach to grandeur, nor can it much concern one who has not long frequented it or lived by its shore; yet this pond is so remarkable for its depth and purity as to merit a particular description” (Thoreau 1995, 89). Thoreau’s portrait of Walden and of the woods that surrounded it reveals a certain ambiguity in his thinking. If in certain moments Thoreau romantically magnifies the plurality of pristine life in the vicinity of Walden, on the other hand, he does not attribute anything extraordinary to the place, neither in economic nor in ecological terms. The triviality of the landscape denotes that its value does not lie in human appreciation, but in its “intrinsic” existence. Thoreau was aware of the transformations that had taken place after two centuries of European occupation. He estimated that, approximately ten centuries before, the native people of North America—especially in the region that would be called New England after colonization—had developed agriculture and settled in the regions where they would later meet the British and other European colonizers. Before that, they already had seasonal camps in different locations in the region (Blancke and Robinson 1985). Therefore, he did not consider the territory as a demographic vacuum, or as “free lands” in the period before colonization, as suggested by Frederick Jackson Turner (1893) in relation to the American West. In this sense, he questioned the pristine status of the territory after millennia of cohabitation between humans and nonhumans. The relationship between human settlers and nonhumans suffered great 8 During the 19th century, the US government promoted a mass migration to the Western “free lands” beyond the Rocky Mountains and the Appalachians. The process that became known as “Marching to the West” led to a great territorial expansion, through treaties, wars, and purchases of territories and subsequent re-population of these regions, eventually uprooting local indigenous populations. In 1830, the “Indian Removal Act” was approved, a legislative instrument for the removal of indigenous populations; and in 1862, the “Homestead Act,” a law that facilitated the migration of American citizens to the West. One of the factors that legitimized this migration was the doctrine of Manifest Destiny, a belief that Americans were chosen by God to civilize “American territory.” This migratory process can be considered as a remarkable event in American history; as maintained by historian Frederick Jackson Turner during the late nineteenth century, the history of the U.S.A is the history of the colonization of the West (Turner 2008; Avila 2005). Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 58 modifications with the American occupation. As William Cronon (1983, 03-05) reminds us, in his diary Thoreau observed these changes, especially after reading New England’s Prospect by William Wood, a traveler who visited the region in the middle of the seventeenth century. In addition to the written records produced by travelers and colonists who arrived during the first migratory waves, Thoreau drew from oral traditions from Native Americans who still inhabited the region during the nineteenth century. Perhaps the most prolific message regarded the origin of Walden Pond. As reminded by Thoreau, My townsmen have all heard the tradition—the oldest people tell me that they heard it in their youth—that anciently the Indians were holding a pow-wow upon a hill here, which rose as high into the heavens as the pond now sinks deep into the earth, and they used much profanity, as the story goes, though this vice is one of which the Indians were never guilty, and while they were thus engaged the hill shook and suddenly sank, and only one old squaw, named Walden, escaped, and from her the pond was named. It has been conjectured that when the hill shook these stones rolled down its side and became the present shore. (Thoreau 1995, 92) This narrative reports an indigenous worldview of the origin of the place. Although his narrative is linked to colonizers’ tales, Thoreau attributes the birth of Walden to an indigenous elder woman. As demonstrated by archeological sources, during the centuries before European colonization, Native Americans lived in demographically dense societies, moderately transforming the environment through the use of fire. This led them to develop enhanced ecological notions addressing the interdependence of human and nonhuman (Blancke and Robinson 1985). This “environmental awareness” was attributed to nonhumans’ important roles in society: just like water, trees, and soil, all forms of plant and animal life acquired a metaphorical “human” agent status in society—biopolitics in our approach. It is also worth noting that large groups of Native Americans organized themselves socially and politically in a relatively more egalitarian way than European colonizers, demonstrating a less hierarchical worldview, also in relation to nonhuman actors (Blancke and Robinson 1985; Bruchac, 2004). Following indigenous traditions, Thoreau’s narrative approaches Walden Pond as a native entity, not subjected to the Cartesian notions of hierarchy, value, and utility characterizing | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 59 Western thought. Looking at the simplicity of the native way of life, Thoreau proposes a reconsideration of the behavior of society in regard to nature, technology, and human society itself. This worldview also calls into question the power of nature—or nonhumans—and how these other beings can affect human life beyond the powerful grip of human biopolitics. In attempting to answer questions about nature and the changing world in which he was living, Thoreau used empirical observation while living in the woods. As he admits in his texts, he . . . wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. (Thoreau 1995, 48) As noticed in these lines, for Thoreau the value of empirical observation lies in exploring the possibility of a more harmonic life between humans and nonhumans. After all, Thoreau’s major “disobedience” was his denial to uncritically embrace the values of industrial civilization. In this sense, Walden constitutes a reaffirmation of his social, political, and ecological disobedience. As he affirms in the text, he was mainly interested in obeying other laws: A saner man would have found himself often enough “in formal opposition” to what are deemed “the most sacred laws of society,” through obedience to yet more sacred laws, and so have tested his resolution without going out of his way. It is not for a man to put himself in such an attitude to society, but to maintain himself in whatever attitude he finds himself through obedience to the laws of his being, which will never be one of opposition to a just government, if he should chance to meet with such. (Thoreau 1995, 158) Although one cannot know for sure what Thoreau meant by “more sacred laws,” considering his deep meditations on the relationship between society, nature, and technology, he was clearly referring to the different epistemologies of nature among indigenous people, especially in relation to nineteenth-century American settlers. As maintained by Thoreau, the Americans could learn something from “the customs of some savage nation” while remembering the “feast of first fruits” (1995, 37), a custom of Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 60 the Mucclasse Indians who when receiving new clothes, pots and household utensils burn out all their despicable things. Thoreau’s admiration for Mucclasse tradition can be comprehended in another sentence: “a man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford to let alone” (Thoreau 1995, 44). In opposition to the rising industrial revolution in the United States during the nineteenth century, Thoreau sought in Native experiences an alternative to reflect on the society that was being constructed in America. While the philosopher watched the acceleration of environmental transformations and the hegemonization of nature as a “resource,” he considered alternative paths of “progress” that would allow repositioning humans into nature and understanding the intrinsic value of nonhumans. This understanding became progressively more incompatible with a society that increasingly accelerated the transformation of the environment in which it lived, based on social hierarchy, private property, and exploitation, both human and nonhuman. This historical fact allows one to observe the biopower of the environment present in Walden. Unlike Native people, European colonizers relied on a different worldview—quoting Bruchac, “most European traditions consider nature to be inanimate” (2004). Not only did they bring with them other systems of values and beliefs, but also new plants and animals that intensified the complexity of the local environments. The impact of migrations with regard to power-relations between humans and nonhumans was notable in distinct aspects. It caused a great transformation, what Carolyn Merchant has divided in two main transformations: a “colonial ecological revolution” from 1600 and 1800, and a “capitalist ecological revolution” (2010) from the American Revolution to the middle of the nineteenth century. Both these revolutions revealed by Merchant were deeply marked by human and nonhuman migrants. The colonial revolution brought a “European ecological complex of animals, plants, pathogens, and people,” and it collapsed the native societies, impacting power relations between humans and nonhumans. Thoreau wrote concurrent with the emergence of the “capitalist ecological revolution,” although he knew that the relationship between humans and nonhumans had been significantly altered since the European migration. Thoreau recognized the changes brought by | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 61 colonization, and while he described the nature of Walden, he also noticed the sound of trains, and those of the axes cutting trees. Although Thoreau has been recognized as one of the greatest American philosophers, his unorthodox view of society was successful among his peers. However, his ideas of human-nature relations can still be relevant in order to understand the “ecological revolution” in our times, as well as the direction of contemporaneous societies with regard to the relation between humans and nonhumans. WALDEN: A (BIO)POLITICAL MANIFESTO “BY NATURE” Reading through the pages of Walden, one would notice no conventional separation between nature and culture, or human and nonhuman, but an interconnected world, where every form of life is equally valuable. As Thoreau maintained, “I go and come with a strange liberty in Nature, a part of herself” (1995, 67). By empirically observing the interaction between nonhumans and humans, Thoreau provided an integrated idea of the world, in which human and nonhuman forms lived in an interactive way. This led him to conclude that “nature is as well adapted to our weakness as to our strength” (Thoreau 1995, 9). Here, Thoreau’s idea of “nature” seems to encounter what Isabelle Stengers (2015, 40) and Bruno Latour (2017) call “Gaia”—a living being possessing the power of agency and able to resist the attacks of human forces. Assuming this position, Walden’s narrative reflects on the biopower of “nature.” In his diary, Thoreau maintained that “nature has left nothing to the mercy of man,”9 interpreting it as a being endowed with genius, an active force that exercises power in relation to the “material world.”10 By maintaining that “there is nothing inorganic,” Thoreau maintains that nature is constituted by a multiplicity of human and nonhuman agents engaged in 9 This citation is omitted in some of the consulted publications. However, the sentence appears in the manuscript transcripts made available online by the project “The Writing of Henry D. Thoreau” in the Thoreau Library. The originals can be consulted in “manuscript 33” of Thoreau’s diaries, the 22nd and March of 1861. Available for consultation at: http://thoreau.library.ucsb.edu/writings_journals33.html. 10 “Nature is full of genius, full of the divinity” (Thoreau 2009, 384). Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 62 constant relation and motion, whether cooperating or disputing (Thoreau 1995, 67). As maintained by the author, when an acorn and a chestnut fall side by side, the one does not remain inert to make way for the other, but both obey their own laws, and spring and grow and flourish as best they can, till one, perchance, overshadows and destroys the other. If a plant cannot live according to its nature, it dies; and so a man. (Thoreau 2001, 21) Through these observations, Thoreau corroborates the same ideas that he reported in his diary years before his stay at Walden: “every part of nature teaches that the passing away of one life is the making room for another” (Thoreau 1906a, 03). Thoreau noticed that when untouched by humans, plant life maintained its own pace, expanding and occupying the spaces that it required to survive. By living “in nature without fences,” he could observe from his simple residence “a young forest growing up under your meadows, and wild sumachs and blackberry vines breaking through into your cellar; sturdy pitch pines rubbing and creaking against the shingles for want of room, their roots reaching quiet under the house” (Thoreau 1995, 66). Sharing spaces with nonhuman beings does not seem to have been a problem for Thoreau. On the contrary, his stay at the pond allowed him to consider that it could be “some advantage to live a primitive and frontier life, though in the midst of an outward civilization if only to learn what are the gross necessaries of life and what methods have been taken to obtain them” (Thoreau 1995, 10). Certainly, one of Thoreau’s main goals in moving to Walden’s woods was to learn from nonhuman forms of life, “communicating with the villas and hills and forests on either hand, by the glances we feel them, or the echoes we awakened” (Thoreau 1906a, 442). The “communication” desired by Thoreau can be interpreted as an attempt to understand his changing world. However, this concern was not easily found among his contemporaries. “Nature has no human inhabitant who appreciates her… She flourishes most alone, far from the towns where they reside. Talk of heaven! Ye disgrace earth” (Thoreau 1995, 101). Perhaps part of the discomfort that Thoreau felt about the direction of “progress” in America was due to his perception that humanity was neglecting its connection with other forms of life. Just as Leo Marx evoked with the | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 63 image of Sleepy Hollow—the machine in the garden—trains and railroads also symbolized the widening gap between humans and nonhumans. However, while highlighting the contradictions of industrial society, Thoreau sought in multiple ways to learn what nonhumans could teach him, nurturing an admiration for natural phenomena, while also attempting to understand them in relation to human agency. In one passage of his text, Thoreau declared that in the late afternoon he sometimes confused the “natural music” of the cows with the singing of young people from the village. In explaining this statement, Thoreau admitted: “I do not mean to be satirical, but to express my appreciation of those youths’ singing, when I state that I perceived clearly that it was akin to the music of the cow, and they were at length one articulation of Nature” (1995, 64; italics added). Such a melodic articulation was what the Concord naturalist longed for in observing the relations between humans and the natural world. As he admitted, it is important to consider Nature from the point of view of science remembering nomenclature and system of men, and so, if possible, go a step further in that direction . . . so it is equally important often to ignore or forget all that men presume they know and take an original and unprejudiced view of Nature. (Thoreau 1906b, 168-169) In fact, in Thoreau’s view, an adequate social project should preserve a certain symbiosis between human and nonhuman beings. A human society willing to explore a similar scenario would need to learn from its environment and the nonhuman beings that cohabit that territory, establishing a symmetrical relationship with these subjects. In this sense, reading Walden as a manifesto addressing the relationship between humans and nonhumans could potentially allow one to reconsider the notion of biopolitics as a relevant critical tool for the environmental humanities, looking at the active power of nonhuman subjects, an increasingly essential epistemological and political tool in the age of the Anthropocene. As argued by Thoreau, humans should consider themselves “as an inhabitant, or a part and parcel of Nature, rather than a member of society” (1862). This article has attempted to provide an “ecologically oriented” notion of biopower, beyond a dichotomous idea of humans and nonhumans. Such an idea of Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 64 biopower implies “a dialogic interaction of texts and contexts” and a dialogic construction of human/nature interactions conjoining literary and scientific discourses (Oppermann 2006, 118). It is precisely this dialogical interaction between Walden as a text and as a pond that becomes visible in Thoreau’s idea of nature: an ecological agent that is not only at the mercy of human power, but a dynamic actor. In fact, looking at nonhuman subjects carries an ideological rupture, as “this means widening the scope of the objects of moral responsibility from a singular ‘center’ (humankind) to a multiplicity of ‘peripheral,’ ethically as well as ontologically marginalized subjects [nonhuman beings]” (Iovino 2010, 35). It is the widening of this scope that fundamentally modifies ecological ethics whether in science or politics. As Thoreau noticed by observing the plurality of existence in Walden, “nature and human life are as various as our several constitutions” (Thoreau 1995, 09). Thoreau’s political, social, and ecological criticism finds its foundation precisely in the opposition between the forms of life that he observed in his text and the modern lifestyle that was gaining momentum in the city of Concord. Life in the midst of nascent industrial society distanced humans from the notion of “inhabitants,” maintaining a symmetrical relationship with other nonhuman forms of life, as a “part of nature,” and leading them to the notion of “members of society.” Realizing this problematic issue, Thoreau concluded that the “members of society” were disconnected from nature and could not learn from it. In contrast to human society, in nature a “different kind of right prevails” (Thoreau 1906c, 445). Thus, a “natural [hu]man” should build his ‘institutions’ and his ‘right’ by aligning them according to natural life but always compromising with the plurality of humans and nonhuman beings. In this sense, Thoreau’s experience at Walden, with its texts and lessons from natural life, can provide us with interpretative tools in order to reflect on our current relationship with nonhuman forms of life, enhancing our understanding of the importance of being an “inhabitant” of the earth’s ecological system, just as much as we consider relevant being members of civil society. As argued by Serenella Iovino (2010), literature, like any art form, can provide us with subsidies for the creation of values based on local reflections that can help reflection on universally shared principles. | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 65 Following this argument, Thoreau’s Walden can provide useful critical insights for the formulation of less anthropocentric values, and for the moralization of nonhuman beings which have often been neglected in many analyses. 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The Project Gutenberg. http://www.dominiopublico.gov.br/download/texto/gu000205.pdf Thoreau, Henry David. 2009. The Journal, 1837-1861. New York Review of Books. Thoreau, Henry David. 2001 (1849) . Civil Disobedience. Mozambook. Thoreau, Henry David. 2016 (1849). “Resistance to Civil Government.” Revista Filosofía UIS 15, no. 1:317-333. Claiton Marcio da Silva currently teaches at the Universidade Federal da Fronteira Sul (UFFS) in Santa Catarina, Brazil. His studies on the environment, society, and modernization of Brazilian agriculture began in 2002. He completed his MA in history at the Universidade Federal de Santa Catarina (UFSC) with a thesis on rural youth in Southern Brazil. At Casa de Oswaldo Cruz (COC/Fiocruz), his doctoral dissertation explored the work of Nelson Rockefeller’s American International Association for Economic and Social Development (AIA). Since then, his main topic of research has focused the US influence in Latin America in terms of agricultural experiments. At UFFS, he teaches undergraduate courses in interdisciplinary topics such as history, agronomy, geography, and environmental engineering, among others. He also teaches in the master’s program at UFFS, where he supervises projects related to environment and society. His book about the AIA was published in 2015. E-mail: claiton@uffs.edu.br. Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz is an undergraduate student of History at the Universidade Federal da Fronteira Sul (UFFS) in Santa Catarina, Brazil. He is a member of Fronteiras - Laboratory of the environmental history of UFFS. His research interest is on the relationship between environment, society and politics in literature. Currently, his work focuses on the writings of Henry David Thoreau. E-mail: l.g.m.cruz@live.com.
work_gg5qctomabacpnhunh7bplsvim ---- From graveyard to graph RESEARCH ARTICLE From graveyard to graph Visualisation of textual collation in a digital paradigm Elli Bleeker1 & Bram Buitendijk1 & Ronald Haentjens Dekker1 Published online: 19 June 2019 # Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 Abstract The technological developments in the field of textual scholarship lead to a renewed focus on textual variation. Variants are liberated from their peripheral place in appen- dices or footnotes and are given a more prominent position in the (digital) edition of a work. But what constitutes an informative and meaningful visualisation of textual variation? The present article takes visualisation of the result of collation software as point of departure, examining several visualisations of collation output that contains a wealth of information about textual variance. The newly developed collation software HyperCollate is used as a touchstone to study the issue of representing textual information to advance literary research. The article concludes with a set of recom- mendations in order to evaluate different visualisations of collation output. Keywords Collation software . Textual scholarship . Visualisation . Markup . Hypergraph for variation . Tool evaluation 1 Introduction Scholarly editors are fond of the truism that the detailed comparison (‘collation’) of literary texts is a tiresome, error prone, and demanding activity for humans and a task suitable for computers. Accordingly, the past decades have born witness to the devel- opment of a number of software programs which are able to collate large numbers of text within seconds, thus advancing significantly the possibilities for textual research. These developments have led to a renewed focus on textual variation, liberating variants from their peripheral place in appendices or footnotes and giving them a more prominent position in the edition of a work. Still, automated collation continues to engross researchers and developers, as it touches upon universal topics including (but not limited to) the computational modelling of humanities objects, scholarly editing International Journal of Digital Humanities (2019) 1:141–163 https://doi.org/10.1007/s42803-019-00012-w * Elli Bleeker elli.bleeker@di.huc.knaw.nl 1 Research and Development – KNAW Humanities Cluster, Amsterdam, Netherlands http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s42803-019-00012-w&domain=pdf mailto:elli.bleeker@di.huc.knaw.nl theory, and data visualisation. The present article takes visualisation of collation result as its point of departure. We use the representation of the results of a newly developed collation tool, ‘HyperCollate’, as a use case to address the more general issue of using data visualisations as a means of advancing textual and literary research. The underly- ing data structure of HyperCollate is a hypergraph (hence the name), which means that it can store and process more information than string-based collation programs. Ac- cordingly, HyperCollate’s output contains a wealth of detailed information about the variation between texts, both on a linguistic/semantic level and a structural level. It is a veritable challenge to visualise the entire collation hypergraph in any meaningful way, but the question is, really, do we want to? In particular, therefore, we investigate which representation(s) of automated collation results best clear the way for advanced research into textual variance. The article is structured as follows. After a brief introduction of automated collation immediately below, we define a list of textual properties relevant for any study into the nature of text. We then consider the strengths and weaknesses of the prevailing representations of collation output, which allows us to define a number of requirements for a collation visualisation. Subsequently, the article explores the question of visual literacy in relation to using a collation tool. Since visualisations function simultaneous- ly as instruments of study and as means of communication, it is vital they are understood and used correctly. In line with the idea of visual literacy, we conclude with a number of recommendations to evaluate the visualisations of collation output. The implications of creating and using visualisations to study textual variance are discussed in the final parts of the article. Before we go on, it is important to note that we define 'textual variance' in the broadest sense: it comprises any differences between two or more text versions, but also the revisions and other interventions within one version. Indeed, we do not make the traditional distinction between 'accidentals' and 'substan- tives'. This critical distinction is the editor's to make, for instance by interpreting the output of a collation software program. 2 Automated collation Collation at its most basic level can be defined as the comparison of two or more texts to find (dis)similarities between or among them. Texts are collated for different reasons, but in general, collation is used to track the (historical) transmission of a text, to establish a critical text, or to examine an author’s creative writing process. Traditionally, collation has been considered an auxiliary task: it was an elementary part of preparing the textual material in order to arrive at a critically established text and not necessarily a part of the hermeneutics of textual criticism. The reader was presented with the end-result of this endeavour (a critical text), and the variant readings were stored in appendices or footnotes, the kind of repositories that would get so few visitors that they have been bleakly referred to as cemeteries (Vanhoutte 1999; De Bruijn 2002, 114). In the environment of a digital edition, however, users can manipulate transcriptions which are prepared and annotated by editors. Many digital editions have a functionality to compare text versions and, accordingly, collation has become a scholarly primitive, like searching and annotating text. The digital representation of the result of the comparison thus brings textual variants to the forefront instead of (respectfully) entombing them. 142 E. Bleeker et al 3 Properties of text It’s important to note that offering users the opportunity to explore textual variance in a digital environment is an argument an sich: it stresses that text is a fluid and intrinsi- cally unstable object. And, as anyone who has worked with historical documents knows, these fluid textual objects often have complex properties, such as discontinuity, simultaneity, non-linearity, and multiple levels of revision.1 The dynamic and temporal nature of textual objects means that they can be interpreted in more than one way but existing markup systems like TEI/XML can never fully express the range of textual and critical interpretations.2 Nevertheless, the benefits of 'making explicit what was so often implicit … outweighed the liabilities' of the tree structure (Drucker 2012), and as it happens, the textual scholarship community has embraced TEI/XML as a means of 1 See Haentjens Dekker and Birnbaum (2017) for an exhaustive overview of textual features and the extent to which these can be represented in a computational model. 2 The TEI Guidelines offer the element to indicate the degree of certainty associated with some aspect of the text markup, but as Wout Dillen points out, this requires an elaborate encoding practice that is not always worth the effort (2015, 90) and furthermore the ambiguity is not always translatable to the qualifiers Blow,̂ Bmedium,̂ and Bhigh.̂ From graveyard to graph 143 encoding literary texts. Expressing the multidimensional textual object within a tree data structure (the prevalent model for texts) requires a number of workarounds and results in an encoded XML transcription which contains neither fully ordered nor unordered information (Bleeker et al. 2018, 82). This kind of partially ordered data is challenging to process. As a result, XML files are often collated as strings of characters, inevitably leaving out aspects of the textual dynamics such as deletions, additions or substitutions. The conversion from XML to plain text implies that the multidimensional features of the text expressed by and tags are removed; the text is consequently flattened into a linear sequence of words. Only in the visualisation stage of the collation workflow do features like additions or deletions occur again (Fig. 1). Although these versions of Krapp’s Last Tape are compared on the level of plain text only, the alignment table in Fig. 1 also shows the in-text variation of witnesses 07 and 10, thus neatly illustrating the informational role of visualisations. The main objective for the development of the collation engine HyperCollate was to include textual properties like in-text variation in the alignment in order to perform a more inclusive collation and to facilitate a deeper exploration of textual variation. A look at the drafts of Virginia Woolf’s Time Passes3 offers a good illustration of some textual features we'd like to include in the automated collation. For reasons of clarity, we limit the collation input to two small fragments: the initial holograph Fig. 1 Example of an alignment table visualisation of a collation of four versions of Samuel Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape which visualises the deleted words as strike-through. The collation was performed by CollateX 3 Woolf, Virginia. Time Passes. The genetic edition of the manuscripts is edited by Peter Shillingsburg and available at www.woolfonline.com (last accessed on 2018, April 27). Excerpts from Woolf’s manuscripts are reused in this contribution with special acknowledgments to the Society of Authors as the Literary Representative of the Estate of Virginia Woolf. 144 E. Bleeker et al http://www.woolfonline.com draft ‘IHD-155’ (witness 1) and the typescript ‘TS-4’ (witness 2). Both fragments are manually transcribed in TEI/XML. The transcriptions below are simplified for reasons of legibility. A quick look at these fragments reveals that they contain linguistic variation between tokens with the same meaning as well as structural variation indicated by the markup. Here, the ampersand mark ‘&’ in witness 1 and the word token ‘and’ in witness 2 constitute linguistic variation: two different tokens with the same mean- ing. Furthermore witness 1 presents a case of in-text or intradocumentary variation: variation within a witness’ text (see also Schäuble and Gabler 2016; Bleeker 2017, 63). If we look at the revision site that is highlighted in the XML transcription of witness 1, we see several orders in which we can read the text: including or excluding the added text; including or excluding the deleted text. In other words, there are multiple ‘paths’ through the text,: the textualstream diverges at the point where revision occurs, indicated by the element and the element. When the text is parsed, the textual content of these different paths should be considered as being on the same level: they represent multiple, co-existing readings of the text. Intradocumentary variation can become highly complex, for instance in the case of a deletion inside a deletion inside a deletion, etc. The structural variation in this example becomes manifest if we compare the two witnesses: the excerpt in witness 1 is contained by one element, while the phrase in witness 2 is contained by two elements. However structural variation does not only occur across documents: when an author indicates the start of a new chapter or paragraph by inserting a metamark of some sorts, this is arguably a form of structural intradocumentary variation. To summarise, we can distinguish different forms of textual variance. Variation can occur on the level of the text characters (linguistic or semantic variation) and on the structure of the text (sentences, paragraphs, etc.). Furthermore, we distinguish between intradocumentary variation (within one witness) and interdocumentary variation (across witnesses). Arguably all forms are relevant for textual scholarship, but taking them into account when processing and comparing texts has both technical and conceptual consequences. These consequences have been discussed extensively elsewhere (Bleeker et al. 2018) and will be briefly repeated in section 5 below. The main goal of the present article is to focus on the question of visualisation. Assuming we have a software program that compares texts in great detail, including structural information and in-witness revisions, how can we best visualise its ouput? first and foremost, The additional information (structural and linguistic, intradocumentary and interdocumentary) needs to be visualised in an understandable way. The visualisations can be useful for a wide range of research objectives, such as (1) finding a change in markup indicating structural revision like sentence division, (2) presenting the different paths through one witness and the possible matches between tokens from any path, (3) complex revisions, like a deletion within a deletion within an addition, (4) studying patterns of revision, and so on. This begs the question: is it even possible or desirable to decide on one visualisation? Is there one ultimate visualisation that reflects the dynam- ic, temporal nature of the textual object(s) by demonstrating both structural and linguistic variation on an intradocumentary and interdocumentary level? the existing field of Information Visualisation can certainly offer inspiration, but simply adopting its methods and techniques will not suffice, since it deals primarily with objects which are From graveyard to graph 145 ‘self-identical, self-evident, ahistorical, and autonomous’ (Drucker 2012), adjectives which could hardly be applied to literary texts. 4 Existing Visualisations of collation results Let us consider the various existing visualisations of collation output and explore to what extent they address the conditions outlined above. We can distinguish roughly five types of visualisation: alignment tables, parallel segmentation, synoptic viewers, variant graphs, and phylogenetic trees or ‘stemmata’. A smaller example of a collation of two fragments from Woolf’s A Sketch of the Past (holograph MS-VW-SoP and typescript TS1-VW-SoP) serves as illustration of the effect of the visualisations: Witness 1 (MS-VW-SoP): with the boat train arriving, people talking loudly, chains being dropped, and the screws the beginning, and the steamer suddenly hooting Witness 2 (TS1-VW-SoP): with the boat train arriving; with people quarrelling outside the door; chains clanking; and the steamer giving those sudden stertorous snorts These two small fragments are transcribed in plain text format and subsequently collated with the software program CollateX. Unless indicated otherwise, the result from this collation forms the basis for the visualisation examples below. 4.1 Alignment table An alignment table presents the text of the witnesses in linear sequence (either horizontally or vertically), making it well-suited to a study of the relationships between witnesses on a detailed level, but less so to acquire an overview of patterns in revision. Note that ‘aligned tokens’ are not necessarily the same as ‘matching tokens’: two tokens may be placed above each other because they are at the same relative position between two matches, even though they do not constitute a match. For this reason, alignment tables often have additional markup (e.g. colours) to differentiate between matches and aligned tokens. The arrangement of the tokens is also one of the advan- tages of an alignment table: it shows at first glance the variation between tokens at the same relative position. In other words, this representation indicates tokens which match on a semantic level, such as synonyms or fragments with similar meanings, such as ‘talking loudly’ and ‘quarrelling outside the door’ (Fig. 2). Ongoing research into the potential of an alignment table visualisation to explore intradocumentary variation (see Bleeker et al. 2017, visualisations created by Vincent Neyt) focuses on increasing the amount of information in an alignment table by incorporating intradocumentary variation in the cells. The alignment table in Fig. 3 shows that witness 1 (Wit1) contains several paths; matching tokens are displayed in red. 146 E. Bleeker et al 4.2 Synoptic viewers A synoptic edition contains a visual representation of the collation results from the perspective of one witness, where the variants are indicated by means of a system of signs or diacritical marks. In contrast to an alignment table, a synoptic overview is more suitable as an overview examination of the patterns of variation. The following paragraphs discuss two ways of presenting textual variation synoptically: parallel segmentation and an inline apparatus. It may be clear that both are skeuomorphic in character, in the sense that they mimic the analogue examination and presentation of textual variants. This characteristic should not necessarily be considered negative, however, precisely because it is a tried and tested instrument for textual research. 4.2.1 Parallel segmentation The term ‘parallel segmentation’ may be confusing, as it is also the name of the (TEI) encoding for a critical apparatus. In this context, parallel segmentation is used to describe the visualisation of textual variation in a side-by-side manner, often with the corresponding segments linked to one another. The quantity of online, open source tools for a parallel segmentation visualisation suggests that it is a popular way of studying textual variation (e.g. the Versioning Machine,4 the Edition Visualisation Technology – EVT – project,5 and the visualisation of Juxta Commons).6 As Fig. 4 shows, parallel segmentation entails presentation of the witnesses as reading texts in separate panels which can be read vertically (per witness) or horizontally (interdocumentary variation across witnesses). Colours indicate the matching and non-matching segments. To be clear: this parallel segmentation visualisation concerns the presentation of variance; it is not a collation method in and of itself. The segments are encoded by the editor, for instance using the TEI // construction to link matching segments. In contrast to the inline apparatus presentation (see 2b below), which uses a base text, parallel segmentation presents the witnesses are presented as variations on one another. Most tools allow for an interactive visualisation in the sense that clicking on a segment in one witness highlights the corresponding segments in the other witness(es). As represented in Fig. 4, the parallel segmentation may also visualise 4 See http://v-machine.org/ (last accessed 2018, March 30). 5 Downloadable on https://sourceforge.net/projects/evt-project/files/latest/download (last accessed 2018, March 30) 6 See http://www.juxtasoftware.org/juxta-commons/ (last accessed 2018, March 30). Fig. 2 Example of alignment table visualisation of ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ (W1) collated against ‘TS1-VW-SoP’ (W2) which, again, shows how synonyms which do not match are aligned anyway because of the matching tokens which surround them. Table generated by CollateX From graveyard to graph 147 http://v-machine.org/ https://sourceforge.net/projects/evt-project/files/latest/download http://www.juxtasoftware.org/juxta-commons/ intradocumentary variation by rendering deletions and additions (embedded in the corresponding by means of and elements). 4.2.2 Critical or inline apparatus Conventionally, an apparatus accompanies a critically established text which figures as a base text. The apparatus is made up of a set of notes containing variant readings, often recorded in some shorthand using diacritical signs, witness sigli, and some context. Variant readings encoded according to the TEI guidelines can be generated as said footnotes, or the reader can select certain readings to be displayed/ignored. Alternatively, an inline apparatus entails a synoptic visualisation of the variant readings in the form of diacritical marks inside a reading text. This kind of synoptic overview can draw the reader’s attention to the places in the text that underwent heavy revisions. A classic example of a synoptic visualisation is found in the Ulysses edition (Joyce 1984–1986), a presentation format which Hans Walter Fig. 4 Screen capture of the parallel segmentation visualisation of the Versioning Machine output of three versions of Walden (Henry David Thoreau): the base text of the Princeton edition, manuscript Version A, and manuscript Version B. The witnesses are displayed side-by-side, with cancelled text in witness Version A represented by strikethrough, added text by green, and matching text by highlight. In this example, the collation has been carried out manually and transcribed according to the TEI Parallel Segmentation method (Schacht 2016. ‘Introduction’) Fig. 3 Alignment table visualisation showing intradocumentary variation in witness 1. The colour red is used to draw attention to the matching tokens, which is especially useful in the case of more or longer witnesses 148 E. Bleeker et al Gabler and Joshua Schäuble recently repeated digitally with the Diachronic Slider (Schäuble and Gabler 2016; Fig. 5). The clear advantage of a digital synoptic edition is that the diacritical signs can be replaced with visual indications which have a lower readability threshold than diacritical marks, such as different colours or a darker shade behind the tokens that vary in other witnesses (cf. the Faust edition). 4.3 Variant graph Avariant graph is a collection of nodes and edges. It is to be read from left to right, top to bottom, following the arrows. This reading order makes it a directed acyclic graph (DAG): it can be read in one order only, without ‘looping’ back. In some visualisations, the text tokens are placed on the edges (e.g. Schmidt and Colomb 2009); in others, they are placed in the nodes (e.g. CollateX; Fig. 6). In contrast to the alignment table, there is no ‘visual alignment’ in the variant graph: matching tokens are merged. Only the variant text tokens are made explicit; witness sigla indicate which tokens belong to which witness. By following a path over nodes and edges, users can read the text of a specific witness and see where it corresponds with and diverges from other witnesses. One of the main advantages of a variant graph is that it doesn’t impose one single order: in the visualisation, no path through the text is preferred over the other. The variant graph thus facilitates recording and structuring non-linear structures in manuscript texts, making it easier to visualise layers of writing without preferring one over the other. Because the variant graph is capable of including more information than for instance an alignment table, it is a useful visualisation with which to analyse the collation outcome in detail. The vertical or horizontal direction of the variant graph depends on the tool or the preference of the user. Horizontally oriented variant graphs imitate to some extent the Western reading orientation (from left to right), while variant graphs that are vertically situated appear to anticipate the reading habits of ‘homo digitalis’ (from top to bottom). In both cases, longer witnesses result in endless scrolling and a loss of overview. This was reason for the TRAViz project to insert line breaks based on the assumption that Fig. 5 Visualisation of the inline apparatus of the Diachronic Slider of ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ collated against ‘TS1- VW-SoP’. The text from ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ are visualised in red; the green text is of ‘TS1-VW-SoP’. The coloured visualisation replaces the traditional diacritical signs From graveyard to graph 149 Fig. 6 Vertical variant graph visualisation of the comparison between ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ (W1) and ‘TS-VW- SoP’ (W2). Graph generated with CollateX 150 E. Bleeker et al online readers prefer vertical scrolling but also like to be reminded that the text in the variant graph derives from a codex format (Jänicke et al. 2014; Fig. 7). The variant graphs of CollateX in the figures directly above are non-interactive by design (since they are visual renderings of a collation output). However, the usefulness of interactive visualisations has been positively noted in several contributions (e.g., Andrews and Van Zundert) and projects. TRAViz, for instance, lets users interact with the graph and adjust it to match their needs and interests, and the variant graphs generated by the Stemmaweb tool set7 allow for their nodes to be connected, input to be adjusted, and edges to be annotated with additional information about the type of variance. Such features emphasise the visualisation’s double function as a means of communication and a scholarly instrument: on the one hand, it allows the user to clarify and communicate her argument about textual variation. On the other, the possibility of adjusting the visualisation and thus the representation of variation foregrounds the idea that the output of a tool is open to interpretation. 4.4 Phylogenetic trees or stemmata One final type of visualisation is the phylogenetic tree (also known as ‘stemma codicum’ or ‘stemmata’). Stemmata are not a collation method: they are created by the scholar or generated based on collation output like alignment tables or variant graphs. For that reason, stemmata do not directly concern the visualisation of collation output, primarily because the phylogenetic tree is used to store and explore the relationships between witnesses (and not between tokens). Nevertheless, this kind of tree provides a valuable perspective on visualising textual variation on a macro level: even at first glance, the tree conveys a good deal of information. The arrangement of the nodes within a stemma is meaningful; nodes close together in the stemma imply a high similarity between the witnesses. Each node in a tree represents a witness, and the edges which connect the nodes represent the process of copying one witness to another (a process sensitive to mistakes and thus variation). Stemmata are traditionally rooted, the witness represented as root being the ‘archetype’, which implies that all witnesses derive from one and the same manuscript (Fig. 8). More recently unrooted trees have 7 Stemmaweb brings together several tools for stemmatology: https://stemmaweb.net/ (last accessed on 2018, April 27). Fig. 7 Screen capture of the TRAViz variant graph visualization of a collation of Genesis 1:4. The size of the text indicates its presence in the witnesses From graveyard to graph 151 https://stemmaweb.net/ been introduced that do not assume one ‘ancestor’ or archetype witness and simply represent relationships between witnesses (Fig. 9).8 Avisualisation method similar to (and probably inspired by) stemmata or phylogenetic trees is the genetic graph in which the genetic relationships between documents related to a work are modelled (see Burnard et al. 2010, §4.2; Fig. 10). Nodes represent documents; the edges may be typed to indicate the exact relationship between documents (e.g. ‘influence’), and they are usually directed so as to convey the chronology of the text’s chronological development. A genetic graph is also not a direct visualisation of collation output, but a visual representation of the editor’s argument about the text’s development and her construction of the genetic dossier. With this overview representation, the editor may point to the existence of textual fragments like paralipomena, which were previously ignored or delegated to footnotes, critical apparatuses, or separate publications. The kind of macrolevel visualisations provided by stemmata or genetic graphs present the necessary overview and invite more rigorous exploration. Diagrams, graphs, or coloured squares add new perspectives to the various ways in which we look at text. 8 The Stemmaweb toolset allows users to root and reroot their stemmata to explore different outcomes, see https://stemmaweb.net/?p=27 (last accessed 2018, March 25). 152 E. Bleeker et al https://stemmaweb.net/?p=27 5 HyperCollate HyperCollate, a newly developed collation tool at the R&D department of the Human- ities Cluster of the Dutch Royal Academy of Science, examines textual variation in an inclusive way using a hypergraph model for textual variation. HyperCollate is an implementation of TAG, the data model also developed at the R&D department (Haentjens Dekker and Birnbaum 2017). A discussion of the collation tool’s technical specifications is not within the scope of the present article (see Bleeker et al. 2018); for now, it suffices to know that a hypergraph differs from traditional graphs, the edges of which can connect only two nodes with each other, because the edges in a hypergraph can connect more than two nodes with one another. These ‘hyperedges’ connect an arbitrary set of nodes, and the nodes in turn can have multiple hyperedges. Conceptu- ally, then, the hyperedges in the TAG model can be considered as multiple layers of markup/information on a text. The hypergraph for variation used by HyperCollate is an evolved model based on the variant graph. By treating texts as a network, HyperCollate is able to process intradocumentary variation and store multiple hierarchies in an idiomatic manner. In other words, because HyperCollate doesn't require TEI/XML Fig. 8 A complex stemma in the form of a rooted directed acyclic graph (DAG), with the α in the top right corner representing the archetype witness from which other witnesses may derive (source: Andrews and Mace 2012) From graveyard to graph 153 transcriptions to be transformed into plain text files, TEI tags indicating revision like and can be used to improve the collation result. HyperCollate accordingly uses valuable intelligence of the editor expressed by markup to improve the alignment of witnesses. Since the internal data model of HyperCollate is a hypergraph, the input text can be an XML file and doesn’t need to be transformed into plain text. The comparison of two data-centric XML files is relatively simple, and it is even a built-in of the oXygen XML Fig. 9 Example of an unrooted phylogenetic tree (source: Roos and Heikkilä 2009) Fig. 10 Possible genetic graph visualisation proposed by the TEI Workgroup on Genetic Editions (Burnard et al. 2010), with the nodes A to Z representing different documents in the genetic dossier of a hypothetical work 154 E. Bleeker et al editor, but as explained above, a typical TEI-XML transcription of a literary text with intradocumentary variation constitutes partially ordered information. In order to process this kind of information, HyperCollate first transforms the TEI-XML witnesses into separate hypergraphs and then collates the hypergraphs. Graph-to-graph collation en- sures that the input text can be processed taking into account both the textual content and the structure of the text. For each witness, HyperCollate looks at the witness’ text, the different paths through the witness’ text, and the structure of the witness, and subse- quently compares the witnesses on all these levels. Accordingly, the output of HyperCollate contains a plethora of information. Similar to CollateX,9 a widely used text collation tool, the output of HyperCollate could be visualised in different ways (e.g., an alignment table or a variant graph). By default, HyperCollate’s output is visualised as a variant graph, primarily because a variant graph does not have a single order so it is relatively straightforward to represent the different orders of the tokens as individual paths. The question is, how (and where) to include the additional information in the visualisations? A variant graph may be more flexible regarding the token order, but the nodes and edges can only contain so much extra information, as Fig. 12 below shows. A favourable consequence of HyperCollate is that, in case of intradocumentary variation, each path through a witness is considered equally important. This feature is in stark contrast with current approaches to intradocumentary variation, which usually entail a manual selection of one revision stage per witness (see Bleeker 2017, 110–113). By means of illustration, let us take a look at another collation of two small fragments from Woolf’s Time Passes containing intradocumentary structural variation. The fragments are manually transcribed in TEI/XML and simplified for reasons of clarity. The XML files form the input of HyperCollate. Witness 1 contains an interesting addition (highlighted): Woolf added a metamark and the number ‘2’ in the margin. The transcriber interpreted the added number as an indication that the running text should be split up and a new chapter should be started, so she tagged the number with the element.10 This means that the tokens of this witness can be ordered in two ways: excluding the addition and including the addition. Furthermore, the element in witness 1 is at the same relative position as the element in witness 2, so that the two headers are a match (even though their content is not). Figure 11 shows the variant graph visualisation of the output. Note that the paths through the witnesses can be read by following the witness sigli on the edges (w1, w1:add, w2); the markup is represented as a ‘hyperedge’11 on the text nodes: An alternative way of representing HyperCollate’s output in a variant graph is by enclosing both linguistic and structural information within the text nodes (Fig. 12). The visualisations of the collation hypergraph in Figs. 11 and 12 represent the collation output of two small and simplified witnesses. It may be clear that collating two larger TEI/ XML transcriptions of literary text, each containing several stages of revisions and multiple layers of markup, results in a collation hypergraph that, in its entirety, cannot 9 Haentjens Dekker, Ronald and Gregor Middell. CollateX. https://collatex.net/. 10 Arguably the transcriber could have added a , but the TEI Guidelines do not allow for a
to be placed within an
. Nevertheless, contrasting the structure of witness 1 with the structure of witness 2 already alerts the reader to structural revisions and invites a closer inspection. 11 The edges in a hypergraph are called hyperedges. In contrast to edges in a DAG, hyperedges can connect a set of nodes. From graveyard to graph 155 https://collatex.net/ be visualised in any meaningful way. At the same time, the various types of information contained by the collation hypergraph are of instrumental value to a deeper study of the textual objects. For that reason, HyperCollate offers not one specific type but rather lets the user select from a wide variety of visualisations, ranging from alignment tables to variant graphs. In selecting the output visualisation, the user decides which information she prefers to see and which information can be ignored. She may consider an alignment table if she’s primarily interested in the relationships between witnesses on a microlevel, or a variant graph if an insightful overview of the various token orders is more relevant to her research. Furthermore, she may decide what markup layers she want to see: arguably knowing that every token is part of the root element ‘text’ is of less concern than detecting changes in the structure of sentences. Making such decisions does require the user to have a basic knowledge of the underlying dataset and a clear idea of what she’s looking for. 6 Requirements for visualising textual variance This overview allows us to draw a number of conclusions regarding the visualisation of textual variation and to what extent each visualisation considers the various dimensions of the textual object. We have seen that intradocumentary variation is as of yet not represented by default; the editor is required to make certain adjustments to the visualisation. Alignment tables and parallel segmentation can be extended to some extent, for instance by using colours and visualising deletions and additions. Regular variant graphs may include intradocumentary variation if the different paths through the texts are collated as separate witnesses12; only HyperCollate’s variant graph output includes both intra- and interdocumentary variation. Structural variation, is currently only taken into account by HyperCollate and consequently only visualised in HyperCollate’s variant graph. While the added value of studying this type of variation may be clear, it remains a challenge to visualise both linguistic/semantic and structural variation in an informative and clear manner. Fig. 11 may clearly convey the structural difference between witness 1 and witness 2 (i.e., the element), but the raw collation output contains much more information which, if included, would probably overburden the user. A promising feature of visualisations intended to further explorations of textual variation is interactivity. One can imagine, for instance, the added value of discovering promising sites of revision through a graph representation, zooming in, and annotating the relationships between the witness nodes. Acknowledging the various strengths and shortcomings of existing visualisations, we propose that there is not one, all-encompassing visualisation that pays head to all properties 12 This practice leads to some problematic issues in case of complex revisions, see De Bruijn et al. 2007; Bleeker 2017, 111–114. Fig. 11 Alternative, black-and-white visualisation of HyperCollate output, with the markup repre- sented as hyperedge on the nodes. Other markup is not visualised 156 E. Bleeker et al Fig. 12 Alternative visualisation of HyperCollate output, with each node containing the Xpath-like informa- tion about the place of the text in the XML tree (e.g. the path /TEI/text/div/p/s/ indicates that the ancestors of a text node are, bottom up, an element, a element, a
element, the
element and the element) From graveyard to graph 157 of text. Instead, each visualisation highlights a different aspect of textual variance or provides another perspective on text. Each perspective puts another textual characteristic before the footlights, while (ideally) making users aware of the fact that there is much more happing behind the familiar scenes. As Tanya Clement argues, focusing on one aspect can be instrumental in our understanding of text, helping the user ‘get a better look at a small part of the text to learn something about the workings of the whole’ (Clement 2013, §3). Indeed it seems that multiple and interactive representations (cf. Andrews and Van Zundert 2013; Jänicke et al. 2014; Sinclair et al. 2013) are a promising direction. 7 Visual literacy and code criticism The process of visualising data is a scholarly activity in line with the process of modelling, hence the resulting visualisation influences the ways in which a text can be studied Collation output can be visualised in different ways, which raises essential questions regarding the assessment and evaluation of visualisations. The function of a digital visualisation is two-fold: on the one hand, it serves as a means of communication and on the other hand it provides an instrument of research. The communicative aspect implies that visualisation is first and foremost an affair of the scholar(s) who creating visualisations. The diversity of visualisations, each of which highlights different aspects of the text, reflects the hermeneutic aspect inherent to humanist textual research. Thus, by using visualisation to foreground textual variation, editors are able to better represent the multifocal nature of text. In order to choose an appropriate representation of collation output, then, scholars need to know what argument they want to make about their data set, and how the visualisation can support that argument by presenting and omitting certain information. Accordingly, they can estimate the value of a visualisation for a specific scholarly task and expose the inevitable bias embedded in technology. When a visualisation is used as an instrument of study and exploration, it is vital to be critical about its workings and its (implicit) bias. This includes an awareness of which elements the visualisation highlights and, just as important, which elements are ignored. As Martyn Jessop has pointed out, humanist education often overlooks training in ‘visual literacy’, which can be defined as the effective use of images to explore and communicate ideas (Jessop 2008, 282). Visual literacy, then, denotes an understanding of the fact that a visualisation represents a scholarly argument. Jessop identifies four principles that facilitate the understanding of a visualisation: aims and methods, sources, transparency requirements, and documentation (Jessop 2008 290). The documentation of a visualisation of collation output then, could describe what research objective(s) it aims to achieve, on what witnesses it is based, and how these witnesses have been transcribed, tokenized, and aligned.13 Another suitable rationale for critically evaluating the visualisation process is offered by the domains of ‘tool criticism’ or ‘code criticism’ (Traub and van Ossenbruggen 2015; Van Zundert and Dekker 2017, 125). Tool criticism assumes that the code base of scholarly tools reflects certain scholarly decisions and assumptions, and it raises critical questions in order to further awareness of the 13 Although the value of documenting a tool’s operations is uncontested, making use of documentation is not yet part of digital humanities’ best practice. In that respect, it is worthwhile to keep in mind the RTFM-mantra of software development (‘Read the F-ing Manual’). 158 E. Bleeker et al relationships between code and scholarly intentions. Questions include (but are not limited to) ‘is documentation on the precision, recall, biases and pitfalls of the tool available’, or ‘is provenance data available on the way the tool manipulates the data set?’ (Traub and van Ossenbruggen 2015). Indeed, when it comes to evaluating the visualisation of automated collation results, one may well ask to what extent these witnesses and the ways in which they have been processed by the collation tool are subject to bias and interpretation. Like transcription (and any operation on text for that matter), collation is not a neutral process: it is subject to the influence of the editor. This becomes clear if we look at the different steps in the collation workflow as identified by the Gothenburg model (GM; 2009). The GM consists of five steps: tokenisation, normalisation, alignment, analysis, and visualisa- tion. For each step, the editor is required to make decisions, e.g. ‘what constitutes a token’, ‘do I normalise the tokens and, if so, do I present the original and the normalised tokens’, or ‘what is my definition of a match and how do I want to align the tokens?’ As Joris Van Zundert and Ronald Haentjens Dekker emphasise, not all decisions made by collation software are easily accessible to the user, simply because they are the result of ‘incredibly complex heuristics and algorithms’ (Van Zundert and Dekker 2017, 123). To illustrate this, we can look at the decision tree used by HyperCollate to calculate the alignment of two simple sentences. The graph in Figs. 13 and 14 are complementary and show all possible decisions the alignment algorithm of Hypercollate can take in order to align the tokens of witness A and witness B and the likely outcomes of each decision. An evident downside of such trees is that they become very large very quickly. For that reason, we see them as primarily useful for editors keen to find out more about the alignment of their complex text. The GM pipeline is not strictly chronological or linear. Although automated collation does start with tokenization, not every user insists on normalising the tokens, and a step can be revisited if the outcome is considered unsatisfactory or not in line with the user’s expectations. Though visualisation comes last in the GM model, this article has argued that it is surely not an afterthought to collation. In fact, the visual representation of textual variance entails an additional form of information modelling: editors are compelled to give physical form to an abstract idea of textual variation which exists at that point only in the transcription and (partly) in the collation result. Using the markup to obtain a more optimal alignment, as HyperCollate does, only emphasises this point: marking up texts Fig. 13 The collation of witness B against witness A, with potential matches indicated in red From graveyard to graph 159 entails making explicit the knowledge and assumptions that would otherwise have been left implicit. Visualising the markup elements, then, implies that these assumptions and thus a particular scholarly orientation to text is foregrounded. 8 Conclusions The present article investigated several methods of representing textual variation: alignment tables, synoptic viewers, and graphs. Two small textual fragments containing in-text variation and structural variation formed the example input for the alignment table and the variant graph visualisation. The fragments were transcribed in TEI/XML and subsequently collated with CollateX and Fig. 14 The decision tree for collating witness B against witness A. Chosen matches indicated in bold, discarded matches rendered as strike-through; others are potential matches. Arrow numbers indicate the number of matches discarded since the root node (this number should be as low as possible). Red leaf nodes indicate a dead end, orange leaf nodes a ‘sub-optimal’ match, and green leaf nodes indicate an optimal set of matches 160 E. Bleeker et al HyperCollate respectively. In addition, we looked at existing visualisations of the Versioning Machine and the Diachronic Slider. These visualisations were judged on their potential to represent different types of variance in addition to the regular interdocumentary variation: intradocumentary, linguistic, and structural. Visualising these aspects of text paves the way for a deeper, more thorough, and more inclusive study of the text’s dimensions. We concluded that there is currently no ideal visualisation, and that the focus should not be on creating an ideal visualisation. Instead, we propose appreciating the multitude of possible visualisations which, individually, amplify a different textual property. This re- quires us to appreciate what a visualisation can do for our research goals and, furthermore, to evaluate its effectiveness. To this end, methods from code criticism and visual literacy can be of aid in furthering an understanding of the digital representations of collation output as rhetorical devices. We propose evaluating the usefulness of a visualisation on the basis of the following principles: 1) Interactivity. This may range from annotating the edges of a graph, adjusting the alignment by (re)moving nodes, to alternating between macro- and micro level explorations of variance. 2) Readability and scalability. Especially in a case of many and/or long witnesses, alignment tables and variant graphs become too intricate to read: their function becomes primarily to indicate complex revision sites. 3) Transparency of the textual model. The visualisation not only represents textual variance, but simultaneously makes clear what scholarly model is intrinsic to the collation. It needs to be clear which scholarly perspective serves as a model for transcription and representation. 4) Transparency of the code. Visualisations represent the outcome of an internal collation process which is usually not available to the general user audience. A clear, step-by-step documentation of the algorithmic process helps users under- stand what scholarly assumptions are present in the code, what decisions have been made, what parameters have been used, and how these assumptions, decisions, and parameters may have influenced the outcome. Decision trees may be of additional use. This applies particularly to interactive visualisations: if it’s possible to adjust parameters or filters, these adjustments need to be made explicit. Digital visualisation is sometimes regarded as an afterthought in humanities research, or even considered with a certain degree of suspicion. Some consider it a mere technical undertaking, an irksome habit of some digital humanists who recently learned to work with a flashy tool. Yet if used correctly, these flashy tools may also function as instruments of study and research, which means they should be evaluated accordingly. Within the framework of visualising collation output, visual literacy is key. Having a critical understanding of the research potential of visualisations facilitates our research into textual variance. After all, these representational systems produce an object which we use for research purposes; we need to take seriously the ways in which they do this. In addition to communicating a scholarly argument, digital visualisations of collation output foreground textual variation. The collation tool HyperCollate facilitates the examination of a text from multiple perspectives (some unfamiliar, some inspiring, some contrasting, but all of them highlighting a particular element of interest). This From graveyard to graph 161 freedom of choice invites scholars to reappraise prevalent notions and continue explor- ing the dynamic nature of text in dialogue with other disciplines. Digital visualisations, then, give us a means to take variants out of the graveyard and into an environment in which they can be fully appreciated. Open Access This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and repro- duction in any medium, provided you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license, and indicate if changes were made. References Andrews, T., & Mace, C. (2012). 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From graveyard to graph 163 https://dlsanthology.mla.hcommons.org/information-visualization-for-humanities-scholars https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9cfc3fab6512dea.pdf https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9cfc3fab6512dea.pdf From graveyard to graph Abstract Introduction Automated collation Properties of text Existing Visualisations of collation results Alignment table Synoptic viewers Parallel segmentation Critical or inline apparatus Variant graph Phylogenetic trees or stemmata HyperCollate Requirements for visualising textual variance Visual literacy and code criticism Conclusions References
work_gj76hn7wufe7fe2sldci66y45e ---- their first choice, a “2” to their second choice, and a “3” to their third choice. When the votes are tallied, the can didate who receives the lowest number of first-place votes is eliminated and his or her second-place votes are reas signed to the remaining two candidates. As a result, one of the remaining two candidates must receive a majority of the votes cast. The Nominating Committee voted unanimously to recommend to the council that it adopt the Hare voting method in the election of the second vice president. The council authorized this change in voting method and instructed the staff to implement it. 14. Outreach Activities. Catharine Stimpson put for ward for council discussion two ideas for outreach activi ties that the association might organize. First, she noted the profession’s need to improve and expand channels of communication with the press and suggested that the as sociation explore ways to achieve that goal, perhaps draw ing on comments made by Barbara Herrnstein Smith in her 1988 presidential address. Second, Stimpson pro posed that the association organize short seminars designed to inform faculty members of new developments in the field of literary studies. Council members debated this proposal, with some noting that such seminars could also serve to inform journalists about the work of liter ary scholars. Several council members supported the idea and proposed various models for the seminars; others ex pressed reservations about such an undertaking. At the conclusion of the discussion, the council asked the staff to develop further both ideas for outreach activities and to present a report to the council in May. 15. Rushdie Statement. The council drafted the follow ing statement concerning Salman Rushdie: The Executive Council of the Modern Language Association of America deplores the call for the assassination of Salman Rushdie and of all those involved in the publication of The Sa tanic Verses. We affirm the right of authors to free expression and the right of all to read and interpret for themselves. We recognize that some people may be offended by certain books, but dissent must never extend to persecution and violence. We urge publishers, book dealers, and readers not to succumb to terrorist threats. The statement was sent to reporters and editors of var ious newspapers and news organizations with a letter urg ing its dissemination. In Memoriam Robert R. Catura, California State University, Sacra mento, 28 August 1988 Calvin Andre Claudel, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 1 May 1988 Denton Fox, Victoria College, University of Toronto, 24 November 1988 John L. Grigsby, Washington University, February 1988 Thelma Gray James, Wayne State University, 23 January 1988 Richard W. Leland, Orinda, California, 5 October 1987 Robert Liddell Lowe, Purdue University, 23 May 1988 Ward Searing Miller, University of Redlands, 31 Decem ber 1988 Gwendolyn B. Needham, University of California, Davis, 20 October 1988 Donald A. Parker, New York University, April 1988 L. Janette Richardson, University of California, Berke ley, 28 January 1989 S. Etta Schreiber, Hunter College, City University of New York, 10 May 1988 Richard G. Walser, North Carolina State University, 25 November 1988 Harvey Curtis Webster, University of Louisville, 18 March 1988 Mary Katharine Woodworth, Bryn Mawr College, 16 December 1988 Come to Penguin’s America fflT \ Quality. Authority. | Value. These are the n n I hallmarks of Penguin LJ / American Classics. Each < J Classic is produced to exacting standards and designed to last in classroom use and on the scholar’s shelf. 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Rutledge Using Picasso's Guernica as a point of departure, The Guernica Bull explores several twentieth- century masterpieces of art, literature, and drama, revealing a multi-faceted meshing of classical images and modern sensibility. $22.50 Anglish-Yinglish Yiddish in American Life and Literature Gene Bluestein From BOYtschick to shliMEEL, from "a Heifetz he isn't" to "money-shmoney," Anglish-Yinglish pre sents a witty lexicon of nearly every Yiddish word or expression that has found its way into America's linguistic melting pot. Examples from writers including Philip Roth, Joseph Heller, Saul Bellow, and William Styron. $22.50 cloth; $9.95 paper An Ear to the Ground An Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry Edited by Marie Harris and Kathleen Aguero Reflecting a language and culture alive with the influences of many immigrant and native popula tions, An Ear to the Ground brings together a diversity of American voices and identities in order to create a literature of inclusion. $30.00 cloth; $14.95 paper Also Available: A Gift of Tongues Critical Challenges in Contemporary American Poetry Edited by Marie Harris and Kathleen Aguero $30.00 cloth; $15.00 paper The University of GEORGIA Press In Mind of Johnson A Study of Johnson the Rambler Philip Davis In an effort to avoid a too academic, too idolatrous, or too alien view of Johnson's life and work, Philip Davis returns to The Rambler, a much-neglected collection of autobiographical essays, to find a common thread of thought that will put the modern reader in mind of Johnson. $35.00 When They Weren't Doing Shakespeare Essays on Nineteenth-Century British and American Theatre Edited by Judith L. Fisher and Stephen Watt Examining non-Shakespearean stagecraft in the nineteenth century, this vigorous collection of essays presents a composite portrait of a diverse, vibrant theatrical world—the players and productions, problems of costuming and staging, the impact of political events and social issues, and the demands of the audience. $40.00 Constance Fenimore Woolson The Grief of Artistry Cheryl B. Torsney An accomplished, popular writer in the years following the Civil War, Constance Fenimore Woolson struggled to forge an identity in her life and her fiction. Cheryl Torsney demonstrates that the artist-heroine—a figure that reappears through out Woolson's fiction—represents for Woolson the best sort of woman, one who attempts to assert her individuality through art, despite the grief her artistry will bring her. $25.00 Thomas Merton's Art of Denial The Evolution of a Radical Humanist David D. Cooper In Thomas Merton's Art of Denial, David Cooper traces Merton's attempts to reconcile two seemingly incompatible roles in his life, to find a way in which ''the silence of the monk could live compatibly with the racket of the writer." $35.00 The Manuscripts of Flannery O'Connor at Georgia College Stephen C. Driggers and Robert J. Dunn With Sarah Gordon This book catalogs the manuscripts left behind by Flannery O'Connor—from exercises for high school and college writing classes to the typescripts for two chapters of her unfinished novel Why Do the Heathen Rage?—following the development of her ideas and craft as she produced some of the best fiction of this century. $35.00 Storytellers Folktales and Legends from the South Edited by John A. Burrison A rich collection of more than 250 stories told by native Southerners of African-American, Anglo- Saxon, and Native American descent, Storytellers evokes a region whose diversity and shared rural past is preserved and celebrated in the telling of tales. $29.95 NEW IN PAPERBACK When Roots Die Endangered Traditions on the Sea Islands Patricia Jones-Jackson Foreword by Charles Joyner $12.95 Lay My Burden Down A Folk History of Slavery Edited by B. A. Botkin Foreword by Jerrold Hirsch $14.95 Athens, Georgia 30602 New from Minnesota ■■«■■■■ Theory and History of Literature series KIERKEGAARD Construction of the Aesthetic Theodor W. Adorno Tt’anslated, edited, and with a foreword by Robert Hullot-Kentor Originally published in 1933, this first major work of Adorno developed the fundamental ideas that formed the basis for all his subsequent writings. Kierkegaard challenged the founder and the whole tradition of existentialism and played an important part in the formation of the Frankfurt School’s Critical Theory. First time in English. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper THL series THINKER ON STAGE Nietzsche's Materialism Peter Sloterdijk Translation by Jamie Owen Daniel Foreword by Jochen Schulte-Sasse Originated as postscript to a new edition of Nietzsche's Birth of 'tragedy out of the Spirit of Music, Peter Sloterdijk’s surprisingly empathetic reading grew into an important book-length study of this multifaceted psyche. Musician, philosopher, poet—Nietzsche, to Sloterdijk, is not an exacting philologist behind a lecturn but rather a thinker on stage, acting out a defiant psychodrama on universal human suffering. $29.50 cloth, $12.95 paper THL series ON AUTOBIOGRAPHY Philippe Lejeune Edited and introduced by Paul John Eakin Translated by Katherine Leary “The most original, powerful, effective approach to a difficult subject....His style is very personal, lively. It grabs the reader as scholarship rarely does."—Michael Riffaterre, Columbia University. Lejeune makes a bold case for autobiography as a privileged source for understanding social and cultural history. His wide-ranging examples embrace classical masterworks, popular literature, how-to manuals, the painted self-portrait, and oral narratives. $45.00 cloth, $16.95 paper THL series RHETORIC Renato Barilli Translated by Giuliana Menozzi In a book that serves as both concise introduction and comprehensive reference, Barilli traces rhetoric from its Greek origins to today’s media technologies, then focuses on its changing status as it impinges on ethics, politics, art, and philosophy within the larger history of Western culture. $29.95 cloth, $13.95 paper THL series NARRATIVE AS COMMUNICATION Didier Coste Foreword by Wlad Godzich Analyzing examples as diverse as The Epic of Gilgamesh, a John Ford film classic, The Communist Manifesto, and a painting by Gustave Moreau, Coste presents a major treatise on narrative theory that uses, for the first time, all the analytic tools developed in the last twenty years. Illustrated. $39.50 cloth, $15.95 paper THL series TEXT AND CULTURE The Politics of Interpretation Daniel Cottom Cottom examines the political aspects of contemporary disciplines of interpretation. He is particularly concerned with the ways "culture" and related terms such as “context” and "norm” are part of a larger discourse in the contemporary humanities and social sciences—a discourse in which their effect is to repress recognition of important historical differences, conflicts, and possibilities. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper THL series THE FUTURE OF AN ILLUSION Film, Feminism, and Psychoanalysis Constance Penley A pivotal figure in the development of feminist film theory, Penley analyzes the primary movements that have shaped the field. This collection encompasses avant-garde films, video, popular cinema, television, literature, and critical and cultural theory in a work essential to anyone interested in the sexual politics of representation. Illustrated. $29.50 cloth, $13.95 paper Media & Society series CALIBAN AND OTHER ESSAYS Roberto Fernandez Retamar Translated by Edward Baker Foreword by Fredric Jameson Revolutionary Cuba’s preeminent literary and cultural voice, Retamar is known for his meticulous efforts to dismantle Eurocentric and neocolonial thought. “Caliban,’’ the first and longest of the five essays in this collection, has become a manifesto for Latin American and Caribbean writers. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper HART CRANE A Re-Introduction Warner Berthoff In this reappraisal of the essential character and force of Crane’s still problematic achievement, Berthoff takes into account the substantial body of commentary on Crane’s work. His primary interest, however, is to look afresh at the poems and the poet’s letters. Throughout, he emphasizes the beauty and power of individual poems and the sanity, shrewdness, and sense of purpose that informed Crane’s working intelligence. $30.00 cloth, $14.95 paper University of Minnesota Press Minneapolis MN 55414 REDRAWING THE LINES Analytic Philosophy, Deconstruction, and Literary Theory Reed Way Dasenbrock, editor Since 1970 literary theory has interacted with the Anglo-American and Continental schools of philosophy, often engendering a spirited debate between these (presumed) rival modes of study. In this volume, ten noted scholars discuss the relationship between the two and demonstrate that their approaches are not diametrically opposed. Especially helpful is an annotated bibliography that directs the reader to virtually everything written on the subject. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper PRISMAS MODERN SWEDISH-ENGLISH AND ENGLISH-SWEDISH DICTIONARIES Second American Edition In this new edition of an acclaimed work, the Swedish-English volume is expanded from 52,000 to 55,000 entries; and the English-Swedish volume is completely rewritten and expanded from 33,000 to 50,000 entries, including many more American terms. English-Swedish volume $19.95 paper Swedish-English volume $19.95 paper Combined volume $65.00 cloth THE STREAM OF LIFE Clarice Lispector Translated by Elizabeth Lowe and Earl Fitz Foreword by Helene Cixous “Clarice Lispector...is the premier Latin American woman prose writer of this century...” Alfred J. McAdam, New York Times Book Review. Generally regarded as Lispector’s greatest work of fiction, this intense and lyrical novel chronicles its female protagonist's journey of self-discovery and self-affirmation. $19.95 cloth, $9.95 paper Emergent Literatures LITTLE MOUNTAIN Elias Khoury Translated by Maia Tabet Foreword by Edward Said Set against the backdrop of the 1975-76 Lebanese Civil War, Little Mountain documents the socio-political destitution of Beirut and explores, through a rich tapestry of reminiscences, vignettes, and conversations, the myriad aspects of sectarian strife that continue to torture her diverse population. $19.95 cloth, $9.95 paper Emergent Literatures Duke Doing What Comes Naturally Change, Rhetoric, and the Practice of Theory in Literary and Legal Studies Stanley Fish 608 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0859-2 $37.50 The Rhetoric of Interpretation and the Interpretation of Rhetoric Paul Hernadi, editor 210 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0934-3, paper $12.95 The Text of Sidney’s Arcadian World Michael McCanles 232 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0797-9 $36.50 Gogol V. V. Gippius edited and translated by Robert A. Maguire 216 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0907-6, paper $12.95 Now published by Duke University Press The Tel Aviv Review Gabriel Moked, editor subscription rates (annual): $12/individuals, $24/institutions The Dream of Chaucer Representation and Reflection in the Early Narratives Robert R. Edwards 224 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0871-1 $32.50 Poetics Today Benjamin Harshav and Itamar Even-Zohar, editors subscription rates (quarterly): $24/individuals, $44/institutions Duke University Press 6697 College Station Durham, NC 27708 Henry James at his very best. The acclaimed Library of America is in the process of publishing the complete Henry James, in superior, affordable, authorita tive editions. Only The Library of America offers scrupulously accurate texts, prepared by leading scholars and presented without intrusive interpretation, in an inviting, easy-to-read design. These top-quality editions provide often hard-to-nnd works by James. And their compact, cloth-bound format is both handsome and durable, yet priced well below comparable collections. For study, for teaching, or for plea sure—look for all of the volumes in the Henry James series: NOVELS 1871-1880: Watch and Ward, Roderick Hudson, The American, The Europeans, Confidence. NOVELS 1881-1886: Washington Square, The Portrait of a Lady, The Bostonians. NOVELS 1886-1890: The Princess Cas- amassima, The Reverberator, The Tragic Muse LITERARY CRITICISM (2 volumes) THE LIBRARY OF AMERICA The only definitive collection of America’s greatest writers. Volumes are $27.50 each, except for Novels 1886-1890, which is $35.00. More than 40 volumes in The Library of America are now available. For a complete listing, additional information, or to place an order: The Library of America, 14 E. 60th St., NY NY 10022, (212)308-3360. .* *. COLLINS “All teachers and serious students of Spanish ...will warmly welcome this marvelous refer ence work.” —Hispania “...is about as up-to-date as it is possible to get, and is already superior to most other one-volume dictionaries.” —The News (Mexico City) SPANISH ENGLISH ENGLISH SPANISH This new edition of The Collins Spanish- English Dictionary features all the things that have made the previous edition the best book of its kind—and lots more. Such as: 25,000 new references, an impressive increase in the coverage of Mexican and Latin-American Spanish, and a 72-page guide to self-ex pression called “Language in Use.” Available at your bookstore or call 201-767-5937 to order now. (0-671-67840-X) $23.95, cloth, thumb-indexed edition (0-671-67839-6) $21.95, cloth, plain-edged edition We speak your language better than anyone else. COLLINS FOREIGN LANGUAGE DICTIONARIES Distributed by Prentice Hall Trade SalesSimon & Schuster, Inc. A Gulf + Western Company PETER LANG Alfred Hoelzel The Paradoxical Quest A Study of Faustian Vicissitudes New Yorker Beitrage zur Vergleichenden Literaturwis- senschaft. Vol. 1 1988. XIV, 171 pp. ISBN 0-8204-0844-1 hardback $ 26.15 Close comparative examination of the Faust legend and the Biblical tale of the Fall reveals an analogous paradox in the nexus of good and evil in both stories. Identifying this paradox as a quintes sential sine qua non of the Faust quest, this study traces its development through the Faust tradition’s four most important literary instances: the six teenth-century German Chapbook, and the Faust works of Christopher Marlowe, Johann IV Goethe, and Thomas Mann. John Hargrove Tatum The Reception of Ger man Literature in U.S. German Texts, 1864-1918 Studies in Modern German Literature. Vol. 2 1988. 397 pp. ISBN 0-8204-0420-9 hardback $ 49.95 «... a valuable exploration ...an indispen sable tool for the study of the contribution of German language and literature to the intel lectual climate during the period under dis cussion. »(Siegfried Mews, The Univ. of North Carolina at Chapel Hill) «... a thorough study that lists all available tit les in a most conscientious manner ...Ta tum’s work should provide a valuable basis for further research.« (Christoph E. Schweit zer, The Univ. of North Carolina at Chapel Hill). «Tatum’s comprehensive reception study of German literature... stands as the definitive work on the subject.” (Richard H. Lawson, The Univ. of North Carolina at Chapel Hill) Jeffrey L. Sammons Imagination and History Selected Papers on Nine teenth-Century German Literature North American Studies in Nineteenth-Century German Literature. Vol. 3 1988. 322 pp. ISBN 0-8204-0768-2 hardback $ 46.90 Topics include: the Bildungsroman, Eduard Morike, Heinrich Heine, Ludolf Wienbarg, Berthold Auerbach, Gustav Freytag, German novels on America, Wilhelm Raabe, and the evaluation of literature. Several of the essays have been revised or expanded and in some cases they have been supplied with re trospective postscripts to bring them up to date. PETER LANG PUBLISHING, INC. - 62 West 45th Street - New York, NY 10036 Phone (212) 302-6740 Fax (212) 302-7574 Jill : " II II « « L 1 A I AND ACKIlVIMtNTS Of AMERICA'S undssre»:o ^Finally someone has looked at the ‘remediation problem’ through the right end of the telescope. Mike Rose’s wonderfully humane-and wonderfully written-account of university education as disadvantaged students encounter it should be read by everyone thinking about literacy and higher education in America. 5 9 -Richard Lanham, UCLA, author of Literacy and the Survival of Humanism LIVES ON THE BOUNDARY The Struggles and Achievements of America’s Underprepared Mike Rose 6 6 Sensitive to the hidden injuries of class and cultural difference, this book is a hopeful, sophisticated call for an education that matches a pluralistic democracy. 9 9 -David Tyack, Stanford University, author of The One Best System: A History of American Urban Education 1989 ISBN: 0-02-926821-4 $22.95 I! M I h E R 0 S E I Clip coupon and mail to: I The Free Press, Attn: Dino Battista, 866 Third Ave, NY, NY 10022 Please send me. . copy(ies) of LIVES ON THE BOUNDARY (ISBN: 0-02-926821-4). Enclosed is my check or money order for $22.95 per book. NAME. For VISA, MasterCard or American Express orders, call toll-free 1-800-323-7445 between 9am-5:30pm Eastern Time. ADDRESS_______ CITY, STATE, ZIP. I I I I I I 1 THE FREE PRESS psr 932/psi 932 pcny cancel 0 A Division of Macmillan, Inc. 866 Third Avenue, New York, New York 10022 I "Splendid." - Washington Post "An outstanding folklore series." - Booklist THE PANTHEON FAIRY TALE AND FOLKLORE LIBRARY "Should be the cornerstone to the library of any booklover interested in folklore and the history of children’s literature." A. B. Bookman’s Weekly JUST PUBLISHED! YIDDISH FOLKTALES Edited by Beatrice Weinreich Translated by Leonard Wolf "Rich annotations...vibrant translations." N.Y. Times Book Review $21.95 THE VICTORIAN FAIRY TALE BOOK Edited by Michael Patrick Hearn "Superb." 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JAPANESE FOLKTAI .ES Edited by Royall Tyler cloth $19.95/paper $12.95 PANTHEON BOOKS/A Division of Random House 201 E. 50th St., New York, NY 10022 At bookstores or call toll-free: 800-733-3000 NATIONAL CONFERENCE sponsored by THE STATE UNIVERSITY OF NEW JERSEY RUTGERS Campus at Camden T he American educational system has long espoused the idea that students should emerge from their undergraduate careers as well- rounded individuals. Perhaps the time is ripe to re-examine what constitutes a well-rounded education, which values are being inculcated, and what and who are being excluded—for what reasons and to what ends. Much has been writ ten recently on the theory of race, ethnicity and gender, but putting it into practice is the diffi culty. What is needed is a “hands-on” approach to the possibilities and difficulties of applica tion of such theories to teaching and the cur riculum in the discipline, in order to make education meaningful, relevant and accessible to all. This conference sees diversity among the students of our colleges and universities as the bedrock of American culture. The development of a critical consciousness which sustains and guides students through the socio-political con texts in which they live is the true mission of a college curriculum. The disciplines are the ve hicles through which the theoretical underpin nings of a democratic society can be put into Opening of the American Mind RACE, ETHNICITY AND GENDER IN HIGHER EDUCATION September 20-22, 1989 Sheraton Society Hill • Philadelphia, Pa. practice. Freedom from oppressive thought and ideology, and a mind open to the unique his tories, contributions and circumstances of those who differ in ethnicity, gender and class are the results of an effective higher education. “Opening the American Mind” offers scholars and teachers an opportunity to present historical and theoretical views, as well as innova tive approaches to instruction. Above all, the conference, as a forum for convergent and diver gent points of view, offers an opportunity to work out practical methods and applications for the future. CONFIRMED SPEAKERS Barbara Herrnstein Smith Past President, MLA Leon Botstein President, Bard College Joshua Fishman Stanford University Houston Baker, Jr. University of Pennsylvania CALL FOR PAPERS This is a call for proposals which support and run counter to the position of the confer ence conveners. The general sessions which will serve as the foundation for the conference are: CULTURAL LITERACY: TOWARD DEFINING AN EDUCATED PERSON FOR THE 21st CENTURY STRATEGIES FOR CURRICULUM REVISION CAMPUS AND ENVIRONMENT: SETTING A TONE OF INCLUSIVENESS REVISING THE CANON: TOWARD A MORE INCLUSIVE CURRICULUM LINGUISTICS THE NEW ETHNICITY: IS IT ON THE DECLINE? ETHNIC AND GENDER STUDIES BILINGUALISM Individuals interested in presenting papers should submit a two-page abstract by June 1, 1989 to: DR. DAVID WILSON ASSISTANT PROVOST RUTGERS UNIVERSITY CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY 08102 For further conference information or registra tion details, call (609) 757-6357. Your personal advisor for choosing the best fantasy literature. FANTASY LITERATURE for CHILDREN and YOUNG ADULTS NEWLY EXPANDED 3RD EDITION! R.R. BOWKER THE INFORMATION REFERENCE COMPANY Prices are applicable in the U.S., its territories, and in Canada. Applica ble sales tax must be included. Add 5% of net invoice amount for shipping and handling. Third Edition An Annotated Bibliography Ruth Nadelman Lynn This completely updated and expanded guide draws on 24 distinguished review sources to recommend 3,300 fantasy works—including (,6OO new to this edition— for children and young adults in grades 3 through 12. Each title has been favorably reviewed and recommended by at least two stan dard review sources and each is labeled as outstanding or recommended. Thor ough annotations also note major awards won, reading level, full bibliographic information, and more! Booklist called the 2nd edition "a valu able reference tool for librarians, teach ers, and students of children's literature... a guide to build collections, to locate specific titles or kinds of fantasy, and to stimulating research." With its newly added Subject Index and Research Guide which includes crit ical and biographical information on some 600 children's and young adult fantasy authors, the new, comprehensive 3rd edi tion will be invaluable for maintaining a strong fantasy section and for working with this popular genre. ORDER YOURS TODAY BY CALLING TOLL-FREE 1-800-521-8110. In NY, AK, and HI call collect (212) 337-6934. In Canada 1-800-537-8416. Or mail your purchase order to R.R. Bowker/ PO Box 762/NY, NY 10011 Jan. 1989 • 864 pp. • 0-8352-2347-7 Ages 8-18 • $39.95 And ask for a FREE copy of the 1989 Bowker Children's and Young Adult Reference Book Catalog when you order! _ jfe.. PenguiN NATURE I 1BRARY The Americas, Naturally Meriwether Lewis and William Clark THE JOURNALS OF LEWIS AND CLARK Edited and introduced by Frank Bergon The first American expedition across the continent captured in immediacy and detail. “The equivalent of a national poem, a magnificent epic for an unfinished nation” —Frank Bergon. 0-14-017006-5 S8.95 Mary Austin THE LAND OF LITTLE RAIN Introduction by Edward Abbey Between Death Valley and the High Sierras lie desert and foothills drawn in lyrical clarity as they were in 1903, “as remote from our regular and regulated anthill lives as the flight of an eagle”—Edward Abbey. 0-14-017009-X S6.95 Henry Walter Bates THE NATURALIST ON THE RIVER AMAZONS Introduction by Alex Shoumatoff Mid-nineteenth-century Amazonia appears through the eyes of one of the first explorers in “one of the monuments of scientific travel writing... a celebration of the world’s ultimate wilderness”—Alex Shoumatoff. 0-14-017011-1 S8.95 . Henry Beston THE OUTERMOST HOUSE Introduction by Robert Finch Poised between sea and shore, classic adventures and reflections on Cape Cod are filled with the power and glory of the sea—“with measured cadences in calm weather, with life-destroying fury during northeast gales... .There is no other landscape like it anywhere”—Robert Finch. 0-14-017012-X S6.95 Henry David Thoreau THE MAINE WOODS Introduction by Edward Hoagland The unspoiled beauty of Thoreau’s Maine wilderness is revealed in “foxy grace and crystalline precision...joyful inventories and resilient spirits”—Edward Hoagland. 0-14-017013-8 S7.95 PENGUIN USA Academic/Library Marketing 40 West 23rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10010 WHO KILLED VIRGINIA W0QLF? A PSYCHOBIOGRAPHY Alma Halbert Bond. Ph D. Every Suicide Has Its Accomplices. Read about the conspiracy of the entire Virginia Woolf industry to cover up the unsettling story of how her friends and relatives contributed to Virginia Woolf's suicide. This detailed analysis by noted psychoanalyst Alma Bond provides new insight into Virginia Woolf's life. You know what happened to Virginia Woolf. Read this book and find out why. To order, send $19.95 to: Plenum Publishing Corp/Human Sciences 233 Spring Street, New York, NY 10013 ____________________________________________________ | | Check Attached [ | MC | | Visa | | AmEx address account no. exp. date city state zip signature Literary Criticism from Howard University Press Speaking For You The Vision of Ralph Ellison edited by Kimberly W Benston A collection of essays, poetry, and interviews, with an extensive bibliography, Speaking For You gives readers an opportunity to know Ralph Ellison the man, his art, and his philosophy more fully. “... The single most important volume on Ellison yet to have appeared....” Choice 0-88258-169-4 $21.95 cloth James Baldwin A Critical Evaluation edited by Therman B. O’Daniel This volume of essays examines Baldwin as novelist, essayist, short story writer, playwright, scenarist, and interlocuter. “All the essays are well written and represent worth while additions to critical studies of this important black writer...” Library Journal 0-88258-047-7 $12.00 cloth 0-88258-091-4 $ 7.95 paper Jean Toomer A Critical Evaluation edited by Therman B. O’Daniel Defying conventional techniques, Jean Toomer’s Cane took the literary world by storm in 1932. The essays in this study provide a penetrating and critical assessment of this enigmatic writer and his works. 0-88258-111-2 $21.95 cloth The Wayward and the Seeking A Collection of Writings by Jean Toomer edited and with an introduction by Darwin T. Turner This collection reveals Toomer’s intellectual and psy chological development prior to the publication of Cane. Included here are the various genres Toomer explored: autobiography, short stories, poetry, drama, and aphorisms. 0-88258-014-0 $14.95 cloth 0-88258-028-0 $ 7.95 paper All orders from individuals must be prepaid. Mail orders to: Marketing Department Howard University Press 2900 Van Ness Street, Nffi Washington, D.C. 20008 New from North Point Press: Essays, Astute and Original \XZZ7/ 7/ §ZZZ7/tyA\ \w/ /aVa\ \vav/ /aVa\ \W/a\W/ /aVa\\w//aVa\ W7/ 7\\ MAZES Hugh Kenner Cloth, $22.95 Available in June Never before has the encyclopedic breadth of Hugh Kenner’s interests been as clearly exhibited as in Mazes, an entertaining, substantial new collection by “one of the most distinguished critics now at work in the field.” —New York Times Book Review “Brilliant in its grasping at inter connections.”—Publishers Weekly “A dazzling presentation that is sheer pleasure to read.”—Walter Abish HORSE-TRADING & ECSTASY Barbara Probst Solomon These investigations, interviews, and essays trace the high and low points of moral and intellectual life in the latter part of this century. “From a 1959 put-down of Jack Kerouac to a 1988 meditation on Klaus Barbie, Gestapo chief of Lyons, France, these bracing essays never falter in readability or intellectual rigor. ”—Publishers Weekly “As, savvy as it is funny and shrewd.”—Ronald Christ Cloth, $18.95 Q North Point Press, 850 Talbot Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94706 h NTUCKY1 FEMINIST LITERARY CRITICISM Explorations in Theory JOSEPHINE DONOVAN, Editor. An expand ed second edition of the first major book of feminist critical theory published in the United States. Indispensable for an understanding of the development of feminist theory. "An ex cellent introduction to the field"—American Literary Scholarship. 112 pages $6.00 paper WOMEN'S POETRY OF THE FIRST WORLD WAR NOSHEEN KHAN. By analyzing the work of women poets, both familiar and unknown, Khan shows the full impact of the war upon women writing during that painful time. 240 pages $25.00 DEMON-LOVERS AND THEIR VICTIMS IN BRITISH FICTION TONI REED. The first historical and structural exploration of the demon-lover motif, with emphasis on major works from the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries. 176 pages $18.00 KING LEAR AND THE GODS WILLIAM R. ELTON. "Extremely interest ing. . . . will be found of great value not on ly by readers interested in the interpretation of King Lear, but also by those concerned with other works of the period or with the Ren aissance as a whole"—Renaissance Quarter ly. 384 pages $30.00 cloth; $15.00 SHAKESPEARE AND THE POET'S LIFE GARY SCHMIDGALL. Why did this great writer cease in his efforts to combine poetry and drama and exclusively devote himself to the Globe and the Blackfriars? Schmidgall's conclusions are illuminating. 248 pages $25.00 December AMERICAN WOMEN WRITING FICTION Memory, Identity, Family, Space MICKEY PEARLMAN, Editor. "A sure-footed guide to contemporary American literature"—Booklist. Jargon-free essays on the work of ten important contemporary women novelists, including Joan Didion, Gail Godwin, Jayne Anne Phillips, and Joyce Carol Oates. Their work has broadened American literature to reflect more clearly the people we are. 232 pages $20.00 cloth; $10.00 paper LITERATURE AND SPIRIT Essays on Bakhtin and His Contemporaries DAVID PATTERSON. Exploring Bakhtin's no tions of spirit, responsibility, and dialogue, Patterson takes his reader from the narrow arena of literary criticism to the larger realm of human living and loving. 192 pages $18.00 INNOCENT ABROAD Charles Dickens's American Engagements JEROME MECKIER. Travelling to America in 1842, Dickens expected to find an ideal republic that demonstrated human progress as natural law. Using new material, Meckier explains the reasons for the failure of the writer's visits. This critical/biographical study reshapes our view of this Victorian literary giant. 256 pages $25.00 December MARK OF THE BEAST Death and Degradation in the Literature of the Great War ALFREDO BONADEO. From the literature of World War I Bonadeo describes the un paralleled degradation of the common man and the callous encouragement by the in telligentsia. The grim focus of this book reveals new social meanings of "the war to end all wars." 192 pages $19.00 Inquiries and major credit card orders, phone toll-free 1-800-666-2211. Send mail orders to: The University Press of Kentucky, P.O. Box 6525, Ithaca, NT 14851. THE UNIVERSITY PRESS OF KENTUCKY Women—many voices, many views —— A collection of distinction 111 — PLUME AMERICAN WOMEN WRITERS © Plume is proud to publish this innovative series of works from the nation’s most gifted women writers. Series Editor: Michele Slung POINT OF NO RETURN By Martha Gellhorn. With a new Afterword by the author. Originally published in 1948 as The Wine of Astonishment, this brilliant story of men and women and their war-torn emotions is recognized as the first American war novel written by a woman. ©PLUME 0-452-26223-2 $8.95 EX-WIFE By Ursula Parrott. Introduction by Francine Prose. When it was first published in 1929, EX- WIFE was deemed so scandalous that Parrott kept her identity secret. This entertaining and funny novel shows contemporary readers the sex ual mores and double standards for women in the 1920’s. ©PLUME 0-452-26224-0 $7.95 ANGEL ISLAND By Inez Haynes Gillmore. Introduction by Ursula K. LeGuin. In this undiscovered 1914 classic, five shipwrecked men try to tame five flying women and clip their wings. But before long these magi cal bird-creatures create a new life and a greater wonder comes when a male child is born with wings of his own. ©PLUME 0-452-26200-3 $8.95 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY A Society Novel By Harriet Beecher Stowe. Introduction by Judith Martin. Written in 1871, this astute novel of man ners is a penetrating look at the institution of mar riage. Stowe transcends the obvious to reveal how Lillie Ellis, a professional belle and undenia ble manipulator, is a victim of her own femininity. ©PLUME 0-452-26177-5 $7.95 THE PRODIGAL WOMEN By Nancy Hale. Introduction by Mary Lee Settle. The New Yorker hailed this novel as one “full of stature, skillfully projected...beautifully written.” Four decades later Hale’s story of Leda March, a Boston Brahmin who had everything, and Betsy and Maizie Jekyll, two beautiful and cunning Southern belles, remains fresh and vibrant for readers today. ©PLUME 0-452-26140-6 $8.95 Also available AFRO-AMERICAN WOMEN WRITERS 1746-1933 An Anthology and Critical Guide Compiled by Ann Allen Shockley. This ground breaking anthology provides excerpts from a vari ety of writings—fiction, autobiography, journals, and diaries—by more than 35 black women, rang ing from slaves, ministers, and educators whose works had been forgotten or lost to recognized poets and novelists such as Phillis Wheatly and Nella Larson. ©MERIDIAN 0-452-00981-2 $14.95 AFTER DELORES By Sarah Schulman. “A rare, insightful look into the lesbian mind...The book is as raw as fresh- shucked oysters and redolent with rugged charm.”—The New York Times Book Review. “Makes Bright Lights, Big City and Less Than Zero seem thin and dated.”—Publishers Weekly ©PLUME 0-452-26228-3 $7.95 SHE CAME IN A FLASH By Mary Wings. Emma Victor, the intrepid lesbian detective from She Came Too Late, returns for an encore. She’s now settled in San Francisco look ing for a new life. But mystery seems to follow her wherever she goes, and Emma finds herself sud denly involved with the members of a very strange commune. ®NAL BOOKS 0-453-00648-5 $17.95 Prices subject to change. Write to the NAL Education Department at the address below for a free Women’s Studies catalog. NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY ; 1633 Broadway, New York, NY 10019 NAL Gracious Laughter The Meditative Wit of Edward Taylor John Gatta. This illuminating study shows how Ed ward Taylor's exploitation of wit, play, and the comic spirit flowed from his peculiar grasp of Puritan and Christian poetics. By exploring the significance of this wit in its diverse forms, Gatta offers a fresh perspective on those traits of mind and composition that have estab lished Edward Taylor as the foremost poet of early America. 0704-9 240 pages $26.00 Ghosts, Demons, and Henry James The Turn of the Screw at the Turn of the Century Peter G. Beidler. Placing Henry James's most famous story within the tradition of the "factual" ghost narra tive, Beidler argues convincingly that James intended to write a story of supernatural, rather than merely psy chological, terror. 0684-0 160 pages $25.00 Architects of the Abyss The Indeterminate Fictions of Poe, Hawthorne, and Melville Dennis Pahl. "Working within a post-structuralist theoretical frame, Mr. Pahl, in an exemplary way, puts theory into practice. His work, because of its cogency and clarity, will make available to many practitioners a body of philosophical understanding that otherwise might be difficult to apply to the reading of specific books."—Kenneth Dauber, State University of New York at Buffalo. 0707-3 160 pages $26.00 Shakespeare, Fletcher, and The Two Noble Kinsmen Essays Edited by Charles H. Frey. Finally recog nized as part of Shakespeare's canon, The Two Noble Kinsmen is the often-neglected collaboration of the Bard and John Fletcher. This collection of essays, exploring problems of coauthorship, interpretation, and history of performance, opens the way for in-depth study of this little-known masterpiece. 0705-7 232 pages $24.00 Charles Perrault Memoirs of My Life Edited and translated by Jeanne Morgan Zarucchi. Perrault, the author of "Little Red Riding Hood" and "Cinderella," was also a political observer whose first hand glimpses of famous personalities and events illu minate the unique relationship of art, patronage, and power under the reign of Louis XIV. 0667-0 152 pages $22.00 Jewish Issues in Argentine Literature From Gerchunoff to Szichman Naomi Lindstrom. Treating one of the least explored but most intellectually challenging aspects of Argentine literature, Naomi Lindstrom examines the works of Jewish authors in Argentina from 1910 to the present. In doing so, she offers both a historical account of Jewish contributions to Argentine literature and detailed analy ses of selected works by eight Jewish-Argentine writers. 0708-1 208 pages $24.00 The Complete Sermons of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Volume 1 Edited by Albert J. von Frank, with an Introduc tion by David M. Robinson. This inaugural volume of a four-volume set marks the beginning of the publica tion of all 180 of the extant sermons composed and delivered by Emerson between the start of his ministe rial career in 1826 and his final retirement from the pulpit in 1838. 0681-6 344 pages $45.00 UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI PRESS 200 Lewis Hall • Columbia, MO 65211 —Pittsburgh Series__ MATTHEW J. BRUCCOLI, GENERAL EDITOR “If any series of bibliographies published in this country can be said to reach the highest standards of excellence in compilation, editing, thoroughness, accuracy, format, description, typography, and book production in general, it is the Pittsburgh Series in Bibliography.”—Book Collector’s Market Forthcoming in the Series THOMAS CARLYLE A Descriptive Bibliography Roger L. Tarr/Fa// 1989/$110.00/3607-0 NELSON ALGREN A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Brucco\i/1985/$60.00/3517-1 JOHN BERRYMAN A Descriptive Bibliography Ernest C. Stefanik, 3r./1974/$70.00/3281-4 RAYMOND CHANDLER A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/7979/$60.00/3382-9 JAMES GOULD COZZENS A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/1981 / $65.0073435-3 EMILY DICKINSON A Descriptive Bibliography Joel Myerson/1984/$60.00/3491-4 RALPH WALDO EMERSON A Descriptive Bibliography Joel Myerson/7982/8710.00/3452-3 EMERSON An Annotated Secondary Bibliography Robert E. Burkholder & Joel Myerson /1985/$130.00/3502-3 F. SCOTT FITZGERALD A Descriptive Bibliography, Revised Edition Matthew J. Bruccoli/7988/$700.00/3560-0 MARGARET FULLER A Descriptive Bibliography Joel Myerson/7978/860.00/3387-0 DASHIELL HAMMETT A Descriptive Bibliography Richard Layman/7979/$60.00/3394-2 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE A Descriptive Bibliography C.E. Frazer Clark, 3r./1978/$95.00/3343-8 RING W. LARDNER A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli & Richard Layman 1976/$90.00/3306-3 ROSS MACDONALD/KENNETH MILLAR A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/7983/$70.00/3482-5 MARIANNE MOORE A Descriptive Bibliography Craig S. Abbott/7 977/$65.00/3319-5 JOHN O’HARA A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/1978/$75.00/3349-7 EUGENE O’NEILL A Descriptive Bibliography Jennifer McCabe Atkinson 1974/$90.00/3279-2 WALLACE STEVENS A Descriptive Bibliography J. M. Edelstein/7 973/$90.00/3268- 7 HENRY DAVID THOREAU A Descriptive Bibliography Raymond W. Borst/7981/$65.00/3445-0 THOMAS WOLFE A Descriptive Bibliography Carol Johnston/7987/$75.00/3546-5 University of Pittsburgh Press c/o CUP Services Box 6525 Ithaca, NY 14850 800-666-2211 ____________ in Bibliography THE WALK Notes on a Romantic Image By Jeffrey C. Robinson “Jeffrey C. Robinson’s The Walk is a lively and intelligent omnibus for thinkers as well as for walkers. His evident love of literature is genuine enthusiasm for all that is best in life.”—Annie Dillard. This unique book will appeal to students and scholars of literature, particularly of the Romantic movement. It will also capture the imaginations of poets and novelists, general readers interested in literature and culture, and nature and walking enthusiasts. $18.95 PERSONAL WRITINGS BY WOMEN TO 1900 A Bibliography of American and British Writers Compiled by Gwenn Davis and Beverly A. Joyce This pioneering reference work on the private writings of women provides a comprehensive list of autobiographical and travel literature, letters, and diaries by women published between 1475 and 1900. For each author the compilers have supplied her full name, alternative names, titles, pseudonyms used in personal writings, her nationality, and her date of birth and death where known. Full titles and publication information are given for the first edition of each book. $65.00 Write for FREE catalog. From your bookseller, or order direct ($1.50 post/hand). Dept. MA85—1005 Asp Ave.—Norman, OK 73019 of Oklahoma Press /Si w- New EDITION An Introduction to Bibliographical and Textual Studies SECOND EDITION by William Proctor Williams and Craig S. Abbott This work describes the practice and application of bibliographical and textual scholarship during the twentieth century; it also includes information on analytical, descriptive, historical, and reference bibliographical works, as well as a discussion of texts and textual criticism. Includes an index. 1989. vi & 114 pp. Cloth, $32.00 (members $25.60) [S641C1 Paper, $16.50 (members $13.20) [S641P] OHIO UNIVERSITY PRESS Nev) for 1989 Edmund Wilson A Critic for Our Time JANET GROTH “[This book] makes a contribution—a strong contribution—to our understanding of both Edmund Wilson and American literary criticism.”—George Monteiro. “It is one of the best studies of Wilson I have seen and deserves every success.’’—Leon Edel Winner of the 1988 NEMLA/Ohio University Press Book Award 350 pp. cloth $29.95 Willa Cather Living A Personal Record EDITH LEWIS FOREWORD BY MARILYN ARNOLD As critical interest in the work of Willa Cather increases, it becomes more obvious that attention must be accorded Edith Lewis, Willa Cather’s friend and literary executrix, and Lewis’ work. Not only a classic biography of a great American writer, this memoir by Lewis demands close critical consideration in its own right. 240 pp. cloth $22.95 paper $12.95 English Language Criticism on the Foreign Novel, 1965-1975 COMPILED BY HARRIET ALEXANDER This reference bibliography provides easier access to the criticism on novels published in Africa, Latin America, Europe, Asia, Canada, Australia, and the Middle East. This is a reference tool which is surely essential for every library. 450 pp. cloth $49.95 Now available James Wright The Poetry of a Grown Man KEVIN STEIN In this first comprehensive scholarly introduction to the work of James Wright, the author traces the unified growth of Wright’s poetry throughout his career. 264 pp. cloth $28.95 For a free catalog, write: Ohio University Press DEPARTMENT P2 . SCOTT QUADRANGLE • ATHENS, OH 45701 New Titles “ MLA Portuguese Language and Luso-Brazilian Literature AN ANNOTATED GUIDE TO SELECTED REFERENCE WORKS compiled by Bobby J. Chamberlain A comprehensive, annotated guide to reference works covering the litera ture and language of all Portuguese-speaking lands. Besides listing perti nent bibliographies and studies of literature, this guide offers a bibliography of Luso-Brazilian linguistics, philology, and lexicology and includes the most recent dictionaries of argots and dialects. It embraces dictionaries and encyclopedias dealing specifically with the Portuguese world, as well as more general works. 1989. xii & 95 pp. Cloth, $20.00 (members $16.00) ISB06C] Paper, $14.50 (members $11.60) ISB06P] The English Coalition Conference DEMOCRACY THROUGH LANGUAGE edited by Richard Lloyd-]ones and Andrea A. Lunsford This volume represents the official reports of elementary, secondary, and college teachers of English who gathered in 1987 to examine common challenges and issues of concern and to chart directions for the study of English into the twenty-first cen tury. It presents the major conclusions reached by conference participants, as well as background information, position papers, some sketches designed to illus trate the problems and opportunities fac ing English studies, and a number of appendixes. The volume could be profita bly read not only by professionals in the field of English but by educational ad ministrators and parents as well. Urbana: NCTE and MLA 1989. xxiv & 87 pp. Paper, $6.95 [W410PJ (members $5.50 [W410Q]) APPROACHES TO TEACHING Ellison's Invisible Man edited by Susan Resneck Parr and Pancho Savery 1989. xi & 154 pp. Cloth [AP24C] Paper [AP24P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Cather's My Antonia edited by Susan J. Rosowski 1989. xii & 194 pp. Cloth /AP22C] Paper [AP22P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Sterne's Tristram Shandy edited by Melvyn New 1989. x & 174 pp. Cloth [AP20C] Paper [AP20P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Eliot's Poetry and Plays edited by Jewel Spears Brooker 1989. xii & 203 pp. Cloth [AP19CJ Paper [AP19PJ APPROACHES TO TEACHING Volumes in this series survey critical materials and discuss techniques that have proved effective in teaching the works at the undergraduate level. Each volume is available in a clothbound edition ($32.00; members $25.60) and in a paper- bound edition ($17.50; members $14.00). APPROACHES TO TEACHING Lessing's The Golden Notebook edited by Carey Kaplan and Ellen Cronan Rose 1989. x & 147 pp. Cloth [AP23C] Paper [AP23PJ APPROACHES TO TEACHING Swift's Gulliver's Travels edited by Edward J. Rielly 1988. ix & 148 pp. Cloth [AP18C] Paper [AP18P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Blake's Songs of Innocence and of Experience edited by Robert F. Gleckner and Mark L. Greenberg 1989. xvi & 162 pp. Cloth [AP21CJ Paper [AP21PJ APPROACHES TO TEACHING Momaday's The Way to Rainy Mountain edited by Kenneth M. Roemer 1988. xiv & 172 pp. Cloth JAP17C] Paper [AP17P] LSU | Press The Edge of the Swamp A Study in the Literature and Society of the Old South LOUIS D. RUBIN, JR. "There is no better guide to Southern literature in the full context of Southern experience than Louis D. Rubin, Jr. He is a partisan not of causes but of the Southern imagination, resourceful and subtle, with a full regard for differing points of view."—Alfred Kazin $25.00 Theodore Roethke's Far Fields The Evolution of His Poetry PETER BALAKIAN In this critical study of Theodore Roethke's poetry, Peter Balakian treats the evolution of the poet's work from his first book to his last. Balakian argues that Roethke was among the most innovative poets of his time and helped bring America to a new frontier in the con temporary era. $25.00 John Crowe Ransom's Secular Faith KIERAN QUINLAN Kieran Quinlan examines John Crowe Ransom's theological and philosophical inter ests in an effort to understand the many ap parent contradictions in the career of this important man of letters. $20.00 Afro-American Writing Today An Anniversary Issue of the Southern Review Edited by JAMES OLNEY This special issue of the Southern Review has been reissued in book form with the express purpose of granting greater access and more prominent status to an important collection of Afro-American writings. The range and variety of contributions attest to the remarkable energy and vitality that characterize contem porary Afro-American writing. $29.95 Bardic Ethos and the American Epic Poem Whitman, Pound, Crane, Williams, Olson JEFFREY WALKER In this first book-length rhetorical study of American epic verse, Jeffrey Walker develops an important and controversial account of what may be the most persistent and signifi cant tradition in American poetry. $35.00 The Green American Tradition Essays and Poems for Sherman Paul Edited by H. DANIEL PECK "This is the most integrated and organically coherent festschrift I have seen. It is cohesive in its own subject matter and, even more miraculous, the essays are beautifully and organically one with the object of the festschrift, Sherman Paul and his work." —Milton R. Stern, University of Connecticut $35.00 The Lives of Jean Toomer A Hunger for Wholeness CYNTHIA EARL KERMAN and RICHARD ELDRIDGE "It belongs on the shelf with a growing num ber of first-rate scholarly biographies of Afro-American men and women of letters." —Horace Porter, Washington Post Book World "It is hard to imagine a study of greater integrity and insight into this complex American."—Arnold Rampersad, New York Times Book Review $12.95, paper Collected Poems, 1919-1976 ALLEN TATE Allen Tate's Collected Poems, first published in 1977, shows the develpment of the poet from his earliest effort, "Red Stains" (1919), to his last poem, "Farewell Rehearsed" (1976). "This is by far the most handsome and complete [collection of Tate's poetry]."—The Nation $9.95, paper Louisiana State University Press Baton Rouge 70893 New FROM THE MLA Language, Gender, and Professional Writing THEORETICAL APPROACHES AND GUIDELINES FOR NONSEXIST USAGE Francine Wattman Frank and Paula A. Treichler with contributions by H. Lee Gershuny, Sally McConnell-Ginet, and Susan J. Wolfe 1989. viii & 341 pages. Cloth, $32.00 (members $25.60) [B819C] Paper, $14.50 (members $11.60) [B819P] A provocative analysis of sexism in language, with guidelines for unbiased usage. Language, Gender, and Professional Writing will change the way you choose your words. Delving into the roots and consequences of linguistic sexism, the book persuasively argues the case for eliminating biased usage and shows authors how to express their thoughts fairly and accurately without sacrificing clarity and grace. Designed for scholars, teachers, students, professionals, and general readers, Language, Gender, and Professional Writing unites research, theoretical approaches, and actual examples to provide the best' grounded and most comprehensive guidelines available for nonsexist writing. A thorough subject index provides problem'solving help, and four substantial bibliographies reflect the controversies surrounding sexist language and point to suggestions for dealing with it. MAKE YOUR CHOICE... AND BE CRITICAL! I ale invites you to compare our new Short Story Criticism I series with other similar reference tools—and be tough. SSC can stand the scrutiny because it's the only source that provides in-depth critical analysis of major works of short fiction — particularly those most often studied in high school and college literature classes. Authors to be discussed in forthcoming semi annual volumes include Isaac Bashevis Singer, Alice Munro, Arthur C. Clarke, and James Joyce. Unlike its competitors, SSC strives to include all short stories by each of the selected authors. Other reference sources typically discuss one to three stories and briefly mention one to five additional titles. And while other critical sources dealing with short fiction typically contract an editor to write a single critical essay per author, SSC presents a full range of viewpoints by the most distinguished critics from the author's time to the present. Portraits of each author, descriptive annotations, and com plete bibliographical information are also included. About 470 pp. per volume. $75.00. (Volumes 1 and 2 in print; Volume 3 ready October, 1989) Order Short Story Criticism on 30-day approval and make your own decision! Call 1-800-223-GALE today. Please refer to Gale order number 99989. Make Your Choice..And Be Critical! (Compare entries on Ernest Hemingway) SSC Magill's Critical Survey of Short Fiction Critical Depth Excerpts from 31 One critical essay by a essays by Virginia contracted editor. Woolf, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Malcolm Cowley, etc. Entry Length 38,000 Words 3,400 Words Number of Stories 56 8 Analyzed Gale Research Inc. Book Tower • Dept. 77748 Detroit, MI 48277-0748 Number of Biblio Sources Photo of Author Is Your Library One of the 3,500 That Subscribe to PMLA! the Modem Language Association since 1884, it is the scholarly journal with the largest circulation in the humanities—and the circulation has increased over ten percent during the last two years. The Best Essays on Language and Literature PMLA features notable articles in language and liter ature study. Recent and forthcoming issues include es says on “male malady” in the French Romantic novel, Yeats’s tragic sublime, reading recipes as gendered dis course, the politics of Johnson’s dictionary, Foucault’s Oriental subtext, art and power in Pedro Calderon de la Barca’s plays, Ibsen’s feminism, the Elephant Man, and Matthew Arnold and modem conceptions of apoc alypse. Two years ago, PMLA began publishing pieces by the association’s honorary members and fellows, distin guished men and women of letters and distinguished foreign scholars. The series has included a previously unpublished short story by Carlos Fuentes, an essay on Marguerite Duras by French critic Julia Kristeva, an article by Umberto Eco, the Nobel Prize acceptance speech by Wole Soyinka, and an interview with Gabriel Garcia Marquez. New Feature Criticism in Translation This year, PMLA began to publish translations of semi nal scholarship until now unavailable in English. The first in the series was an essay by Gerard Genette that appeared in the March 1989 issue. A Complete Annual Directory for Language and Literature Scholars The September issue of PMLA provides up-to-date directories of members of the Modem Language As sociation, departmental administrators at colleges and universities in the United States and Canada, ethnic studies programs, language programs, women’s stud ies programs, organizations of independent scholars, and humanities research centers. A Directory of Use ful Addresses includes over six hundred publishers and academic organizations. New Feature Special Topics The January 1990 PMLA will inaugurate a new fea ture: articles grouped around a subject or theme. The premier issue will cover Afro-American literature and will feature essays on Martin Luther King, Jr., the novelization of voice in Afro-American narrative, Harlem Renaissance writers, Afro-American literary his tory, and Tolson’s Harlem Gallery. Future special topics include canons, the politics of critical language, the cinema, theory of literary history, and performance. PMLA, which contains mote than 1,200 pages each year, is available from all major subscription services at an annual institutional rate of $88. If you’d like more information or a subscription, write Customer Services, Modem Language Association, 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003-6981. LITERARY CLASSICS FOR MODERN TIMES Since 1913, Houghton Mifflin has brought to life the characters, the stories, and the images of a truly classic American writer— Willa Cather. Now, on the seventy-fifth anniversary of the original publication date, we are proud to introduce stunning new paper back editions of three of Cather’s best known and widely respected novels. Both long-time Cather devo tees and first-time students of American Literature will appreciate these contemporary editions of the author’s timeless depictions of life on the western prairie. My Antonia, widely recognized as Willa Cather’s finest book, portrays the strength and fortitude of a pioneer woman in the frontier farmlands of Nebraska, in the words of H.L. Mencken, “No romantic novel ever written in America, by man or woman, is one half so beautiful as Ml/ Antonio." $5.95 Paper in O Pioneers! Cather introduces the memorable Alexandra Bergson, the daughter of Swedish immigrant farmers. Through her struggles with the hardships and suffering of prairie life, Alexandra becomes the model of a remarkable, spirited heroine. $5.95 Paper Willa Cather called The Song of the Lark her favorite novel. This story of a young woman’s awakening as an artist and her struggle to escape the constraints of a small town in Colorado rounds out the author’s response to the ever-present question of home and her own identity as a writer. $8.95 Paper Willa Cather and Houghton Mifflin—successful partners in the past and for the future. For more information or to order, contact your local Houghton Mifflin sales representative or write: Houghton Mifflin Paperbacks Two Park Street Boston, MA 02108 I’ublishers of the American I ieritage Dictionary 250,000 listings. 17,500 pages. 14 books. 1 disc. Since 1981, the MLA International Bibliography has indexed approximate ly 250,000 articles and books on literature and language. Now the H. W. Wilson Company is offering all seven years’ worth of data on a single compact disc. The CD-ROM version of the Bibliography provides the same extensive cross-referencing available in the printed subject index but eliminates the hours necessary to thumb through the fourteen books published since 1981. The disc version offers many additional timesaving devices; for example, a user who wishes to find materials on the theme of racism in Eudora Welty’s fiction would simply enter “Welty, Eudora” and “racism.” For a nominal telecommunica tions charge, WILSONDISC™ users also enjoy unlimited searching of the Bibliog raphy on WILSONLINE®, which is updated monthly from November to June, so that information added to the file between quarterly updates of WILSON DISC is easily and inexpensively available. With one keystroke, users switch from searching the CD to searching online. For a free brochure about the MLA international Bibliography on WILSONDISC, write to Online and Special Services, Modern Language Association, 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003-6981. Understanding Contemporary American Literature edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli "I am grateful to Ronald Baughman for his judicious and intelligent treatment of my work. The series in which his study appears is remarkable. "—James Dickey "These volumes are a wonderful beginning, an invitation to understanding and, beyond that, to a deeper enjoyment of the literature of our age. "—George Garrett "To be published in this series is an honor—to be understood, a miracle."—Mary Lee Settle Understanding Contemporary American Literature is a series of companions or guides that in troduces important contemporary writers—identifying and explicating their material, themes, use of language, points of view, structures, symbolism, and responses to experience. Through criticism and analysis, the books provide readers with an understanding of how contemporary literature works—that is, what the author is attempting to express and the means by which it is conveyed. Written for students and good nonacademic readers alike, these books are excellent supplemental reading that will prepare readers for more rewarding literary experiences. Volumes currently available on Edward Albee—Robert Bly—Raymond Carver—Chicano Literature—American Drama—James Dickey George Garrett—John Hawkes—Randall Jarrell—Denise Levertov—Bernard Malamud—Vladimir Nabokov Joyce Carol Oates—Walker Percy—Katherine Anne Porter—Thomas Pynchon—Theodore Roethke Mary Lee Settle—Isaac Bashevis Singer—William Stafford Available in both cloth ($21,95s) and paperback ($10.95). Special PMLA Offer—Complete set of 20 paperbacks $150.00. Paperbacks available for course adoption. 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Finneran, Editor yeats An Annual of Critical and Textual Studies Volume VI, 1988 The Yeats Annual has proven invaluable as a locus for the best of recent Yeats scholarship. Editor Richard Finneran has made high-quality articles, reviews, and bibliographic contributions a consistent trademark of the Annual. The 1988 edition continues this tradition of excellence. “... as fine a collection of papers as I conceive possible. The essays confirm of course that Yeats scholarship is thriving ... .” —Grover Smith, Duke University cloth $37.50 Ronald P. Draper and Martin Ray An Annotated Critical (Bibliography of Ahomas flardy This invaluable new book is a selectively annotated guide to the best in recent Hardy criticism. It provides the reader— student and scholar alike—ready access to the most important secondary material on this major author, cloth $34.50 R. H. Super Ahe Chronicler of (Barsetshire A Life of Anthony Trollope R. H. 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work_gku75b5tsjgjdltvzlc5gnrzjm ---- Preface Recent Advances in Thrombosis and Hemostasis—Part IV Sam Schulman, MD, PhD1,2 1Department of Medicine, Thrombosis and Atherosclerosis Research Institute, McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada 2Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, I.M. Sechenov First Moscow State Medical University, Moscow, Russia Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45:130–131. If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. Henry David Thoreau, 1817–1862 This is the fourth theme issue in the series of Recent Advances inThrombosis and Hemostasis, for which I have had the honor to be the guest editor. When we think of advances in throm- bosis, it is easy to associate with the recent developments of new oral anticoagulants that increasingly are replacing vita- min K antagonists. It is therefore appropriate that half of the contributionstothisissuereportonvariousaspectsofthenon- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants (NOACs). In accor- dance with the previous issues in this series, the articles have been harmonized to use the term NOAC rather than any other term. This is, of course, a matter of style, but it is also the abbreviation consistently used by the European Society of Cardiology. It is also important to point out that NOAC does not stand for new/novel oral anticoagulant.1 Nevertheless, even if these agents are not so new anymore, there are many new aspects to them that require studies. Let us, however, start with a few more basic topics. South Africa has been hit hard by the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) epidemic, and it is therefore pertinent to present a review by Jackson and Pretorius from South Africa on the effects of HIV on platelets, red blood cells, and fibrinogen.2 They discuss how the inflammatory changes may increase the risk of deep vein thrombosis in patients infected by HIV and how some hematological markers could be of interest in the assessment of these patients. They also present the classes of antiretroviral therapy available in South Africa. Autoimmune diseases also generate inflammatory responses and are associated with increased risk of venous thromboembolism (VTE). For patients with autoimmune dis- ease and a VTE event, a common question is how long the anticoagulant treatment should continue. Is it more important to focus on immunosuppression or on anticoagulation in the long run? Borjas-Howard et al have here performed a sys- tematic literature review to help us find some answers.3 Spinal cord injury activates multiple prothrombotic mechanisms, representing all three components of Virch- ow’s triad and generates therefore probably the highest risk of VTE in patients admitted to hospital. The risk remains elevated for several months and requires extended thromboprophylaxis. Due to concomitant risk of bleeding, several questions regarding optimal prophylactic regimen and timing remain to be answered. Piran and Schulman present a narrative review of the topic together with suggestions for future research.4 Prevention on the arterial side is important after myocardial infarction or stroke, but what is the risk/benefit ratio of primary prevention? This question has been further highlighted by the recently published ASPirin in Reducing Events in the Elderly (ASPREE) trial demonstrating not only lack of benefit but also harm with aspirin in healthy elderly people.5 Lippi et al have reviewed the meta-analyses and the recent ASPREE data to try and tease out the benefits and harms of primary prophylaxis.6 The balance between high risk of thrombosis and bleeding is revisited in patients with hip fractures. They are usually elderly and frail and a substantial proportion of them are on an anticoagulant, mainly for stroke prophylaxis in atrial fibrillation. Grandone et al have performed a literature review to find answers to questions regarding reversal of anticoagulants and perioperative bridging of anticoagu- lants.7 They summarize the available data in a narrative review, which includes both vitamin K antagonist and NOAC management. Conversely, for minor surgical proce- dures, there is growing evidence that oral anticoagulation does not have to be stopped. Brennan et al have reviewed the studies and also the recommendations from various societies and presented the results in another narrative review.8 NOACs have a favorable bleeding risk profile, especially regarding intracranial bleeding. In major surgery, there is always some blood loss, also unavoidable with the NOACs. Address for correspondence Sam Schulman, MD, PhD, Thrombosis Service, HHS-General Hospital, 237 Barton Street East, Hamilton, ON L8L 2X2, Canada (e-mail: schulms@mcmaster.ca). Issue Theme Recent Advances in Thrombosis and Hemostasis— Part IV; Guest Editor: Sam Schulman, MD, PhD. Copyright © 2019 by Thieme Medical Publishers, Inc., 333 Seventh Avenue, New York, NY 10001, USA. Tel: +1(212) 584-4662. DOI https://doi.org/ 10.1055/s-0039-1678721. ISSN 0094-6176. Preface130 D o w n lo a d e d b y: C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity . C o p yr ig h te d m a te ri a l. mailto: https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0039-1678721 https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0039-1678721 Rivaroxaban was in a pooled analysis more effective than low-molecular-weight heparin in reducing symptomatic VTE after total hip or total knee replacement,9 and has become the standard at many hospitals. Krauss et al performed a retrospective chart review of 1,241 arthroplasties at their center to investigate the risk of bleeding complications on rivaroxaban among obese and morbidly obese patients.10 They found a significant increase in the risk of major bleeding with an interaction by sex. Likewise, there is an increased risk of bleeding and other complications shortly after dis- charge from hospital among patients started on anticoagula- tion. Identification of risk factors for bleeding, education, and intensive short-term follow-up may help reducing this risk. Lim et al describe a nurse-led pathway implemented at Monash Medical Centre in Australia to minimize adverse events after newly started rivaroxaban in the hospital.11 They report low rates of bleeding and recurrence, and their model should be easy to replicate at other centers. Although bleeding is a well-recognized adverse event from anticoagu- lation therapy, other side effects have occasionally been reported or suspected, such as osteoporosis from vitamin K antagonists. Lobato et al investigated whether there is a difference in the signals of different adverse events between the vitamin K antagonists and the NOACs, using reports from a network of pharmacies in a Spanish region.12 They were particularly interested in finding new signals of adverse drug reactions in clinical practice. In the last contribution, Russo et al are seeking an answer to the question how NOACs perform in patients with atrial fibrillation and concomitant malignant disease.13 We know now from two recently published trials that edoxaban and rivaroxaban appear at least as effective as low-molecular- weight heparin in patients with VTE and malignancy, albeit with increased risk of bleeding on the NOAC, driven by gastrointestinal hemorrhage in patients with cancer in this organ.14,15 The presented systematic review did not identify any ad hoc designed trials and is based on cohort studies and subgroups from randomized trials. The authors could, how- ever, not find any alarming data that would lead us to avoid NOACs in this context. The reader can thus enjoy a compilation of articles on pathogenesis, prophylaxis, perioperative management, and adverse drug reactions. I hope that several, if not all, con- tributions will be of interest. Hopefully, the articles can also be useful as references. Conflict of Interest None. References 1 Husted S, de Caterina R, Andreotti F, et al; ESC Working Group on Thrombosis Task Force on Anticoagulants in Heart Disease. Non- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants (NOACs): no longer new or novel. Thromb Haemost 2014;111(05):781–782 2 Jackson SB, Pretorius E. Pathological clotting and deep vein thrombosis in patients with HIV. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019; 45(02):132–140 3 Borjas-Howard JF, de Leeuw K, Rutgers A, Meijer K, Tichelaar YIGV. Risk of recurrent venous thromboembolism in autoimmune dis- eases: a systematic review of the literature. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):141–149 4 Piran S, Schulman S. Thromboprophylaxis in patients with acute spinal cord Injury: a narrative review. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):150–156 5 Ridker PM. Should aspirin be used for primary prevention in the post-statin era? N Engl J Med 2018;379(16):1572–1574 6 Lippi G, Danese E, Favaloro EJ. Harms and benefits of using aspirin for primary prevention of cardiovascular disease: a narrative overview. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):157–163 7 Grandone E, Ostuni A, Tiscia GL, Barcellona D, Marongiu F. Management of patients taking oral anticoagulants who need urgent surgery for hip fracture. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45 (02):164–170 8 Brennan J, Favaloro EJ, Curnow J. To maintain or cease non- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants prior to minimal bleed- ing risk procedures: a review of evidence and recommendations. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):171–179 9 Turpie AG, Lassen MR, Eriksson BI, et al. Rivaroxaban for the prevention of venous thromboembolism after hip or knee arthro- plasty. Pooled analysis of four studies. Thromb Haemost 2011;105 (03):444–453 10 Krauss ES, Cronin M, Dengler N, et al. The effect of BMI and gender on bleeding events when rivaroxaban is administered for throm- boprophylaxis following total hip and total knee arthroplasty. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):180–186 11 Lim MS, Indran T, Cummins A, et al. Utility of a nurse-led pathway for patients with acute venous thromboembolism discharged on rivaroxaban: a prospective cohort study. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):187–195 12 Lobato CT, Jiménez-Serranía M-I, García RM, Delibes FC, Arias LHM. New anticoagulant agents: incidence of adverse drug reac- tions and new signals thereof. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45 (02):196–204 13 Russo V, Bottino R, Rago A, et al. Atrial fibrillation and malig- nancy: the clinical performance of non-vitamin k oral antic- oagulants - a systematic review. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019; 45(02):205–214 14 Raskob GE, van Es N, Verhamme P, et al; Hokusai VTE Cancer Investigators. Edoxaban for the treatment of cancer-associated venous thromboembolism. N Engl J Med 2018;378(07): 615–624 15 Young AM, Marshall A, Thirlwall J, et al. Comparison of an oral factor Xa inhibitor with low molecular weight heparin in patients with cancer with venous thromboembolism: results of a randomized trial (SELECT-D). J Clin Oncol 2018;36(20): 2017–2023 Seminars in Thrombosis & Hemostasis Vol. 45 No. 2/2019 Preface 131 D o w n lo a d e d b y: C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity . C o p yr ig h te d m a te ri a l.
work_gr4efr7kfffl3hnvapubxk6wpi ---- Am J Clin Nutr 2003;78(suppl):657S–9S. Printed in USA. © 2003 American Society for Clinical Nutrition 657S Nutrition ecology: the contribution of vegetarian diets1–3 Claus Leitzmann ABSTRACT Nutrition ecology is an interdisciplinary sci- entific discipline that encompasses the entire nutrition system, with special consideration of the effects of nutrition on health, the environment, society, and the economy. Nutrition ecology involves all components of the food chain, including production, harvesting, preservation, storage, transport, processing, packag- ing, trade, distribution, preparation, composition, and consump- tion of food, as well as disposal of waste materials. Nutrition ecology has numerous origins, some of which go back to antiq- uity. The introduction of industrialized agriculture and mass ani- mal production gave rise to various negative influences on the environment and health. Food quality is determined in part by the quality of the environment. The environment, in turn, is influ- enced by food consumption habits. Research shows that vegetar- ian diets are well suited to protect the environment, to reduce pol- lution, and to minimize global climate changes. To maximize the ecologic and health benefits of vegetarian diets, food should be regionally produced, seasonally consumed, and organically grown. Vegetarian diets built on these conditions are scientifically based, socially acceptable, economically feasible, culturally desired, sufficiently practicable, and quite sustainable. Am J Clin Nutr 2003;78(suppl):657S–9S. KEY WORDS Nutrition ecology, vegetarian diets, nutrition system, health, environment, sustainability INTRODUCTION Nutrition ecology is an interdisciplinary scientific discipline that incorporates the entire food chain as well as its interactions with health, the environment, society, and the economy. The food chain includes production, harvesting, preservation, storage, trans- port, processing, packaging, trade, distribution, preparation, com- position, and consumption of food, as well as disposal of all waste materials along the food path. Nutrition ecology has many roots, some of which go back to antiquity. The introduction of systematic agriculture (slash and burn cultivation) and domestication of animals (food rivals) has markedly affected our environment. One early example of the con- sequences of systematic agriculture is the Greek invasions of other countries as a consequence of their increasing meat consumption, which required them to acquire more farmland for fodder pro- duction. Another example is the deforestation for farmland and for building purposes, which began thousands of years ago and has continued to this day. Both the Torah and the Bible mention environmental issues numerous times. The impact of systematic agriculture on the environment was discussed by Thomas Aquinas 1 From the Institute of Nutrition, University of Giessen, Giessen, Germany. 2 Presented at the Fourth International Congress on Vegetarian Nutrition, held in Loma Linda, CA, April 8–11, 2002. Published proceedings edited by Joan Sabaté and Sujatha Rajaram, Loma Linda University, Loma Linda, CA. 3 Address reprint requests to C Leitzmann, Institute of Nutrition, University of Giessen, Wilhelmstrasse 20, 35392 Giessen, Germany. E-mail: claus.leitz- mann@ernaehrung.uni-giessen.de. (1224–1274), Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778), and Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862). At the end of the 19th century, Jacob von Uexkuell (1864–1944) founded the science of ecology. Industrialized agriculture was introduced in the 19th century and rapidly took command of all aspects of life, with striking social, economic, and environmental consequences. Reactions to these developments led to the formation of the Sierra Club in North America and to the Reform Movement in Central Europe in the second half of the 19th century. People migrated from urban to rural areas to dwell in unpolluted regions and to grow their own food. Economic and social reforms were proposed and practiced. Some of these included a vegetarian lifestyle. Another reaction to industrialized agriculture was organic farming, which was initi- ated by the anthroposophists in 1924 and started to flourish in the 1970s. At that time, a number of organizations were established that raised concerns about the environment and food quality [eg, the Club of Rome (1968), Greenpeace (1971), World Watch Insti- tute (1975), the Green Party (1980)]. At the same time, literature on the negative influence of industrialized agriculture appeared by Rachel Carson (1), Frances Moore-Lappé (2), Dennis Mead- ows (3), Joan Gussow (4), and Ralph Nader (5). These authors dis- cussed the dramatic effects of industrialization and industrialized agriculture on the environment, health, society, and the economy. NUTRITION ECOLOGY The term nutrition ecology was coined in 1986 by a group of nutritionists at the University of Giessen, Germany (6). Nutrition ecology as an interdisciplinary scientific discipline is a holistic concept that considers all links in the nutrition system, with the aim of sustainability. Thus, nutrition ecology describes a new field of nutrition sciences that deals with the local and global conse- quences of food production, processing, trade, and consumption. Nutrition ecology goes beyond econutrition, which is limited to the interactions of nutrition and environment. Nutrition ecology goes further than the older concept of ecology of food and nutri- tion, which is limited to the eating patterns of indigenous and abo- riginal populations. a t F u n d a çã o C o o rd e n a çã o d e A p e rfe iço a m e n to d e P e sso a l d e N íve l S u p e rio r o n Ja n u a ry 1 8 , 2 0 1 3 a jcn .n u tritio n .o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://ajcn.nutrition.org/ 658S LEITZMANN At present, nutrition sciences are dominated by health aspects of food and, in part, by food quality. Recommendations are based primarily on physiologic and toxicologic considerations (7). The implications of our current nutrition system are more complex and go beyond nutrient content and contamination with pathogens and contaminants. To avoid ecologic damage caused by the nutrition system and to attain nutrition security for the world population, additional aspects need to be incorporated (8–10). The necessity of taking a more holistic view for a sustainable development is underlined by the current crises in the nutrition system, as dis- cussed at the World Food Summit in June 2002 (11). Dimensions of nutrition ecology As is typical for an interdisciplinary discipline, nutrition ecol- ogy deals with a wide range of issues, including research, teach- ing, and public actions. A broad view of the entire nutrition sys- tem covers subject matters such as total food quality, ecologic balances, and life cycle assessments; the influences of nutrition systems on climate, world nutrition, and food prices; and a com- parison of different diets and agricultural, environmental, and con- sumer policies. Basically, there are 4 dimensions of nutrition ecol- ogy: health, the environment, society, and the economy. To maintain or retain good health, the consumption of an indi- vidually optimal diet is recommended. The term preventative diet has been used recently to underline the possibility of avoiding nutrition-based diseases (12, 13). The aggregate of most studies suggests that the consumption of plant-derived foods (grains, veg- etables, fruits, legumes, nuts) should be increased and that the intake of animal-derived foods (meat products, dairy products, and eggs) should be reduced. This principle applies particularly to sedentary individuals. Plant foods should be consumed when they are as fresh as possible, should be minimally processed, and should be eaten partly as raw food (14–16). The nutrition system influences the environment (17), which in turn determines the quality of food. The environmental impact of food production is determined by the agricultural method used. Conventional farming methods rely on extensive use of natural resources and result in higher levels of food contamination. In contrast, the environmental impact of organic farming is lower. Organic farming practices include controlling pests naturally, rotating crops, and applying legume plants as manure, in contrast to the use of synthetic pesticides and fertilizers in conventional farming. In integrated farming, organic and conventional methods are combined, resulting in an intermediate environmental impact (18, 19). To reduce the environmental impact of the nutrition sys- tem, organic farming needs to be supported globally. In addition, foods should be minimally processed, packaged, and transported. The nutrition system is closely related to society, including the responsibility for food purchasing and meal preparation, as well as the social implications of the family meal. Furthermore, the interactions between food consumption habits and lifestyle, as well as the social conditions and the wages of people working in the nutrition system, need to be considered. Additional social aspects include the import and export of agricultural and other products and the influence of this trade on people in developing countries (20). On a worldwide basis, the major factor driving food con- sumption patterns is the financial situation of countries, differ- ent population groups, and influential individuals. Transporta- tion and processing of food are carried out under the premise that money can be earned. In private households, the food budget is a determining factor in the choice of foods. From a holistic point of view, the food price should include all costs caused by the nutrition system, especially environmental damage (internal- ization of external costs) (9). These 4 dimensions of nutrition ecology are of equal impor- tance for achieving a sustainable nutrition system. On this basis, the various aspects of food and nutrition are taken into account. What eating pattern best serves the holistic and sustainable aspects of nutrition ecology? From all we know, a vegetarian diet comes closest to fulfilling the demands and to minimizing damage to the 4 dimensions. Contribution of vegetarian diets Vegetarians have many reasons not to eat the flesh of animals. In addition to religious beliefs, there are health-based, ecologic, ethical, and philosophical reasons (14, 21–23). When the ecologic damage caused by industrial animal production is examined (24), certain aspects need to be considered. On average, land require- ments for meat-protein production are 10 times greater than for plant-protein production. About 40% of the world’s grain harvest is fed to animals. Half of this grain would be more than enough to feed all hungry people of our planet. Animal manure, which is produced in huge amounts by industrial agriculture, causes high levels of potentially carcinogenic nitrates in drinking water and vegetables. Animal production requires considerable energy and water resources and leads to deforestation, overgrazing, and over- fishing (8, 25–27). One solution to the problems caused by industrial animal pro- duction is a vegetarian lifestyle (23, 28–32). The positive ecologic effects achieved by vegetarianism can be enhanced by avoiding processed and packaged foods and by choosing seasonally avail- able and locally produced organic foods. In this way, support is given to subsistence and family farming, the securing of employ- ment, and global food security. In addition to these socioeconomic benefits, the caging of animals as well as their transportation over long distances and finally slaughtering them can be avoided, thus fulfilling ethical concerns. Sustainability The 4 dimensions of nutrition ecology are the basis for sus- tainable nutrition behavior (6). The term sustainability was intro- duced in the 17th century by forestry experts in Germany to call attention to the fact that only the amount of trees that would grow back in a given time should be harvested. Presently, sustainabil- ity describes development that fulfills current global needs with- out diminishing the possibility of future generations to meet their own needs (33). From a nutritional point of view, sustainability also deals with the fair distribution of food through ecologic and preventive eat- ing behavior. To achieve sustainability, a comprehensive rethink- ing of common values is needed to attain a new understanding of the quality of life. The question as to the adequate amount of food needs to be addressed at all social levels with the goal of achiev- ing nutrition security for all. To fulfill the demands concerning ecologic, economic, social, and health compatibility, the follow- ing 7 principles have been formulated: 1) food should be pre- dominantly plant derived, 2) food should originate from organic farming, 3) food should be produced regionally and seasonally, 4) food should be minimally processed, 5) food should be ecologi- cally packaged, 6) food trade should be fair, and 7) food should be tastefully prepared. These principles have been derived from a t F u n d a çã o C o o rd e n a çã o d e A p e rfe iço a m e n to d e P e sso a l d e N íve l S u p e rio r o n Ja n u a ry 1 8 , 2 0 1 3 a jcn .n u tritio n .o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://ajcn.nutrition.org/ NUTRITION ECOLOGY AND VEGETARIANISM 659S guidelines of wholesome nutrition described elsewhere (34). A diet based on these principles has a scientific basis, is socially acceptable, is economically feasible, is culturally desired, is prac- ticable, and has a high degree of sustainability. There are only a limited number of long-term trials on sustain- ability. In one project, 3 apple production systems—organic farm- ing, integrated farming, and conventional farming—were com- pared (19). The yields were nearly equal, but the organic production system showed not only the best apple quality but also the best soil quality and the least detrimental environmental impact. Therefore, the organic production system had the best environmental sustainability. The economic sustainability is given, since the market price was highest for the organic apples. The authors of this report question the sustainability of conventional farming systems because of escalating production costs, heavy reliance on nonrenewable resources, reduced biodiversity, water contamination, soil erosion, and health risks to farmworkers caused by pesticide use. Another study carried out over 21 y showed that although the crop yield was 20% lower in the organic systems, the input of fertilizer and energy was reduced by 34–53% and the pesticide input by 97%. Enhanced soil fertility and higher biodiversity found in organic plots were due to compost- and legume-based crop rotations (35). Biodiversity is also the basis of food variety. Apart from the pro- motion of breast-feeding, the recommendation to eat a variety of foods is the most internationally agreed-upon dietary guideline. Biodiver- sity also protects against climate and pestilence disasters. In addition, biodiversity serves increasingly as the basis for new pharmaceuticals. CONCLUSIONS Nutrition ecology has the goal of attaining sustainability of food and nutrition security worldwide. To achieve this goal, pro- fessionals involved in the nutrition system must inform the pub- lic about the principles of nutrition ecology. In this manner, peo- ple can be motivated to practice sustainable eating behavior (36). Nutrition ecology is also a question of personal priorities. Inter- ested and well-informed consumers will be able to weigh the argu- ments and make the necessary decisions. The vision of a sustainable future depends upon individuals who feel responsible for the envi- ronment and health. One of the most effective ways to achieve the goals of nutrition ecology, including healthy and sustainable food choices, is a vegetarian lifestyle (37). The author had no conflicts of interest. REFERENCES 1. Carson R. Silent spring. Greenwich, CT: Fawsett, 1959. 2. Moore-Lappé F. Diet for a small planet. New York: Ballantine Books, 1971. 3. Meadows D. The limits of growth. New York: Universe Books, 1972. 4. Gussow J. The feeding web. Palo Alto, CA: Bull Publishing, 1978. 5. Nader R. Eating clean: food safety and the chemical harvest. Wash- ington, DC: Center for Study of Responsive Law, 1982. 6. 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work_grqxjyd7yndxnivlpj5ln3ignq ---- Microsoft Word - 9 EH 2 IN201203 - Callicott.doc Full citation: Callicott, J. Baird. “A NeoPresocratic Manifesto”. Environmental Humanities, vol. 2 (May 2013): 169-186. http://www.environmentandsociety.org/node/6312 First published: http://environmentalhumanities.org Rights: Environmental Humanities is available online only and is published under a Creative Commons license (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0). In simple terms, copyright in articles remains with the author, but anyone else is free to use or distribute the work for educational or non-commercial purposes as long as the author is acknowledged and the work is not altered or transformed. http://www.environmentandsociety.org/node/6312 http://environmentalhumanities.org/ Environmental Humanities, 2, 2013, 169-186 www.environmentalhumanities.org ISSN: 2201-1919 PROVOCATIONS Copyright: © Callicott 2013 This is an open access article distributed under the terms of a Creative Commons License (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0). This license permits use and distribution of the article for non-commercial purposes, provided the original work is cited and is not altered or transformed. A NeoPresocratic Manifesto J. Baird Callicott Department of Philosophy and Religion Studies, University of North Texas, USA ABSTRACT Ancient Greek philosophy begins with natural philosophy (the Milesians, Heraclitus, Empedocles, Anaxagoras), followed after about a century by a focus on moral philosophy (Socrates and the sophists). The pattern is repeated in the Modern period: first natural philosophy re-emerged after the Dark and Middle Ages (Copernicus, Galileo, Descartes, Newton) followed by a correlative revolution in moral philosophy (Hobbes, Hume, Kant). In particular, moral ontology (externally related individuals) reflected the ontology of physics (externally related atoms). Individuals are, in effect, social atoms. Curiously, 20th-century philosophy has largely turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the vast philosophical implications of the second scientific revolution in 20th-century science, among them a correlative moral ontology of internal relations and social wholes. The environmental turn in the humanities, grounded in ecology and evolutionary biology, is a harbinger of the re-orientation of philosophy to the revolutionary ideas in the sciences and foreshadows an emerging NeoPresocratic revival in 21st-century philosophy. According to Aristotle in Book IV (Γ) of the Metaphysics, the philosophy of being as such— being qua being—is “first philosophy.” By “first,” Aristotle did not mean that the philosophy of being as such was first in the order of time—although Heidegger seems to ignore the distinction—but rather first in the hierarchical order of thought. In the temporal sequence that Aristotle himself outlines in Book I (Α) of the Metaphysics, the first philosophy that the Greeks pursued—beginning with Thales, according to Aristotle—was natural philosophy. Aristotle maps the progress of the natural philosophy of his predecessors onto his own scheme of causes. Thales and his fellow Milesians in the sixth century BCE were concerned with the material cause (positing water, air, and the like as the material “substrate”). After Parmenides had problematized motion and change, fifth century philosophers, such as Anaxagoras and Empedocles also concerned themselves with the moving or “efficient” cause (Mind and Love and Hate, respectively)—the force or forces that move material things. Following the fifth century Pythagoreans, Plato, in the fourth century, focused attention on the formal cause—the Numbers, according to Aristotle, who was certainly in a better position to know than we. (To understand this equation of Number and Form, we must remember that the ancient Greeks thought of number exclusively in geometrical terms—such “numbers” as the several species of triangle, the circle, the several species of polyhedron, and the sphere.) We call the ancient Greek natural philosophers the “pre-Socratics”—but not just because they lived and worked before Socrates. Indeed many were contemporaries of Socrates. 170 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013) Rather, Socrates and his fellow moral philosophers—whom Plato, unfortunately as well as unfairly, denigrates as “sophists”—expanded the scope of philosophy to include epistemology, ethics, and political theory as well as nature. The philosophers coming after Socrates, most notably Plato and Aristotle, were polymaths, taking up and synthesizing—each in his own way—both natural and moral philosophy, the philosophy of nature and the philosophy of things human. The seamless union of natural and moral philosophy was not a peculiarity of ancient Greek philosophy. The early modern philosophers also united the two. Descartes—“the father of modern philosophy”—was a natural philosopher of the first water. He was better known among his contemporaries for his Principles than for his Meditations; and even today, outside philosophical circles, he is more celebrated for his analytic geometry, an enduring contribution to mathematics, than for his now-much-maligned contribution to moral philosophy—his rationalistic epistemology. In the 18th century, Kant, who is most celebrated today for his contributions to moral philosophy—especially for his epistemology and also for his ethics— was a celebrated cosmologist in his own time. In the 19th century, certainly Hegel attempted a synthesis (no pun intended) of natural and moral philosophy. But during the 20th century, almost all the self-styled philosophers who claim to have inherited the grand tradition of philosophy going all the way back to Thales (if we can trust Aristotle’s historical sketch in the Metaphysics), have almost totally neglected natural philosophy. To be sure, there is Whitehead, Bergson, and perhaps a few other 20th century natural philosophers, but they are the exceptions. In regard to the neglect of natural philosophy—as in regard to so many other of its peculiarities—20th century philosophy, in my opinion, is an anomaly, indeed an aberration. The 20th century is now over—way over. The signs of the times seem clear: One distinguishing characteristic of 21st century philosophy will be a return to natural philosophy. Or, more precisely put, 21st century philosophers will be more cognizant of the revolutionary natural philosophy latent in 20th century science and will use it to inform and reform moral philosophy. The philosophy of the future, I suggest, is NeoPresocratic. (My rhetorical inspiration here is the Pre-Raphaelite movement of the mid-19th century. If they could create a new and progressive anti-mechanismic and anti-academic style in the arts by reviving a pre- modern sensibility, so might we philosophers create a new and progressive movement in philosophy by reconstituting the original impetus for philosophy itself.) So profound had become the disengagement from science—not only of philosophy, but of the humanities generally—that, in the dry intellectual depths of the 20th century, the knighted Cambridge physicist and successful novelist C. P. Snow1 identified two coexisting but mutually estranged cultures: that of cutting-edge science and that of the humanities. As the 20th century recedes into the past and 20th century philosophy becomes a period in the history of philosophy, just how can we 21st-century philosophers reunite those two cultures and fuse them into one? The need to do so is political no less than intellectual. In American politics, at least, the epistemology of science is losing ground to the epistemology of religion. Political parties, especially those on the right—the Republican Party, the Tea Party—have “beliefs” (ideologies) that are immune to logical criticism, intractable to contrary evidence, and remain firmly held in defiance of disastrous experience forthcoming from pursuing public policies 1 C. P. Snow, The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution (London: Spectator Lmt., 1962). Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 171 based on those beliefs. I suggest that we philosophers and humanists generally can do our part to reintegrate science and its epistemology into the wider culture by expressing the new nature of Nature, as revealed by the sciences, in the grammar of the humanities. The putatively “value-free” discourse of science—a mixture of mathematics, statistics, and technical terminology—is not readily or easily accessible. The discourse of the humanities—rich with imagery, metaphor, emotion, and honest moral judgment—resonates with a much wider audience. I suspect, however, that many if not most humanists believe that they will find little in science to fire the imagination, to stir the emotions, to stimulate our aesthetic sensibilities, and to touch our deepest moral sentiments. The world revealed by science is as dull as the language scientists use to characterize it—if the attitudes of my incoming philosophy graduate students are any indication of a prevailing humanistic alienation from a scientific worldview. They thrill to the scorn for “naturalism” evinced by Husserl and to the contra-scientific romanticism of Heidegger, innocent (or dismissive) of its resonance with the ideology of National Socialism. Many appear to be seeking in philosophy a counter-scientific worldview— even an anti-scientific worldview—and seem disappointed when my enticingly titled course, “Philosophy of Ecology,” turns out actually to be about ecology, the science. Science did, indeed, once represent a natural world that was imaginatively, emotionally, aesthetically, and morally unappealing, even repugnant to most non-scientists and especially to most humanists. Well, it was not altogether aesthetically unattractive, but its beauty was of a sterile mathematical kind, that only a logician could love. What did the late Harvard logician W. V. O. Quine once proclaim?—“a taste for desert landscapes”—something like that.2 The erstwhile Newtonian world was populated by inert, externally related bodies, moving along straight lines, subject to various forces that are communicated by impact—a fragmented, material, mechanical world, devoid of life, spirit, mind, and meaning. And what of the organic world emergent from the mechanical and ultimately reducible to it? It popped up as a happy accident of chemistry and evolved by the blind (ateleological) forces that the ancient Greek philosophers called τυχη and αναγκη “chance and necessity.” The ever- increasing complexity of the organic world is driven by the competitive interactions among its excessively fecund organisms. It is all a matter of “survival of the fittest” and “devil take the hindmost” in a living nature that is “red in tooth and claw.” The whole organic world presents a disgusting spectacle—a violent, meaningless, pointless drama, like “a tale told by an idiot; full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.” Thus alienated by classical Newtonian and Darwinian science, most 20th-century philosophers—of both the analytic and continental persuasions—narcissistically occupied their minds with narrowly circumscribed, arcane, and abstract conceptual “puzzles” or equally arcane explorations of their own states of consciousness. Thus they took little if any notice when a second scientific revolution occurred in the early 20th century; and, even now, few take much if any interest in exploring and helping to articulate the post-Newtonian worldview. Equally indifferent to the second scientific revolution, some other humanists repaired to their hermeneutical studies of the sacred texts, the great secular books, classical music, the old- master painters. Alternatively, yet others provided a playful analysis and celebration of a contemporary literature, art, and music that ignores— or even rebels against—the supposedly 2 W. V. O. Quine, From a Logical Point of View (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1953). 172 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013) sterile world depicted by scientists. That I mean no disrespect for hermeneutic studies is testified to by my personal love of Plato, especially, and the other ancient Greek philosophers, generally—a love that I continue to try to inspire in every new cohort of students that I teach at both the undergraduate and graduate levels. And while I am not personally engaged in the sophisticated study of contemporary high, low, and hybrid culture, I have the greatest respect for my colleagues who are—and I am delighted when I receive an invitation to their hip soirées and salons. While the two cultures passed one another by in the 20th century, like the proverbial ships in the night, the scientific worldview was indeed undergoing revolutionary change. At the turn of the 20th century, space, time, and matter became anything but dull and unexciting. Our universe had become non-Euclidean, with space and time constituting one curved, warped four-dimensional continuum. The solid Democritean/Newtonian corpuscles, which had been located in Euclidean/Cartesian space, had become nano-scaled solar systems, spun out of the very fabric of non-Euclidean space, with only vaguely located, leaping electrons orbiting tightly bound nuclei that might lose mass and emit energy. Not only were energy and matter convertible, mind and energy-matter were conversable—as scientific observation of quantum systems actualizes one potential reality rather than another. Being is as being is interrogated and observed. At the opposite end of the spatio-temporal spectrum of scale, the unimaginably immense universe of stars and galaxies came to be understood as evolving and expanding, instead of, as formerly, in a static steady state. The universe is now understood to have originated in a dramatic Big Bang and to be riddled with mysterious and awesome Black Holes. A whole new holistic biology—ecology—took shape in the 20th century. Despite the many popular science magazines, websites, television shows, zoos, aquariums, and other forms of publicity, what is going on in quantum physics, astrophysics, and ecology seems to be neither popularly appreciated fully nor, certainly, does it seem to have rent the fabric of the prevailing metaphysic. Perhaps because the revolutionary worldview latent in contemporary science has gone unexplored and unexplained by humanists, it is not registering in the public zeitgeist. Now and again a scientist with a gift for accessible prose—a Carl Sagan, a Stephen Hawking, a Stephen J. Gould, a Brian Greene, a Jacques Cousteau, a Carl Safina—will popularize one or another domain of new scientific discovery. But articulating the newly enchanted worldview latent in science requires the synthesizing genius of philosophers and the capacity of poets to move the human heart. Yet philosophers have pretty much remained indifferent to the opportunity and poets unresponsive to the challenge. This is puzzling because the first scientific revolution—which we may regard as a revolution in natural philosophy—did produce a corresponding revolution in moral philosophy and in the fine arts. Why, in the 17th century, did Descartes entertain such extravagant doubts about the reliability of his senses, even about the very existence of his own body? Because up until Copernicus, a century before, all humankind had labored under a colossal and nearly universal deception, fairly attributable to too trusting a reliance on our senses. We believed that the earth upon which we stand lay immobile at the center of the universe and that the sun and moon, planets and stars revolved around us. After all, that’s how it looks and feels! If we could be so wrong about that, who knows what else we might be wrong about? The old empirical/inductive epistemology inherited ultimately from Aristotle had to be swept away at a Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 173 stroke and replaced by a new rational/deductive one erected upon fresh and hypercritical foundations—or so Descartes believed. In the visual arts, linear perspective, which is but an application of projective geometry, created the life-like illusion of three-dimensional space, the space of Euclid, Galileo, Descartes, and Newton. New forms of literature, such as the novel, not accidentally or coincidentally emerged. The studied mathematical precision of the music that we now call classical constitutes, in effect, a new modern science of music. Even theology became rational and deistic. The original scientific revolution, that of the 16th and 17th centuries, even more insidiously transformed ethics and politics. The free-standing, free-thinking human individual is, in effect, the social analogue of an atom. Formed from the alpha-privative, ατοµος in Greek means “indivisible.” We social atoms were conceived by Thomas Hobbes originally to live a life that was “solitary [as well as] poor, nasty, brutish, and short” as we moved in a pre-social vacuum driven on our inertial courses impelled by two simple forces: desire and aversion. In the absence of a social contract to give law and order to their movements these social atoms were bound to collide in a mutually destructive war of each against all. After the original atomism of Democritus and the correlative ancient social contract theory of the sophists had been forgotten, and prior to the revival of atomism in the 17th century, to conceive of human existence in a pre-social condition would have been nearly impossible. That’s right, for better or worse, our vaunted social and political individualism—which seems so natural, a matter of fact not of thought—originated as a conceptual adaptation in the sphere of ethics and political philosophy of atomism in classical physics. That the same sequence of intellectual events occurred two millennia earlier proves my point. Can it be a mere coincidence that—during both the fifth century BCE and the 17th century CE—atomism in natural philosophy was soon followed, in moral philosophy, by social and political individualism and the social contract theory of the origin of law, society, and ethics? Just as the ontology of the physical world was reductively conceived to be an aggregation of externally related indivisibles, so the ontology of the social world was also reductively conceived to be but an aggregate of externally related individuals. But whatever the cause, individualistic social ontology took hold of the Western zeitgeist after the 17th century and has become the foundation for our human rights, especially our rights to life, limited liberty, and property. The price we pay, however, is a tragic unawareness of the robust ontology of social wholes. This unawareness of the robust ontology of social wholes is, incidentally, particularly costly today as we face problems, such as global climate change, that are of such unprecedented spatial and temporal scales that they cannot be effectively addressed by individual responses. When I speak to the public about the ethical challenge of climate change, I am invariably asked, “What can I do to address the problem?” The expectation is that I will recite a list of things that each of us, individually and voluntarily, can do to reduce our carbon emissions. I myself do most of those things: replace halogen light bulbs with compact fluorescents; make my home-to-office-and-back commute by bicycle; etc. But I live in Denton, Texas—not Berkeley, California, Ashland, Oregon, or Boulder, Colorado—in the United States. And Denton, Texas is a more representative microcosm of the United States than those precious centers of progressive sophistication. So I am painfully aware that my individual efforts to lessen the size and weight of my own personal carbon footprint are swamped by the recalcitrance of the overwhelming majority of my fellow citizens. Many of them have never 174 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013) heard of global climate change. Many of those who have prefer to believe that it is the function of a “natural cycle” or an “act of God,” not that it is anthropogenic. Many others are convinced that global climate change is a hoax cooked up by self-righteous pinko environmentalists who can’t stand to see common people enjoy their mechanized fun. And many of those who think that it’s for real welcome it as a sign that the End Times are upon us, the horrors of which they will be spared by the Rapture. It will not suffice, therefore, to simply encourage people individually and voluntarily to build green and drive hybrid. But what’s worse is the implication that that’s all we can do about it; that the ultimate responsibility for dampening the adverse effects of global climate change devolves to each of us as individuals. On the contrary, the only hope we have to temper global climate change is a collective social response in the form of policy, regulation, treaty, and law. What is required, in the words of Garrett Hardin’s classic treatise, “Tragedy of the Commons,” is “mutual coercion mutually agreed upon.”3 Please forgive this peevish digression. I’ve just been frustrated by the way discussion of the ethical aspect of anthropogenic global climate change has been limited to individual responsibility. I return now to the two-cultures theme of this essay. So ... after the excitement of the Enlightenment, the fine arts and the humanities rebelled against the Newtonian worldview—for better or worse. The romantic counterculture in the humanities was openly antagonistic to the modern scientific worldview in both philosophy and the fine arts—albeit still colonized by the insidious atomic sense of self and aggregative sense of society. And while romanticism per se may have come and gone, indifference—if not antagonism—to the other culture, that of science, became entrenched in philosophy and the humanities generally and in the fine arts. Perhaps for this reason, the response of the fine arts and humanities to the second scientific revolution, that of the 20th century, has been anemic. In the visual arts, Cubism is, arguably, an expression of non-Euclidean geometry, but it hardly conveys the geometry of Einsteinian space-time as perfectly and faithfully as linear perspective conveys the geometry of Euclidean-Galilean-Cartesian-Newtonian space. In music we have the aleatoric music of such composers and performers as John Cage, which beautifully reflects the indeterminacy and stochastic nature of the quantum world—but Cage and his few exponents remain marginalized and unpopular. Twelve-tone compositions, jazz, blues, folk, rock, pop, rap, and hip-hop all may be revolutionary—but in ways disconnected, so far as I can tell, from the second scientific revolution. In literature there have been some interesting experiments with what might be called the relativity genre, in which time is as fractured as Cubist space and characters have incommensurable perceptions of a common reality—James Joyce’s Ulysses, Virginia Wolfe’s Mrs. Dalloway, and Vladimir Nabokov’s Pale Fire come to mind—but it remains a genre for the rare genius and has not taken the literary arts by storm. The theory of relativity is best reflected in culture studies, a central dogma of which is that all cultural reference systems are equal and none is privileged. But the scientific worldview, even as it evolves and changes, is regarded in culture studies as illegitimately hegemonic and a prime target for deflation and deconstruction. What about science fiction? With a few exceptions, such as the novels of Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Heinlein, and Kim Stanley Robinson, science fiction is no better informed by state-of-the art science than other genres of pulp fiction. 3 Garrett Hardin, “Tragedy of the Commons,” Science 162 (1968): 1243-1248. Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 175 The reaction of 20th-century philosophy to 20th-century science was particularly unfortunate. Phenomenology, the dominant movement in continental philosophy, hubristically aspired to replace science as we know it—disparaged as “naturalism” by Husserl and most subsequent phenomenologists—with something truer to the phenomena immediately given to our intentional consciousnesses. Science had become, in their view, a skein of abstractions, of theoretical entities, such as atoms, which we do not—indeed cannot—directly experience. And the social sciences, especially psychology, are alleged to falsely objectify the pure subjectivity of the transcendental ego, first discovered by Kant and subsequently explored by Husserl. The alternative “science” that phenomenologists offer up is based on the assumption that we could “bracket” the abstract concepts that obscure the pure phenomena and accurately and exhaustively describe the phenomena as they present themselves to consciousness in raw form. By the same token, we could reveal to ourselves the very essence of intentional consciousness itself. Such bracketing, of course, is impossible to do; and even if it could be done, the value of doing it is by no means obvious. All along, however, science as we know it—increasingly abstract and theoretical—continued to thrive and attract funding and prestige, while phenomenology remains an arcane and marginalized specialty in academic philosophy, exerting little influence in the larger intellectual community of academe, with the exception of the faddish influence of “French Theory” in Literary Criticism, much of which has historical links to phenomenology. By contrast, Anglo-American “analytic” philosophy held up scientific knowledge as the epitome of positive truth. Anglo-American philosophy of science is largely dedicated to setting forth the methods and means by which such magisterial knowledge is obtained. Surely then the traditional concerns of philosophy—ontology, metaphysics, ethics—could themselves become domains of positive knowledge by imitating the rigorous epistemological methods and means of science. Accordingly, such fields of study were isolated and divided into their microscopic elemental parts and painstakingly argued to putatively certain conclusions—about which, however, little agreement is ever reached. This virtual worship of scientific epistemology—obeisance to the ways and means of positive knowledge—combined with an application of it to the special turf marked out as their own by analytic philosophers, rendered 20th-century Anglo-American philosophy as isolated from the dynamic substance of 20th century science as was 20th-century continental philosophy. Bertrand Russell, for example, a founding figure of 20th-century analytic philosophy, retrogressively espoused “logical atomism” and eschewed the notion of internal relations, which characterizes the ontology of quantum field theory. Russell typifies, in a particularly spectacular fashion, the way in which 20th- century Anglo-American analytic philosophy was completely blind and deaf to the holism implicit in the revolutionary theories of relativity and of quantum physics. Simply but boldly stated, what I am suggesting is that philosophy reoccupy the place in the panoply of disciplines reserved for theology in the High Middle Ages as “Queen of the Sciences.” Unfortunately, 20th-century Anglo-American analytic philosophy exchanged that exalted office for something more like Handmaiden to the Sciences, while Continental philosophy—to continue the royal metaphor here running wild—abdicated the throne of Queen of the Sciences for some little Duchy in the intellectual Balkans. As scientific knowledge grows in volume, scientists themselves must ever more narrowly focus their research, exchanging breadth of knowledge for depth. Unless someone steps forward to 176 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013) synthesize, integrate, interpret, and extract meaning and morality out of all that specialized knowledge, we—scientists and humanists alike—shall remain bewildered and adrift in a world bursting at the seams with information and devoid of sense and direction. That’s a heavy burden for us philosophers to shoulder. To ever more narrowly specialize ourselves in the ever more careful and detailed dissection of the relationship of “sense data” to the “external world,” sentences to propositions, words to objects, supervenient properties to their base properties, Frege to Carnap, the early Wittgenstein to the late is much more comfortable and manageable. Or is it? Poet and essayist Gary Snyder—who ought to know—thinks it is easier than one might imagine to synthesize, integrate, interpret, and extract meaning and morality from the raw material of the sciences. In a delightful essay titled, “The Forest in the Library,” he compares the academic information community to the biotic community of a forest. In the basements and windowless laboratories scattered across the campus, the data gatherers—the science graduate students and bench scientists—tediously work away at small scales, just like the detritus reducers on the forest floor and photosynthesizers in the understory. At the next trophic level “the dissertations, technical reports, and papers of the primary workers are ... gobbled up by senior researchers and condensed into conclusion and theory.”4 When asked, “What is finally over the top of all the information chains?” one might reply that it must be the artists and writers, because they are among the most ruthless and efficient information predators. They are light and mobile, and can swoop across the tops of all the disciplines to make off with what they take to be the best parts, and convert them into novels, mythologies, dense and esoteric essays, visual or other arts, or poems.5 Settling into a comfortable academic sinecure, in any case, is not what attracted me to philosophy as a young humanist. I was inspired by the audacity of the pre-Socratics, such as Heraclitus, who tried to paint a picture of the whole universe in a series of enigmatic epigrams, or such as Empedocles, who tried to best Heraclitus in two grand didactic poems, one titled “On Nature,” the other “The Purifications.” For me, the opportunity to do natural and moral philosophy like the pre-Socratics—to paint in bold strokes with a broad brush—came with the advent of the environmental crisis. Nature was talking back. It was saying that the prevailing, still essentially Newtonian assumptions—about the nature of Nature, human nature, and the proper relationship between people and Nature—that were still informing industrial development, were flawed. The message came across loud and clear in the form of unbreathable air over our big cities, fouled and stinking rivers and seashores, coastal dead zones, disappearing flora and fauna, statistically anomalous outbreaks of cancer, the threat of silent springs. Just as Descartes did half a millennium before me, I felt we needed to rebuild again from the foundations and ask anew the oldest and most fundamental questions of philosophy: What is the nature of Nature? What is human nature? What is the proper relationship between people and Nature? Other humanists also seized the opportunity afforded by the environmental crisis to try to transform their respective disciplines. The first to respond were a couple of historians. The 4 Gary Snyder, “The Forest in the Library,” in Gary Snyder, A Place in Space: Ethics, Aesthetics, and Watersheds (New York: Counterpoint, 1995), 119-204. 5 Ibid. Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 177 signal year was 1967. Roderick Nash’s Wilderness and the American Mind was published that year and so was Lynn White Jr.’s (in)famous essay, “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis.”6 Donald Worster, the former dean of environmental history, once remarked that what historians do is to spin good stories based on otherwise mute facts. Nash’s classic represents much more than a history of wilderness. The story he tells became the canonical story of the American environmental movement. Nash identifies and delineates its founding figures: George Perkins Marsh, Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, and Aldo Leopold. In addition to these vernacular philosophers, he ranges comfortably over the natural sciences, literature, and the visual arts, discussing the contributions to an evolving environmental awareness of Alexander von Humboldt, Alexis de Tocqueville, James Fennimore Cooper, Thomas Cole, and George Catlin, to mention but a few. In retrospect, Lynn White Jr.’s essay provided the mandate and set the agenda for a future environmental philosophy, which got underway in the 1970s. White was an historian of technology and made the obvious point that the then newly discovered environmental crisis was a serious side effect of “modern” technology. What made modern technology modern was its unprecedented union with modern classical science. Ever since the Greeks and up until the 18th century, natural philosophy and eventually science was pursued only by leisured aristocrats who prided themselves on seeking knowledge of Nature for knowledge’s sake and disdained any practical application of their theories as beneath their social station. And technology was the concern of only the working classes to whom fell the burden of supporting the privileged intellectuals as well as themselves. Both science and an aggressive technological esprit are Western in provenance, argued White, and could be traced to the late Middle Ages when Europe was steeped in the Judeo- Christian worldview. Created in the image of God, man’s mind might recapitulate that of the Creator as He created the world. That was the inspiration for scientific inquiry. And God commanded man to be fruitful, to multiply, to have dominion over the creation and to subdue it. That was the motivation for developing an aggressive technology. In short, White placed ultimate blame for the environmental crisis on Genesis 1:26-28. Of course, White’s thesis is both jejune and cavalier. But obscured by his lurid and brassy text was a more general and plausible subtext: that what we do in relationship to Nature depends on what we think about Nature, about ourselves as human beings, and about our proper relationship to Nature; and, corollary to that, effectively to change what we do in relationship to Nature, we first have to change what we think about Nature, about ourselves as human beings, and about our relationship to Nature. Exposing what we think about things and changing what we think about them is the work of philosophers—or at least it used to be and, hopefully, soon will be again. There are two moments to this process. The first is critical, the second creative. White himself had taken the first, critical initiative. He criticized the ideas about the man-Nature relationship that we had inherited from our Judeo-Christian cultural roots. But those are not our only cultural roots. The Greco-Roman cultural roots run at least as deep and bequeathed to modern Western 6 Nash, Roderick. Wilderness and the American Mind (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1967); Lynn White Jr. “The Historical Roots of our Ecologic Crisis,” Science 155 (1967): 1203-1207. 178 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013) civilization just as many environmentally noisome notions. Thus a few philosophers and intellectual historians, such as J. Donald Hughes7 and Carolyn Merchant8, began to reread Plato’s otherworldly theory of forms and Aristotle’s anthropocentric teleology, Bacon’s coercive epistemology and Descartes’ divisive dualism through the new lens of environmental crisis. They afford good examples of the way humanists can use their hermeneutical expertise in new, socially relevant, and exciting ways. I, for example, was able to use my knowledge of ancient Greek natural philosophy to call attention to the way physical atomism in natural philosophy was followed by social atomism and social contract theory in ancient Greek moral philosophy. As noted here already, after atomism was revived in the modern scientific worldview, it was followed once more by social atomism and social contract theory in modern moral philosophy. In doing so, my purpose is to provide much more than a nifty historical insight. I aim to reveal the contingency of our prevailing individualistic social ontology and sense of self, opening us up, hopefully, to possibilities for alternative social ontologies and senses of self latent in the ontologies of contemporary science: the ontology of the space-time continuum; the unified quantum fields; the integrated ecosystems; and the self-regulating, superorganismic biosphere—which are more commensurate with the political and environmental problems we face as the 21st century unfolds. The second, creative moment in the agenda for an environmental philosophy set by White is more difficult to pull off. How do we generate new ideas about the nature of Nature, human nature, and the proper relationship of people to Nature? We cannot just gin them up from scratch; just make them up out of the blue. Not even Thales, the very first philosopher in the Western tradition, operated in an intellectual vacuum. Two early approaches were (1) to look for an alternative worldview in non-Western intellectual traditions and (2) to scour the theological and philosophical canon of the West for alternative worldviews that had not found their way into the mainstream but had been washed into intellectual side channels. Here again, White showed the way. (1) He suggested, but ultimately rejected, adopting the Zen Buddhist worldview. That got what we now call comparative environmental philosophy started; and essays soon appeared that proposed that we adopt other strains of Buddhism (such as Hwa- yen), or Daoism, Hinduism, and other non-Western worldviews. Huston Smith, for example, wrote a piece titled “Tao Now: An Ecological Testament.”9 White himself thought that the West was unlikely to convert wholesale to a foreign worldview. (2) So he concluded his essay by recommending that we in the West resurrect and mainstream the heretical and radical ideas of St. Francis of Assisi, according to which animals too had immortal souls and man was brother to the Earth and its many creatures. Following White in method, but looking to the secular Western canon, Arne Naess recommended reviving and mainstreaming the monistic philosophy of Spinoza; Michael Zimmerman suggested we take Heidegger’s advice to “let beings be”; and so on. 7 J. Donald Hughes, Ecology in Ancient Civilizations (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1975). 8 Carolyn Merchant, The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology, and the Scientific Revolution (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1980). 9 Huston Smith, ‘Tao Now: An Ecological Testament,” in Earth Might be Fair: Reflections of Ethics, Religion, and Ecology, ed. Ian Barbour (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1972), 62-81. Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 179 The approach that I took (3)—and am here recommending to those of my fellow philosophers looking for a way to escape the 20th century analytic and continental culs de sac—is to espress the natural philosophical essence out of contemporary scientific theories. We in the West are as unlikely to dust off and collectively adopt an idiosyncratic historical worldview, especially one that never made it into the Western mainstream in the first place, as we are to adopt a foreign worldview. Science is what is happening now in the West. Moreover, while it may have been Western in provenance, it is no longer Western in practice and pursuit. Science has international cachet and currency. And it is one of the few intellectual endeavors, if not the only one, that is culturally unaccented. While, for example, we can instantly tell the difference between Bollywood and Hollywood cinema, the string theory cogitated in Beijing is no more distinctly Chinese than that cogitated in Berkeley. Further, as already noted, science serves up some ideas with extremely exciting and congenial philosophical potential. And abstracting a contemporary philosophical worldview from the sciences is not the exclusive province of philosophers. Theologians, most notably Thomas Berry, have found ideas in contemporary cosmology that bespeak a human harmony with Nature.10 Scientists themselves who have a philosophical bent have also contributed to the work of worldview reconfiguration. Indeed many of the great architects of the second scientific revolution were well aware that they were the latest contributors to the Western tradition of natural philosophy. Albert Einstein, Werner Heisenberg, Niels Bohr, Erwin Schrödinger all reflected publicly on the new worldview emerging from the new physics. More recently, physicist Fritjof Capra has explored the general implications of quantum theory for a new more integrative and holistic ontology and physicist Brian Swimme has teamed with Thomas Berry to tell “the universe story.”11 My own past work dabbled a bit in the philosophical implications of relativity and quantum theory, but has concentrated more on evolutionary biology and ecology than on any of the other sciences. Following the lead of Aldo Leopold, in the former I find three very useful things.12 First, from an evolutionary point of view, with all other species on our small planet, we are descended from a common ancestor—which would instill in us, if we took the trouble to think about it, Leopold believes, “a sense of kinship with fellow-creatures; a wish to live and let live.” Second, we may derive a kind of neo-pagan spirituality from the theory of evolution, “a sense,” as Leopold put it, “of wonder over the magnitude and duration of the biotic enterprise.”13 Third, Darwin provided a detailed account of the origin and evolution of ethics in The Descent of Man, which represents the best foundation, in my opinion, for contemporary environmental ethics. Darwin himself was no Social Darwinist. If not in The Origin of Species then certainly in The Descent of Man, Darwin’s views are closer to those of Peter Kropotkin in Mutual Aid than to those of Herbert Spencer in “Progress: Its Law and Cause”.14 Darwin argued that ethics evolved to facilitate social organization and community. One of the most fundamental concepts in ecology is that of a biotic community. When this ecological concept 10 Thomas Berry and Brian Swimme, The Universe Story from the Primordial Flaring Forth to the Ecozoic Era: A Celebration of the Unfolding of the Cosmos (San Francisco: Harper SanFrancisco, 1992). 11 Fritjof Capra, The Tao of Physics: An Exploration of the Parallels between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism (Berkeley, Cal: Shambala, 1975); Brian Swimme and Thomas Berry, The Universe Story. 12 Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There (New York: Oxford University Press, 1949). 13 Ibid. 14 Peter Kropotkin, Mutual Aid (London: Heinemann, 1902); Herbert Spencer, “Progress: Its Law and Cause,” Westminster Review 67 (1857): 445-447, 451, 454-456, 464-465. 180 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013) of a biotic community is overlain on Darwin’s analysis of the origin and evolution of ethics, an environmental ethic clearly takes shape. Just as all our memberships in various human communities—in families, municipalities, nation states, the global village—generate peculiar duties and obligations, so our memberships in various biotic communities also generate peculiar duties and obligations. Lynn White Jr.’s (in)famous essay also induced a dialectical response among Christian apologists. They responded less with a revival of Franciscan theology, as White himself had suggested, than with an alternative, theocentric/stewardship reading of the early chapters of Genesis to counter White’s anthropocentric/despotism reading of the same texts. The Judeo- Christian stewardship environmental ethic is very potent: His creation belongs to God, not us humans; in declaring it to be “good,” God invested the creation with what environmental philosophers call “intrinsic value”; and He turned it over to us humans, not to exploit and destroy, but to dress and keep. If Christianity could be greened in this fashion, what about the possibility of greening other religious traditions? While Westerners are unlikely to convert en masse to a foreign worldview such as Japanese Zen Buddhism, perhaps those for whom such worldviews are not foreign, but are their own living traditions of faith, could also find in them an environmental ethic. We must remember that the environmental crisis, popularly recognized as such in the 1960s, was then understood to be global in scope, and so it remains, now more than ever. If adherents of Buddhism, Islam, Hinduism, etc., could also find a potent ecological ethic in their worldviews, a network of religiously grounded ecological ethics could be formed around the globe. I barely scratched the surface of this possibility in my book, Earth’s Insights: A Multicultural Survey of Ecological Ethics from the Mediterranean Basin to the Australian Outback.15 But it was fully cultivated and brought to full flower by the great vision and the great work of Mary Evelyn Tucker and John Grim. They gathered leading representatives of the religions of the world in a series of conferences convened at the Harvard Center for the Study of World Religions in the last decade of the 20th century and then published the fruits of those gatherings in a series of Harvard University Press books. History, philosophy, theology, religious studies—all humanities disciplines—have taken an environmental turn and in so doing have bridged, to one degree or another, the gulf isolating them from the sciences. It is not accidental that we almost unconsciously link environmental history, environmental philosophy, and so on, with ecology, and thus with the sciences generally, by means of such labels as “Deep Ecology,” “religion and ecology,” “eco- theology,” “ecological ethics,” “eco-health,” ecofeminism, and so on. We now even have “ecological economics” (as distinct from “environmental economics”) which indeed most academic economists would prefer to think of as one among the humanities rather than as one among the social sciences. Arrested by the narcissism and cynicism of French Theory, the critical study of literature has most recently taken an environmental turn, and is now commonly referred to as “ecocriticism” by those engaged in the specialty. As ecocriticism emerged institutionally it focused largely on the study of what I call “cabin narratives.” Such works typically feature a 15 J. Baird Callicott, Earth’s Insights: A Multicultural Survey of Ecological Ethics from the Mediterranean Basin to the Australian Outback (California: University of California Press, 1994). Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 181 solitary, ruggedly individual individualist—usually a male protagonist—seeking himself, in communion with Nature, and measuring the culture from which he retreats by the norms of Nature. Leopold, for example, concludes the “Foreword” to his cabin narrative by envisioning “a shift of values ... achieved by reappraising things unnatural, tame, and confined in terms of things natural, wild, and free.”16 Very often the first-person protagonist of such narratives is deeply engaged in the scientific study of Nature, most often in scientific natural history. Thoreau’s Walden is the prototype—the genre exemplar—of the cabin narrative. And Lawrence Buell’s study of Thoreau is the prototype and genre exemplar of ecocriticism.17 Other cabin- narrative classics are, Henry Beston’s Outermost House, Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac, Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire, Edward Lueders’ Clam Lake Papers, Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, and Rick Bass’s Winter: Notes from Montana.18 Environmental history and environmental philosophy have been around long enough to greatly diversify; the latter into a number of antagonistic camps: anthropocentrists (strong and weak), biocentrists, and ecocentrists; deep ecologists; ecophenomenologists; environmental pragmatists. More deeply and more significantly, it also diversified by including the voices of those historically marginalized. Ecofeminism, as the name suggests, is a species of environmental philosophy representing a female point of view; and analyses of race and class are central to environmental justice. Ecofeminism, environmental justice, more recently environmental queer theory provide unique epistemological points of view, in addition to wider demographic representation. There are stirrings of such diversification now detectable in ecocriticism as the nature of nature writing is being contested. And just as in environmental philosophy, so in ecocriticism, we find that epistemic diversity accompanies representative diversity. For example, Priscilla Solis Ybarra, a young ecocritic, contends that the works of Chicana/o (Mexican American) writers—which often lament the dispossession of and longing for their ancestral homelands in what is now the American Southwest—should be counted as nature writing equally with the cabin-narrative canon.19 The cabin narrator, from a liminal epistemological point of view, is a man, or less commonly a woman, who is repairing to Nature from a position of social privilege. Thus, Ybarra argues, we can begin to see social privilege, through the lens of ecocriticism, as insulation from Nature by strata of mediators— the people whom the cabin narrator conveniently erases who work the fields and forests, producing the staple foodstuffs, nature-writing paper, and cabin-building materials for the cabin narrator who is connecting with Nature, from which he or she was alienated precisely by his or her privileged social station. Thus nature writing is also expanded to include the cultural productions of those whose social and economic status puts them in daily, unmediated, often uncomfortable, and certainly unromantic contact with Nature. 16 Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac. 17 Lawrence Buell, The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture (Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1995). 18 Henry Beston, Outermost House (New York: Henry Holt & CO., 1928); Leopold, A Sand County Almanac, Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968); Edward Lueders, Clam Lake Papers (New York: Harper and Row, 1977); Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (New York: HarperCollins, 1999[1974]) and Rick Bass, Winter: Notes from Montana (New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1991). 19 Ybarra, Priscilla Solis. “‘Lo que quiero es tierra’: Longing and Belonging in Cherríe Moraga’s Ecological Vision,” in New Perspectives on Environmental Justice: Gender, Sexuality, and Activism, ed. Rachel Stein (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004), 240-248. 182 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013) Let me now bring this essay full circle and return it to the point at which it begins. According to Aristotle, as noted, metaphysics is first philosophy, but by that he meant it was first in the hierarchical order of knowledge, not the first to be pursued. Aristotle himself is the first systematic historian of philosophy and informs us that the first philosophy, in order of occurrence, is physics, in the Greek sense of the word, περι φυσις, concerning Nature—that is, natural philosophy. After ancient Greek natural philosophy was recovered during the Late Middle Ages and Renaissance it evolved thereafter into science proper. Natural philosophy got underway in the sixth century BCE and culminated with atomism in the mid-fifth century. While many of the natural philosophers had something to say about ethics and politics—some more than others—moral philosophy did not become a central preoccupation of philosophers until the time of Socrates and his contemporaries (the much maligned “sophists”) in the second half of the fifth century. Plato and Aristotle systematically integrated natural and moral philosophy, each in his own way, during the fourth century. Both were, however, adamantly opposed to ateleological atomic materialism (physical and social) and countered it with their own teleological natural and moral philosophies. This pattern of development—a change in natural philosophy followed by a change in moral philosophy—is repeated after the Renaissance. First comes a revolution in natural philosophy, which was started by Copernicus in the 16th century and completed by Newton in the 17th, followed by a revolution in moral philosophy, which was started by Descartes and Hobbes in the 17th century and completed by Kant and Bentham in the 18th. In both instances we find some overlap, but also a lag-time of about a century between the thoroughgoing changes in natural philosophy and those in moral philosophy. Why this sequence? In the first instance, the Greek gods were closely associated with the forms and forces of Nature. Zeus, for example, is a weather god. Alternative, naturalistic explanations of weather and other natural phenomena led to skepticism among sophisticated (pun intended) Greeks about the existence of the gods. But Zeus was also the institutor and enforcer of justice. So if there is no Zeus, why should we be just?—the overarching question of Plato’s Republic. The first philosophical explanation of the origin and nature of justice (and ethics more generally) was, as already noted, the social contract theory, a variation on which theme was played by practically all the so-called sophists—including Thrasymachus in the first book of the Republic. And as I have also here repeatedly noted, the moral ontology of the social contract theory—egoistic, externally related individuals colliding in a perpetual state of war, each with all, in a social vacuum—mirrors the physical ontology of the atomists: externally related bits of indivisible matter violently colliding in a physical vacuum. The sequence is only slightly more complicated in the second instance. The Christian worldview had become entangled with Aristotelian geocentric cosmology and dynamics, due in large part to the efforts of Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century. When the Earth was displaced from the center of the universe by Copernicus; and then, as the sun became a star and the putatively infinite universe lost its center altogether, not only had Aristotelian dynamics lost its reference point—a center toward which earth moves and away from which fire moves and around which the ethereal heavenly bodies move—Christianity also lost its locations for heaven and hell. So again, religious skepticism ensued, which in turn led to moral skepticism—because God is the author and enforcer of the Ten Commandments and the lesser Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 183 moral rules—and the need for a naturalistic theory of the origin and nature of ethics was again felt. And once more the same social contract theory, only slightly modified by Hobbes, filled the void, as it were. (Greek social contract theorists —such as Thrasymachus, if we are to believe Plato—thought that some were naturally stronger than others. And thus the strong, Plato notes with alarm, would be reluctant signatories of the social contract, because it would deprive them of their natural prey. Therefore, Hobbes insisted that—despite clear differences in strength, intelligence, and other natural endowments—all human social atoms were sufficiently equal that no one could win the war of each against all; and therefore all should be willing signatories of the social contract.) Given this clear historical pattern, the scientific revolution of the 20th century should be followed with some overlap, but also after a lag time of about a century, by a revolution in moral philosophy. Evidence that this is occurring has been detectable for somewhere between a quarter and a half century in the environmental turn in various disciplines of the humanities reviewed here—environmental history, environmental philosophy, religion and ecology, ecotheology, ecocriticism, ecological economics. Further, in the two historical precedents, moral ontology mirrors natural ontology. And the ontology of the contemporary sciences appears to me to be more systemic, holistic, and internally related than that in the Newtonian sciences. This of course is highly debatable. While, for example, ecology in biology is all these things, molecular biology appears to be more and more reductive and materialistic. However, with the advent of a second moment of environmental-crisis awareness—increasing awareness of the crisis of global climate change—the science thrust to the forefront of attention is biogeochemistry, which reveals a Gaian Earth that is certainly systemic, holistic, internally related, and indeed self-organizing and self-regulating. Finally, there is an even larger, more profound revolution afoot, the likes of which has occurred only once before in history, so we have a less reliable basis of anticipating its philosophical ramifications. This is a revolution in communications and information technology. The first such revolution was the shift from orality to literacy. A few humanists— Walter Ong, Eric Havelock, Marshall McLuhan, David Abram—have given it serious study.20 They generally conclude that the invention of letters was accompanied by a profound shift in human consciousness—from a sense of community identity to personal identity and from mythic thought to abstract philosophical and scientific thought being the most salient. Why after all, did a Thales emerge in Greece, just when he did—neither earlier nor later—to be followed by a steady stream of natural philosophers and then moral philosophers? Because, answers Havelock, the Greeks became literate; and, adds Abram, the Greeks were the first to have a fully phonetic alphabet, enabling them perfectly and completely to supplant the oral word with the written word, in contrast to other emerging alphabetical writing techniques. We are presently in the midst of another revolution in communications and information technology, from literacy to Googality—I’m sorry, but I cannot think of a better name. If these scholars are right about the transformation of human consciousness effected by the transition from orality to 20 Walter Ong, Literacy and Orality: The Technologizing of the Word, 2nd ed. (New York, Routledge, 2002); Eric Havelock, The Muse Learns to Write: Reflections on Orality and Literacy from Antiquity to the Present (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1986); Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographical Man (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1962); David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More than Human World (New York: Pantheon Books, 1996). 184 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013) literacy, then another transformation of human consciousness may be forthcoming as we leave the linear world of letters and the privacy and intimacy of the one-way conversations we have with books, for the simultaneity, interconnectedness, and interactivity of protean social media—Facebook, texting (and sexting), twitter—and the cyber “cloud.” Comprehending, understanding, and making sense of all these things is what 21st- century philosophy should be all about—as I see it, as a philosopher; and indeed as I have been doing it, as a philosopher. But not only should philosophers and other humanists witness and testify to these changes, driven by science and communications and information technology, I believe that philosophers and humanists more generally are one of the main channels through which a new worldview and perhaps even a new modality of human consciousness might flow. Not only can we articulate and interpret the wonderful new natural world that the sciences are revealing, we can even steer consciousness change in positive and hopeful ways. In our collective cultural life, as in our individual personal lives, I believe in the power of optimism. A new collective worldview and perhaps even a new modality of human consciousness will come about—if it does come about—partly through an inexorable historical dialectic, which has a life of its own, and partly because we humanists have tried with our historiographies, philosophies, theologies, and other scholarly endeavors to put sails and rudders on the boats riding the prevailing winds and currents of thought and steer them in the best directions that we can make out for them to go. And, as I am sure you can now tell, this essay is also an exercise in such humanistic optimism. Following reflections on “first philosophy,” in beginning this essay I suggest that the humanities forge a partnership with the sciences to create a new worldview. From all I have written here, one might suppose that the sciences need only go on, pretty much as they have, ignoring the humanities, and that the humanities should take the initiative to open themselves up to the wonders of the sciences. I seem to be suggesting that the humanities are a χωρα, receiving the ειδη of the sciences. But it’s not much of a contemporary marriage if the memetic flow is all in one direction. Here I am primarily addressing my fellow humanists. Were I addressing scientists I would remind them of the origins of science in natural philosophy and that the high-end scientists—“the noble monarchs of the academy forest,” in Gary Snyder’s idyll, “who come out with some unified theory or perhaps a new paradigm”21—are still essentially natural philosophers, (as the architects of the second scientific revolution were keenly aware), only now they wear lab coats and comfortably inhabit cloistered institutes of advanced study. I would point out the dynamic nature of science, rendering current “truths” at best provisional. I would argue that facts are theory-laden and theories are value-laden. I would note the insidious ways in which science is embedded in society and not immune from influence by social biases, politics, economics, and funding sources.22 Above all I would insist that claims to objectivity and value-free discourse are a pernicious and dangerous pretense. And finally, I would conclude that—for all these reasons and more—the sciences need to open themselves to the wonders of the humanities. But that is a topic for a whole ’nother essay. 21 Gary Snyder, “The Forest in the Library.” 22 Bruno Latour, Laboratory Life: The Social Construction of Scientific Facts (Los Angeles: Sage Publications, 1979); How to Follow Scientists and Engineers through Society (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987). Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 185 J. Baird Callicott is University Distinguished Research Professor of Philosophy and formerly Regents Professor of Philosophy at the University of North Texas. He is co-Editor-in-Chief of the Encyclopedia of Environmental Ethics and Philosophy and author or editor of a score of books and author of dozens of journal articles, encyclopedia articles, and book chapters in environmental philosophy and ethics. Email: callicott@unt.edu Bibliography Abbey, Edward. Desert Solitaire. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968. Abram, David. The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More than Human World. New York: Pantheon Books, 1996. Bass, Rick. Winter: Notes from Montana. New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1991. Berry, Thomas and Brian Swimme. The Universe Story from the Primordial Flaring Forth to the Ecozoic Era: A Celebration of the Unfolding of the Cosmos. San Francisco: Harper SanFrancisco, 1992. Beston, Henry. Outermost House: A Year of Life on the Great Beach of Cape Cod. New York: Henry Holt & CO., 1992. Buell, Lawrence. The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1995. Callicott, J. Baird. Earth’s Insights: A Multicultural Survey of Ecological Ethics from the Mediterranean Basin to the Australian Outback. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Capra, Fritjof. The Tao of Physics: An Exploration of the Parallels between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism. Berkeley, Cal: Shambala, 1975. Dillard, Annie. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. New York: HarperCollins, 1999 [1974]. Hardin, Garrett. “The Tragedy of the Commons.” Science 162 (1968): 1243-1248. Havelock, Eric. The Muse Learns to Write: Reflections on Orality and Literacy from Antiquity to the Present. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1986. Hughes, J. Donald. Ecology in Ancient Civilizations. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1975. Kropotkin, Peter. Mutual Aid. London: Heinemann, 1902. Latour, Bruno. Laboratory Life: The Social Construction of Scientific Facts. Los Angeles: Sage Publications, 1979. Latour, Bruno. How to Follow Scientists and Engineers through Society. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987. Leopold, Aldo. A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There. New York: Oxford University Press, 1949. Lueders, Edward. Clam Lake Papers: A Winter in the North Woods. New York: Harper and Row, 1977. McLuhan, Marshall. The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographical Man. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1962. Merchant, Carolyn. The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology, and the Scientific Revolution. San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1980. Nash, Roderick. Wilderness and the American Mind. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1967. Ong, Walter. Literacy and Orality: The Technologizing of the Word. 2nd ed. New York, Routledge, 2002. Quine, W. V. O. From a Logical Point of View. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1953. Smith, Huston. “Tao Now: An Ecological Testament.” In Earth Might be Fair: Reflections of Ethics, Religion, and Ecology., edited by Ian Barbour, 62-81. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1972. Snyder, Gary. “The Forest in the Library.” In Gary Snyder, A Place in Space: Ethics, Aesthetics, and Watersheds, 119-204. New York: Counterpoint, 1995. Snow, C. P. The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution. London: Spectator Lmt., 1962. 186 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013) Spencer, Herbert. “Progress: Its Law and Cause.” Westminster Review (1857): 445-447, 451, 454-456, 464-465. White Jr., Lynn. “The Historical Roots of our Ecologic Crisis.” Science 155 (1967): 1203-1207. Ybarra, Priscilla Solis. “‘Lo que quiero es tierra’: Longing and Belonging in Cherríe Moraga’s Ecological Vision.” In New Perspectives on Environmental Justice: Gender, Sexuality, and Activism, edited by Rachel Stein, 240-248. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004.
work_gt5ito257bgrnkgeo7chnmf6zu ---- UHI Research Database pdf download summary Nordic slow adventure Varley, Peter Published in: Scandinavian Journal of Hospitality and Tourism Publication date: 2013 The Document Version you have downloaded here is: Peer reviewed version Link to author version on UHI Research Database Citation for published version (APA): Varley, P. (2013). Nordic slow adventure: Explorations in time and nature. Scandinavian Journal of Hospitality and Tourism. 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Apr. 2021 https://pure.uhi.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/nordic-slow-adventure(4c4ed730-14d6-4e9c-98d0-c512268a1028).html 1 Nordic Slow Adventure: Explorations in Time and Nature KEYWORDS: friluftsliv, hypermodernity; nature; comfort; passage; adventure tourism; ABSTRACT The potentially paradoxical concept of 'slow adventure' is offered here as having a particularly North European potential and a peculiarly Nordic orientation towards outdoor tourism activity. An overview of the relationship between the slow movements and the frenetically paced, technologically wired lived experience of hypermodernity is considered in the light of the rise of the adventure tourism ‘industry’. We contrast the slow movement principles with mainstream, risk managed and rationalised 'fast' adventure tourism products, which focus predominantly on thrill and rush. The concept of slow adventure, as distinct from slow tourism or slow travel per se is then further developed to include time, passage, comfort and nature, aligned with Scandinavian concepts of friluftsliv, as determining elements in what have become highly regarded tourist experiences. We conclude that there cannot be an essentialist separation of 'slow' and 'fast' adventure (or travel, or tourism, or food…) per se. Rather, that these qualitative aspects of self-supported adventurous journeys illustrate significant, and hitherto largely ignored aspects in the analysis of adventure tourism, and point toward opportunities for well trained outdoor professionals who can make the most of the Nordic great outdoors for small numbers of clients, enabling inclusive, environmentally responsible, high-value, place-specific experiences, all year round. 2 Introduction This paper makes a unique contribution to the body of literature around adventure tourism. Firstly, the paper puts current forms of adventure tourism into context against the backdrop of accelerating, technology-driven ‘hypermodern’ life and the some of the cash-rich, time poor market segments who pay for these convenient experiences. Secondly it focuses on the importance of the temporal, natural, corporeal and philosophical dimensions of being, journeying and living outdoors as less-recognised aspects of such experiences, and part of the spectrum of what passes as ‘adventure tourism’. In doing so it introduces the Scandinavian concept of friluftsliv; the philosophy and practice of living and being outdoors, gently co-existing with nature, alongside that of the central ideas deriving from slow food movements to underline the textual, traditional significance of these elements in extended outdoor adventure experiences. Such conceptual positioning recalls and reconsiders Walle’s (1997) important article confronting obsessions with risk, rather than insight, but goes much further, suggesting the potential for new experiential product development, distinct from the conveniently packaged, ‘de-natured’ intense adventure experiences of thrill and rush at the other end of the nature-adventure spectrum. Wilderness Scotland is the only adventure activity provider in Scotland to receive five stars in Visit Scotland’s national quality assurance scheme. The National Geographic ranked them in 2009 as the number one adventure travel company in Europe. The ethos of the company is summarised on their website as: At the core of our business is a spirit and enthusiasm to explore and journey through the wild places of Scotland; a willingness to share such experiences with others; and to realise the positive socio-economic and environmental benefits of sustainable tourism. Our mission is to provide inspiring, memorable and high quality adventure travel experiences, 3 which benefit the local environments and communities in which we work. Wilderness Scotland (2012). It is apparent from the company’s marketing that the commodification of thrill is not central to their business model, and yet their ranking and status in the adventure tourism industry is of the highest order. It would appear then that Wilderness Scotland have, through a broader interpretation of the notion of adventure, been notably successful in marketing to a particular audience which Weber refers to as ‘marginal adventure tourists’ (2001: 374) (i.e. not adrenaline junkies) and what Walle (1997) has termed ‘insight seekers’. In this paper, we develop the concept of ‘slow adventure’ as a suitable label and organizing framework for these types tourist experiences. It is a concept particularly suited to the wide, wild expanses of many parts of the world, and specifically to the outdoor living and journeying experience potential in Nordic countries. These places often have little in the way of industry or employment prospects, and endure a concomitant ‘drain’ of young people to the cities in search of meaningful, sustainable work. Tourism and hospitality work in these places can often be regarded as a relegation option; unskilled jobs in a low-status industry. Yet the skills required to deliver high quality slow adventure experiences are considerable, valued by many sectors of late-modern society and potentially lucrative. As packaged mass tourism in the 20 th Century has promoted the possibility for guaranteed sun, sea and sand, so the tourists of the 21 st Century seek unusual new luxuries in the form of time in nature, birch wood fires, cooking their own wild food, carrying their own luggage over rough lands or along remote coastlines in kayaks. Such experiences are prized and carry a high price tag in the marketplace as they are currently a scarce resource of rich, meaningful, potentially transcendent and intense experiences (Caru and Cova, 2003; Gelter, 2009; 4 Schouton, McAlexander and Koenig, 2007; Tumbat and Belk, 2011) for clients from outside of Scandinavia. Thus whilst the wide open, nature-rich spaces of these countries are a constant backdrop, possibly taken for granted and free-to-access for most Nordic people, it is important to recognize that such things are regarded quite differently in more densely populated and urbanized countries. In Easto and Warburton’s (2010) market report on adventure tourism in Scotland, they clarify the need for a definition of adventure tourism which moves beyond a focus on adventure sports (2010, p. 5) and they offer a redress to the overly narrow focus of some researchers and marketers who have fixated on risk and thrill; a view echoed by others (Varley, 2006; Walle, 1997; Weber, 2001). The obsession with intense, exciting moments can be seen to be a myopic focus on what might for some seem to be the most vital organ in the body of adventure, but this nevertheless fails to capture the simple, rich experience of extended time in the wild. Easto and Warburton (2010) go on to highlight research by the Adventure Travel Trade Association, who identified seven elements that represented the essence of adventure tourism: Transformation: discovery of the ‘real me’. Discovery: the end result of exploration, and a prize for stepping out of the comfort zone. Deep Appreciation: appreciating something bigger, something timeless and more than our everyday encounters. Engagement: moving beyond a passive encounter to something that is active, engaging with people from different backgrounds, cultures and world views. Web of Life: seeing ourselves as part of an interconnected network of nature. 5 The Real Thing: something which can only truly be experienced by being there. Legacy: passing on the stories, ideas and beliefs. (Easto and Warburton, 2010, p. 16) Clearly, each of these components requires a considerable commitment in terms of participant time, and a willingness to let go; to allow the immersive process of being in a natural environment to unfold. Thus while extended duration and a gradual pace are core ingredients of slow adventure, so too is the subjectivity of temporality; the feeling of time. The concept of slow adventure will initially be contrasted with its imagined opposite: ‘fast-adventure’, below. Theoretical Background Liberation from the confines of the traditional, and the grounded and rooted practices of being and doing, has forced members of industrialised societies into an increasingly agitated and anxious state (Auge, 2008). ‘Hypermodernity’, a term used by Paul Virilio (2000, 2004) and others to describe the accelerating pace of modern lives, increasingly celebrates and embraces flux and change and as such, both society and the individual can be viewed as enacting a continual metamorphosis where the space of our shared and personal values and meanings becomes fragmented, constrained and atomised. This neurasthenic condition, generated by the increasing sense of motion and pace in modernity was anticipated by Simmel’s essay Metropolis and Mental Life (Simmel 1971a). Written over 100 years ago, the phenomenon Simmel describes continues to intensify, now augmented by technological innovation and cyborg-like devices allowing a distancing from immediate physical experience whilst ensuring a constant connection with a multiplicity of virtual worlds and networks. Members of urban-industrialised societies are becoming more sedentary as the concomitant trend toward convenience, packaged experiences and 6 homes created as private technological leisure spaces continues. For many, movement, connection and exploration are being subsumed into the realm of the virtual where travel is instantaneous and no longer confined by the old frontiers (see Auge, 2008, 61-93). In hypermodern society, there is an apparent sense of temporal and spatial transcendence that is manifested through time-saving paraphernalia, communications technology and fast fashions, the processes of globalization and the growth of entertainment and social media. At the same time this may be conceived of as an enslavement: Doomed to inertia, the inactive being transfers his natural capacities for movement and displacement to probes and scanners which instantaneously inform him about a remote reality, to the detriment of his own faculties of apprehension of the real… Having been first mobile, then motorised, man will thus become motile, deliberately limiting his body’s area of influence to a few gestures, a few impulses like channel surfing. (Virilio, 1997, p. 11). This temporo-spatial pressure is further complicated by the sense that the very pace of our lives is outrunning us, leaving us constantly short of time as time itself seems to accelerate (Auge, 2008). Little time is available for individuals to anchor themselves ontologically with places, narratives and histories which confer meaning (Lipovetsky and Charles, 2005; Virilio 1989). Castells (1996) suggests that the ‘ground’ of hypermodernity is ever-shifting, and that simultaneously the subject is lost in a world of discontinuity; connected with but confined by complex social networks of human consumption and communication which are extending and accelerating into more and more social spheres (Lipovetsky and Charles, 2005). During the same period, the modern era has allowed and promoted the expansion of tourism, via processes of rationalisation, which compress and control time for economic gain, but also allow managed free time for the refreshment of labour and for consumption. ‘Free time’, therefore, often becomes an imagined opportunity for a reconnection with romanticised notions of rich, meaningful 7 experiences. Inevitably, adventurous tourism and leisure have also been thoroughly colonised by capitalism, commodified, and as such might often fail to deliver their promised or imagined rewards. The experiences are invariably tightly controlled, and, for the adventure tourism consumer, could even be alienating, as tourists recognise their need for expert help in order to recreate safely outdoors is emphasised. Fast Adventure The roots of the commodified form ‘fast adventure’ are deeply woven into the history and psyche of modernity (and eventually hypermodernity) through the ideology, narratives and glorification of an ‘adventure mentality’ (Nerlich, 1987) via fairy tales and accounts of heroic deeds. Later the adventure forms, already recognised as a useful aspect of capitalist exploitation, became training and education ‘products’ and, later, marketed tourist experiences. The ensuing rationalisation and commodification of adventure into adventure tourism (Varley, 2006), marked the beginning of a new epoch as such, where the romantic promise of adventure was brought a step closer to the masses through an increasingly focused range of exciting holiday activities. The rationalising logic of ‘McDonaldization’ (Ritzer, 1993) has subsumed the notion of adventure into the market place, where increasing levels of convenience, predictability and comfort are paramount. The marketplace has in short distilled the story of adventure down to its climactic moment and at the same time filtered out its slow, uncomfortable and less attractive aspects. Many theories of adventure (Ewert, 1989; Keiwa, 2002; Lewis, 2000, 2004; Martin & Priest, 1986; Morgan, 2000; Mortlock, 1984; Priest & Bunting, 1993) encapsulate the adventure motive as a desire for borderline experiences occupying the threshold between catastrophe and adventure. Such representations, 8 with their almost fatalistic proximity to disaster seem essentialist and elitist, and intuitively are at odds with the motives of many contemporary adventure travellers and tourists. Whilst the bungee jump, zip wires, white water rafting trips and abseiling sessions all squeeze the highest thrill quota into the tightest package (Cater, 2006; Cloke and Perkins, 2002), they ignore the wider experiential context. As such, these capsule adventures can become decontextualised from the broader narratives of journey, dwelling and exploration and dislocated both from the environmental context and the holistic social nature of the experience. The resulting “adventure in a bun… disassociate[s] people from their experience of community and place” (Loynes, 1998, p.35) similar to the ways in which fast food is conveniently removed from its origins as a rationalised mélange of anonymised ingredients in contrast to slow food, which is a celebration of provenance, tradition and time. The carefully marketed images of physically attractive bodies and textually mediated discourses on television and in adventure marketing communications also endow the performances of the fast adventurers with social significance and value. Adventure is ‘sexy’; being adventurous thus bestows an identity label, provides signifiers of cultural capital and emblems of social status for sale (Beedie and Hudson, 2003; Buckley, 2003; Cloke & Perkins, 2002). Such occurrences are, according to Moores (2000, p. 40) ‘a distinctive feature of contemporary society, existing as socially organised communicative and interpretive practices intersecting with and structuring people’s everyday worlds’. It is therefore easy to regard forms of ‘fast adventure’ as belonging to the world of everyday consumer culture (Chaney, 2002) and consumer identity projects. 9 Best’s (1989) work on the society of the spectacle can be applied to further articulate the notion of fast adventure, where showmanship, voyeurism, extreme sports channels, sponsored ‘heroes’ and the staging and marketing of the ‘wow moment’ (see Cloke & Perkins, 2002) all play their part. This spectacle is given credence through the processes of 'post-mass tourism' (Urry, 1990) whereby fast adventure, as a commodity, is viewed as a badge of honour to be acquired, promising novelty, status, identity and excitement: Participants engaging in commercial adventurous activity primarily seek fear and thrills. The most successful adventure tourism operators are those that have reduced their actual risk levels whilst effectively commodifying the thrills within. (Cater, 2006, p. 317) Thus the fast adventure archetype, as a product of cash-rich, time-poor consumer society, when linked to the march of the hypermodern condition can be viewed as a part of the fabric of the everyday world of consumerism and, for many, ingredients in off-the-shelf identity construction projects. Yet, even in many ‘fast adventure’ experiences, there can be slow moments; of contemplation sat on the belay ledge, inner thoughts undisturbed by work calls, texts and emails, and the experience of raw nature at its wildest in rough rivers or on snowy mountain slopes. Slow Adventure Against the dystopic portrayals of hypermodernity, Honore (2004) has documented an emerging global phenomenon; ‘slowness movements’ which appear to be growing in response to, if not directly in confrontation with, the speeding up of society. The counter-cultural wave, manifesting itself in forms of 10 slow food, slow cities, slow travel, slow tourism, slow learning is evidence of a widespread perception that a fundamental slowing down is required if we are to focus on quality and meaning in our lives as opposed to convenience and efficiency (Honore, 2004). The movements are characterised by a valorisation of heritage, time, tradition and authenticity, and our conceptualisation of slow adventure is no different. In the Slow Food movement, local delicacies are renowned for their central role in local life, traditional practice and culture. Slow, rather than fast, processes of production (and consumption) are important. Effort and extended time taken in both production and consumption confers quality and value via objectified authenticity and is set in opposition to the rationalised, effort-saving and time-saving processes of fast / convenient food systems. Slow food is of the land, of the people and seasonal (of time) and its production and consumption reflects this: it is in essence participatory, and of the ‘ground’ Lash (1997). The idea of slow adventure, in partial contrast to fast adventure, above, is a celebration of the (ir)rationality of uncertainty, unpredictability, transience, experiment, and the emotional content of human experience, particularly in the context of the great outdoors and engagements with what Gelter, referring to the Nordic concept of friluftsliv, has called the ‘more-than-human world’ (2000). These aspects of an ‘other’ modernity celebrate aspects of life that are central to the slow movements. As the pace of life accelerates, and de-differentiation is accentuated, there is a nostalgia for what is often lost in advanced capitalism is the dimension of what Lash (1999) has referred to as the ground; the ‘forgotten ground’. Slow adventures are in effect explorations of and reconnections with this ground: feeling, sensing and investing in place, community, belonging, sociality, and tradition over time and in nature. In developing these ideas, we borrow heavily from the philosophies of friluftsliv, but, following Gelter and others, are cautious about the challenges of a commercialised ‘friluftsliv’ which is shallow, packaged and focuses on the glamour of achievement and the fetishisation of modern technologies and equipment (Buckley, 2003). 11 Slow movements, in general, are a counter-cultural response to mass industrialisation, attempting to recover and protect modernity's forgotten ground against the backdrop of rational marketization and hypermodernity. Here we present the concept of slow adventure, initially by contrasting the slow movement ideas with the more mainstream, ‘fast’ packaged adventure experiences (above) available in the marketplace and then by considering its key dimensions, described here as nature, time, passage, and comfort. It is important to recognize that what is discussed here is the participants’ experience of the extraordinary, such as deep spiritual feelings or transcendental moments, but that these are often wrapped up in quotidian activities such as walking, cooking, making shelter and so forth, which could only be framed as extraordinary due to the setting and context. Whilst the prefix ‘slow’ seems currently to be almost ubiquitous in a variety of contemporary cultural realms, the term is used here as stimulus for the recognition of a peculiar paradox. Most adventures, particularly in the commercial arena, would be regarded as ‘fast’, encompassing as they do the intense, focused moments of conveniently packaged excitement which fit neatly into busy urban lives. To speak of ‘slow adventure’ at first seems at odds with the known in common concept of adventure, involving uncertainty, risk, play, notions of heroism, thrill and excitement (Buckley, 2011; Gyimothy and Mykletun, 2004; Lindberg, Hansen and Eide, 2013). However, there exist adventure forms which share many of the core values attributed to other aspects of the slow movements, including; respect for quality over convenience, tradition, ‘authentic’ experience, the connection between people and place, exploration, and extended time for rejuvenation, re-enchantment and reflection (Honore, 2004). These forms are particularly important in some spheres of Nordic tourism, where landscapes are lightly populated, may be perceived as wild and are imbued with the culture, stories and practices of indigenous peoples. 12 There is also an ambiguity; slow food characteristics can vary due to the people, soils, weather and time of consumption. This is an aspect encompassed by the French term, terroir, and suggests the variability of food, or in our case, experience, due to natural variations in conditions; landscape, weather, season, time (Barham, 2003). Slow adventures will also vary with weather, landscape, time and so forth. Time, inevitably, is the core strand which underpins the slow movements. As Fullagar, Wilson and Markwell (2012) suggest, time lost through over-committed lives translates as time invested (found) in production, in connecting with place, in being with others, in shared enjoyment and communitas during slow tourism; it is time which allows meaning to be generated and experiences and memories to coalesce either in a commercial context or as personal aspects of outdoor leisure and tourism. Put simply, the concept of slow adventure is based on an appreciation of the journey as an experiential dimension rather than the chore of getting to a destination. In this sense, the journey; being there, in the land or on the sea is the holiday. Gardner argues that ‘speed destroys the connection with the landscape’ and space-time compression accelerating in hypermodernity means that journeys often lose their significance as part of the tourist experience in many contexts (2009, p.13). If the journey is slow, takes time, and requires effort, the tension of separation, the distance between the familiar and the exotic is more directly experienced through the process of travel from one place to another and through the linear transit of routes (Tuan 2003). Thus ‘the trip constitutes... a place where time stands still or is reversed into a utopian space of freedom, abundance and transparency’ (Curtis and Pajaczkowska, 1994, p.199). As Howard (2012) points out, however, echoing Tuan’s (1998) arguments in Escapism, late-modern consumers will access their experiences by exploring the internet and invariably booking online – even slow ‘escape’ is thus contingent upon the (fast) technologies required to achieve it. 13 The apparently paradoxical notion of slow adventure also draws upon the recent work on slow travel and tourism (Dickinson & Lumsden 2010; Gardner 2009; Howard 2012), which itself builds in part upon the notion of mobility (Urry, 2000; 2002; 2007), and the ideologies of the slow movements to present a new analytical framework for adventure tourism research. For the slow adventurer, the geography delineating the realms of home and holiday expands, no longer as a problem requiring the speediest execution, but rather as a field of opportunity for a particular leisure and tourism experience to unfold. An example of an existing Nordic slow adventure-as-tourism enterprise, Hotel Spruce, is offered below: Advertisement: Wilderness living at Hotel Spruce, Norway Hotel Spruce is the most unique wilderness living adventure in Norway. At the worlds only 5- (thousand) stars hotel – you`ll enjoy sleeping in open air, love wild food and wilderness cooking. Days are spent hiking, canoeing and wildlife watching… Even though a stay at Hotel Spruce will develop your skills and prepare you for a solo trip out in the wilderness, this is not a survival course” says former Norwegian Navy Seal, Petter Thorsen. “It’s all about enjoying the simple life in nature, with good food and new friendships as a result. It also involves learning, sharing and appreciating the extreme luxury the simple outdoor life can give. Great food, hot fires and fresh air under the hotel’s custom-made canopies, from which you can lie in your sleeping bag and see thousands of stars twinkling in the heavens. You know you have come to the right place when the bearded man in the checked shirt, Geir Vie, puts his hand out and gives you the kind of handshake you’d expect from his appearance. But this is not a mere front for the tourists. Geir is a dyed-in-the-wool 14 local, an outdoorsman through and through, with a lifetime of experience as a field biologist, outdoors chef, organic smallholder and carpenter. He’s highly practical and an incurable optimist, with a passion for culture and tradition Source: Wild Norway Archives (2013) Friluftsliv Following on from Hotel Spruce, it is appropriate to further consider the idea of friluftsliv at this stage, as a cultural practice, a form of outdoor experiencing and variously as a lived philosophy of Nordic peoples. Crystal clear water sparkles around us with the marbled river bottom several meters below, giving the sensation of our canoe gliding in open air. The strong current and our synchronized paddle strokes carry the canoe down this Arctic river with a force that creates a deep shiver of pleasure. The breathtaking big sky above us, the river valley bordered by magnificent mountains, and the sensation of undisturbed wildlife surrounding us causes a deep emotional storm of happiness within, filling my eyes with tears – a spiritual, almost religious feeling I often experience in nature. This landscape absorbs me so completely, entering through all of my senses and directly touching my limbic system. This gives me a sensation of a total integration with this land: a strong feeling of being at home in a place I have never visited before. Sensing myself as part of the landscape… ‘I get a strong feeling of knowing the ways of things around me. Gelter (2000, p.77-78). The above was Gelter’s (2000) introduction to his study of friluftsliv. He identifies the movements as a back-to-nature zeitgeist in response to industrialization and urbanization in the 18 th Century and therefore 15 being the preserve of the educated and leisured classes. Pederson Gurholt (2008) adds that friluftsliv was precisely the preserve of those wistfully seeking to recover the connections with the outdoors enjoyed by their grandparents, who lived on, in and from the land. Successful Scandinavian explorers strengthened the image. Both Pederson Gurholt (2008) and Gelter (2000) point to the tremendous influences of Arne Næss and Fridtjof Nansen in shaping the ideas of ‘outdoor life’ philosophies in Norway and beyond. Gelter even argues that friluftsliv was organized and developed by one of the world’s first tourism organisations, Den Norske Turistforening, or DNT, promoting skiing and other healthy outdoor activities as a counter to the new urban ills. But, as he (2000) later opines, there is a forceful commercialization current in outdoor activities, such that new equipment and activity sub-cultures are reified, fetishised and promoted. This may suggest the practice of friluftsliv as exclusive, expensive and hard to access, yet the basic philosophy is about simple, basic outdoor life, living comfortably in and with nature; staring at the flames in a fire, or listening to the waves crashing on a beach. Just being, outdoors. Dickenson & Lumsdon (2010, p.88) state that the “embodied sense of being there, physically coping with the locality” is a central experiential aspect of slow travel that leads to the formation of significant memories and narratives which often relate to the adventurous moments of such journeys. Yet they pay little attention to the leisure and tourism form ‘adventure’. This may in part rest upon the aforementioned paradox: that combining the term ‘slow’ with the term ‘adventure,’ may seem odd when popular representations and dominant discourses tend to focus on speed, rush and thrill (Cater, 2006; Buckley 2011). Slow adventures are imbued with a sense of the explorer-ethic and with a hitherto conflicting ecosophical sense of comfortably dwelling in wild places in recognition that such places are (or were once) in fact our home (Faarlund 1993, Næss, 1993; Varley and Medway, 2010). The ‘conflict’ arises from ideologies and narratives drawn from the era of exploitative exploration under colonial capitalism, 16 set against more contemporary notions of belonging to the wild (Næss, 1993). Trends, which might evidence the increasing interest in such adventure tourism forms, include the massive rise in prime time television programmes celebrating apparently pristine environments, indigenous cultures, bush craft and survival skills (Fullagar et al. 2012). Gelter’s crucial work in this regard is represented in his 2009 paper in which he considers various filuftsliv experiences as, in part expressive of, and also as an adjunct to what he calls ‘transmodernity’. In particular, he points toward the ‘adventuretainment’ and ‘eco- edutainment’ trends for friluftsliv and how, rather than travelling to exotic places with guaranteed sun, sea and sand, we can return, via extraordinary tourist experiences, to our original home, our nature (Gelter 2009). In this sense, he makes the case for a friluftsliv which is not old-fashioned, but is absolutely right for the new generations of hypermodernity and even ‘homo zappiens’ – inhabitants of the online social media world (2009, p.32). Supporting such assertions, the global industry membership body, the Adventure Travel Trade Association, states that: Today’s adventure traveller seeks experiences beyond high-adrenaline sports. Adventure provides a mix of activities that enable authentic, un-manufactured experiences Wild Scotland (2010) Walle’s (1997) ‘insight model’ confronted the dominant focus on risk taking behaviour with the proposition that risk is merely the by-product of a more important and overarching motivation for insight and knowledge in wild places and that the tourism industry can benefit by developing products for this market. Walle’s article draws upon the rich legacy of American writers and thinkers such as John Muir, 17 Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry David Thoreau who have drawn philosophical and ethical inspiration from their experiences of nature (ibid 1997). The key example provided by Walle, that of fly fishing, fails to satisfy many of the accepted terms of reference for theorists of ‘risk and rush’ adventure . If, however, Walle’s ideas are expanded around fly fishing to include self supported travel, navigation, wild camping, particularly but not necessarily in remote, unpopulated and ‘wild’ locations, then the journey to the location, as well as the actual fishing, start to take on the mantle of what we here term ‘slow adventure’ and to some extent ‘friluftsliv’. To be sure, following these ideas, there are opportunities to experience slow adventure in locations less wild and closer to our urban homes, as long as the immersive nature of journeying and living outdoors can be present. Elements Of Slow Adventure Whilst the rationalisation of excitement is no doubt a desirable selling point for the commercial operator, it is not the only source of competitive advantage in the adventure tourism industry. We propose that the qualities of slow adventure include elements of the journey; the joys and hardships of outdoor living, self propelled travel and associated physical engagement with the natural environment over time. These ‘qualities’ may be summarised as: time, nature, passage and comfort. They are totally interdependent and deliberately malleable and all impact upon mind and body. As Lindberg et al (2013) propose, this notion of slow adventure is in effect a multi-relational perspective; time, context (nature), the body in movement (passage), and a ‘comfortable’ interaction with the environment serve as ontological conceptions for understanding these dynamic experiences and meanings. ‘Time’ is inevitably an important experiential component, and the awareness of time passing during outdoor journeys is felt during the ‘passage’ (see below) of the journey itself, and via natural change such 18 as light and dark, tides and weather. In slow adventure, time does not merely pass, but is felt, in bodily rhythms of tiredness, sleep, wakefulness, and effort. For example, the perception of time via the dropping of the sun is corporeally evident as winds rise, the air becomes cold and shadows lengthen. Moreover, the significance of time is woven into the landscape as history, heritage, tradition, and origin (Ingold 1993). The effects of ‘Nature’ are acute in slow adventures, due to the extended time of exposure to them. Basking in the sun on rocks worn smooth by glacial erosion; the unfolding of natural expanses and wide skies; feet sinking into peat bogs; cooking in wild mountain corries; encounters with wildlife; struggling with tents in rain, snow and wind; storm or star watching; sleeping in and with the great outdoors. It is this direct engagement with natural forces which insists that participants envelop themselves in their environment; surrender to it, even. Further, natural encounters with plants, animals and geological features can provide a story set in time and in a particular environment. Recent work by Fredman, Wall- Reinius and Grunden (2012) is useful here in considering the qualities, management and characteristics of nature for nature-based activities – in this case, remoteness, biodiversity and other considerations are also of interest, and subsequent research might enquire as to the key properties of environments suited to the slow adventure concept. Furthermore, the fact that most Scandinavian countries, via the principle of ‘allemansretten’ or every man’s right enjoy free access to open, non-garden land, and that Scotland and Iceland enjoy similar privileges, helps to demonstrate the potential for this form of tourism development for Northern European countries. The term ‘passage’ refers not only to the physical journeying through a physical landscape, (as opposed to the passage over the landscape of the passenger) but is also a journey of change and transformation, which takes time (Schouten et al. 2007). ‘Passage’ encompasses the navigation of self through time and space; 19 the crossing of borders and natural obstacles; moving toward horizons and the retrospective gaze to where the traveller has come from. Tuan (2003, p. 54) suggests that ‘human lives are a dialectical movement between shelter and venture, attachment and freedom’. Between the identifiable events or touristic highlights, which the literature focuses upon, the slow adventurer’s day unfolds in quiet periods of human- or nature- powered travel which may lead to boredom, day dreaming and trance-like lapses of self awareness. This is the embodied journey to / from elsewhere, where the slow adventure tourist carries only the basic material requisites for survival (food, shelter, navigational aids etc.) and usually by their own physical effort. It is the very linearity and gradual passage and progression which contrasts with the spasmodic, frenetic virtual meta-city described by Virilio and Auge. The mobilities of slow adventure unravel the ‘discontinuity and interdict’ of the worldwide metropolis (Auge, 2008, p. xiii) and may be considered to enhance the apparent effects of ‘time stretching’. The relationship between the body, the journey and immersion in natural time offers both corporeal and geographical evidence of passage, suggesting the decompression of hypermodern time. This effect may eventually then allow a synchronisation of natural and personal rhythms (Gelter, 2000). As such, time itself is, from a qualitative perspective, regained, refelt and recognized, perhaps as a recovery of the forgotten aspect of child-experienced-time. In part that is a playful notion of day-dream-time where the mind can wander freely. Passage, then, is a function of time, embedded in nature, and a growing comfort in the process of the journey. ‘Comfort’ equally has a number of meanings in the context of slow adventure. Firstly, there is the process of becoming comfortable with the challenges presented by the journey (sustained effort for example). Indeed, blisters, sores, sunburn, aches and pains would initially be framed as dis-comfort, and at odds with 20 the usual tourist product. Yet the journey becomes inscribed upon the adventurer’s body, in salt, sores and sunburn, mud, sweat and moss (Varley, 2011). Dimmock writes of the ‘comfort’ found metres down beneath the waves, cocooned in an alien environment, and in slow adventure too, ‘comfort reflects one’s ability to function easily within an environment where engagement is free from stress and difficulty’ (2009, p. 279, see also Cater, 2008). In addition, comfort may be derived from a re-connection with place, tradition and history (linked to time). The traditional, rural life, imagined as slow, rich and meaningful can become a ‘refuge’ landscape; a place to escape to. The spiritual or transcendental dimension of rural tourism (Sharpley & Jepson, 2011) can be applied to the landscapes of adventure through the extension of a notion of slow interaction. Within this extension, the departure from the speed of the metropolis (Virilio, 1997) to the comfortable parameters of a vernacular language (Alexander, 1979) and indigenous practices (McIntosh, 2001) are taken a step further into an almost primitive condition of survival. Whilst inescapably framed by our cultural perspectives, such experiences are none-the-less pre-modern in essence and to an extent pre-socialised in their rawness. The world’s wild places, particularly those that require extended journeys to encounter them, offer a different reality for many and may be actively or sub-consciously pursued by some adventurers as a refuge, or therapeutic space that is in contrast to the fragmented, accelerating, mediated experience of the hypermodern subject. Effectively, time, nature, passage and comfort promote the sense of resistance to hypermodern conditions of lightness and speed, and offer the opportunity to dwell and connect with places lived in and passed through (Obrador-pons, 2003). 21 A circumnavigation of a tidal island by sea kayak exposes the paddler to a diurnal rhythm measured by the arc of the sun and the pull of the moon in a natural world in which the kayaker is suspended. As such, the lunar cycle is experienced through the flows and ebbs of the tide. The kayaker’s journey is dependent upon both a rational and experiential understanding of tidal flows as well as localised knowledge of how the particular manifestations of those forces may make stretches of coast impassable at certain times of the tide. These temporal flows are experienced sensually, as is the dream-like trudge across a moonlight expanse of frozen sastrugi, the changing texture and sound of the neve crunching underfoot or the freezing katabatic winds surging before the peaks appear in a glow of refracted light. The associated fusion of mind, body and environment through these forms of active, extended immersion may be felt as a deep sense of enjoyment, satisfaction and creative accomplishment (Boniface, 2000; Csikszentmihalyi, 1975; Gelter, 2000; Hardy, 2003). Whilst fast adventure can be experienced by the tourist almost on a whim; for example as a half-day activity, a ‘multi-activity taster week’ or as part of a wider holiday experience, slow adventure requires more serious commitment from participants of both time and energy. Commitment, uncertainty, natural hazards, navigation, transit, remoteness and increasing self sufficiency are all necessary ingredients of slow adventure which in combination impact the tourist’s spatial and temporal perceptions even to varying degrees in the commercial service-scape. In addition, when boredom, hunger, anxiety and physical discomfort take hold, the experience is often not easily exchangeable for a more pleasing, accessible commodity. Thus while the notion of escapism and freedom (Tuan 1998) may well be themes of slow adventure (and of tourism in general), so too in slow adventure is the paradoxical notion of inescapability and commitment. In this sense the journeying element of slow adventure assumes a work- 22 like aspect quite distinct from many other forms of tourism. Here, as in friluftsliv, life is a lived and embodied journey where dualisms of work and leisure, travel and residency, attachment and freedom become blurred, ‘body and mind harmonise’ (Gelter, 2000). It is in this light that the slow adventurer is perhaps, through their extended inhabitation of a ‘natural’ environment, establishing a newly territorialised everyday. Routines such as the erecting of tents, the packing of gear, collecting water, cutting wood, cooking, all take on a deeper significance as part of the whole unfolding process of daily life on the journey. As Gelter (2000) would have it, these characteristics separate the consumer/spectator tourist from the slow adventurer who must connect, and commit. Conclusions In this paper we have added the concept of slow adventure to the adventure tourism debate, and have also considered the distinctive philosophical and cultural form, friluftsliv, as a characteristic of some kinds of outdoor recreation conducted in Scandinavian countries. If the two concepts are combined, a very particular approach to what might be called slow adventure tourism is arrived at. In these countries, for many of the population, the outdoors is ‘home’, and can be a source of tranquility, transcendence, food, exercise and refreshment. This is not the case for many of the populations who might wish to experience such things, however, and members of densely populated BRIC countries and others could form a viable and lucrative market, keen to experience these remarkable ways of living which contrast with their own lived experiences. The notions of departure and return are embedded within tourism as a transition from the everyday to the extraordinary and back again in a search for pleasure (Rojek and Urry 1997). Within the sphere of adventure this notion is often framed as escapism; a quest for freedom or solitude or an 23 escape attempt of sorts (Cohen and Taylor, 1992; Pigram & Jenkins, 2006; Schmidt & Little, 2007; Tuan, 1998). It must be recognised however that slow adventure, like any other aspect of tourism, is absolutely part of hypermodernity, generated as a dialectical response to the frenetic, neurasthenic conditions of contemporary urban life, and curiously may be regarded as a way of coming home, rather than escaping. There cannot be a reified, essentialist separation of ‘slow’ and ‘fast’ adventure (or travel, or food…) per se. Rather, these experiences are arraigned along a continuum and determined by qualitative, subjective, and temporal aspects. Indeed, the slow adventure concept itself is in effect a spectrum of experiences, where long arduous expeditions in remote, lightly explored, far-from-help regions may be deemed more committing than a half-day spent in contemplation, fishing and foraging for wild food on the sea shore. All, however, are aspects which might allow degrees of transcendence, remove and respite from the frenetic pace of the urban everyday in hypermodernity – most will have elements of ‘fast’ and ‘slow’ adventure in them. Slow adventures, and the practices of friluftsliv are clearly, in the eyes of the protagonists, worth the effort. There is a dislocation between the surroundings of opulence, comfort and luxury of a holiday in a resort with the simplicity of a wilderness expedition, yet both are ‘luxuries, of a kind. In the latter endeavor there is an evident investment of time, bodily effort, a sacrifice of modern comfort and a commitment to the outdoor life that suggests that rewards of particular personal significance may be a central motivation rather than the quest for conveniently packaged comfort and pleasure. The proposition then is not that slow adventure is any more or less authentic or adventurous (or intense) than other tourist activities, but that its protagonists may be particularly concerned and driven by the idea of pursuing their own existential projects, and more on their own terms. Whilst slow adventures might at times be 24 structured by the marketplace and dependent upon the technologies of the modern world, there is within them a noticeable stepping away from the project of efficiency and speed. The closely managed experience is replaced by a focus on the particular, variable and localised aspects of place and the method of exploration is the inverse of efficient; it is necessarily ‘slow’, self-guided or enabled. Counter-culture movements, such as slow food, are seen by authors such as Nilsson, Svärd, Widarsson and Wirell (2007) to be expressions of a stance that values place-based relationships, local distinctiveness and process over homogenisation and efficiency. But all of this is relative; most ‘slow’ adventure tourism products will have elements of rationalisation, predictability and control, and many ‘fast’ adventures will include contemplation and ‘slow’ moments. The fast-slow comparison is not a divide, but a spectrum of tourist possibilities and products. We cannot claim that slow adventure is in any sense an absolute standard with which to segment the tourism industry. Rather, slow adventure is a concept, which, like other elements of the slow movement, may ultimately attract some quality standards, professional awards, brands and assurances (and therefore to some extent become more rationalized in the future). What it does depend upon, and what is celebrated, are the wild, open, natural places of the world, and the preservation of traditional methods of access and egress, along with free access rights for people to be there. Countries must therefore confront and carefully consider ideas such as increasing or allowing snow mobile access, mountain bike track building and other developments in the knowledge that these places are fragile, and that they can support sustainable forms of tourism only if preserved and enhanced (Fredman, Wall-Reinus and Grunden, 2012; Sandell, 2005). We have used the cross-cutting planes of time, nature, passage and comfort which form a web of ideas connecting and dividing the dialectic between ‘fast’ and ‘slow’ adventure and distinguishing slow adventure from slow travel / tourism. Time in this sense also encompasses the ‘decompression’ potential 25 of slow adventure, infused with the ideas of deep friluftsliv, particularly as Wild Norway and Wilderness Scotland would have it – journeys unfold at human pace, meals take time to prepare; time is spent directly in the effort of journeying and living. Memories may be created during the journey, but they may also be re-connected with. Nature, of course, has its own time frame, and the slow adventurer attunes themselves to this phenomenon. In fast adventures, the vagaries of nature are often managed-out; the time-pressured consumer cannot wait for rivers to rise for their rafting trip, so instead, dam-release timings are adhered to; climbing walls are built indoors in order that climbing can take place regardless of the weather and so forth. In slow adventures, nature offers an inescapable contrast to the manageable urban setting. Clothes get wet with sweat, rain, river or seawater, whilst winds or snow can make crossings impossible and tents collapse. The natural aspect of slow adventures intersects with the other themes here and simultaneously confronts the rationalising tendencies of modernity. The concept of passage is also an important, deliberately soft construct. Passage, clearly, encompasses the effort made in journeying, but also includes some contrasts. In slow adventure the tourist is an active traveller, not a passive passenger; people, nature, time and discomfort are to be coped-with, endured, enjoyed; effort is required, as is commitment. But the term passage also suggests the possibility for metamorphosis; a transcendent potential not unlike that suggested by Walle (1997). This metamorphosis may lead to additional qualities of the ‘passage’ which are closely interwoven with the fourth concept, comfort; it may lead to the participant feeling a sense of heftedness to the land, river or sea, to momentary dwelling and what Simmel (1971b) has suggested is the ‘unconditional presentness’ of the adventure; being there. It is here that we propose the journeys of slow adventure differentiate themselves in that they liberate tourists from the confines of rational time and return the traveller to the ground. Auge’s (2008) most pessimistic portrayals of modernity present the dark 26 downside of our mobility where the global-city with a standardised, anonymous centre, grinds down local distinctiveness, creates insecurity, and decentres the individual in a world of discontinuity. It is against this backdrop that recreation and tourism assumes an important role in bringing people together in activities where a sense of environmental consciousness, belonging, emotional commonality and communitas are experienced (Robinson, 2008; Wheaton, 2004). In this sense, slow adventure fits well with the people, landscapes, cultures and skills of the Nordic countries, and emerges as an opportunity to facilitate high value, unique and memorable experiences. It may also be a concept that makes Nordic tourism distinctive and highly valued for those on the outside – a sustainable, eco-sensible tourism rich in the skills and cultures of the region and its peoples. As studies by Pouta, Neuvonen and Sievänen (2013) suggest, nature-based tourism can attract high-spending tourists, particularly valuable in the remote rural settings suited to slow adventure. Similarly, Tangleland (2011) argues that there is tremendous potential for growth in the sector, and that participants are indeed seeking transformative, learning experiences and insights. These experiences can only adequately be delivered by well trained, professional guides who, in addition to the hard skills of navigation, first aid, mountaineering or kayaking, must be well versed in the soft skills of outdoor hospitality, emotional intelligence and facilitation (Valkonen, Huilaja and Koikkalainen, 2013). Clearly, there are opportunities for further qualitative research into the nature of these experiences, accounts of them and the key points of value to visiting tourists. 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DOI: 10.1177/0038038502036002002 Urry, J. (2007) Mobilities. Cambridge: Polity Press Valkonen, J., H. Huilaja and S. Koikkalainen (2013) Looking for the Right Kind of Person: Recruitment in Nature Tourism Guiding, Scandinavian Journal of Hospitality and Tourism, 13:3, 228-241. DOI: 10.1080/15022250.2013.837602 37 Varley, P. (2006) Confecting adventure and playing with meaning: the adventure commodification continuum. Journal of Sport Tourism 11, 173-194. DOI:10.1080/14775080601155217 Varley, P. and Medway, D. (2011) Ecosophy and tourism: repositioning a mountain resort. Tourism Management 32, 902-911. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.tourman.2010.08.005 Varley, P. (2011) Sea kayakers at the margins: the liminoid character of contemporary adventures, Leisure Studies, 30:1, 85-98, DOI: 10.1080/02614361003749801 Virilio, P. (1989) War and Cinema: The Logistics of Perception. London: Verso. Virilio, P. (1997) Open Sky, Trans J. Rose, London: Verso in McQuire, S. (1999) Blinded by the (speed of) light, Theory, Culture and Society 16, 143-159 Virilio, P. (2000) The Information Bomb, London: Verso. Virilio, P. (2004) ed. Redhead, S. The Paul Virilio Reader. New York: Columbia University Press. Walle, A. H. (1997) Pursuing Risk or Insight: Marketing Adventures. Annals of Tourism Research 24, 265–282. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/S0160-7383(97)80001-1 Weber, K. (2001) Outdoor Adventure Tourism: A Review of Research Approaches. Annals of Tourism Research 28, 360–377. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/S0160-7383(00)00051-7 38 Wheaton, B. (2004). Introduction: mapping the lifestyle sport-scape, in Wheaton, B. (ed.) Understanding lifestyle sports: consumption, identity and difference, London, Routledge, 1-28. Wild Norway Archives, Retrieved 10 October 2013, from http://wild-norway.com/archives/577 Wild Scotland (2010) Retrieved 10 October 2013, from http://wild-scotland.org.uk/wp- content/uploads/2010/12/GRANTOWN-SCOTLAND-Nov-18-2010.pdf Wilderness Scotland (2012). Retrieved 28 June, 2012, from Wilderness Scotland website: http://www.wildernessscotland.com/aboutus.php Wolf-Watz , D., K. Sandell & P. Fredman (2011) Environmentalism and Tourism Preferences: A Study of Outdoor Recreationists in Sweden, Scandinavian Journal of Hospitality and Tourism, 11:2, 190-204. DOI:10.1080/15022250.2011.583066 http://wild-norway.com/archives/577 http://wild-scotland.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/GRANTOWN-SCOTLAND-Nov-18-2010.pdf http://wild-scotland.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/GRANTOWN-SCOTLAND-Nov-18-2010.pdf http://www.wildernessscotland.com/aboutus.php 39
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work_gtv4qywxljczfeocvhyb37mf7y ---- Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: Immigration, Ecocriticism, and Otherness Silva, Reinaldo Francisco. “Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: Immigration, Ecocriticism, and Otherness”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 13, 2020, pp. 1–12. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.7 RESEARCH Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: Immigration, Ecocriticism, and Otherness Reinaldo Francisco Silva Universidade de Aveiro, Centro de Línguas, Literaturas e Culturas, Departamento de Línguas e Culturas, Universidade de Aveiro e Centro de Estudos Anglísticos, Faculdade de Letras, Universidade de Lisboa, PT reinaldosilva@ua.pt This essay aims at revisiting Henry David Thoreau’s Walden (1854), especially the episode in chapter X, “Baker Farm,” where Thoreau introduces the reader to an Irish immigrant, John Field. A hard-working farmer, Field thinks he is moving his way up the American social ladder and, presumably, dream, when, in fact, Thoreau tells us he is toiling just to feed unnecessary body needs. Whereas Field views his coming to America as a blessing for he could purchase these commodities, Thoreau notes that “the only true America is that country where you are at lib- erty to pursue such a mode of life as may enable you to do without these.” This episode will assist me in my discussion of Thoreau’s environmental concerns by way of focusing on Otherness – in this case, an Irishman, a victim of the Hungry Forties. I will attempt to show Thoreau as a man complicit with racial stereotyping considering that in this passage he viewed the Irish as slovenly, dirty, imbecile, and good-for-nothing. Throughout the nineteenth- century, such racial stereotyping would be extended to other ethnic minorities arriving at the turn-of-the-century and a subject of inquiry by ethnologists and sociologists. The Irish, who had to fight for their whiteness, were not alone in this battle considering that Southern Euro- peans – with the Portuguese, in particular – were said to possess “some negro blood,” as Donald Taft has argued in Two Portuguese Communities in New England (1923). This rhetoric would be later on fine-tuned during the Eugenics movement in the 1920s and culminating in the Holocaust during World War II. My contention in this essay is that Thoreau was complicit with America’s paranoia about the boundaries of whiteness. Keywords: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden; Henry David Thoreau and Immigration; Henry David Thoreau and Ecocriticism; Henry David Thoreau and Otherness O presente ensaio propõe-se revisitar a obra de Henry David Thoreau, Walden, publicada em 1854, sobretudo o episódio no capítulo X, “Baker Farm,” onde Thoreau nos apresenta um emi- grante irlandês, John Field. Um trabalhador incansável, Field julga estar a subir a pulso na vida na sociedade norte-americana e, presumivelmente, a concretizar o sonho americano, quando, de facto, Thoreau diz-nos que ele está simplesmente a labutar para satisfazer necessidades corpo- rais desnecessárias. Enquanto Field entende que a sua vinda para a América foi uma bênção, na medida em que agora podia adquirir estes géneros, Thoreau comenta que “a verdadeira América é unicamente aquele país onde se tem liberdade para que se possa seguir o estilo de vida que nos permita passar sem eles.” Este episódio proporciona uma análise das preocupações ambientalistas de Thoreau, por via das suas perceções do Outro, nomeadamente a de um irlandês, vitima da fome no seu país (década de 1840). Tentaremos demonstrar como Thoreau foi conivente com a utilização dos estereótipos racistas na medida em que neste trecho descreve os irlandeses como sendo pouco asseados, sujos, imbecis e sem grande iniciativa. Ao longo do século XIX, estes estereótipos raciais também seriam aplicados a outras minorias étnicas, que chegavam á América em finais do século, assim como um tema de pesquisa para etnólogos e sociólogos. Esta luta em serem trata- dos como brancos não se aplicou somente aos irlandeses na medida em que se dizia que os povos https://doi.org/10.5334/as.7 mailto:reinaldosilva@ua.pt Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 2 of 12 da Europa do Sul – nomeadamente os portugueses – possuíam “algum sangue negro,” tal como afirmara Donald Taft na sua obra, Two Portuguese Communities in New England (1923). Mais tarde, esta retórica tornar-se-ia mais acutilante durante a vigência do movimento da Eugenia durante a década de 1920 e culminando, deste modo, no Holocausto durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial. O argumento principal neste ensaio é que Thoreau se revelou como cúmplice da paranoia norte-americana relativamente as fronteiras do que se convencionou ser-se de raça branca. Palavras-Chave: Henry David Thoreau e Walden; Henry David Thoreau e a emigração; Henry David Thoreau e a ecocrítica; Henry David Thoreau e o Outro This essay aims at revisiting Henry David Thoreau’s Walden (1854), especially the episode in chapter X, “Baker Farm,” where Thoreau introduces the reader to an Irish immigrant, John Field. This episode will assist me in my discussion of Thoreau’s environmental concerns by way of focusing on Otherness and to show Thoreau as a man complicit with racial stereotyping. Thoreau’s concern for nature and environmental issues, too, will assist me in ascertaining how these mat- ters evolved, were modified by, adjusted to and updated by immigrants in North America when growing a garden or farming. Issues ranging from how did older canonical texts written by mainstream American writers adequately represent the Portuguese immigrants in their interaction with nature and American soil while farming to how such matters are dealt with in contemporary Portuguese-American fiction and poetry will be explored in this piece. From Thoreau’s husbandry in an unpolluted American landscape, how did the Portuguese deal with nature, farming, and gardening and how are they represented in the available writings? By observing Otherness and how certain ethnic groups, especially the Portuguese, interacted with nature, often replicating the farming landscapes they had grown up with in the Old World, such practices allowed for bodily and spiritual sustenance while maintaining their Portuguese identity. As with Thoreau, who viewed nature as a retreat into the primitive, for these immigrants nature – via gardening and farming – was a means to retreat from the alienating conditions imposed by the factory, commercial fishing, the whaling or dairy industries or intensive farming Portuguese immigrants engaged in in their areas of settlement in the United States. For these Portuguese immigrants caught in this industrial, back-breaking, and alienating web, retrieving their dignity and ancestral culture via the ethnic garden or farming was their way of becom- ing human once again. From Patronizing Otherness to a Rhetoric of Eugenics In chapter ten, Thoreau introduces the reader to an Irish immigrant, John Field. A hard-working farmer, Field thinks he is moving his way up the American social ladder and, presumably, dream, when, in fact, Tho- reau tells us he is toiling just to feed unnecessary body needs. Field tells Thoreau that his coming to America had been “a gain…that here you could get tea, and coffee, and meat every day” (Thoreau 1960, 141). For Field, immigrating to America was a blessing for it enabled him to purchase these commodities. Thoreau wraps this episode up noting that “the only true America is that country where you are at liberty to pursue such a mode of life as may enable you to do without these, and where the state does not endeavor to compel you to sustain the slavery and war and other superfluous expenses which directly or indirectly result from the use of such things” (Thoreau 1960, 141). In Thoreau’s view, this man toiled like a slave to satisfy his corporeal needs and, in the process, was paying taxes on these products to support slavery and America’s war machine – institutions Thoreau disagreed with. Moreover, this episode stresses Thoreau’s impressions of this Irish man and his family as shiftless, without a purpose in life, and imbecile. His youngest son is referred to as a “poor starveling brat” (Thoreau 1960, 140) and the house where Field lived with his family was unkempt and needing repair: There we sat together under that part of the roof which leaked the least, while it showered and thundered without. I had sat there many times of old before the ship was built that floated this family to America. An honest, hard-working, but shiftless man plainly was John Field; and his wife, she too was brave to cook so many successive dinners in the recesses of that lofty stove; with round greasy face and bare breast, still thinking to improve her condition one day; with the never absent mop in one hand, and yet no effects of it visible anywhere. The chickens, which had also taken shelter here from the rain, stalked about the room like members of the family, too humanized methought to roast well. (italics added; Thoreau 1960, 140) Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Art. 13, page 3 of 12 Field tells Thoreau about “how hard he worked ‘bogging’ for a neighboring farmer, turning up a meadow with a spade or bog hoe at the rate of ten dollars an acre and the use of the land with manure for one year, and his little broad-faced son worked cheerfully at his father’s side the while, not knowing how poor a bar- gain the latter had made” (Thoreau 1960, 141). Thoreau, in turn, teaches him how he can also live in a “light, clean house, which hardly cost more than the annual rent of such a ruin as his commonly amounts to; and how, if he chose, he might in a month or two build himself a palace of his own; that I did not use tea, nor cof- fee, nor butter, nor milk, nor fresh meat, and so did not have to work to get them” (Thoreau 1960, 141). The italicized passages reflect Thoreau’s impressions of this man and his family as imbecile, untidy, and shiftless, stereotypes which, as we will see ahead, were applied to the Irish as a group. As we all know, Walden reflects Thoreau’s attempt to teach us how to liberate ourselves from falling prey to capitalism by simplifying our lives, but his views of the Field family as simpletons, however, undermines this goal while highlighting his bias towards this Irish family and, presumably, the Irish as a whole. This stereotype would later be applied to individuals composing another pattern of immigration to the United States, mostly Southern Europeans and Turks, especially during the Progressive era of the 1920s and in the heyday of the Eugenics movement. This boiled down to the enactment of immigration quotas in the Immigration Acts of 1917–1924, which barred access to the US for these peoples. For the purpose of this essay, the Portuguese, after the Irish, as we shall see, were a case in point. Like hundreds of thousands – or even millions – of other destitute Irish farmers, Field may have been one of those who was affected by the “consequences of the emergence of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland on January 1, 1801,” which widened “the breach between Catholics and Protestants.” The negative economic consequences of this union “were exacerbated by the disastrous famine of 1846–51, and over 2,000,000 people emigrated” (Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. 6, 380). This occurred when “the potato, the staple food of rural Ireland, rotted in the ground through the onset of blight in the mid-1840s” and “thousands died of starvation and fever in the Great Famine that ensued, and thousands more fled abroad” (Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. 21, 965). On American soil, they were once again victimized and stigmatized by a ruling WASP mainstream as they had previously experienced by the Anglo colonizer back home: Irish immigrants, however, fared poorly; too poor to buy land, lacking in skills, disorganized mem- bers of a faith considered alien and even dangerous by many native Americans, the Irish suffered various forms of ostracism and discrimination in the cities, where they tended to congregate. They provided the menial and unskilled labour needed by the expanding economy. Their low wages forced them to live in tightly packed slums, whose chief features were filth, disease, rowdyism, prostitution, drunkenness, crime, a high mortality rate, and the absence of even rudimentary toilet facilities. Adding to the woes of the first generation of Irish immigrants was the tendency of many disgruntled natives to treat the newcomers as scapegoats who allegedly threatened the future of American life and religion. In the North, only free blacks were treated worse. Most Northern blacks possessed theoretical freedom and little else. Confined to menial occupations for the most part, they fought a losing battle against the inroads of Irish competition in northeastern cities. The strug- gle between the two groups erupted spasmodically into ugly street riots.” (Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. 29, 223) This grouping together of both ethnic groups, suggests Howard Zinn, had already started when these immi- grants were fleeing from Ireland and were packed into old sailing ships. “The stories of these ships differ only in detail from the accounts of the ships that earlier brought black slaves” and later on Germans, Italian, Russian immigrants (221). Or even the Portuguese, as José Rodrigues Miguéis narrates in his short story, “Gente da terceira classe.” Thoreau, however, had not been the only American intellectual to apply this alleged intellectual and racial inferiority to the Irish. Anna Engle has shown that, as a whole, several Nineteenth-century American literary writers also did their part to perpetuate the idea that Irish- Americans were ethnically inferior. Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Susan Warner, Maria Cummins, Reuben Weiser, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, and Horatio Alger number among American mid-century authors who derided Irish immigrant workers as slovenly, dirty, and good-for-nothing. Unflattering images of Irish-Americans appear not only in various gen- res, from Weiser’s captivity narrative, Regina, the German Captive…to Thoreau’s treatise Walden” (152–153). Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 4 of 12 Recent scholarship on ethnicity, class, and labor conditions has shown how, from the start, the Irish had to work their way up the American economic ladder and fight for their “whiteness” considering that they were equated with enslaved blacks. Noel Ignatiev is clearly a case in point. In his book, How the Irish Became White, Ignatiev attempts to explain why the Irish were treated as blacks in the United States, why they often interacted with each other, but needed to be treated as or become whites: To Irish laborers, to become white meant at first that they could sell themselves piecemeal instead of being sold for life, and later that they could compete for jobs in all spheres instead of being confined to certain work; to Irish entrepreneurs, it meant that they could function outside of a segregated market. To both of these groups it meant that they were citizens of a democratic repub- lic, with the right to elect and be elected, to be tried by a jury of their peers, to live wherever they could afford, and to spend, without racially imposed restrictions, whatever money they managed to acquire. In becoming white the Irish ceased to be Green” (Ignatiev 2–3). The Irish, notes Justin D. Edwards, were stereotyped as racially inferior due to prevailing nineteenth-century racial theories such as those put forth by the racial scientist Nathaniel S. Schaler, who argued that “American immigration policies should privilege the ‘Teutonic branch of the Aryan race’ because its genetic constitu- tion was better acclimatized to the North American environment.” Irishmen, he stated, “lay outside of this ‘Teutonic branch’ and therefore the Celt’s physical constitution was not given to ‘industrious’ or hard work; because of this, he argued, Irishmen were too ‘lazy’, ‘immoral’, and ‘shiftless’ to warrant access to American citizenship” (66). To finalize this discussion of the Field family and, by extension, other Irish farmers in the United States, Matt Wray argues that these negative stereotypes regarding the so-called white trash, namely the Irish, was prompted by their livelihood and the fact they were composed of “large families” and that they often lived in “unsanitary and crowded conditions of living, small and incommodious dwellings” but “beneath the surface we find on one hand, loose disjointed living, with attendant lack of intelligence, absence of ambition, dearth of ideals of every sort” (81). This was what Donald Taft was also saying in 1923 about the Portuguese from the Azores, especially the immigrants from the island of São Miguel. This mindset, which Thoreau applied to the Field family, was gaining wider popularity throughout the nineteenth-century and culminating, in a full-blown manner, during the Progressive era. The Portuguese communities in New England, for example, were repulsed by the study, Two Portuguese Communities in New England (1923), written by the criminologist and sociologist of the University of Illinois, Donald R. Taft. The strong reaction by the Portuguese to this study is intriguing for a number of reasons. First, it suggests that the Portuguese in New England were mindful of what the dominant culture was saying or writing about them. And, second, because they had the courage to get together as a group to demonstrate and use the press to express their grievances. Taft’s study supports the exclusionary rhetoric of Progressive politics of the 1920s, which culminated in the immigration acts of 1917–1924 that all but closed America’s doors to Southern Europeans. Moreover, it voices America’s paranoia about the boundaries of whiteness. More spe- cifically, Taft taps from the rhetoric of eugenics, which was deeply ingrained in Anglo-American thought. In addition, Taft’s application of eugenics discourses to the Portuguese supported Progressive politics by formulating an intellectual, scientific basis for this rhetoric of exclusion. Briefly, the first chapter in Taft’s study proposes to analyze the high infant mortality rate of the Portuguese children in the urban community of Fall River, Massachusetts, and in the rural community of Portsmouth, Rhode Island – places where thousands of Portuguese immigrants settled in the nineteenth-century. While the former ethnic enclave included immigrants mostly from the island of São Miguel, the latter was com- posed of immigrants from Faial, who were mostly of Flemish extraction. While offering explanations for the high infant mortality rates in both communities in chapters three and five, Taft evinces a particular bias towards the Fall River community. In his view, the high infant mortality rate there was due to the inability of the Portuguese mothers to communicate in English; their illiteracy and ignorance (chapters three and five); and their darker complexion and alleged African blood (chapters two and seven). In a country such as the United States where the one-drop rule disqualified immediate access to white privileges, allegations of these immigrants as blacks are worth considering in the light of racial discourse in America. Possibly one of the most powerful rhetorical strategies employed by eugenicists in the early twentieth- century was to portray prospective immigrants hailing from Southern European countries as parasitic carriers of tainted germ plasm that threatened the purity of native Americans. It was believed that this contamination would weaken the fitness of Americans of Anglo stock. Like the Irish before them, these Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Art. 13, page 5 of 12 Southern Europeans had to earn their whiteness and the Portuguese were no exception since the image of the “black Portygee” was widely present in a few narratives featuring the Portuguese, an issue I have focused on in Representations of the Portuguese in American Literature. This new wave of immigrants, notes Marouf A. Hasian, Jr., were said to be “permanent parasites on the American body politic, forever tainted by their blood and incapable of having their condition ameliorated” (Hasian 93). Much in the same way Thoreau had underscored the Field family’s imbecility, Taft, a few decades later, views the Fall River Portuguese as superstitious and ignorant. “We may say,” he argues, “that Portuguese children die because of ignorance; Portuguese adults are exploited because of ignorance; their women continue their lives of toil and endless child-bearing because of their ignorance; their children are backward in school through ignorance; and very many of the other tragedies of their lives are the product of ignorance” (339). Although this discussion on Thoreau’s attitudes towards ethnicity and Otherness in Walden is insufficient to build a solid case regarding his patronizing ways towards the Irish, we often wish he had a different view on this issue considering his engagement in the Abolitionist cause, his criticism of capitalism, his positive depiction of Native-Americans in some of his writings, and the liberating effect that emanates from Walden. His views, nonetheless, were those of a man who was racially accommodated to the WASP mainstream, its prejudices, and values – even if he felt the need to criticize it and step aside from it during his Walden Pond phase. As with the Portuguese immigrants later on, most of whom were illiterate, their Catholicism was an additional problem as had also been the case with the Irish in the 1840s and afterwards. True, Thoreau does not refer directly to the religious beliefs of the Irish or even their illiteracy, but these drawbacks are there, nonetheless, which, if not a problem to him, to most nativists these clearly were. His Anglo prejudice towards the Irish was just a cog in the overall machinery of American racism, a discourse that was honed even further during the Eugenics movement at the dawn of the twentieth-century and later on culminating, on a global scale, with the Holocaust during World War II. Thoreau’s Environmental Concerns: Textual and Scholarly Approaches Still practically at the dawn of the twenty-first century, we are baffled by how Thoreau’s environmental concerns remain such an up-to-date issue – especially when most countries around the world have ratified the Paris Treaty on climate change and global warming. In the particular case of Thoreau, contemporary ecocriticism scholars have revisited most of Thoreau’s writings in the past two or three decades to note the contemporaneity of his views regarding environmental issues. His concern with nature became a lifelong obsession which, in the course of time, he explored at length in his writings. Field is a representative of a farmer in rural America who was tilling the land and fertilizing it with manure, an environment that was still essentially clean and unpolluted. The same could be said for Thoreau when “he describes himself at work among his beans,” notes Leo Marx, where “Thoreau is the American husbandman. Like the central figure of the Jeffersonian idyll, his vocation has a moral and spiritual as well as economic significance” (Marx 255–256). In the aftermath of the industrial revolution, the subsequent generations of farmers and writers had to deal with a different reality, issues which Leo Marx has discussed in his classic study, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America. These changes are reflected in the mainstream, canonical literature produced thereafter as well as in some writings crafted by the minorities through con- temporary ethnic writers. Although Thoreau “is today considered the first major interpreter of nature in American literary history, the first American environmentalist saint,” notes Lawrence Buell,” this “position did not come easily to him” (“Thoreau…” 171). In this respect, Thoreau was rather self-taught considering that he, Buell further adds, started adult life from a less advantageous position than we sometimes realize, as a village busi- nessman’s son of classical education rather than a someone versed in nature through systematic botanical study, agriculture, or more than a very ordinary sort of experiential contact with it. Unlike William Bartram, Thoreau had no man of science for a father; unlike Thomas Jefferson, he had no agrarian roots. His first intellectual promptings to study and write about nature were from books, and literary mentors like Ralph Waldo Emerson” (Buell 171). In The Maine Woods (1864), Thoreau’s concern was with forest ecology, namely logging and its dangers for the ecological system. In this piece, Thoreau views nature as a sacred place which is being tampered with and turned into a commodity. After several trips to these woods, Thoreau came to the realization that they were not an inexhaustible resource. The woodcutters or timber-hunters, notes Joseph J. Moldenhauer, “foreshad- ows the logger, a hireling, braggart, and vandal who desecrates the temple of the wilderness and tramples Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 6 of 12 its most delicate growth even as he fells its grandest pines” (132). In The Maine Woods, Thoreau narrates the episode in which his cousin killed a moose just for fun. For him, killing a moose and chopping down trees is like a murder. He deplored the fact that both the wood derived from the fallen trees and the leather from the deer’s hide would be turned into commodities. As a prophet, Thoreau was well ahead of his time for he could anticipate the ecological disasters we have witnessed of late. With some of these Thoreauvian concerns as a backdrop, let us now ascertain how specific groups of immi- grants hailing from agrarian Old World societies dealt with nature, farming, and gardening – the Portuguese in particular. Portuguese American Attitudes towards Environmental Concerns Before delving into contemporary American writings produced by American writers of Portuguese ancestry, a brief historical overview of farming and gardening in the areas of settlement by some immigrants from the Azores or continental Portugal is called for. It may help us understand the world they came from and how they tried to replicate it in the United States. Around 1880, with the arrival of Azoreans from Fayal, in Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts, a small Azorean farming community emerged there with “cottages closely surrounded by well-kept vegetable gar- dens, clustering loosely about a small Catholic church” (Pap 141), hence replicating a familiar rural scene from Portugal. With the rapid industrialization of the Northeast, most Portuguese immigrants crowded in cities and looked for jobs in the cotton mills and other local industries rather than farming even if they often grew a small vegetable garden to supplement their income. But it was in California where the Portuguese really thrived in agriculture and in the dairy industry. Small groups of Azoreans made their way there during the Gold Rush days. With little capital to invest in mining, most of these immigrants applied their ancestral farming skills into intensive farming and fruit orchards around the San Francisco area. They usually started out renting land and gradually buying it. In Sacramento, they excelled at growing vegetables, while in Fresno County they worked at the vineyards, and in the San Joaquin Valley they grew field, feed, and grain crops. In the San Leandro area, these immigrants, while improving their land, they obtained “two or more crops from the same field in the course of the year, e.g. by planting vegetables between rows of bearing trees” (Pap 144). This agricultural mentality reflects their attempt at replicating, in California, agricultural practices from their volcanic islands in the Azores. This mentality is quite well rendered in a passage in The Valley of the Moon (1913), written by Jack London. Antonio Silva, we learn, is a savvy farmer who owns a “town house in San Leandro now. An’ he rides around in a four-thousan’-dollar tourin’-car. An’ just the same his front dooryard grows onions to the sidewalk. He clears three hundred a year on that patch alone” (110). One may argue that Silva is a greedy businessman maximizing whatever piece of land he owns, but one must not overlook the culture and geography that shaped this Azorean immigrant. He simply exemplifies the hard-working farmer who has brought his old mentality to America, as indicated when the lineman shows Silva’s farm to Billy and Saxon: Look at that, though you ought to see it in summer. Not an inch wasted. Where we get one thin crop, they get four fat crops. An’ look at the way they crowd it – currants between the tree rows, beans between the currant rows, a row of beans close on each side the trees, an’ rows of beans along the ends of the tree rows. Why, Silva wouldn’t sell these five acres for five hundred an acre, cash down. (111) This farming technique, however, leaves the land totally exhausted after a few years. These Portuguese farm- ers act much as does, for example, Ishmael Bush in James Fenimore Cooper’s The Prairie, who went West deliberately to skim “the cream from the face of the earth and get the very honey of nature” (311). These farmers are denuding the land for quick returns, a practice Thoreau would certainly have deplored. This typical Azorean way of farming is also referred to in an autobiography written by Josephine B. Korth, Wind Chimes in My Apple Tree (1978). Her parents were Azorean immigrants in California who made a living in agriculture. She worked most of her life as a single or married woman in the fields growing asparagus and other vegetables. Much of what she learned about farming when she was a young girl helping her father in the fields would be useful when she became a married woman. Early into the story, she tells us that “On our ranch the asparagus ferns were growing beautifully. My father had also planted beans between the rows of the asparagus which were planted about five or six feet apart” (53–54). Maximizing the farmland for a profit and securing the family’s sustenance were two priorities for Portuguese immigrants, especially in California. Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Art. 13, page 7 of 12 Doing away with this ancestral farming mentality was not discarded even if it was ridiculed by native-born Americans considering the spaciousness of these Californian farms. Transplanted on American soil, these immigrants brought with them a culture and ways which they could not easily toss away. Doing so meant becoming de-personalized for the produce from their farms repre- sented not just bodily and economic sustenance but an attempt to replicate the landscapes they had grown up with in the old country and this, in turn, allowed for spiritual sustenance and maintaining one’s identity. It was actually the California dairy industry than farming, New England cottage gardening or orchard- growing that brought about the relative wealth of the Portuguese in the United States. They had brought with them to the New World a centuries-old tradition in dairying. By 1915, these Azorean immigrants owned about half of the dairy land in the San Joaquin Valley. The agricultural practices in Hawaii, however, were quite different from those in New England and California due to its climate. The Madeiran and Azorean settlers who had been transported there on ships for over a span of three or four decades (from 1878 to 1913), were engaged in the local sugar cane and pineapple indus- tries. The owners of these plantations gave up traditional agricultural and economic ventures in pastures, cattle-raising, and woodland to clear up more and more acres of land for the mass production of pineapples and sugar for the market. This reality is well-rendered in Armine Von Tempski’s novel, Hawaiian Harvest (1933/1990), where these Portuguese farmers, like others hailing from Asian countries, were conditioned by the mainstream’s “colonial gaze” (86), as epitomized by Homi Bhabha in his study, The Location of Culture. In contemporary Portuguese-American fiction, the garden is a place where one can grow vegetables and flowers; a place for preserving one’s ethnic identity and ancestral rural way of life; or a retreat from the alienating conditions imposed by the factory, commercial fishing, the whaling or dairy industries, and intensive farming – activities in which the first generations of Portuguese (mostly Azorean and Madeiran) immigrants, dating back to the nineteenth-century, excelled in the three traditional areas of settlement in the United States: New England, California, and Hawaii. Mainlanders would follow them throughout the twentieth-century. Since the nation’s inception – that is, with Jeffersonian and Jacksonian agrarianism – the garden and the machine have been at the heart of the American experience, and these realities have galvanized American scholars and writers. Contemporary “ecocriticism” scholars such as Lawrence Buell have called our atten- tion to the dangers of pollution on the American landscape and its physical environment. However, in his attempt to distinguish between “green” and “brown” landscapes – that is, the landscapes of “exurbia and industrialization” (Writing for an Endangered World 7) – this framework is not applicable to Portuguese- American writings. In the Californian landscapes and gardens of Katherine Vaz’s (1955-) fiction, and those from Massachusetts in the fiction and poetry of Frank Gaspar (1946-), Buell’s “toxic discourse” does not find a congenial home. References to the ethnic garden abound in the fiction of Katherine Vaz, especially in Saudade (1994), and in Frank Gaspar’s novel Leaving Pico (1999), as well as his first three volumes of poems, The Holyoke (1988), Mass for the Grace of a Happy Death (1995), and A Field Guide to the Heavens (1999). The gardens in these writings are not polluted with toxic waste or invaded by the ominous sound of civilization as represented by the emblematic whistle of the train in Thoreau’s Walden. My contention is that in Portuguese-American writing, these matters are nowhere to be seen. Instead, the gardens bring to the fore aspects that are quintessentially marked by immigrant experience. Surrounded by the hustle and bustle of public, mainstream life, the gardens often reflect aspects inherent in the pri- vate, intimate side of the Portuguese ethnic experience in the United States. In addition, these gardens are depicted as oases of tranquility, providing cultural and spiritual sustenance. Moreover, they allow for what Leo Marx views as a “retreat into the primitive or rural felicity”, and a “yearning for a simpler, more harmoni- ous style of life, an existence ‘closer to nature”’ (6). In the context of Portuguese-American life in the United States, for those keen on growing a garden, such an activity allowed for a brief respite from a demanding work schedule – in the New England textile mills, in California’s competitive dairy industry, or in the peril- ous whaling industry in Massachusetts – and a momentary return to a simpler way of life, given that most of these immigrants had been farmers or fishermen back in the old country. These are some of the issues that we encounter in the works of mainstream American writers of Portuguese descent. In essence, the garden functions as the liaison with the old country and as an incentive for recollection of a past that can no longer be retrieved: the stories and conversations exchanged with relatives and friends while tilling the fields, or the competition among women as to whose garden has the most variety. While planting kale, turnips, tomatoes, peppers, onions, corn, and flowers, for example, the characters in the fictional gardens of Portuguese-American writings experience what William Conlogue defines as the Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 8 of 12 georgic mode – that is, the “earth worker, farmer” and the pleasure involved in husbandry (as opposed to the pastoral mode), meaning a “retreat into a ‘green world’ to escape the pressures of complex urban life. In a rural or wilderness landscape, the character’s interaction with the natural world restores him, and, ideally, he returns to the city better able to cope with the stresses of civilization” (6–8). Without a doubt, this is an idea borrowed from Emerson, for he, too, had been concerned with the consequences of human toil and the industrial revolution on the “body and mind,” which, in his view, have been “cramped by noxious work or company”, but “nature is medicinal and restores their tone”. He goes on to note that the “tradesman, the attorney comes out of the din and craft of the street and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again” (9–10). For these Portuguese immigrants caught in this industrial, back-breaking and alienating web, retriev- ing their dignity and ancestral culture via the ethnic garden was their way of becoming, in Emerson’s words, a “man again” (10). Writing about the garden, of course, has a long literary tradition in the Western world. While Virgil’s Georgics and Hesiod’s Works and Days are the anchors of gardening literature, Andrew Marvell’s poetic con- tributions, too, cannot be ignored. As we will see in the writings of Katherine Vaz and Frank Gaspar, there is really no need to escape into a rural area or even the wilderness, since the setting in Saudade, for example, is a rural community in California, while Leaving Pico captures Portuguese American life in a fishing com- munity on the tip of Cape Cod. Whatever retreat there actually is, it is instead into the ancestral culture and the old habits and ways of life, and how these can be safeguarded in a new environment. Challenged and often pressured to assimilate a whole new set of values and ways, the very act of gardening has been a means through which Portuguese Americans have asserted their identity and national origin. With these theoretical considerations on the garden, to what extent does the ethnic garden touch upon quintessential aspects of immigrant life in Portuguese American communities in the United States? And how does its representation in the fiction and poetry of Gaspar and Vaz contrast with the gardens in canoni- cal mainstream fiction offered by Wharton, Cable, and London? The most representative poem on the ethnic garden in Gaspar’s The Holyoke (1988), winner of the 1988 Morse Poetry Prize, is “Potatoes.” Unlike his more recent volumes of poetry, The Holyoke focuses on certain aspects of the lives of Portuguese Americans in Provincetown, Massachusetts, a predominantly fishing community. It is an unusual poem because it high- lights the fondness that the Portuguese evince in growing a vegetable or fruit garden in their backyards. This is an aspect that characterizes Portuguese immigrant life in the United States and shows that even in an industrial setting—as is, for example, the Ironbound section of Newark, New Jersey—the Portuguese still plant vegetable and flower gardens today. In their attempt to hold onto an ancestral way of life, they find in these gardens a spiritual connection with the old country. Leaving Pico is a novel about Azorean immigrant life in Provincetown, and how this community reacts to, or resists, American ways. In this novel about Josie’s coming of age, there are numerous references to the Azorean presence on the very tip of Cape Cod: the kale and potato gardens, the social clubs and club bands, the fish served during the two clambakes that take place during the course of the novel, the names on the fishing boats (most of which highlight this community’s strong Catholic beliefs—the Coração de Jesus, the Amor de Deus, and so on), the fado music played at parties and social gatherings, and the rituals associated with their Catholic calendar throughout the year, namely the sodalities, the festivals with their street proces- sions, the Blessing of the Fleet, and so on. As Clemente has noted, “Gaspar structures his narrative around two clambakes”, and most of the food con- sumed during both events comes either from the sea or the ethnic garden (Clemente 41). But what is actu- ally grown in these gardens? In the episode in which the firemen and neighbors are trying to extinguish the fire in Madeleine Sylvia’s house, the narrator tells us that “Maybe everything was over in minutes. I couldn’t tell. But both yards were a mess. Our little garden had been trampled, and kale and turnips lay crushed on the wet ground” (176). With the intent of saving money on food, such a habit also highlights their rural back- ground and way of life in the old country, and how these cannot be easily erased in their country of adop- tion. In addition to these vegetables, for the last clambake, which is organized to mourn Josie’s grandfather, the narrator notes that “Ernestina had already left us with a bushel of sweet corn from her garden” (206). Writing about the ethnic garden is a theme we find in Saudade (1994), a novel in which Katherine Vaz captures the clash between the old and new worlds in a number of ways. Saudade is centered on Clara, a deaf-mute girl from the Azorean island Terceira, who inherits the property of her immigrant uncle Victor who lived in California. Through scheming, Father Teo Eiras convinces Clara’s mother, on her deathbed, to sign the deed of the land over to the church. Eventually, he becomes Clara’s legal guardian, and both sail away to Lodi, California. Through time, Clara unsuccessfully uses her sex appeal to retrieve her land. As Father Teo Eiras gradually fades out of her life, Clara befriends Doctor Helio Soares. It is during this episode Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Art. 13, page 9 of 12 that they both build what, by American standards, looks like an unusual garden. To repay his love, attention, and companionship, Clara, we learn, begins to carry cuttings of rosemary and seeds for blackeyed Susans to his house to start a roof garden – a legacy from being born in a small country where people planted their roofs to own more land and as a sign of the melancholy trust that one day a siege must come. Helio bought flats of basil, thyme, and petunias for her projects, and they hauled sacks of dirt up the ladder to strew on his house. Greens, yellows, and pastels soon became visible on the red roof, and from a distance Clara could see her mark like a quilt she had tossed outward from her bed. Most afternoons, when Helio returned from his patients, she was already at work, waving to invite him to ascend into the garden. A sunflower leaned against the chimney and herbs were drying on old honeycomb frames. The sun baked the hose when Clara stretched it up to the roof, and the water came out warm enough for tea. She filled a jar with water and crumbled in dried mint. Once while drinking her tea, the heat made them unwind backward, side by side, to take in the light. (206–07) As I have noted earlier, the Azoreans’ farming techniques referred to in this quote are the object of ridicule in Jack London’s The Valley of the Moon. Before London, however, Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad (which contains an account of Otherness as the Quaker City sails toward the Azores, Europe, and the Holy Land) focused on the agricultural techniques of the Azoreans on the island of Fayal (Faial), especially in chapters five and six. This mentality is also present in Vaz’s Saudade in the sense that the novel, apart from evincing other interests, aims at capturing the ways and mentality of Portuguese characters transplanted to American soil. Apart from the strangeness in this rooftop garden, the agricultural mentality under consideration substantiates the ancestral habit of maximizing whatever land was available, regardless of whether these fictional immigrants were now living in spacious California. As islanders, this behavior explains in part why coming from a place where land was a precious commodity and its availability for cultivation limited meant that for them no piece of land, however small, should be left bare. Back in the volcanic islands of the Azores, notes Onésimo Almeida, the plots of land were usually very small and not one single inch was left uncultivated. Land was vital for their survival and there was simply little or no room for aesthetic pur- poses such as having a flower garden. Whatever flowers grew, these were often planted on the corners of their properties, unsuitable locales for vegetables to grow (89). In addition, Vaz’s rooftop garden stresses the vulnerability of the Azoreans who, from an historical point of view, experienced various sieges during times of political turmoil. In the case of ethnic fiction – and in particular, that of Clara, as in most real Portuguese immigrants – growing a garden in one’s backyard is emblematic of the ethnic experience in America. It allows for spiritual fulfillment – the work that their souls must have – and is a means of connecting with the old country. Momentarily, at least, these gardeners may daydream about the simpler way of life they left behind, since alienation and drudgery in their workplaces are a daily reality. Whereas for Vaz’s father and grandfather, gardening was a pastime and supposedly a marker of identity brought from the Azores, in other Portuguese-American communities, gardening provided food in times of need. Such was the case in Gloucester, Massachusetts, a small fishing town where the Portuguese had settled—“Portagee Hill,” as the streets located on the upper part of this fishing town are often known. In an eyewitness account of life in this fishing community, Arthur K. Rose notes that despite the families’ eco- nomic difficulties, they would often “get together and go on picnics over to Braces Cove, a barren strip of beach on the Back Shore” (2). Instead of buying their provisions at the local grocery stores, they “would pack baskets and even washtubs full of food, mostly from their gardens, and beer and homemade wine” (2). While the sea provided them with fish and their gardens with vegetables, these fishermen and their wives were extremely self-reliant. Without a doubt, these traits had been acquired in the Azores where people, before emigrating, had fared no better. Although during the Depression, they (like everyone else across the nation) had faced hard times, they had arrived in America, so to speak, well-equipped to face such hardships. “Most of the people,” Rose notes, grew their own food in the backyard. What one didn’t have, the other did. Corn, potatoes, kale, car- rots; you name it, they grew it. They raised chickens for the eggs as well as for food, and sometimes families would get together and buy a pig. That was an all day event in itself; when it came time to get the pig, the families would go to the farm and have the pig slaughtered. (4) Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 10 of 12 Evidence of immigrant communities attempting to preserve some of their rurality within a cityscape can also be found in the novel by Canadian writer, Hugh Garner, Cabbagetown (1968), set in the Toronto neigh- borhood known as Cabbage Town. It is a story of the impoverished lives intertwining in Depression-era Toronto, a place of great sadness and resignation. Both in Gloucester and Toronto, the ethnic garden was a response to the availability of green spaces in immigrant neighborhoods in America or Canada. In New Eng- land and the Middle Atlantic states most houses have a backyard. Rose also points out that harvest time and the “fall months” were an “especially fond time” for him. “That’s when [his] family would put up their fruits and vegetables in preserving jars for the coming winter” (4). Moreover, it “was a lot of work to put the food up in jars, but when it was all over they felt a sense of pride and they knew they had enough to eat for the long New England winter that was facing them” (5). Possessing these survival skills was a plus in such harsh New England conditions. But such expertise, so to speak, had already been acquired in similar, if not worse, economic conditions in the old country during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The ethnic garden in Portuguese-American writing instead mirrors the idiosyncrasies of this particular ethnic background. Ranging from the Catholic fervor to the ancestral rural origins of most Portuguese Americans, in the fiction and poetry of Vaz and Gaspar, the theme of the garden in a way allows for an ethnic rewriting of the fables in which the busy ant or bee is constantly providing for the long and harsh winters. In Portuguese-American literature, the so-called pioneer generations in these writings—that is, the first- and second-generation fictional immigrants—are portrayed as obsessed with creating the conditions for a better life in a new country even if they, like the ants and bees, have to toil night and day. And, clearly, during the phase of rapid industrialization and intensive farming in the nineteenth- and twentieth- centuries, Thoreau’s and Emerson’s views on nature and spirituality were overlooked as most of America’s landscape became a toxic wasteland. Thoreau, as we have seen, has called for a profound appreciation and respect towards nature. Worth mentioning, nonetheless, is the movement to protect America’s forests from the onslaught of industrialization in the latter part of the nineteenth-century. At the time, national reserves and parks were created so as to counteract the toxic wasteland. A case in point was Frederick Law Olmsted’s militancy on behalf of the idea that all American cities should have green areas. His essay “Public Parks and the Enlargement of Towns” (1870) is an important contribution to that. Apart from our current interest in environmentalism, ecocriticism, and a greater respect for nature, nature is no longer perceived as a locale for Emersonian pantheists. Whatever spirituality Emerson had noted in nature, it is quite evident that these Portuguese immigrants (and others from rural societies as was the case with the Italians) had grasped and updated it when working in their vegetable gardens. Once here, they became human – an Emersonian man – once again, temporarily free from the alienation imposed by the factory or the fisheries while recon- necting with their ancestral culture, living momentarily as spiritually fulfilled beings. A contemporary of Emerson, Thoreau’s writings on nature are like the sounds of a friendly, cautionary foghorn resounding into the future, warning future generations about the toxicity of the industrial revolution and its consequences on nature and human beings. Competing Interests The author has no competing interests to declare. Author Information Reinaldo Silva was educated in both the United States (Ph.D., New York University, in 1998; M.A., Rutgers University, in 1989) and Portugal (Licenciatura, University of Coimbra, in 1985) and holds dual citizenship. He has lectured at several American universities and is currently a Professor of English at the University of Aveiro. His teaching and research interests include nineteenth- and twentieth- century American literature and contemporary emergent literatures, with a special focus on Portuguese American writers. At this point, he has published about seventy essays, sixty of which in international peer-reviewed journals, encyclopaedia entries, chapters in books, and has also authored two books: Representations of the Portuguese in American Literature, published by the University of Massachusetts in 2008, and Portuguese American Literature, in the United Kingdom, by Humanities-Ebooks, in 2009. He co-authored Neither Here Nor There, Yet Both: Portugal and North America In-Between Writings, in 2016, and has also collaborated in the translation of Adelaide Freitas’ novel, Sorriso por dentro da noite (Smiling in the Darkness) into English, which is scheduled for pub- lication in October of 2019, in the USA, by Tagus Press. His forthcoming book is tentatively titled, Hybridity in Portuguese American Literature. Reinaldo Silva completou a sua formação académica nos Estados Unidos da América (Ph.D., New York University, em 1998; M.A., Rutgers University, em 1989) e em Portugal (Licenciatura, Universidade de Coimbra, Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Art. 13, page 11 of 12 em 1985) e tem dupla nacionalidade. Lecionou em várias universidades norte-americanas e presentemente exerce as funções de Professor em Estudos Ingleses na Universidade de Aveiro. É docente e investigador no âmbito dos estudos literários e culturais afetos aos séculos XIX, XX, e XXI, nomeadamente a literatura e cultura norte-americanas assim como a literatura luso-americana contemporânea em língua inglesa. Até ao momento, já publicou cerca de setenta ensaios de crítica literária, sessenta dos quais em revistas académi- cas internacionais com peer review, verbetes em enciclopédias de literatura, capítulos em vários livros e é autor de dois livros: Representations of the Portuguese in American Literature, publicado pela University of Massachusetts em 2008 e Portuguese American Literature, no Reino Unido, pela editora Humanities-Ebooks, em 2009. É co-autor do livro, Nem Cá Nem Lá: Portugal e América do Norte Entre Escritas, publicado em 2016, e também colaborou na tradução e revisão da tradução do romance de Adelaide Freitas, Sorriso por dentro da noite (Smiling in the Darkness) para língua inglesa, presentemente a aguardar publicação em Outubro de 2019 nos EUA pela Tagus Press. O título do seu novo livro, Hybridity in Portuguese American Literature, no momento aguarda publicação. References Almeida, Onésimo Teotónio. “O jardim como extensão da casa-do-estar: Uma amostra luso-americana.” O Peso do Hífen: Ensaios sobre a experiência luso-americana. Imprensa de Ciências Sociais, 2010, pp. 89–96. Bhabha, Homi K. The Location of Culture. Routledge, 1994. Buell, Lawrence. “Thoreau and the Natural Environment.” The Cambridge Companion To Henry David Thoreau. Editor Joel Myerson. Cambridge UP, 1995, pp. 171–193. Buell, Lawrence. Writing for an Endangered World: Literature, Culture, and Environment in the U.S. and Beyond. Harvard UP, 2001. Clemente, Alice R. “Of Love and Remembrance: The Poetry and Prose of Frank X. Gaspar.” Gávea-Brown: A Bilingual Journal of Portuguese-American Letters and Studies No. 21, 2000, pp. 25–43. DOI: https://doi. org/10.1145/330534.330552 Conlogue, William. Working the Garden: American Writers and the Industrialization of Agriculture. U of North Carolina P, 2001. Cooper, James Fenimore. The Prairie. Editor Henry Nash Smith. Rinehart, 1949. Edwards, Justin D. “‘It is the race instinct!’: Evolution, Eugenics, and Racial Ambiguity in William Dean Howells’s Fiction.” Evolution and Eugenics in America Literature and Culture, 1880–1940. Ed. Lois A. Cuddy and Claire M. Roche. Bucknell UP, 2003, pp. 59–72. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. Nature in Selected Writings of Emerson. Ed. Donald McQuade. The Modern Library, 1981, pp. 1–42. Engle, Anna. “Depictions of the Irish in Frank Webb’s The Garies and Their Friends and Frances E. W. 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The Maine Woods in The Writings of Henry D. Thoreau. Ed. Joseph J. Moldenhauer. Princeton UP, 1972. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden and Civil Disobedience. Ed. Sherman Paul. Houghton Mifflin, 1960. Twain, Mark. The Innocents Abroad and Roughing It. Library of America, 1984. “United States of America.” The New Encyclopaedia Britannica—Macropaedia. Vol. 29. 15th Ed. Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc., 1988, pp. 153–476. Vaz, Katherine. Saudade. St. Martin’s, 1994. Wray, Matt. Not Quite White: White Trash and the Boundaries of Whiteness. Duke UP, 2006. DOI: https://doi. org/10.1215/9780822388593 Zinn, Howard. A People’s History of the United States. Harper & Row, 1980. How to cite this article: Silva, Reinaldo Francisco. “Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: Immigration, Ecocriticism, and Otherness”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 13, 2020, pp. 1–12. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.7 Submitted: 26 September 2019 Accepted: 26 September 2019 Published: 29 January 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Anglo Saxonica is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. OPEN ACCESS https://doi.org/10.1215/9780822388593 https://doi.org/10.1215/9780822388593 https://doi.org/10.5334/as.7 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ From Patronizing Otherness to a Rhetoric of Eugenics Thoreau’s Environmental Concerns: Textual and Scholarly Approaches Portuguese American Attitudes towards Environmental Concerns Competing Interests Author Information References
work_gu5vkbhufbdr7ewk4fzpzjlzji ---- J. CURRICULUM STUDIES, 2009, VOL. 41, NO. 6, 789–811 Journal of Curriculum Studies ISSN 0022–0272 print/ISSN 1366–5839 online ©2009 Taylor & Francis http://www.informaworld.com DOI: 10.1080/00220270802627573 Complementary curriculum: the work of ecologically minded teachers CHRISTY M. MOROYE Taylor and FrancisTCUS_A_362925.sgm10.1080/00220270802627573Journal of Curriculum Studies0022-0272 (print)/1366-5839 (online)Original Article2008Taylor & Francis0000000002008ChristineMoroyechristine-moroye@uiowa.eduMyriad international efforts exist to infuse and reform schools with ecological perspectives, but in the US those efforts remain largely on the fringes of schooling. The purpose of this study is to offer a perspective on this issue from inside schools. If one looks to the future success of environmental education, one must consider the work of teachers. To that end, this qualitative study explores the intentions and practices of three ecologically-minded teachers in traditional public high schools in the US. The research methodology used was eco-educational criticism, an arts-based inquiry method with an ecological lens. The teach- ers were interviewed about their intentions for their students, and then observed to see how those intentions were manifested in the classroom. A follow-up interview then synthesized the connection between their ecological beliefs and their general intentions for students. Keywords: curriculum research; environmental education; teacher beliefs; teacher education Introduction Public interest in global environmental issues has surged. From newspaper cover stories to political causes to sitcom story-lines, ‘green’ perspectives and conversations are becoming more commonplace. Both formal and non- formal education has, since the 1970s, been asked to respond to this growing concern (International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources/UNESCO 1970, United Nations Conference on Environment and Development 1992), and, to that end, researchers, practitioners, govern- ment agencies, and communities have worked to implement environmental and ecological education models. However, these initiatives remain largely on the fringes of schooling, particularly in the US. The purpose of this study is not to elaborate on why environmental education remains on the ‘outside’, but rather to offer another perspective—from inside the schools themselves. That perspective comes from ecologically-minded teachers who work in traditional US public schools and who teach ‘non-environmental’ curricula,1 that is, teachers who are not explicitly engaged in teaching about the envi- ronment or in environmental education programmes. Christy M. Moroye is an assistant professor in curriculum and supervision in the Department of Teaching and Learning, University of Iowa, N280 Lindquist Center, Iowa City, IA 52241, USA; e-mail: christine-moroye@uiowa.edu. Her dissertation ‘Greening our future: The prac- tices of ecologically minded teachers’, completed at the University of Denver, received the 2008 Outstanding Dissertation of the Year Award from Division B, American Educational Research Association. Her research interests include ecological and aesthetic approaches to education. 790 C. M. MOROYE Environmental education is a collective, broad term encompassing many facets of earth-inclusive education. ‘Traditional’ environmental education has roots in nature study, conservation education, and outdoor education, and is often found in supplementary programmes and activities that occur in addition to the ‘regular’ curriculum (Heimlich 2002). A more recent move- ment has emerged toward ‘ecological education’ (see Orr 1992, Jardine 2000), which Smith and Williams (1999: 3) define as ‘an emphasis on the inescapable embeddedness of human beings in natural systems’. Other models include place-based education (Sobel 2004, Noddings 2005, Smith 2007), eco-justice education (Bowers 2001, Martusewicz 2005), education for sustainability (Sterling 2001), and education for sustainable develop- ment (Jickling and Wals 2007), to name a few. Jickling and Wals (2007) point out that this last model, education for sustainable development, while somewhat contested, ‘has become widely seen as a new and improved version of environmental education, most visibly at the national policy level of many countries’ (p. 4), although such policies remain absent in the US. While myriad models exist, Gruenewald and Manteaw (2007: 173) note that environmental education continues to be ‘marginalized, misunderstood as mainly about science, and in many places totally neglected’. There may be many reasons for environmental education’s neglect or ‘failure’ (Blumstein and Saylan 2007), but certainly, if we look to the future success of environmental education in any of the above models, we must consider the work of teachers. To that end, many researchers have investi- gated a variety of aspects of the roles of teachers in environmental education. Cutter-Mackenzie and Smith (2001) looked at teachers’ environmental knowledge or ‘eco-literacy’, and their related beliefs about the importance of attitudes toward, rather than knowledge about, the environment. Robertson and Krugly-Smolska (1997) report on three sources of the ‘gap’ between environmental education theory and practice: (1) ‘the practical’, in terms of variables such as time, materials, and schedules, (2) ‘the conceptual’, refer- ring to ‘conflicting ideas and resources that (make it difficult) for teachers to understand what the task of environmental education really is’; and (3) ‘teacher responsibility’, referring to the idea that ‘teachers are not completely certain that they are permitted to do many of the things that are necessary to accomplish the lofty social and political goals of environmental education’ (p. 316). Other studies (Dillon and Gayford 1997, Cotton 2006a, b) discuss teachers’ beliefs and actions related to controversial environmental issues in the curricula. These and other studies illustrate that environmental educa- tion is no easy task for teachers. While other studies, such as the ones described above, have focused on teachers in sanctioned environmental education settings, I focus on teachers in traditional US public schools who happen to be ecologically-minded, but whose curricular responsibilities do not necessarily include environmental topics. I selected teachers in social studies and English/language arts for two reasons. First, social studies and language arts are largely unexplored environmental education territory (Heimlich 2002). Secondly, while envi- ronmental science and technology may play an important role in mediating the environmental crises we face, many suggest that cultural values play at least an equal part (see, e.g. Bowers 1993, Blumstein and Saylan 2007, COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 791 Gruenewald and Manteaw 2007). Subject areas like English/language arts and social studies, which contribute to transmitting and transforming cultural values, may have an important role in environmental and ecological education reform.2 By studying the intentions and actions of ecologically-minded teachers in public schools, I was able to discern themes that emerged naturally as a result of teachers’ strongly held beliefs. One such theme is a new term I argue for as an addition to the curricular lexicon, the complementary curricu- lum. This is not an attempt to redefine curriculum—it already has many defi- nitions (see Connelly et al. 2008); instead, it is an attempt to call attention to a particular type of curriculum and, by so doing, offer the potential for expanding ecological perspectives in schools. I start, therefore, with the broad definition of curriculum offered by He et al. (2008: 223): Curriculum for us is a dynamic interplay between experiences of students, teachers, parents, administrators, policy-makers, and other stakeholders; content knowledge and pedagogical premises and practices; and cultural, linguistic, sociopolitical, and geographical contexts. Within this definition the complementary curriculum is situated in the kinds of experiences teachers provide for students, as well as in the ‘pedagogical premises and practices’ that result from the teachers’ beliefs. In his discussion of the ‘curriculum shadow’, Uhrmacher (1997) argues for the use of a variety of terms to specify different curricula. He distinguishes, for example, the shadow curriculum and the null and hidden curricula. The shadow curriculum identifies a ‘disdained’ or neglected curriculum that could in fact improve the pedagogy at hand (Uhrmacher 1997). As an example Uhrmacher points to a social studies teacher who, in the name of order and efficiency, lectured on the US Constitution rather than encouraging discus- sion, which could be considered a more democratic means of learning. The null curriculum (Flinders et al. 1986, Eisner 2002) describes what is missing. It includes intellectual processes and subject matter (Eisner 2002), as well as affect (Flinders et al. 1986). The null curriculum might include singular topics or perspectives as well as entire fields of study.3 The hidden curriculum identifies the norms of schooling. Thus, Jackson (1968) distin- guishes the official curriculum from the associated skills required to master it, skills such as putting forth effort, completing homework, and under- standing and operating within institutional norms. Together these and other ‘unofficial’ aspects of what is taught in schools constitute the hidden curriculum. Of the three terms discussed here, the complementary curriculum is most closely associated with the hidden curriculum. However, there are at least two key differences between the two. First, the hidden curriculum has its origins in something more ominous, or at the very least more negative; that is, in Jackson’s original definition, it referred to the processes of schooling that were not explicitly taught but were required for success. In contrast, the complementary curriculum is an addition that may enhance or hinder the school experience, and students are not required to master any related skills. The second difference between the hidden and the complementary curricu- lum is the source. The hidden curriculum emerges from a variety of places, 792 C. M. MOROYE such as the school structure, the bell schedule, furniture, administrative decisions, textbooks, paint colours, etc. The complementary curriculum has one source: the teacher. These (and other) terms, Uhrmacher (1997) argues, help curricularists make distinctions that may otherwise go unnoticed. This is, I believe, the case with complementary curriculum, which I describe as the embedded and often unconscious expression of a teacher’s beliefs. In the study described here, focused upon ecological beliefs, it may include the teacher’s use of examples, personal stories, vocabulary, and pedagogical practices that relate to or emerge from ecological ideas, even though the curriculum does not necessarily include information about an earth-based idea like watershed or ecosystem health. Adding this term to our curricular lexicon, I argue, brings to light pathways to understanding and improving curriculum and instruc- tion, particularly from an ecological standpoint. Method of inquiry The study was designed to respond to two questions: ● What are the intentions of ecologically minded teachers? and ● How are those intentions realized (or not realized) in a teacher’s practice? In order to describe and interpret the potentially subtle manifestations of the participants’ beliefs and intentions, I used the methods of educational connoisseurship and criticism (Flinders 1996, Eisner 1998, 2002, see also Barone 2000, Uhrmacher and Matthews 2005).4 This study has a particular focus on ecological themes, and, while educational criticism is a broad term defining the research methodology, eco-educational criticism is the term I use to specify the particular ecological lens through which I filtered my observations and interpretations. By ‘ecological’ I mean situations, ideas, and issues that address the inescap- able embeddedness between and among humans and the natural environ- ment including but not limited to issues of relationship (Smith and Williams 1999), care (Noddings 2005), decision-making (Heimlich 2002), and sustainability and global equity (Smith and Williams 1999). I was specifically seeking to understand how ecological concepts and themes emerged in non-ecological5 contexts. In this paper I provide educational criticisms in the form of vignettes with the intention to bring to light the manifestations of teachers’ ecological beliefs in the classroom. In a previous study (Moroye 2005) I also used eco- educational criticism to describe teachers who did not necessarily hold to ecological beliefs, but whose practices could be described by ecological themes. In future studies this method could be used to draw forth additional ecological themes, as well as to analyse a variety of educational contexts and models for their ecological implications. Two large US public high schools, Seneca Lake High School6 (SLHS) and Highline High School (HHS),7 served as the sites for my research. The three participants discussed here are US public high school teachers; two of COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 793 the three teach English, and one teaches social studies. I first conducted an individual formal interview using a protocol in which the questions referred to the teachers’ intentions, their ecological beliefs, and their educational practice in general. Next, I observed each teacher for 3–6 weeks. I concluded with a follow-up interview, which often synthesized the connec- tion between the teachers’ ecological beliefs and their practices. Working with one teacher at a time afforded me the opportunity to immerse myself in their work and to better understand the architecture of their practice. I then wrote accounts of each teacher that included the four aspects of an educational criticism: description, interpretation, evaluation, and thematics (Eisner 2002). Portions of those criticisms are included here in the form of vignettes. Findings As stated above, two questions guided this study: What are the intentions of ecologically minded teachers? How are those intentions realized in a teachers practice? As Eisner (1988) points out, the intentional dimension of school- ing is important because intentions ‘influence the kind of opportunities students will have to develop their minds… and intentions tell the young what adults think is important for them to learn; they convey our values’ (p. 25). While Eisner was speaking about the school’s intentions, the idea works for teachers as well. Intentions guide, among other things, curricular choices, emphases, and omissions. Here I look at the intentions of individu- als with common values that were not directly related to schooling and I explore how, if at all, their practice was affected by these values. It is impor- tant to note that I asked teachers about their ecological beliefs, as well as their intentions for their students. I was seeking to understand the teachers’ ways of connecting the two. To that end, I interviewed each participant both prior to and after conducting classroom observations. One purpose of the interview was to understand the teachers’ intentions for their students and whether or not they thought their ecological beliefs were linked to those intentions. Mr Rye, the first participant, explained the connection in this way: I can’t walk in and give daily lessons on drilling in the [Arctic National Wild- life] Refuge, and I can’t walk in and talk on a daily basis about treatment of animals or of the natural world. But I can talk about [students’] treatment of other human beings, their view of their own lives, and the values and principles upon which they base their own lives. As Mr Rye points out, his ecological beliefs are somewhat at odds with his teaching. As an English teacher he is not charged with the role of teaching environmental education. However, including ecological ideas in the class- room is important to him, so he chooses to infuse his practice with a broader principle that, for him, is connected to an ecological ethic. That principle is integrity: I think that, at the core of environmental issues is personal integrity, [which guides whether] we exploit something or choose not to exploit something. And 794 C. M. MOROYE what I want to do with my students on a daily basis is to have them examine and, hopefully, develop their integrity. Mr Rye also alludes to his own sense of integrity and that he tries to live his personal and professional lives in such a way that they are in alignment with his beliefs. He does so, however, with awareness that he does not want to alienate his students. ‘I try not to project myself as an environmentalist as much as just a human being who loves nature and who considers [the environment in making decisions].’ Furthermore, he wants his students to live ‘authentic’ lives: ‘My deep concern is about the type of lives these guys are going to live, and are they going to live lives that are individual and inter- esting and somehow sacred, or… lives that are frighteningly generic?’ Mr Rye appears sensitive to either the real or perceived limits imposed upon him by the formal curriculum, as well as by the potential negative reac- tions of his students. Therefore, he discusses his intentions for his students in broad terms with ‘integrity’ and ‘authenticity’ at the heart of his goals for them. So how do these ideals play out in practice? Consider the following vignette and notice how his beliefs are woven into the lesson: ‘I want this project to rock!’ Mr Rye shouts in a pep talk to his senior [i.e. Year 12] English class. He is preparing them to write their autobiographies as their final senior paper. This class is considered ‘remedial’ for students performing below grade level, and many in the class are staffed in special education. ‘You need AT LEAST four sheets of paper. Not very environmental, I know.’ Mr Rye roars at his students, ‘HOORAY! You don’t have to write essays!’ A student asks if they will have assignments that tell them what to write about. ‘You are prophetic! We’re gonna break it down—b-b-b break it down!’ Mr Rye and the class erupt in laughter at his failed attempt at rap music. Mr Rye then begins to explain the first writing assignment. ‘FOOD in 2005 is fascinating! Why am I asking you to write about food? This isn’t health class. But studies show that food is the single most determining factor about how long you will live and the quality of your life.’ Mr Rye explains that writing about food is really writing about their lives. He talks about the history of humankind and how it is easy to predict what people would eat based upon where they lived. ‘What would people in Colorado eat? Buffalo, corn, wheat, potatoes, carrots. They didn’t go to Whole Foods to pick up sushi. If you weren’t able to import everything you wanted, you lived with what the land gave you. ‘In our era it is unparallelled! You can choose to be a vegan and still have vari- ety. You can choose to be a vegetarian. In this day and age it is fascinating to explore individuality because you have so much choice! You can go to a 7–11 [i.e. a convenience store] and get lunch. Now you can even get stuffed sausages—kinda scary! It’s a crazy world. In 10 minutes from SLHS you can get Thai and Chinese.’ He continues noting that within minutes of their school students can taste the world. Mr Rye gives students 8 minutes to write about food as he buzzes about from student to student helping them brainstorm and encouraging their writing. ‘Have some fun. Be spontaneous! Believe it or not, the power of life is in the details. If you want to stay on the surface with this project, I can’t stop you. But this is your life and it’s so much more interesting than that!’ Mr Rye cheers as he hands out skinny slips of blue paper that say the following: COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 795 Life Signifiers: Uncovering the Reality of You You and… 1. Food—what you eat and why where you eat; what you cook yourself; what your parents cook for you; guilty pleasures—stuff you eat but know you should not eat; what you will not eat and why; your typical day:… your food philosophy: what food means to you. A student asks, ‘Can I just list my allergies?’ ‘Yes! What a great feature!’ he says again. Mr Rye puts a few strong student examples up on the overhead and discusses how interesting they are. One example deals with a student’s Jewish religion and culture and their implica- tions on the food she eats. As each student shares his or her responses, Mr Rye calls each by name, affirms his or her answer, and finds humour in almost every statement. Remember that Mr Rye has two overarching intentions for his students: integrity and authenticity. These intentions come to life in several ways. The writing prompt itself values self-awareness, which for Mr Rye is connected to integrity and authenticity. So in that regard, his intentions are manifested in the explicit or stated curriculum. However, we may also see a more complex force, Mr Rye’s beliefs, permeating the lesson. First, the written handout details the first of several writing prompts for the students’ autobiographies. The handout is a thin slip of paper that signifies reduced paper consumption. Secondly, Mr Rye remarks on the number of sheets of paper (four) students will need saying, ‘Not very environmental, I know’. Thirdly, Mr Rye’s elaboration on the history of food indicates his own understanding of the relationship between food and human existence, which did not always include a quick stop at a convenience store for a hot dog. Separately, these three examples may not mean much. However, taken together they form a subtle curriculum. That subtle curriculum is the mani- festation of Mr Rye’s ecological beliefs. Throughout my observations of all participants, I noticed that their beliefs often emerged in understated ways, such as in the examples they used, personal stories about their lives, certain emphases, and even in their common vocabulary. While they were often not explicitly ‘teaching’ an ecological concept or idea, they were simply showing that their ecological beliefs are just below the surface, that they are part of who they are and how they teach. Because their beliefs are not separate from their practice, are not compartmentalized into a different section of their lives, are integral to who they are in the classroom, I refer to this type of subtle curriculum as the complementary curriculum. A second and related vignette further illustrates the complementary curriculum in Mr Rye’s practice. His ecological beliefs again emerge in his explanation of the written curriculum. In particular, Mr Rye asks students to consider the history of humans’ need for drinking liquids, and he takes them through a brief story contrasting the use of local resources to the present-day beverage industry. Another teacher could simply ask students to think about their favourite beverages; Mr Rye offers a more ecological perspective in which he urges students to think about what humans really need, not just what they desire. 796 C. M. MOROYE After the students list their favourite foods and other food quirks, Mr Rye launches into the next topic—beverages. The next writing prompt he distrib- utes, which is again on a small slip of blue paper, prompts students to explore the drinks they consume. ‘What was “drink” for the history of humankind? WATER! Wine if you were lucky enough to live near grapes. Milk if you were lucky enough to have a will- ing cow. But check out a 7–11 [convenience store]! What drink options do you have? Five varieties of Slurpees, Gatorade—like 20 varieties, Powerade, Energy drinks—at least 10 of those, bottled water, sparkling water—what is that? How do they make it sparkle? Iced tea, soda—which doesn’t quench your thirst—juice, and so on! And how do they get things to taste like that? This is the only culture in which we drink more liquids other than water, and we pay more money for bottled water even though [tap water in the US] is cleaner than water in almost any other country—even in toilets it’s cleaner! Now we have flavoured water—no—it’s INFUSED, not just flavoured! ‘I want you to see how completely foreign this is to humankind—drink has never been a factor of individuality before. Maybe you choose different drink for different reasons—your concern for your health, your concern for the envi- ronment. That is what makes you interesting!’ As class time draws to a close, Mr Rye prepares them for the next day by discussing 12 signifiers of individuality. ‘This is how we measure and show and understand individuality. The next signifier is clothing—you’ll find this inter- esting at SLHS. We see clothes and they say something. For example, look at girls with tie dyes. Does she love the earth? Does she love animals? Did she have a paint explosion? Your clothing is a great measure of who you are, at least in this country. Did you know that the average world citizen owns FIVE items of clothing—TODAY! So tomorrow we will talk about your clothing and you. In the previous two vignettes, we might apply several different curricular terms, each revealing something different about this teacher’s practice. We could analyse the formal or written curriculum, which is exhibited in Mr Rye’s writing activity, and determine if such an activity were useful to his students and perhaps to others. We could also comment on the null curric- ula, what is missing, and note that perhaps Mr Rye did not place enough emphasis on editing or grammar. Selecting from a variety of terms provides us with a starting point for analysis and potential improvement. Additional terms such as complementary curriculum may provide additional and useful points of analysis. In the second scenario, the complementary curriculum is expressed in Mr Rye’s explanation of the assignment. He emphasizes to students that beverages have not always come from refrigerated coolers at convenience stores. He draws the connection between what the land could provide and what humans could consume. He notes for students that not only are they able to get drinks from around the world regardless of local agricultural limits, but also that the beverages now available have an air of absurdity about them. In a sense, he points out how far away from ‘natural’ the bever- age industry has strayed. However, Mr Rye doesn’t simply point out the state of this industry; he connects it to student choice. He is helping them to see that they do have choices that express their individuality, and that those COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 797 choices say something about how they live in the world. He does not condemn them for drinking ‘infused’ water, but points to a perspective they may want to consider, and that perspective requires that they consider the origins of the products they consume. This consideration is a new paradigm for many students (and adults) comfortable with their present consumption patterns. Then at the close of class, Mr Rye tells them that the average world citizen owns only five pieces of clothing. He again includes a broad global perspective, albeit brief, that students may consider as they write their own autobiographies. Is the complementary ecological curriculum here valuable? From an ecological perspective, we might wonder if Mr Rye’s comments in the first vignette about the use of paper will have any meaning to students. Does merely mentioning the environmental insensitivity of using too much paper result in environmental stewardship in his students? Probably not. Perhaps Mr Rye’s comments merely show his students that environmental ideas are on his mind, and that may lead them to ask him questions about the envi- ronment later. Mr Rye notes that while his students don’t often bring this up, he is ‘deeply gratified by the fact that it does occur’. However, perhaps his discussion of food and drink provides his students with a different perspective, one which allows them a window into a kind of ecological think- ing, one that considers the origins of the products we consume. Considering consumption patterns is a key cultural component to addressing the ecolog- ical crisis, so in this regard, the complementary curriculum supplements the formal curriculum with a much needed focus on connections between consumption and production. However, some environmental education scholars might question whether Mr Rye’s attention to individuality is actually counterproductive to certain ecological ideas (see Bowers 1993). A more ecological perspective might focus more on the balance of individual and community needs (see Bowers 2003). This critique points to a difficult issue when discussing complementary curriculum; it may lead to an evaluation of teachers’ person- ally held beliefs. This difficulty is compounded by Mr Rye’s sensitivity to his students. He says, ‘I’m aware… as a teacher not to alienate some of my kids because if they see me “an environmentalist” will they tune out [other lessons]?’ Mr Rye therefore chooses to focus on self-awareness and personal integrity instead of other potential ecological ideas. These two areas of focus also serve as a proxy for explicit ecological perspectives in Ms Snow’s practice. While Mr Rye’s ecological beliefs as expressed through the complemen- tary curriculum are apparent in the way he explains and elaborates upon the explicit curriculum, it is much more behind the scenes for Ms Snow, an English teacher at Highline High School. Outside of school Ms Snow is a Native American minister,8 and therefore she talks about spiritual beliefs in connection with ecological principles. She explains her ecological beliefs and related intentions for her students in this way: The core of my ecological beliefs has to do with relationship… relationship with self, relationship with others, [and] respect for self and respect for others… It also has to do with taking responsibility. We take responsibility for how we conduct ourselves in relationship to how we use resources on the earth, for instance. And because I believe that we must act with the spirit of integrity 798 C. M. MOROYE to preserve those resources for seven generations on down, then I think that learning things about the self and individuation and alchemy and the arche- types and all of those things really is in deep alignment [with my ecological beliefs]. Ms Snow feels constrained by the requirements of the courses she teaches; the English curriculum does not allow for reading environmental writing and in-depth discussion of issues. As Robertson and Krugly-Smolska (1997) point out, teachers—even in sanctioned environmental education settings—share similar concerns about what they are ‘allowed’ to do because they feel limited by what is expected in the formal curriculum. Instead, through studying texts like Demian, Ms Snow is addressing ecological ideas as she defines them. ‘Demian, Jungian psychology, [the] search for self and individualization, and being true to an inner voice… [all] have to do with relationships. Relationship with self, relationship with others.’ Ms Snow’s discussion of her beliefs and intentions for students has a similar ring to that of Mr Rye. Each seeks to develop self-awareness and integrity in students. Ms Snow’s intentions are apparent in the following vignette as she guides her students to think about what makes them unique and how they will share that uniqueness with the world. We also see how she addresses each student with care and respect, which facilitates thoughtful discussion in the class. The humming overhead reads, ‘Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them’. Respond to this famous quote by Henry David Thoreau. Do you think that this is a true assessment?’ Ms Snow looks out over her senior [i.e. year 12] Humanities seminar class… They lean over notebooks occasionally glancing up at the overhead to reread Thoreau’s words. ‘Looks like you all had a lot to say about this one’, Ms Snow smiles. ‘Let’s pick up with Zelig9 and connect the ideas’, she suggests, referring to a Woody Allen film they had recently viewed. They discuss the fear of being seen for whom we truly are and the risk we take when we allow ourselves to be real with others. ‘Let’s keep building on this. I know you’re more awake than I am.’ ‘I think a lot of people might do that because they are afraid of what society might brand them. Like Martin Luther King, Jr. He took a risk,’ one female student offers. ‘Do you think he died with a song still in him?’ Ms Snow asks. ‘No. He lived it’, she responds. ‘A lot of it has to do with fear. Like if you let your true self out’, another student says. ‘Yeah. Isn’t it about taking risks?’ Ms Snow asks as she sits down in a chair in the front of the room. ‘What if you do sing your song and people don’t accept it?’ ‘No one expects anything more than mediocrity’, a third student says. ‘I don’t agree with that’, replies another. ‘Okay. Good. Let’s come back to that. I want to hear what Tracy has to say.’ Tracy says, ‘I think society wants you to strive. They want you to be the best. WE have to run this world.’ COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 799 ‘Okay!’ Ms Snow praises. ‘We are getting some great responses here. Let’s hear from Stacy, then Sarah.’ ‘The simplest things can be made so hard. It’s like they expect you to work at a fast-food restaurant. Especially minorities. It’s like minorities are still looked down upon—since you’re Native American, you’re just going to be a drunk. So just go back to the reservation’, Stacy, an African American girl says. ‘Stacy’s goin’!’ Ms Snow cheers. ‘Let’s hear from Sarah.’ ‘I think fear of society is only half of it. People are lazy. They have that quiet desperation in themselves, but they don’t do anything about it. They just watch TV.’ Ms Snow wraps up the conversation and then addresses the whole class: I want to ask you a question, but I don’t want you to answer it. We are reading Socrates and watching Pleasantville to find out who you are in the world. The question I want to ask you is—what is your song and how will you sing it? You are about to walk across a bridge—many of you into higher education. I am going to show you something; it’s called ‘An Invi- tation’ written by a white woman. You don’t have to be trapped in that moment of quiet desperation. Those moments can make us fight to sing that song. You are going to write a senior credo. You will like it! Students read ‘The Invitation’ and consider it silently. The first stanza reads, ‘It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.’ Then, in silence, Ms Snow puts on the video of Pleasantville, a story of a teenager who wants to break out of his black-and-white sit-com world. While the natural world and consumption patterns do not filter into this discussion as they did in Mr Rye’s classroom, Ms Snow’s stated intentions, which emanate from her ecological beliefs, include helping students examine their lives in order to take responsibility for their relationships. While it is apparent that the above vignette is in alignment with Ms Snow’s intentions for students, it also shows that to Ms Snow, as well as to Mr Rye, self-aware- ness is a building block of integrity, and one who has consciously developed integrity, they believe, will be more likely to consider ecological perspectives. They do not include explicit ecological curriculum, but instead focus on what they consider to be a related ecological principle. In contrast, the third participant, Mrs Avila, does tend to include more explicit ecological ideas, and she, like Mr Rye, does so through her elabora- tion of the written or stated curriculum. Mrs Avila’s beliefs lead her to cover some subjects in more depth and with a particular perspective; for her it is a matter of emphasis. However, unlike Mr Rye, Mrs Avila feels very comfort- able infusing her ecological beliefs: In geography, we talk about population, which is a pretty common topic, … [but] I feel totally comfortable deciding … to talk about not just where does population grow, where does it shrink and why, but also the impact of popu- lation growth, depending on whether it is a society that is resource-intense … I feel totally comfortable choosing to introduce the kids to that. The following vignette illustrates this ecological emphasis as well as an extended, spontaneous discussion with her students about recycling. Notice 800 C. M. MOROYE the stated agenda and what actually occurs. Although lengthy, the vignette does illustrate a real situation in which the teacher uses questioning to guide the students’ understanding away from a common line of thinking that ecological responsibility is inconvenient toward a more connected way of thinking about personal choice and action. Mrs Avila’s 9th grade World Geography students are greeted by her friendly demeanour and an overhead that has the Geography Agenda with the Colorado state geography standards for the day: 6.1. Students know how to apply geography to understand the past. 6.2. Students know how to apply geography to understand the present and plan for the future. Today’s activities 1. Complete presentations. 2. Discuss population’s impact. 3. What causes population to grow or shrink? 4. Population pyramids in Lab A. The starter has a picture of a population pyramid, which looks like an isosceles triangle with horizontal stripes. The starter tells them that this is a population pyramid and asks students to explain what it might mean. ‘Guessing is okay!’ Mrs Avila tells them. Mrs Avila takes responses, and one student surmises that those at the bottom of the pyramid don’t have a lot of money. ‘Good thinking!’ Mrs Avila responds. ‘Ian, what did you put?’ ‘Nothing’, Ian replies. ‘What will you be writing down?’ Mrs Avila asks again. ‘I think maybe the bars show age.’ ‘Terrific thinking!’ Mrs Avila praises. They then move on to student presenta- tions. ‘Who’s the environment group?’ The group of four students makes their way to the front, and they discuss how we need clean air and water to live. They say that we as humans take more for ourselves, leaving little for other species, and they give specific examples about deforestation. ‘Pause there,’ Mrs Avila interjects. ‘What was Brad talking about with BIODI- VERSITY? What are we using up? Where are we getting 50% of our prescrip- tion drugs?’ ‘The Rainforest’, a student in the audience answers. ‘So biodiversity refers to plants and animals that exist. So do we benefit from biodiversity?’ ‘Yes, like with prescription drugs’, another student responds. ‘But what was Alice talking about? It’s not only about us, is it?’ ‘No.’ ‘It is about the plants and animals—they become extinct! For example, let’s think about eggshells. In order for them to be made of what they need— COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 801 calcium—birds eat snails; snails eat plants; and plants get calcium from soil. But why is calcium not in soil anymore?’ ‘ACID RAIN!’ a student shouts. ‘Acid rain caused by?’ ‘Burning of fossil fuels’, the student responds. Mrs Avila moves to stand near two talkative boys, but does not scold them. ‘So when we get in our cars, do we say, “We’re going to kill some birds today!”? No! But the unintended consequences are just as serious as the intended consequences.’ As the discussion unfolds, Mrs Avila questions individual students about resource-use and -consumption patterns, and eventually turns to a discussion of waste. ‘Where is this place called trash? Has anyone ever visited this place called trash?’ Mrs Avila asks. ‘You mean like a landfill?’ ‘Yeah. How long does the toothpaste tube stay there?’ ‘Forever?’ one student guesses. Mrs Avila prompts, ‘How long are you planning to live? 100 years? I’m plan- ning on 105, so you’ll be taking care of me when I’m old. Will the tube be there when Armando is 100 years old?’ Students shrug, and some say no, some yes. ‘The tube I use is metal—it’s recyclable.’ ‘What kind do you use?’ ‘Tom’s of Maine.’ [i.e. brand name] ‘Oh. That organic stuff.’ ‘Yeah. So how long does it take for the toothpaste tube to dissolve? Thousands of years! Students gasp. ‘The vast majority of my furniture is used—from the 1930s and 1950s. I make a conscious effort to recycle and to buy things that can be recycled.’ ‘Why?’ a student asks. ‘Because it’s not just about me. I think about you guys when you are 105. I want you to have a planet worth living on. What we’re talking about with global warming—300 scientists, the top in their field—say the earth’s temper- ature is rising a couple degrees. Glaciers that have been in Greenland for thou- sands of years are melting. Penguins and polar bears are dying because they can’t get their food. So guys, are these [population pyramids] just about the number of people growing?’ ‘No’, several students respond. ‘NO. It’s about what?’ ‘How we use our resources and create junk and stuff,’ one student says. Mrs Avila then addresses a student with a plastic Coke bottle. ‘Evan, what will you do with that Coke bottle?’ ‘Throw it away,’ Evan says. ‘Why? Why won’t you recycle it?’ Mrs. Avila asks. 802 C. M. MOROYE ‘No recycle bins.’ ‘Okay! Why at HHS do we not have many recycle bins? There is an area of the school with recycle bins, but students can’t go there. Is that a problem? Shana is drinking juice—and we’re glad because juice is far better than Coke, no offence, Evan. But when you’re done, will you ask me to recycle it for you?’ ‘No. You should have a recycle bin in here’, Shana says. ‘So it’s up to me?’ Mrs Avila asks. ‘We should have a recycle day. All the students who get in trouble should pick up trash and recycling,’ another student offers. ‘They should have recycle bins,’ another student says. ‘Who is this “they”? Do you care?’ ‘It’s more of a habit,’ Shana says. ‘How could we get you to change that habit? Do you all agree that if more recy- cle bins were available, you would recycle?’ About eight students raise their hands to say yes. ‘But we have to overcome laziness!’ Shana says. ‘Who needs to organize this movement?’ Mrs Avila asks Shana. ‘Everybody. Students.’ ‘Why students? Would some people listen to you? You personally? Armando, would you be willing to work with other students to increase the number of recycling bins?’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘What would make you more likely?’ ‘To know that students will use them,’ Armando says. ‘Did you know we used to have a recycling club?’ Mrs Avila asks. ‘No!’ many students respond, shocked. ‘It faded away because students stopped coming. Mr Hepner might be willing to do this again, but could this be student-driven?’ ‘Yes,’ many respond. ‘What would need to happen?’ ‘Talk to Ms Wright,’ Shana says referring to the activities director. ‘Is anyone willing?’ ‘Yes! I will!’ Shana volunteers. ‘Is this a big change in the scheme of things?’ ‘No. We are only one school’, a student says. ‘But maybe it will encourage other schools!’ Shana offers. Class is ending, and Mrs Avila encourages students to think about their conversation today. ‘Who will follow through?’ she asks as they leave. Several students stay after the bell to talk further with her about the recycling club and various other ideas. COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 803 The written curriculum as evidenced by the agenda does not accurately reflect what actually occurred in the classroom.10 While Mrs Avila certainly did ‘discuss population’s impact’, she did so in a way that elicited thinking in her students that, for some, led to action and for others to increased over- all engagement in the class. I asked Mrs Avila in our second interview if anyone had followed up on offering more recycling in the building.11 They haven’t had action yet, but they are still talking about it. And, actually Shana, one of the girls who volunteered, is talking to me more in class now and even turned in some late work… She was certainly not doing well [before this lesson], but I am hoping that she is feeling a little more tied in. I asked Mrs Avila why she thinks that the lesson resonated in particular with Shana: I have some ideas that maybe it was because I totally trusted that she would do it and that I was very enthusiastic when she volunteered. I am hoping that she at least sees that I do believe in her. I am not sure that she believes in herself a whole bunch. The complementary curriculum in Mrs Avila’s case is not only expressed in the stories and examples of her own life, but also in the types of thinking she elicited in students through a series of questions and statements in the impromptu discussion about recycling. To elicit that thinking, she employed a pedagogical technique of questioning which is similar to strategies discussed by Cotton (2006b) in her study of three geography teachers in the UK. Cotton identified three strategies teachers use to discuss controversial environmental education topics: ‘Strategy 1: Eliciting students’ personal views…; Strategy 2: Enabling students to discuss their own views…; and Strategy 3: Challenging students’ views’ (p. 227). Cotton’s study and this study are similar in that both identify ‘real’, not ‘ideal’ practices. However, the contexts are different in that all three of Cotton’s participants were actively engaged in teaching environmental issues as part of the formal curriculum. Still, the strategies discussed (and in particular Strategies 1 and 3) are evident in Mrs Avila’s practice and offer another example of this pedagogy at work. Furthermore, Mrs Avila appears more focused on uncovering the origins of students’ individual behaviours. She spends a lot of time eliciting students’ rationales for their own behaviour. (’Evan, what will you do with that bottle when you are done with it?’). This fourth strategy of considering the rationale for one’s own behaviour could be considered useful in contexts in which teachers are focused on action, or in which the focus is on habits of mind that affect behaviour (’Why won’t you recycle it?’). While the teachers in Cotton’s study were more engaged in debating complex and abstract issues (such as the governance of Antarctica), Mrs Avila and her students were dealing with seemingly simple and concrete behavior—recycling. Discussing this imme- diate and daily behaviour highlighted the locality and immediacy of personal choice for students. This strategy, or pedagogical practice, emerged from deeply-held beliefs and the lifestyle of Mrs Avila, and it took place in the context of the caring classroom community she consciously orchestrated. It may be difficult for other teachers to emulate, but in this case, the pedagog- ical practice that characterizes the complementary curriculum in Mrs Avila’s 804 C. M. MOROYE work led some students to reflect upon their own behaviour and to ultimately reorganize the Environment Club at Highline. Implications for teaching: toward an ‘environmentally- sustainable pedagogy’ Mrs Avila’s pedagogical choices help her to guide students to a more ecolog- ical frame of mind; she does so by expanding upon the formal social-studies curriculum. However, many ecological curriculum theorists suggest that environmentally-sustainable education should be characterized by a trans- disciplinary curriculum (Van Kannel-Ray 2006). This kind of curriculum requires a communal effort and, I would argue, a whole-school reform effort.12 The participants in the present study, however, did not have the benefit of working within whole-school curriculum framework, or even with like-minded others. Indeed, each teacher worked alone and in a single disci- pline. Therefore, to ask whether or not they are realizing a new model of ecological education is neither fair nor appropriate, but we may perhaps glean some aspects of what environmentally-sustainable pedagogy could look like: environmentally sustainable pedagogy as a theory of teaching can inform how to hold the individual and the community in relationship… It can offer a new identity to teachers as teaching with a moral imperative, as helping students to become more responsibly embedded in the natural world. (Van Kannel-Ray 2006: 122) She suggests that pedagogical practices should emerge from the overarching ecological principles of ‘intergenerational responsibility’, ‘organic percep- tion’, and ‘sustainable outcomes’ (p. 117). Each teacher from the present study contributes to a vision of these pedagogical practices through either intergenerational responsibility or organic perception (the present study is limited in understanding the effects on sustainable outcomes). Intergenerational responsibility deals with balancing the individual’s needs with the needs of the past and the future. Mr Rye begins to help weave this tale of balance in his writing exercises with students. He urges them to write in detail about their own individuality, but couches that uniqueness and related consumption in a broader perspective so as to avoid seeing ‘the indi- vidual as the epicentre of the universe’ (Bowers 1995: 7). Furthermore, this type of focus seems to be in line with Bonnett’s (2002) discussion of educa- tion for sustainability as a frame of mind which seeks to ‘reconnect people with their origins and what sustains them and to develop their love of them- selves’ (p. 271). Reminding them that until recently water was the predom- inant drink for humankind, and that also until recently humankind relied upon local food sources, Mr Rye brings a deeper awareness of the connec- tions between humans and their environments to his students and highlights students’ understandings of their own choices. Mr Rye does not, however, ask students to change their behaviours or to even consider the environmen- tal or social ramifications of their choices. On the other hand, Mrs Avila does urge students to consider the effects of their choices, particularly the ways COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 805 they handle trash and recycling. Her efforts seem particularly fruitful in that the Recycling Club gained renewed membership and activity. Organic perception is an indication of an individual’s perceived connec- tion with the natural world (Van Kannel-Ray 2006). Seeing oneself as connected, or as Ms Snow puts it ‘in relationship’, limits our tendencies to exploit others, both human and other-than-human. Therefore, Ms Snow’s work may also make a contribution to environmentally-sustainable peda- gogy in her cultivation of a caring community. Not only does Ms Snow have a deep commitment to fostering relationships with her students, she facili- tates students’ relationships with each other through encouragement, creat- ing space for students to have their voices heard, and by making it safe for them to discuss different ideas with each other, even in a very diverse setting. This is done in the context of individual purpose and a discussion of each student’s ‘song’. The learning community becomes a place that fosters organic perception. Complementary curriculum, the embedded and often unconscious expression of one’s beliefs, is the manifestation of a teacher’s wholeness or completeness, of his or her integrity.13 In his essay ‘The heart of a teacher: identity and integrity in teaching’, Palmer (1997) discusses the importance of teachers’ awareness and development of identity and integrity in teaching. By identity Palmer means ‘an evolving nexus where all the forces that consti- tute my life converge in the mystery of self… Identity is a moving intersection of the inner and outer forces that make me who I am’ (p. 17). By integrity Palmer means ‘whatever wholeness I am able to find within that nexus as its vectors form and re-form the pattern of my life. Integrity requires that I discern what is integral to my selfhood, what fits and what does not’ (p. 17). For Palmer, a teacher’s identity and integrity—not technique and method— are what make them great teachers: My ability to connect with my students, and to connect them with the subject, depends less on the methods I use than on the degree to which I know and trust my selfhood—and am willing to make it available and vulnerable in the service of learning. (p. 16) Complementary curriculum is the expression of this identity and integ- rity, of what Palmer (1997: 16) calls the ‘integral and undivided self’. As illustrated in the vignettes presented above, this expression might emerge in a variety of planned or spontaneous ways, often dependent upon the partic- ular moment and context as orchestrated by the teacher. This is what makes complementary curriculum different from the myriad of other terms in our curricular lexicon: the source of complementary curriculum comes uniquely from the teacher and her personal passions and beliefs. While the focus of this study is on the expression of ecological beliefs and therefore complementary ecological curriculum, this idea might be applied to other beliefs or passions, such as an artistic sensibility or commitment to social justice. In order to explore and understand the complementary curric- ulum of such beliefs, the researcher would need to first interview the teacher so that she may articulate her beliefs and passions. Next, the researcher would observe the teacher’s work to see how if at all the beliefs are infused in practice. For example, these passions might be expressed through the use 806 C. M. MOROYE of music or stories of artistic encounters, or through a biographical study of social activists, or first-hand accounts of participating in social change. It is important to note that the teachers’ beliefs may emerge intentionally or unintentionally, consciously or not. Therefore, a follow-up interview with the teacher can foster a discussion of the teacher’s intentions and beliefs with the researcher’s observations. The researcher is then better able to evaluate how the expression of that teacher’s beliefs—the complementary curricu- lum—influences pedagogy, curriculum, assessment, class structure, or other dimensions of schooling. In addition to conducting a follow-up interview, sharing the educational criticisms (or observations) with the teachers may illuminate for them previ- ously unseen connections between their beliefs and practice. Such was the case in the present study, and after I shared the educational criticisms with each teacher, I was struck by their responses. Ms Snow writes: I learned about how our internal belief systems shape the teaching process. Before I understood the nature of [your] study, I could not accurately articu- late why I had sometimes been very happy and other times very unhappy with teaching. Now I understand the very necessary and intrinsic core of how our ecological belief systems and (for me, at least) a corresponding spiritual belief system shapes the art of our relationships with our wonderful students. (Personal communication, 8 September 2006) While this study looks particularly at ecological beliefs, having a similar dialogue with teachers about their particular beliefs and then illustrating for them how those beliefs come to light in their practice may lead to a more developed sense of their teaching integrity, and further research could also explore how the complementary curriculum affects students directly. Implications for ecological teacher education Because of the skills, beliefs, and knowledge required to implement environ- mental education curricula, many point to the importance of ecological perspectives in teacher education programmes (Tilbury 1996, Oulton and Scott 1997, Corcoran 1999b). Some teacher educators have investigated the lives of ecologically-minded teachers and what factors caused them to become ecologically aware. Corcoran (1999b) details the process of writing an environmental autobiography, through which he guides his undergradu- ate pre-service teachers. Corcoran affirms the belief that environmental education in teacher education is the ‘priority of priorities’ (Tilbury 1996, cited in Corcoran 1999b: 179). Corcoran says that environmental autobiographies can help us identify what makes humans want to live sustainably, an issue at the heart of envi- ronmental education. Corcoran says, ‘A desire to protect the natural world arises from a deep sense of affinity with the land and nonhuman beings’ (p.179). He terms this ‘biophilia’, or a love for other living beings, which Corcoran believes is ‘central to our nature as humans’ (p. 180). This is where he begins with environmental educators—with this innate sense of connection explored through environmental autobiography. COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 807 Corcoran (1999a) also completed a study of environmental educators in which he sought to understand the significant childhood life-experiences that led environmental educators to feel a strong connection with the natural world. Mirroring a previous study in the UK by Palmer (1993), he surveyed 510 US teachers about their experiences in nature as children. The narra- tives have recurring themes such as parents and grandparents as environ- mental educators and role models; fear of the effects of environmental problems; world-view, faith, and spirituality; childhood time outside; and hope (Corcoran 1999a: 211–217). Corcoran believes that teachers who have had these significant life experiences will provide similar opportunities for their students to develop their own affinity for the natural world. The present study, in combination with those discussed and cited above, builds evidence that attention to the ecological beliefs of pre-service and in-service teachers may play an important role in the expansion of environmental and ecological education, whatever form they may take. Complementary ecological curriculum also may have import for students. In the case of ecological education, Corcoran (1999a) notes that many who hold ecological beliefs trace the origins of those beliefs to a role model they had in childhood. Perhaps ecologically-minded teachers may become one of those role models as they demonstrate to students through the complementary curriculum that their ecological beliefs are just below the surface and guide their decisions and ways of being. It illustrates to students that ecological issues and ideas are connected to a variety of aspects of our lives, and that they are integral in the minds of the ecologically-minded teachers. These issues and ideas comprise parts of the teachers’ identities, and they inform aspects of personal and global decisions. Complementary ecological curriculum reinforces the notion that the environment and ecological issues are not separate or supplemental; they are part and parcel of our everyday lives. Smith (2004) notes a similar phenomenon in his study of the Environmental Middle School. Teachers did not ‘check their ideals at the door. They instead brought those ideals into every dimension of their work’ (p. 77). Both studies indicate that teachers’ ecological beliefs inform their practice, and therefore what students may experience. Conclusion In his discussion of educational criticism, Eisner (2002) considers whether or not we can generalize from such research. While criticism cannot predict outcomes, it can, Eisner argues, create ‘forms of anticipation by functioning as a kind of road map for the future’ (p. 243): Once having found that such and such exists in a classroom, we learn to antic- ipate it in other classrooms that we visit. Through our experience we build up a repertoire of anticipatory images that makes our search patterns more efficient. (p. 243) This is the case, I believe, with complementary curriculum, ecological or otherwise. As critics, teacher educators, curricularists, and researchers, we can enter a classroom anticipating various expressions of teachers’ personal 808 C. M. MOROYE beliefs. This recognition adds a layer to our understanding and evaluation of what is happening in a classroom, or to what could or should be happening. In this way, identifying, understanding, and evaluating the complementary curriculum is not only useful to teachers themselves, but also to those who aim to support teachers and schools in their efforts, particularly those impor- tant and difficult efforts to ‘green’ our schools. Acknowledgement I am grateful to Bruce Uhrmacher of the University of Denver and Peter Hlebowitsh of the University of Iowa for their thoughtful and constructive feedback on drafts of this paper. Notes 1. By ‘non-environmental’ I simply mean educational contexts and models that are not explicitly focused on teaching environmental themes and ideas, such as a traditional school or an English classroom focused on the Western canon. Certainly all contexts can be considered ecological, although Orr (1992: 90) has said that ‘all education is environ- mental education,’. In other words, it is impossible to separate humans and our constructed worlds from the planet on which we live. 2. It is important to note that many environmental education reforms call for integration of disciplines (see Orr 1992, Smith and Williams 1999, Jardine 2000). While this may indeed be an appropriate and necessary recommendation, the current reality of public schooling is that most US secondary schools are structured with disciplinary separation. 3. The current war in Iraq (Flinders 2006), some religious concepts, and in some cases evolution are all examples of what is not taught in US schools. 4. Eisner (1998) developed educational connoisseurship and criticism (henceforth called educational criticism) as method of qualitative inquiry intended to improve education. Connoisseurship is the art of appreciation and criticism the art of disclosure (Eisner 2002). Therefore, connoisseurship requires that the researcher have enough educational knowledge to be able to observe the subtleties and intricacies of the educational setting. The criticism, then, illuminates the connoisseur’s perspective with the aim of educational improvement in mind. 5. See note 1. 6. The campus of SLHS boasts a collegiate setting with four separate buildings, three cafe- terias, a variety of outdoor spaces to congregate, and extensive sports facilities. The school is situated on 80 acres adjacent to a large state park, and several of its classrooms overlook the reservoir. Students have a generous amount of autonomy. Of the 3700 students, approximately 86% are White, 2% are African American, 7% are Asian, and 5% are Hispanic. 7. HHS lies on 32 acres near a large public park and wetlands refuge. The single, more traditional high-school building has been recently remodelled to include an Academic Success Centre, a new athletic area, and refurbished entrances. Of the approximately 2000 students at Highline, 1% is Native American, 32% are African American, 6% are Asian, 16% are Hispanic, and 45% are White. Furthermore, students speak 52 home languages and come from 110 countries. Both schools have an average class size of about 25 students. SLHS and HHS participate in their district’s large-scale curriculum imple- mentation project in which all classes provide an opportunity to learn certain essential components in the core areas (English, mathematics, social studies, and science). Teach- ers are provided with extensive curriculum binders, but in most cases are not directed how to teach the essential core content. The formal curriculum is a compilation of the state of Colorado’s standards as well as university-preparatory skills, and a major focus of the district is to improve performance on standardized state tests. COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 809 8. Ms Snow was trained by Native American teachers in various ceremonies for a number of years. For purposes of confidentiality, I have eliminated all other identifying details. 9. Zelig is the story of a man who transforms himself to be like those who surround him in order to gain approval. 10. Eisner (2002: 32–34) described that which actually happens in a classroom as the ‘oper- ationalized curriculum’. 11. After the conclusion of this study, HHS did resurrect the Environment Club. Many members came from Mrs Avila’s class. 12. See, for example, the Portland Environmental Middle School (Smith 2004). 13. ‘Complementary’ literally means ‘forming a complement, completing, perfecting’ or ‘of two (or more) things: mutually complementing or completing each other’s deficiencies’ (Oxford English Dictionary 1989). We might think of complementary angles, which when paired together make a right angle. We might also think of complementary colours, ‘which, in combination, produce white or colourless light’ (Oxford English Dictionary 1989). References Barone, T. (2000) Aesthetics, Politics, and Educational Inquiry: Essays and Examples (New York: Peter Lang). Blumstein, D. 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(1997) Linking teacher education and environmental education: a European perspective. In P. J. Thompson (ed.), Environmental Education for the 21st Century: International and Interdisciplinary Perspectives (New York: Peter Lang), 45–57. Oxford English Dictionary (1989)(Oxford: Oxford University Press). Palmer, J. (1993) Development of concern for the environment and formative experiences of educators. Journal of Environmental Education, 24(3), 26–30. Palmer, P. J. (1997) The heart of a teacher: identity and integrity in teaching. Change, 29(6), 15–21. Robertson, C. L. and Krugly-Smolska, E. (1997) Gaps between advocated practices and teaching realities in environmental education. Environmental Education Research, 3(3), 311–326. Smith, G. A. (2004) Cultivating care and connection: preparing the soil for a just and sustainable society. Educational Studies, 36(1), 73–92. Smith, G. A. (2007) Place-based education: breaking through the constraining regularities of public school. Environmental Education Research, 13(2), 189–207. Smith, G. A. and Williams, D. R. (1999) Ecological Education in Action: On Weaving, Education, Culture, and the Environment (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press). Sobel, D. (2004) Place-based Education: Connecting Classrooms & Communities (Great Barrington, MA: The Orion Society). Sterling, S. (2001) Sustainable Education: Re-visioning Learning and Change Schumacher Briefing, No 6 (Foxhole, UK: Green Books). Tilbury, D. (1996) Environmentally educating teachers: the priority of priorities. Connect, 15(1), 1. Uhrmacher, P. B. (1997) The curriculum shadow. Curriculum Inquiry, 27(3), 317–329. Uhrmacher, P. B. and Matthews, J. (eds) (2005) Intricate Pallette: Working the Ideas of Elliot Eisner (Upper Sadle River, NJ: Pearson). COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 811 United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (earth Summit) (1992) Agenda 21: Chapter 36: Promoting Education, Public Awareness and Training. Available online at: http://www.un.org/esa/sustdev/documents/agenda21/english/agenda21chapter36.htm, accessed 3 November 2008. Van Kannel-Ray, N. (2006) Guiding principles and emerging practices for environmentally sustainable education. Curriculum and Teaching Dialogue, 8(1/2), 113–123. Copyright of Journal of Curriculum Studies is the property of Routledge and its content may not be copied or emailed to multiple sites or posted to a listserv without the copyright holder's express written permission. However, users may print, download, or email articles for individual use.
work_gvzskjcdd5bfllfbdnhvehwzru ---- Preface Recent Advances in Thrombosis and Hemostasis—Part IV Sam Schulman, MD, PhD1,2 1Department of Medicine, Thrombosis and Atherosclerosis Research Institute, McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada 2Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, I.M. Sechenov First Moscow State Medical University, Moscow, Russia Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45:130–131. If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. Henry David Thoreau, 1817–1862 This is the fourth theme issue in the series of Recent Advances inThrombosis and Hemostasis, for which I have had the honor to be the guest editor. When we think of advances in throm- bosis, it is easy to associate with the recent developments of new oral anticoagulants that increasingly are replacing vita- min K antagonists. It is therefore appropriate that half of the contributionstothisissuereportonvariousaspectsofthenon- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants (NOACs). In accor- dance with the previous issues in this series, the articles have been harmonized to use the term NOAC rather than any other term. This is, of course, a matter of style, but it is also the abbreviation consistently used by the European Society of Cardiology. It is also important to point out that NOAC does not stand for new/novel oral anticoagulant.1 Nevertheless, even if these agents are not so new anymore, there are many new aspects to them that require studies. Let us, however, start with a few more basic topics. South Africa has been hit hard by the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) epidemic, and it is therefore pertinent to present a review by Jackson and Pretorius from South Africa on the effects of HIV on platelets, red blood cells, and fibrinogen.2 They discuss how the inflammatory changes may increase the risk of deep vein thrombosis in patients infected by HIV and how some hematological markers could be of interest in the assessment of these patients. They also present the classes of antiretroviral therapy available in South Africa. Autoimmune diseases also generate inflammatory responses and are associated with increased risk of venous thromboembolism (VTE). For patients with autoimmune dis- ease and a VTE event, a common question is how long the anticoagulant treatment should continue. Is it more important to focus on immunosuppression or on anticoagulation in the long run? Borjas-Howard et al have here performed a sys- tematic literature review to help us find some answers.3 Spinal cord injury activates multiple prothrombotic mechanisms, representing all three components of Virch- ow’s triad and generates therefore probably the highest risk of VTE in patients admitted to hospital. The risk remains elevated for several months and requires extended thromboprophylaxis. Due to concomitant risk of bleeding, several questions regarding optimal prophylactic regimen and timing remain to be answered. Piran and Schulman present a narrative review of the topic together with suggestions for future research.4 Prevention on the arterial side is important after myocardial infarction or stroke, but what is the risk/benefit ratio of primary prevention? This question has been further highlighted by the recently published ASPirin in Reducing Events in the Elderly (ASPREE) trial demonstrating not only lack of benefit but also harm with aspirin in healthy elderly people.5 Lippi et al have reviewed the meta-analyses and the recent ASPREE data to try and tease out the benefits and harms of primary prophylaxis.6 The balance between high risk of thrombosis and bleeding is revisited in patients with hip fractures. They are usually elderly and frail and a substantial proportion of them are on an anticoagulant, mainly for stroke prophylaxis in atrial fibrillation. Grandone et al have performed a literature review to find answers to questions regarding reversal of anticoagulants and perioperative bridging of anticoagu- lants.7 They summarize the available data in a narrative review, which includes both vitamin K antagonist and NOAC management. Conversely, for minor surgical proce- dures, there is growing evidence that oral anticoagulation does not have to be stopped. Brennan et al have reviewed the studies and also the recommendations from various societies and presented the results in another narrative review.8 NOACs have a favorable bleeding risk profile, especially regarding intracranial bleeding. In major surgery, there is always some blood loss, also unavoidable with the NOACs. Address for correspondence Sam Schulman, MD, PhD, Thrombosis Service, HHS-General Hospital, 237 Barton Street East, Hamilton, ON L8L 2X2, Canada (e-mail: schulms@mcmaster.ca). Issue Theme Recent Advances in Thrombosis and Hemostasis— Part IV; Guest Editor: Sam Schulman, MD, PhD. Copyright © 2019 by Thieme Medical Publishers, Inc., 333 Seventh Avenue, New York, NY 10001, USA. Tel: +1(212) 584-4662. DOI https://doi.org/ 10.1055/s-0039-1678721. ISSN 0094-6176. Preface130 D o w n lo a d e d b y: C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity . C o p yr ig h te d m a te ri a l. mailto: https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0039-1678721 https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0039-1678721 Rivaroxaban was in a pooled analysis more effective than low-molecular-weight heparin in reducing symptomatic VTE after total hip or total knee replacement,9 and has become the standard at many hospitals. Krauss et al performed a retrospective chart review of 1,241 arthroplasties at their center to investigate the risk of bleeding complications on rivaroxaban among obese and morbidly obese patients.10 They found a significant increase in the risk of major bleeding with an interaction by sex. Likewise, there is an increased risk of bleeding and other complications shortly after dis- charge from hospital among patients started on anticoagula- tion. Identification of risk factors for bleeding, education, and intensive short-term follow-up may help reducing this risk. Lim et al describe a nurse-led pathway implemented at Monash Medical Centre in Australia to minimize adverse events after newly started rivaroxaban in the hospital.11 They report low rates of bleeding and recurrence, and their model should be easy to replicate at other centers. Although bleeding is a well-recognized adverse event from anticoagu- lation therapy, other side effects have occasionally been reported or suspected, such as osteoporosis from vitamin K antagonists. Lobato et al investigated whether there is a difference in the signals of different adverse events between the vitamin K antagonists and the NOACs, using reports from a network of pharmacies in a Spanish region.12 They were particularly interested in finding new signals of adverse drug reactions in clinical practice. In the last contribution, Russo et al are seeking an answer to the question how NOACs perform in patients with atrial fibrillation and concomitant malignant disease.13 We know now from two recently published trials that edoxaban and rivaroxaban appear at least as effective as low-molecular- weight heparin in patients with VTE and malignancy, albeit with increased risk of bleeding on the NOAC, driven by gastrointestinal hemorrhage in patients with cancer in this organ.14,15 The presented systematic review did not identify any ad hoc designed trials and is based on cohort studies and subgroups from randomized trials. The authors could, how- ever, not find any alarming data that would lead us to avoid NOACs in this context. The reader can thus enjoy a compilation of articles on pathogenesis, prophylaxis, perioperative management, and adverse drug reactions. I hope that several, if not all, con- tributions will be of interest. Hopefully, the articles can also be useful as references. Conflict of Interest None. References 1 Husted S, de Caterina R, Andreotti F, et al; ESC Working Group on Thrombosis Task Force on Anticoagulants in Heart Disease. Non- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants (NOACs): no longer new or novel. Thromb Haemost 2014;111(05):781–782 2 Jackson SB, Pretorius E. Pathological clotting and deep vein thrombosis in patients with HIV. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019; 45(02):132–140 3 Borjas-Howard JF, de Leeuw K, Rutgers A, Meijer K, Tichelaar YIGV. Risk of recurrent venous thromboembolism in autoimmune dis- eases: a systematic review of the literature. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):141–149 4 Piran S, Schulman S. Thromboprophylaxis in patients with acute spinal cord Injury: a narrative review. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):150–156 5 Ridker PM. Should aspirin be used for primary prevention in the post-statin era? N Engl J Med 2018;379(16):1572–1574 6 Lippi G, Danese E, Favaloro EJ. Harms and benefits of using aspirin for primary prevention of cardiovascular disease: a narrative overview. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):157–163 7 Grandone E, Ostuni A, Tiscia GL, Barcellona D, Marongiu F. Management of patients taking oral anticoagulants who need urgent surgery for hip fracture. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45 (02):164–170 8 Brennan J, Favaloro EJ, Curnow J. To maintain or cease non- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants prior to minimal bleed- ing risk procedures: a review of evidence and recommendations. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):171–179 9 Turpie AG, Lassen MR, Eriksson BI, et al. Rivaroxaban for the prevention of venous thromboembolism after hip or knee arthro- plasty. Pooled analysis of four studies. Thromb Haemost 2011;105 (03):444–453 10 Krauss ES, Cronin M, Dengler N, et al. The effect of BMI and gender on bleeding events when rivaroxaban is administered for throm- boprophylaxis following total hip and total knee arthroplasty. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):180–186 11 Lim MS, Indran T, Cummins A, et al. Utility of a nurse-led pathway for patients with acute venous thromboembolism discharged on rivaroxaban: a prospective cohort study. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):187–195 12 Lobato CT, Jiménez-Serranía M-I, García RM, Delibes FC, Arias LHM. New anticoagulant agents: incidence of adverse drug reac- tions and new signals thereof. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45 (02):196–204 13 Russo V, Bottino R, Rago A, et al. Atrial fibrillation and malig- nancy: the clinical performance of non-vitamin k oral antic- oagulants - a systematic review. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019; 45(02):205–214 14 Raskob GE, van Es N, Verhamme P, et al; Hokusai VTE Cancer Investigators. Edoxaban for the treatment of cancer-associated venous thromboembolism. N Engl J Med 2018;378(07): 615–624 15 Young AM, Marshall A, Thirlwall J, et al. Comparison of an oral factor Xa inhibitor with low molecular weight heparin in patients with cancer with venous thromboembolism: results of a randomized trial (SELECT-D). J Clin Oncol 2018;36(20): 2017–2023 Seminars in Thrombosis & Hemostasis Vol. 45 No. 2/2019 Preface 131 D o w n lo a d e d b y: C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity . C o p yr ig h te d m a te ri a l.
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work_gx63h3wkv5dmxdgvrt6xin7r4m ---- The hazards of hazard identification in environmental epidemiology | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1186/s12940-017-0296-3 Corpus ID: 20178714The hazards of hazard identification in environmental epidemiology @article{Saracci2017TheHO, title={The hazards of hazard identification in environmental epidemiology}, author={R. Saracci}, journal={Environmental Health}, year={2017}, volume={16} } R. Saracci Published 2017 Medicine Environmental Health Hazard identification is a major scientific challenge, notably for environmental epidemiology, and is often surrounded, as the recent case of glyphosate shows, by debate arising in the first place by the inherently problematic nature of many components of the identification process. Particularly relevant in this respect are components less amenable to logical or mathematical formalization and essentially dependent on scientists’ judgment. Four such potentially hazardous components that are… Expand View on Springer ehjournal.biomedcentral.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 4 CitationsBackground Citations 2 View All Figures, Tables, and Topics from this paper table 1 figure 1 glyphosate Mathematics Conflict (Psychology) Environmental Illness 4 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Epidemiology’s dual social commitment: to science and health R. Saracci Political Science, Medicine American journal of epidemiology 2020 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Threshold in the toxicology of metals: Challenges and pitfalls of the concept Jean-Marc Moulis, Z. Bulat, A. Djordjević Environmental Science 2020 1 Save Alert Research Feed Modeling regional-scale groundwater arsenic hazard in the transboundary Ganges River Delta, India and Bangladesh: Infusing physically-based model with machine learning. Madhumita Chakraborty, Soumyajit Sarkar, +4 authors A. Mitra Environmental Science, Medicine The Science of the total environment 2020 2 Save Alert Research Feed Nosology expansion: not always for health’s sake R. Saracci Medicine European Journal of Epidemiology 2019 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-10 OF 43 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency State-of-the-Science Workshop Report: Issues and Approaches in Low-Dose–Response Extrapolation for Environmental Health Risk Assessment R. White, Ila Cote, +6 authors J. Samet Psychology, Medicine Environmental health perspectives 2009 64 PDF Save Alert Research Feed The Prevention of Cancer: Pointers from Epidemiology R. Doll Medicine 2008 7 Save Alert Research Feed GRADE: Assessing the quality of evidence in environmental and occupational health. R. Morgan, K. Thayer, +19 authors H. Schünemann Medicine Environment international 2016 108 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Linear low-dose extrapolation for noncancer health effects is the exception, not the rule L. Rhomberg, J. Goodman, +7 authors S. Cohen Medicine Critical reviews in toxicology 2011 92 Save Alert Research Feed Fundamental carcinogenic processes and their implications for low dose risk assessment. K. Crump, D. Hoel, C. Langley, R. Peto Chemistry, Medicine Cancer research 1976 252 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Triangulation in aetiological epidemiology D. Lawlor, K. Tilling, G. Davey Smith Computer Science, Medicine International journal of epidemiology 2016 394 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Carcinogenic effects of chronic exposure to very low levels of toxic substances. R. Peto Biology, Medicine Environmental health perspectives 1978 63 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Paracelsus Revisited: The Dose Concept in a Complex World. P. Grandjean Medicine Basic & clinical pharmacology & toxicology 2016 24 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed The Emergence of the Dose–Response Concept in Biology and Medicine E. Calabrese Biology, Medicine International journal of molecular sciences 2016 24 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed The Environment and Disease: Association or Causation? A. Hill Medicine Proceedings of the Royal Society of Medicine 1965 5,283 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract Figures, Tables, and Topics 4 Citations 43 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. 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work_hcrzd4ytffbyzh263e32hs2wi4 ---- The New Conservation Editorial The “New Conservation” A powerful but chimeric movement is rapidly gaining recognition and supporters. Christened the “new con- servation,” it promotes economic development, poverty alleviation, and corporate partnerships as surrogates or substitutes for endangered species listings, protected ar- eas, and other mainstream conservation tools. Its pro- ponents claim that helping economically disadvantaged people to achieve a higher standard of living will kin- dle their sympathy and affection for nature. Because its goal is to supplant the biological diversity–based model of traditional conservation with something entirely dif- ferent, namely an economic growth–based or human- itarian movement, it does not deserve to be labeled conservation. Institutional allies and supporters of the new conser- vation include the Gordon and Betty Moore Foundation, the Long Now Foundation, the Nature Conservancy, and the social-justice organization The Breakthrough Institute (Nordaus & Shellenberger 2011). The latter write—in the style of the Enlightenment—that, “We must open our eyes to the joy and excitement experienced by the newly prosperous and increasingly free [persons]. We must create a world where every human can not only realize her material needs, but also her higher needs.” The manifesto of the new conservation movement is “Conservation in the Anthropocene: Beyond Solitude and Fragility” (Lalasz et al. 2011; see also Kareiva 2012). In the latter document, the authors assert that the mission of conservation ought to be primarily humanitarian, not nature (or biological diversity) protection: “Instead of pursuing the protection of biodiversity for biodiversity’s sake, a new conservation should seek to enhance those natural systems that benefit the widest number of peo- ple, especially the poor” (emphasis added). In light of its humanitarian agenda and in conformity with Foreman’s (2012) distinction between environmentalism (a move- ment that historically aims to improve human well-being, mostly by reducing air and water pollution and ensuring food safety) and conservation, both the terms new and conservation are inappropriate. Proponents declare that their new conservation will measure its achievement in large part by its relevance to people, including city dwellers. Underlying this radically humanitarian vision is the belief that nature protection for its own sake is a dysfunctional, antihuman anachronism. To emphasize its radical departure from conservation, the characters of older conservation icons, such as Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, and Edward Abbey, are de- famed as hypocrites and misanthropes and contempo- rary conservation leaders and writers are ignored entirely (Lalasz et al. 2011). The new conservationists assume biological diversity conservation is out of touch with the economic realities of ordinary people, even though this is manifestly false. Since its inception, the Society for Conservation Biology has included scores of progressive social scientists among its editors and authors (see also letters in BioScience, April 2012, volume 63, number 4: 242–243). The new conservationists also assert that national parks and pro- tected areas serve only the elite, but a poll conducted by the nonpartisan National Parks Conservation Association and the National Park Hospitality Association estimates that 95% of voters in America want continued govern- ment support for parks (National Parks Conservation Association 2012). Furthermore, Lalasz et al. (2011) argue that it should be a goal of conservation to spur economic growth in habitat-eradicating sectors, such as forestry, fossil-fuel exploration and extraction, and agriculture. The key assertion of the new conservation is that af- fection for nature will grow in step with income growth. The problem is that evidence for this theory is lacking. In fact, the evidence points in the opposite direction, in part because increasing incomes affect growth in per capita ecological footprint (Soulé 1995; Oates 1999). Other nettlesome issues are ignored, including which kinds of species will persist and which will not if the new economic-growth agenda replaces long-term pro- tection in secure protected areas? Related questions include: Would the creation of designated wilderness areas be terminated? Would the funds to support the new con- servation projects be skimmed from the dwindling con- servation budgets of nongovernmental and government agencies? Is conservation destined to become a zero-sum game, pitting the lifestyles and prosperity of human be- ings against the millions of other life forms? Is it ethical to convert the shrinking remnants of wild nature into farms and gardens beautified with non-native species, following the prescription of writer Marris (2011)? Will these garden-like reserves designed to benefit human communities admit inconvenient, bellicose beasts such as lions, elephants, bears, jaguars, wolves, crocodiles, and 895 Conservation Biology, Volume 27, No. 5, 895–897 C© 2013 Society for Conservation Biology DOI: 10.1111/cobi.12147 896 Editorial sharks—the keystone species that maintain much of the wild’s biological diversity (Terborgh & Estes 2010; Estes et al. 2011)? The new conservationists assume the benefits of eco- nomic development will trickle down and protect bio- logical diversity. Even if that assumption were borne out, I doubt that children growing up in such a garden world will be attuned to nature or that the hoped-for leap in humanity’s love for the wild will occur once per capita consumption reaches a particular threshold. Most shocking is the dismissal by the new conser- vationists of current ecological knowledge. The best current research is solidly supportive of the connection between species diversity and the stability of ecosystems. It has firmly established that species richness and ge- netic diversity enhance many ecological qualities, includ- ing productivity and stability of terrestrial and marine ecosystems, resistance to invasion by weedy species, and agricultural productivity; furthermore, research shows that greater species and genetic diversity reduces transmission rates of disease among species (Tilman 2012). In contrast, implementation of the new conservation would inevitably exclude the keystone species whose behaviors stabilize and regulate ecological processes and enhance ecological resistance to disturbance, includ- ing climate change (Terborgh & Estes 2010). For these reasons and others, conservationists and citizens alike ought to be alarmed by a scheme that replaces wild places and national parks with domesticated landscapes containing only nonthreatening, convenient plants and animals. The globalization of intensive economic activity has ac- celerated the frenzied rush for energy and raw materials and is devouring the last remnants of the wild, largely to serve the expanding, affluent, consumer classes in industrialized and developing nations. At current rates of deforestation, dam construction, extraction of fos- sil fuels, land clearing, water withdrawal, and anthro- pogenic climate change, it is expected that the 2 ma- jor refugia for biological diversity on the globe—the wet, tropical forests of the Amazon, and Congo Basin— will be gone by the end of this century (Mackey et al. 2013). Is the sacrifice of so much natural productivity, beauty, and diversity prudent, even if some human communities and companies might be enriched? No. The worth of nature is beyond question and our obligation to minimize its gratuitous degradation is no less. There is no evidence for the proposition that people are kinder to nature when they are more affluent, if only because their ecological footprints increase roughly in proportion to their consumption. We also know that the richer nations may protect local forests and other natural systems, but they do so at the expense of those ecosystems elsewhere in less affluent places. A third thing we know is that anthropogenic climate change is probably the greatest threat to civilization (Gleick et al. 2010). I must conclude that the new conservation, if im- plemented, would hasten ecological collapse globally, eradicating thousands of kinds of plants and animals and causing inestimable harm to humankind in the long run. Finally, I believe that those who donate to conservation organizations do so in full confidence that their gifts will benefit wild creatures and their habitats. The central issue is whether monies donated to the Nature Conservancy and other conservation nonprofit organizations should be spent for nature protection or should be diverted to humanitarian, economic-development projects such as those proffered by the new conservation on the dubi- ous theory that such expenditures may indirectly benefit biological diversity in the long run. Traditional conservationists do not demand that hu- manitarians stop helping the poor and underprivileged, but the humanitarian-driven new conservationists de- mand that nature not be protected for its own sake but that it be protected only if it materially benefits human beings. Michael Soulé∗ 212 Colorado Avenue, Paonia, CO 81428, U.S.A., email msoule36@gmail.com ∗A more literary version of this essay that highlights the intrinsic value of biological diversity can be accessed at www.michaelsoule.com. Literature Cited Estes, J. A., et al. 2011. Trophic downgrading of plant earth. Science 333:301–306. Foreman, D. 2012. Take back conservation. Raven’s Eye Press, Durango, Colorado. Gleick, P. H., et al. 2010. Climate change and the integrity of science. Science 328:689–690. Kareiva, P. 2012. Failed metaphors and a new environmental- ism for the 21st century. Available from http://www.youtube. com/watch?v=4BOEQkvCook (accessed April 2013). Lalasz, R., P. Kareiva, and M. Marvier. 2011. Conservation in the an- thropocene: beyond solitude and fragility. Breakthrough Journal 2: http://thebreakthrough.org/index.php/journal/past-issues/issue-2/ conservation-in-the-anthropocene/. Mackey, B., I. C. Prentice, W. Steffen, J. I. House, D. Lindenmayer, H. Keith, and S. Berry. 2013. Untangling the confusion around land carbon science and climate change mitigation policy. Nature Climate Change 3:552–557. Marris, E. 2011. Rambunctious garden. Bloomsbury, New York. National Parks Conservation Association. 2012. New poll of likely voters finds unity in public support for national parks. National Parks Conservation Association, Washington, D.C. Available from http:// www.npca.org/news/media-center/press-releases/2012/poll_ parks_support_080712.html (accessed June 2013). Conservation Biology Volume 27, No. 5, 2013 Editorial 897 Nordaus, T., and M. Shellenberger. 2011. From the editors. Break- through Journal 2:7–9. Oates, J. F. 1999. Myth and reality in the rainforest: how conservation strategies are failing in West Africa. University of California Press, Berkeley, California. Soulé, M. E. 1995. The social siege of nature. Pages 137–170 in M. E. Soulé and G. Lease, editors. Reinventing nature? Responses to postmodern deconstruction. Island Press, Washington, D.C. Terborgh, J., and J. A. Estes. 2010. Trophic cascades: predators, prey and the changing dynamics of nature. Island Press, Washington, D.C. Tilman, D. 2012. Biodiversity & environmental sustainability amid hu- man domination of global ecosystems. Daedalus 141:108–120. Conservation Biology Volume 27, No. 5, 2013
work_hh5hpeipfbb3zb5dxb6l3knmme ---- Remembering Roger Corless Remembering Roger Corless Mark Gonnerman Buddhist-Christian Studies, Volume 27, 2007, pp. 155-157 (Article) Published by University of Hawai'i Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:00 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/bcs.2007.0012 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/220083 https://doi.org/10.1353/bcs.2007.0012 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/220083 When I think of Roger Corless, I think of the bristlecone pine trees in the White Mountains of east-central California, about an hour’s drive from Bishop up White Mountain Road. These trees (Pinus longaeva) are the world’s oldest liv- ing beings. The senior member of the stand in Patriarch Grove, named Methu- selah, is more than 4,700 years old. It is not because Roger lived an especially long life—he was granted only sixty-nine-and-a-half years of calendar time—that he and these trees fuse in my mind. While Roger was an old soul from an older world, this association arises from Roger’s adherence to the kind of ‘‘become who you are’’ eccentricity cele- brated by Henry David Thoreau and other sages who remind each of us to ‘‘step to the music’’ of ‘‘a different drummer.’’ When visiting the bristlecones, one is impressed by the various odd poses struck by each tree. Of course no two are alike; each holds a unique gnarly stance that says, ‘‘You are among a community of nonconformists.’’ These trees remind us that each being is a unique expression of Nature and ought to be honored as such. Thoreau does not use the word ‘‘eccentric’’ in Walden, but writes of extrava- gance instead: I fear chiefly lest my expression not be extra- vagant enough, may not wander far enough beyond the narrow limits of my daily experience, so as to be adequate to the truth of which I have been convinced. Extra vagance! NEWS AND VIEWS 155 it depends on how you are yarded. . . . I desire to speak somewhat without bounds; like a man in a waking moment, to men in their waking mo- ments. A lover of words, as was Roger, Thoreau splits extravagance in two to highlight its root meaning: ‘‘to wander’’ (vagari) ‘‘outside’’ (extra). To learn the truth of matters requires the courage to follow one’s own path, even when—especially when—it takes one beyond the pale. Only then might wanderers become con- vinced of those truths they know, for they have been encountered firsthand and tested, experimentally, in the realm of personal experience. When one sets about the challenging work of claiming a natural right to ec- centricity, one discovers self-authenticating feedback loops that encourage fur- ther steps along an always unfolding, yet untrammeled path. It takes courage to stay in motion, for the way is often rough. People get lost—and found. One’s own authentic way leads to wakefulness. This in turn enables recognition and enjoyment of other liberated beings and compassion for those who have yet to hear chanticleer crow (to stay with Thoreau) or the lion’s roar (as Buddhists might say). As Mas Kodani, a Jodoshinshu minister in South-Central Los Angeles has ob- served, ‘‘One does not stand still looking for a path. One walks; and as one walks a path comes into being.’’ This walk requires a balance of both confident per- severance and an ability to respond to ever-changing conditions. Lives of both the bristlecones and Roger demonstrate perseverance in spite of hostile habitats: the pines, rooted in sandstone and dolomite, hang on in a cold and dry climate at 11,200 feet; Roger made his way with difficulty in spite of challenges he faced as a gay, Buddhist-and-Christian intellectual in Durham County, North Caro- lina. When, after thirty years, Roger became an emeritus professor at Duke and relocated to the San Francisco Bay Area, he found himself in a much more hos- pitable setting. It may seem strange to draw out this comparison of Roger and those ancient White Mountain pines, but when I first met those trees in the summer of 1998, they set a standard for authenticity that came to mind whenever Roger and I interacted. His extravagant accomplishments as a teacher, scholar, and person who lived a life of genuine service to others were attained through the real work of daily spiritual practice, critical reflection, and adherence to the truths—always plural for Roger—of which he had been convinced. I’ll always be grateful for his inspiring example of a human life well lived. It is so helpful to know that the honest witness and rare heart-mind integrity Roger demon- strated are possible here and now. I conclude with one more comparison: the bristlecone’s dead wood remains in the ecosystem for thousands of years because of its dense cell structure, and part of Pinus longaeva will continue living even after most of the tree has died. Through his commitment to scholarship and publishing, Roger’s work as a ‘‘di- 156 NEWS AND VIEWS alogian’’ (one who is serious about interfaith exploration and understanding) has entered the ecosystem of ideas indispensable for a sustainable human future, and it will keep on living. It is up to us to remember what remains of Roger’s labor and carry on. Mark Gonnerman * * * I first met Roger when we both attended a colloquium on ‘‘Buddhist Thought and Culture’’ at the University of Montevello, Alabama, in April 1988. Roger read a paper that was thoroughly engaging, called ‘‘Becoming a Dialogian: How to do Buddhist-Christian Dialogue without Really Trying.’’ At that point, I was hooked on getting to know this funny little man with a British accent who could deliver an excellent reflection without being bothered by his occasional stammering. What struck me about Roger’s paper was that it was meant to engage the one who heard it. It was written with a sense of interpretive transparency—a reflec- tion on experience that was his own but also bigger than his own. It was one of those times where in hearing the account of his experience, one found one’s own experience mirrored and affirmed. The paper was an autobiographical reflection on his journey into the interior ambiguity of interreligious dialogue, which at times can be very challenging when one tries truly to listen deeply to the visions of two distinct religious traditions. But his life was testament to the integrity of the journey and to an emergent overarching trust, or faith, that something very real and true was being birthed in the midst of it all. In the paper, which I use as an introductory essay for my Interreligious Dia- logue course, he delightfully describes his boyhood ‘‘conversions’’ from one reli- gious tradition to another in his own imagination as his pocket money purchases from Penguin Press ‘‘brought the world to my front door.’’ One evening he emerges from his bedroom to inform his parents that he had become a Buddhist. ‘‘I had been reading all about it, I explained, and it was clear that I was already a Buddhist. It was as if I were remembering something from a past life. ‘That’s nice dear’ commented my mother, ‘have you finished your homework yet?’ ’’ He goes on to describe his theological studies, and his ever increasing grasp of, and being grasped by, the Eucharistic celebration. But he recounts: I was now in a quandary. Buddhism made sense to me, Meditation worked, and the Four Noble Truths seemed indeed to be true. But, now Christianity also made sense. In the Bible and the Mass some Power greater, more serene, and more loving than any other power I had known, was trying to contact me. Apparently, it was God, the same God, I pre- sumed, that Buddhism denied. I did not know what to do, other than to be loyal somehow or another to what I had discovered, even though what I had discovered was self- contradictory. NEWS AND VIEWS 157
work_hhc757mthndl7irmtdoje2afdu ---- untitled HAL Id: hal-00560666 https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr/hal-00560666 Submitted on 29 Jan 2011 HAL is a multi-disciplinary open access archive for the deposit and dissemination of sci- entific research documents, whether they are pub- lished or not. The documents may come from teaching and research institutions in France or abroad, or from public or private research centers. L’archive ouverte pluridisciplinaire HAL, est destinée au dépôt et à la diffusion de documents scientifiques de niveau recherche, publiés ou non, émanant des établissements d’enseignement et de recherche français ou étrangers, des laboratoires publics ou privés. Dimensions of Environmental Engineering Birgitta Dresp To cite this version: Birgitta Dresp. Dimensions of Environmental Engineering. Open Environmental Engineering Journal, Bentham Open, 2008, 1, pp.1-8. �10.2174/1874829500801010001�. �hal-00560666� https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr/hal-00560666 https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, 1, 1-8 1 1874-8295/08 2008 Bentham Open Open Access Dimensions of Environmental Engineering Birgitta Dresp-Langley* Department of Mechanical and Civil Engineering, LMGC, UMR 5508 CNRS, Montpellier, France Abstract: The impact of human activity on the biosphere has produced a global society context in which scarcity of natu- ral resources and risks to ecological health such as air pollution and water contamination call for new solutions that help sustain the development of human society and all life on earth. This review article begins by recalling the historical and philosophical context from which contemporary environmental engineering has arisen as a science and domain of techno- logical development. Examples that deal with some of the core issues and challenges currently faced by the field, such as problems of scale and complexity, are then discussed. It is emphasized that the sustainability of the built environment de- pends on innovative architecture and building designs for optimal use and recycling of resources. To evaluate problems related to global climate change, storms, floods, earthquakes, landslides and other environmental risks, the behaviour of the natural environment needs to be taken into account. Understanding the complex interactions between the built envi- ronment and the natural environment is essential in promoting the economic use of energy and waste reduction. Finally, the key role of environmental engineering within models of sustainable economic development is brought forward. INTRODUCTION Global society and the dominance of the human species over the biosphere have provoked a situation where ecologi- cal and environmental engineering are the inevitable profes- sional response to the most pressing problems of humankind. The goal of both theoretical and practical environmental en- gineering is to help society function. Combining theory, re- search, practice, and education defines the basis for ex- change of knowledge relative to engineering solutions that are socio-economically justifiable, responsible, and consis- tent with a sustainable development of communities, popula- tions, and nations. Such solutions aim at planning, designing, and improving structures, facilities, and infrastructures for a responsible, economic, and efficient use of energy resources. For the protection of the health of man and the environment, environmental engineering involves identifying and prevent- ing contaminant behaviours in man-made and natural sys- tems, and, above all, to minimize the negative impact, or ecological footprint, of humankind on all systems and cycles upon which life depends. This article proposes a brief review of the historic background facts, philosophical considera- tions, theoretical concepts, and pragmatic issues from which contemporary environmental engineering has arisen, as both a scientific discipline and a domain of applied research and development. HIS TO RICA L AND PH ILOS OPHICA L BAC K - GROUN D The Industrial Revolution marked a turning point in the history of humankind. Towards the end of the 1700s, manual labour-based economy was progressively replaced by indus- try and the manufacture of machinery. Large scale produc- tion of chemicals significantly contributed to the economic *Address correspondence to this author at the Department of Mechanical and Civil Engineering, LMGC, UMR 5508 CNRS, Montpellier, France; Tel: +33 (0)4 67 14 46 81; Fax: +33 (0)4 67 14 39 23; E-mail: dresp@lmgc.univ-montp2.fr development and concomitant pollution of the natural envi- ronment brought about by the Industrial Revolution, with the production of sulphuric acid, hydrochloric acid, and alkalis. Trade expansion was facilitated by the introduction of rail- way systems. Steam powered machinery engendered dra- matic increases in production capacity and the technological developments and engineering breakthroughs of the Indus- trial Revolution promoted urbanisation. The rapid growth in urban populations increased the demands for produce from outside the cities, and the ecological footprint of whole coun- tries soon reached beyond their borders, leading the way towards modern global economy [1]. Some philosophers reacted to the Industrial Revolution through writings that re- introduced and emphasized the profound relationship be- tween man and nature. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s book Nature is one such example [2]. The book is, in fact, a compelling essay in which Emerson defines nature as an all-encom- passing entity which is inherently known to us rather than being merely a component of the outside world. Emerson’s philosophy established, especially in the US, a way of look- ing at man and his natural environment which placed nature at the centre of humanity. Others, such as Henry David Tho- reau were influenced by Emerson’s writings. Emerson took a philosophical standpoint which marked a significant point in the history of science and, in particular, of the biological and contemporary neurosciences by advocating the idea that the natural world and the mental world, or workings of the hu- man brain, are bound to have common biological origins. Both Emerson’s and Thoreau’s writings contributed signifi- cantly to environmentalism as a philosophy and a political and social movement concerned with the conservation and improvement of the natural environment, both for its own sake and in regard to its importance to civilization and life in general. Later, Aldo Leopold’s book A Sand County Alma- nac [3] became a key reference which reinforced the ethical standpoint of environmentalist philosophy, arguing that it is unethical to harm the natural environment, and that human- kind has a moral duty to respect and protect it. The ethical 2 The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 Birgitta Dresp-Langley standpoint has significantly influenced the science of modern environmental engineering and economics [4, 5, 6]. While the engineering community showed little interest in envi- ronmental issues for a long time after the Industrial Revolu- tion, this situation changed with Richard Buckminster Fuller, a pioneering scholar and engineer who was one of the first of his kind to promote environmental issues as a core topic of both fundamental and applied science. His ideas and writings have contributed substantially to the development of the the- ory and practice of contemporary environmental engineering. ENGINEERING FOR ‘LIVINGRY’: RICHARD BUCKMINSTER FULLER’S PIONEERING VISION Richard Buckminster Fuller was born in 1895 in Massa- chusetts and, expelled from Harvard University as a student, subsequently became a prominent early environmental activ- ist and scholar, initiating and collaborating in innovative design projects with professionals, artists, and scientists worldwide. An engineer, architect, designer, developer, sci- entist and scholar, he registered a large number of US Pat- ents for his innovations. Buckminster Fuller lectured at lead- ing Universities all over the world and devoted his profes- sional practice and teachings to applying engineering and the principles of science to solve problems of society, aware that humankind would soon have to rely on renewable sources of energy. His anticipatory vision of a planet running dry of natural resources was confirmed by the Millennium Ecosys- tems Assessment (MEA) no later than two decades after his death in 1983, with the conclusion that human activity has over the last few decades altered ecosystems more rapidly and extensively and accelerated global climate change more noticeably than in any comparable time span in the history of man. Way ahead of his time, Richard Buckminster Fuller promoted a systemic approach to environmental issues. His work explored solutions for energy and material-efficient engineering and design such as • foldable emergency shelters • lightweight building structures • renewable resources and recycling • aerodynamic vehicles • wind energy solutions for large buildings and individual households • tap and shower systems that help reduce water consumption Fuller’s prototype of a curve-shaped, energy-efficient, low-cost, modular and transportable living structure de- signed in the 1940s, the ‘Dymaxion House’ (see Fig. 1 be- low), was equipped with innovative technology exploiting natural winds for cooling and ventilation and featuring indi- vidual taps and showers with economic spray systems to help reduce water consumption. In his book Critical Path [7], Buckminster Fuller reso- lutely and passionately advocates the idea of doing more with less. He argues for an efficient and economic use of natural resources, and promotes the search for solutions that sustain the development of all forms of life on Earth. He can be regarded as the father of engineering for sustainability, and his philosophy was definitely a forerunner of the modern anthropocentric approach [8] to the environmental sciences. His teachings and whole conception of education were fo- cussed on fostering the development of life-long skills cover- ing a broad range of knowledge and competence to achieve what he called an “omni-successful education”; his view of science was in essence an inter-disciplinary one. The concept of ‘livingry’, which Fuller invented as opposed to ‘weap- onry’, laid the theoretical foundations on which the modern concept of sustainable development is grounded. His integra- tive view of engineering science can be summarized by the schematic model shown in Fig. 2 below. Fig (2). Fuller’s world-view can be regarded as the first anthropo- centric vision of the natural and built environment, where man- made facilities and transport exploit and exhaust raw materials and natural energy resources such as air and water, which are essential per se (red arrow) for sustaining human and other life on Earth (“livingry”). Fuller predicted that natural resources would soon be jeopardized by over-exploitation and pollution. He is considered to be one of the first engineering scientists to have consistently and actively promoted renewable energy solutions and waste recycling. The impact of human engineered systems on the natural environment has become a global issue of the highest impor- tance since Fuller’s death in 1983. The grander goals of modern engineering have since been concerned with the remediation and prevention of environmental pollution and the exhaustion of raw materials and other natural resources. FROM ECOSYSTEM STUDIES TO ENVIRON- MENTAL ENGINEERING From the 1960s systems ecology blossomed as a disci- pline within the biological sciences. Ecosystem approaches contributed to increase knowledge on how the atmosphere Fig (1). Richard Buckminster Fuller’s prototype of energy efficient individual housing, the Dymaxion House, is displayed at the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn, Michigan, US. Livingry Buildings Natural Resources Transportation Dimensions of Environmental Engineering The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 3 responds to the combined effects of global metabolism and geochemical recycling, and how these biogeochemical proc- esses are in turn influenced by changes in the atmosphere. The seminal books by Eugene Odum and Howard Odum [9, 10] provide a complete review of the history and fundamen- tals of systems ecology. Systemic approaches in ecology draw from a wide range of scientific disciplines including geology, biochemistry, conservation biology and evolution- ary ecology. Some authors [11] have attempted to subdivide the field of ecology into approaches concerned with biodi- versity and the conservation of ecological entities (“compo- sitionalism”) on the one hand, and more systemic ap- proaches aiming at understanding processes of ecosystem functioning (“functionalism”) on the other. The reality of current research in the field, however, shows that integrative forms of ecological research are emerging, blurring the lines between specialized domains within and beyond ecology. Theoretical models tend towards increasingly global bio- sphere approaches, aiming at an understanding of the Earth as a whole. In the model of a balanced global biosphere, photosynthesis fixes carbon dioxide and regenerates oxygen while humans, animals, plants and microbes draft from the atmosphere by using oxygen and by generating carbon diox- ide at an equivalent rate. In the real world, such balanced behaviour no longer exists. The major challenge for ecology now is to gain an understanding of large-scale effects caus- ing imbalanced behaviour in the global biosphere, and to further our knowledge about underlying biogeochemical processes and how they interact. Engineering science has acquired a critically important role within this endeavour. Solutions to the most pressing problems of an imbalanced Earth are expected to result from adequate engineering de- velopment and technology, based on the interpretation of research models and observational data. Theoreticians have previously insisted on differences between ecological engi- neering and environmental engineering [12], the former be- ing seen as essentially concerned with constraints on ecosys- tems and living organisms, while the latter would mainly address constraints on non-living environments and would therefore be more closely identified with “conventional” engineering [12, 13]. Such views fly in the face of the fact that engineering has evolved dramatically over recent years towards increasingly global and integrative approaches to society problems, in parallel with major advances in the fields of the fundamental life sciences, computer sciences, and design technologies. The idea of a theoretical separation between issues and topics of ecological engineering on the one hand and environmental engineering on the other is now difficult to reconcile with contemporary engineering, both in terms of research and practice. The necessity of replacing the entire domain of science within a context of urgency has produced a situation where “conventional engineering” is a thing of the past. With the introduction of the concept of sustainability in terms of a global challenge [14] hitting al- most any field of modern science and technology and there- fore reaching well beyond classic ecology, a significant shift in thinking has occurred. Global anthropocentric theories have begun to tighten existing links between scientific do- mains. These include links between mathematics, computer modelling, and economics [15], and links between the hu- manities and the social sciences to the benefit of environ- mental science [16]. SUSTAINABILITY: FROM LOCAL COMMUNITY TO GLOBAL SOCIETY While the practice of environmental engineering has evolved considerably during the past two decades, its under- lying contract with society has always been the same. Envi- ronmental engineering is about providing quality of life for all, with the protection, nurture and renewal of a fragile envi- ronment in mind. Environmental scientists predict that local communities and individual houses will generally become smaller, and will be based on principles of ecological design [17, 18], where the restoration of natural environments within urban landscapes is to play an important role. The ecological approach to the built environment involves a ho- listic design approach where energy use and resource deple- tion is reduced, and external and internal pollution causing potential damage to users and the environment is minimized. An example of such design at the level of individual housing is the Hockerton project, which was completed in Great Brit- ain in 1996 and listed in the catalogue of “best practice” ex- amples by the European Green Building Forum in 2001 [19]. In this project, rainwater from the roofs is filtered and col- lected as drinking water. Since plastic is likely to give off toxics, copper gutters are used. In order to save energy, water is heated with a pump. Water falling elsewhere on the estate is pumped to a reservoir large enough to hold several months' supply for washing laundry and growing crops. The reservoir’s capacity is 150 m , and the water runs trough a natural filter system. All sewage treatment systems are bio- logical and rely entirely on natural organisms [18]. A me- chanical aeration system recycles air and preserves heat within the building. Heating costs are minimized. Figure 3 shows how the houses in the Hockerton project were covered with earth to trap heat. Sustainable building design is the thoughtful integration of ecologically aware architecture and electrical, mechanical, and structural engineering. In addition to concerns for aesthetics, proportion, scale, texture and light, ecological long term costs are taken into account. Con- necting building design with nature brings new forms of life to urban dwellings, and reminds us of our place within na- ture. Sustainable building design is to take into consideration a wide range of cultures, races, religions and habits to meet the needs of individuals and communities, at local and global scales. Fig (3). In the Hockerton Project (UK, 1996) roofs were covered with soil rather than tiles to increase energy efficiency by trapping heat. The soil acts as a giant radiator. The field of environmental engineering is to face the challenge of an unprecedented global urbanization and in- 4 The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 Birgitta Dresp-Langley dustrialization in developing countries such as Africa, which seek to increase their wealth and living standards. Engineers nowadays have to be able to adapt their vision and respond to the needs of societies at a much larger and more complex scale, where cooperation with and within other cultures is required. Among the most urgent demands currently put to the profession, we may list the following: • educate the public to increase awareness of envi- ronmental issues • mitigate the threats of global climate change • provide adequate supplies of fresh water • deal with the pressures of increasing population • anticipate energy shortages, searching for renew- able energy sources • develop tools to assess the performance and sustainability of existing structures • design ecologically friendly transportation systems • estimate impacts and anticipate risks (earthquakes, floods, storms, contamination) • restore and reclaim mined and disturbed landscapes • develop and strengthen links with other fields of science such as mechanics, biochemical engineer- ing, the geological, biological, computer, social and management sciences These complex issues cut across all the engineering do- mains and require a scientific analysis at different levels of scale and complexity. Management training and expertise to put new solutions into practice is an essential aspect of mod- ern environmental engineering. (Fig. 4) proposes a schematic view of problems to be addressed, at small and large scales. ADAPTIVE PROJECT MANAGEMENT TO COPE WITH PROBLEMS OF SCALE AND COMPLEXITY A factor which is often difficult to assess in the search for sustainable solutions is that of the scale and complexity of a given problem. Engineers may be perfectly capable of work- ing out a basic physical design or the hydro-geomorphology for what may seem an appropriate solution to a problem of the environment, but may ultimately not provide a successful solution because the scale or complexity of the problem was not adequately predicted and analyzed. The complexity and scale of biological systems [20] make it difficult, sometimes impossible, to understand how these systems behave at dif- ferent levels of organization from elemental cycles to com- munity metabolisms, and how these levels interact. Moreo- ver, biological systems and components [21] take different and variable times to respond to engineering solutions or to changes in general. The timescale of their responses may exceed that of reasonable monitoring expectations and may render reliable predictions impossible. This timescale prob- lem can be illustrated by the example of damaged coastal reefs, where times for a full functional restoration at a site may be estimated in terms of centuries. Also, biological sys- tems respond to changes as they develop, and this natural adaptation may make it difficult or impossible to work out ready regulatory recipes. A different but related problem of scale in environmental engineering is that related to the number of people concerned or affected by a project. Adap- tive project management was proposed as an approach that helps cope with problems of scale [22, 23]. Adaptive man- agement allows for changing goals as an engineering project evolves with time. Intelligent monitoring combined with general project goals allow realistic re-evaluations of what can be accomplished. Adaptive management works best with a conceptual model that leads to clearly defined, explicit general goals [23]. The success criteria in adaptive project management vary from case to case, and the more success criteria depend on process and function per se, the more it is likely that general goals will be reached. For processes that are well understood, a list of detailed success criteria can be established from the outset. Most importantly, adaptive man- agement permits the learning process inherent to modern engineering research and practice to be progressively inte- grated into a given project. As far as planning is concerned, any well-developed project plan should include a flow chart with branches at points in the process where uncertainty ex- ists, and where deviation from an expected outcome pathway leads to an anticipated alternative endpoint. Well-designed engineering projects incorporate uncertainty into the process, and at the outset inform the public or responsible party of potential problems, alternative solutions, and their cost. Fig (4). The built environment reflects the material wealth of cities and nations. Its sustainability largely depends on the care and rigor with which resource use and re-use, emissions, structural resistance to earthquake threats, land-fill volumes and other environmental factors are taken into account, from the planning, design, construc- tion and anticipated life cycles to the demolition and re-use of buildings. Understanding interactions between the built environ- ment and its natural context is essential for promoting an economic use of resources. Finding sustainable solutions involves research for renewable resources and the analysis and management of risks such as global climate change, earthquakes, floods or storms. The avail- ability and consumption of energy influences both the nature and extent of pollution and the extent to which polluted atmosphere or polluted sites can be regenerated or restored (intersection between orange and grey circles). Countries with poorly developed infra- structures in which energy supply is scarce will have to cope with environmental problems at a different scale compared with coun- tries which have highly developed infrastructures and extensive energy production and consumption. risk analysis and management renewable resources sustainable construction restoration water use & re-use ECO-PARKS BUILT ENVIRONMENT & LANDSCAPE Structures Performance Life-Cycles ATMOSPHERE & ENERGY Air Quality Climate Change WATER Water Resources Water Quality Dimensions of Environmental Engineering The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 5 These are represented by alternative pathways and endpoints in the project flow chart. Adaptive management allows all parties involved to consider a variety of potential end- products and determine if they are acceptable. Marcus [24] discussed the example of a project for tidal marsh restoration in San Francisco Bay, which affected a large number of user groups in the area and required continual reworking of the engineering plans to satisfy the political and economic con- cerns expressed by these groups and the general public. Evaluating the impact of man-made damage or natural disas- ters on the environment and public concerned is another im- portant, scale-dependent issue within the science and prac- tice of environmental engineering. IMPACT STUDIES: ASSESSING DAMAGE AND LOSS OF RESOURCES Landscape planning and policy making are affected by the impact of both man-made and naturally caused damage to the environment. As an example, we may consider the case of earthquakes, such as that which occurred in Septem- ber 1999 in Central Taiwan, inducing several large-scale landslides and causing environmental and resource problems which required a functional analytical ecosystem approach to the problem beyond the standard technological solutions. The impact study by Lin, Lin, & Chou [25] gives an example of a long-term investigation into the consequences of earth- quakes on the environment. In this study, changes of the post-quake landslides, vegetation recovery conditions, and soil loss were assessed using imaging technology such as multi-temporal SPOT satellite images, and analytical image transformation. Mathematical models for vegetation recov- ery analysis based on calculations of normalized difference vegetation index (NDVI) and Universal Soil Loss Equations [26] guided the research and evaluation. Landslides were identified on the basis of pre- and post-quake air images us- ing image differencing algorithms and change detection thresholds. Vegetation recovery rates (VRR) were computed to quantify successive conditions of vegetation recovery at landslides. To estimate the environmental impact of the de- nudation sites, soil loss before and after the earthquake was calculated on the basis of geomorphology analysis. The re- search revealed large-scale impacts of the earthquake and the concomitant landslides, and enabled further decision making policies and planning in the affected areas. After six years of monitoring, vegetation recovery was found to have reached 89.69%, which gives an overall assessment of nature’s abil- ity to regenerate vegetation after large-scale landslides. However, other risk factors such as typhoons could abolish such renewal in a short time. To mitigate such risks, engi- neering solutions for geo-morphologically unstable sites need to be developed. Other medium and large-scale risks that challenge the expertise of researchers and practitioners in the field of environmental engineering are those repre- sented by the contamination of water supplies through toxic trace elements. RISK EVALUATION AT MULTIPLE LEVELS OF ORGANIZATION Inadequate water supply and related health hazards are a daily problem faced by millions of people worldwide. The management of the water environment for sustainable human benefit requires environmental policies that promote eco- logical health, meaning both ecosystem health and human safety. The concerns of environmental engineers for water supplies, the mitigation of contamination, and the promotion of ecological health nowadays extend beyond the perform- ance and safety of individual components. Entire water sup- ply systems and their interactions with other systems are taken into account, which involves evaluating the risks and analyzing the consequences of water contamination by pathogens or toxic trace elements. These may originate from various sources. Metal traces in soils, for example, were found to cause potentially contaminant effects at all levels of biological organization, from cellular to ecosystem levels, even in sites where the corresponding surface water met wa- ter quality criteria [27]. The presence of COPECs, or con- taminants of potential environmental concern [28] in soil and water represents an ecological risk at the ecosystem, com- munity, population, individual, cellular, and molecular lev- els. While the detection and identification of COPECs as such is, in principle, not difficult, the current problem with toxicity risk evaluation is that the specificity of contaminant effects, and the insight gained into the mechanisms of toxic- ity as such, is lesser the higher the level of organization [29]. Indicators of toxicity such as morphological changes at the tissue level, ultra-structural changes at the cellular level re- vealed through electron microscopy, and biochemical changes at the molecular level permit establishing and to quantifying cause-effect relationships. Evaluation of con- tamination risks at the level of ecologically relevant proc- esses is far more difficult and susceptible to biases due to the lack of individual data on exposure, outcomes, or confound- ing variables that may contribute to a measured effect [30]. At lower levels of organization, critical changes occur more rapidly and may provide early warnings of toxicological ef- fects on populations [29, 30]. However, despite the greater mechanistic understanding and specificity of effects at lower levels of organization, the insight provided may be limited because the significance of these effects at the ecological level or the amplitude of their bio-magnification is unknown. The usefulness of indicators thus depends on the cross ex- amination of multiple levels of organization. Effects of trace- elements on plant communities, for example, may be rele- vant because the production of plant matter is a primary source of organic carbon for aquatic ecosystems. A possible food-chain transfer from contaminated soils should also be considered. Changes at the ecosystem level may be inferred when contaminants exceed benchmark levels that are toxic to soil bacteria, suggesting that their functional properties re- lated to nutrient cycling and energy flow have been affected [27]. The pathways for the migration of contaminants away from a given source may involve transport in surface water and shallow groundwater. Although dissolved metal trace elements in water may seem harmless with respect to toxic- ity, this does not alleviate concerns over oral uptake of trace elements through contaminated food. It is generally believed that the uptake of adsorbed trace elements is significantly less dangerous than the absorption of dissolved forms [31]. However, the relative importance of the different routes of exposure remains unclear and at high concentrations the bioavailability of even a small fraction of adsorbed trace elements from diet could be important, which would support the hypothesis that diet is a significant route of exposure [32, 33]. At the level of human populations, the risk of mortality 6 The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 Birgitta Dresp-Langley from cancer is estimated to be increased in people exposed to certain trace elements through diet, even at seemingly low concentrations [34]. Eco-toxicology has, for the last 30 years, been concerned with studying the effects of contami- nants on the biological integrity and ecological health of communities and ecosystems. Newman and Unger [35] give a complete and comprehensive overview, from the general principles of eco-toxicology to examples of scientific in- depth studies. Some of these are concerned with the effects of environmental pollutants at different levels of biological organization, from the molecule to the biosphere as a whole. How biotic integrity can be assessed at different levels, and used as a monitoring tool to guide further investigation, is discussed. To restore the ecological health of water, soils, and sediments, ecological and environmental engineering design solutions are applied to an increasingly diverse range of innovative projects for the effective management of natu- ral resources. Adequate technologies have been created and are currently used within the fields of environmental protec- tion and restoration, the food sector, industrial waste and sewage treatment, and architecture and landscape design. These technological solutions are the core of turn-key strate- gies aimed at reducing the negative impact of humankind on natural resources. TURN-KEY STRATEGIES TO RESTORE ECOLOGI- CAL HEALTH Environmental engineering practice is all about what Ar- onson et al [8] called “the search for effective turnkey strate- gies to mitigate or overturn the negative environmental ef- fects of the 20 th century’s growth path”. A turnkey strategy, in business language, is a strategy or solution where the pro- vider or designer (research and development) undertakes the entire responsibility from design to completion and commis- sioning. The client (society) only has to turn the proverbial key to make the solution function as it should. Several con- crete examples of environmental turn-key solutions at the medium scale are given in the case examples presented by Todd, Brown, & Wells [18]. Their applied functionalist ap- proach shows how engineered ecosystem designs and con- cepts can be readily applied to solve concrete environmental problems such as • sewage treatment through biologically diverse, vas- cular and woody plants, which are particularly suit- able for waste treatment • restoration of contaminated water by floating de- vices using wind and solar energy • organic industrial waste treatment • ecologically designed systems for air purification, humidity control, water re-use, waste treatment and food production within architectural structures • the integration of industrial and agricultural activity sectors in urban design and landscape planning through the creation of eco-parks The economic viability of integrative ecosystems and en- vironmental engineering design within urban settings is a topic that concerns both the general public [36] and local authorities involved in planning and decision making. Urban environments provide the basis for most of the world’s eco- nomic activities, including tourism and the leisure industry. Urban planning and development has a major impact on the economic performance of companies, corporations and na- tions, affecting human activities at all levels. Demographic estimates of a large number of additional inhabitants of the planet for the next decade require planning and development of basic housing and infrastructures, which is to incur a gi- gantic cost to support the predicted population growth. At the same time, infrastructures are rapidly decaying in many countries and are urgently in need of repair and maintenance, which represents projects associated with another enormous outlay. The increasing trans-national embedding of global sustainability issues will lead to private-public partnerships and projects that will be delicate to manage, especially in developing countries that do not have a tradition of private ownership and public infrastructure. Thus, both scientists and professionals in the field of environmental engineering will be confronted with unprecedented social and economical challenges. ENVIRONMENTAL ENGINEERING AND SUSTAIN- ABLE ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT Whether an innovative design solution that benefits the environment and the people who live in it will ultimately meet success depends on economical and social factors. Questions of cost-effectiveness or whether people are likely to accept and live with a solution proposed to them need to be addressed. Idealistic visions have to lead to realistic out- comes and ethical concerns are to be taken into account in the light of economical and political pressure. This involves cost-benefit analyses, feasibility studies and awareness of the political climate and decision making context as potential limiting factors to a project. The emerging discipline of eco- logical economics addresses such complex problems at the interface of the economic system and the global ecosystem that sustains and contains it. Like environmental engineer- ing, ecological economics espouses a systems approach that aims to offer solutions to the problems of society in the 21st century. Economics is generally defined as the science of allocation of scarce resources among alternative desirable ends. This implies a specific sequence of steps in economic analysis and, finally, the economist must decide what ends are to be pursued. Many argue that decisions on ends should be left to democratic processes, suggesting that an essential precursor to economic analysis is the democratic process that successfully articulates the desired goals. Once these latter have been identified, the economist can analyze what re- sources are necessary to achieve them, and which of these resources are the scarcest. The final step is allocation, via whatever institution or mechanism is most appropriate for the resources and ends considered [17]. In classical econom- ics, there is no absolute resource scarcity. As a resource be- comes scarce, its price increases, which provides market incentives to develop substitutes. The problem with such reasoning is that the human and all other species rely for their survival and welfare on hitherto non-marketed ecosys- tem services such as climate, air, water, and a clean atmos- phere. Though increasingly scarce, most of these services have no price and therefore do not generate any feedback from markets to indicate their scarcity. Theoretical econom- ics concentrates on growth and on markets, but markets fail to efficiently allocate most natural resources [37], possibly Dimensions of Environmental Engineering The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 7 with the exception of water, given that there is now water pricing in many areas, at least for urban and industrial use. The critical problem is that, as an economy grows, it does not expand into a void, but into a finite sustaining and con- taining biosphere. Throughout the process of economic growth, society exhausts natural capital, and thereby its vital support functions. The potential irreversibility of this process has sometimes been discussed on the example of energy consumption and the second law of thermodynamics [38]. This universal law of increasing entropy or increasing un- availability of energy in a physical system predicts that in any isolated system entropy increases. Applied to the eco- nomic process, as discussed by Georgescu-Roegen [38], the second law of thermodynamics leads to predict that, ulti- mately, the scarcest energy resource will be low-entropy matter-energy. The ability of societies to rely on such energy would thus, ultimately, be limited. On the other hand, there is an anticipated abundance of a variety of renewable, non- polluting forms of energy [17], and the development of in- novative engineering solutions that are radically different from current designs will play an important role in environ- mental engineering as the 21 st century progresses. The search for society forms capable of allocating resources in a sus- tainable and effective way has become a topic of major con- cern world-wide. Economists [15, 39, 40] now question the classic economic growth models, which postulate a quantita- tive increase in the rate at which an economy transforms natural resources into economic output and waste. New theo- ries of economic development, which incorporate concepts of a development ethic [6] and “dematerialization”, have been proposed, such as Robert Ayres' theory [40], which insists on the difference between “more” and “better”, and which challenges the classic growth paradigm by pointing out that the relevant measure of economic output is not the quantity of goods produced, but the quality and the, not nec- essarily material, value of final services provided to the con- sumer. Such worldviews tend to separate the economic proc- ess from energy and material issues, and place priorities on increasing the quality of human life and well-being while limiting resource use and waste production. The re- investment of capital produced by global economy into envi- ronmental engineering research and the development of in- novative technology and solutions will become an important strategy to such an end. Figure 5 here below illustrates these implications. CONCLUSIONS Contemporary environmental engineering is about devel- oping systems, structures, methods, tools and infrastructures that help protect human health and the environment, includ- ing sustainable transportation and energy systems, and solu- tions for safe and adequate water supply worldwide. Prob- lems have to be analyzed on a large scale, taking into ac- count the growing trans-national embedding of environ- mental research and technology. The examples discussed here illustrate how the theory, research and practice of envi- ronmental engineering, in contact with other disciplines such as ecology, geology, biology and economics, address the most urgent problems currently faced by global society. Un- derstanding complex systems requires more than one model, and there is a growing agreement on the need for exchange across the natural, engineering and social sciences to address questions of sustainability and economic development, the increasing scarcity of natural resources, and the future of the biosphere as a whole. The need for new engineering solu- tions is urgent, the stakes are high. By taking into account the social and psychological implications of these priorities, and by promoting exchanges between scientists across disci- plines in close contact with the public, we may hope to be able to rise to the challenge. REFERENCES [1] D. S. Landes, The Unbound Prometheus: Technical and Industrial Development in Western Europe from 1750 to the Present. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. [2] R. W. Emerson, Nature. James Munroe & Co: Boston, 1836. [3] A. Leopold, A Sand County Almanac. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1949. [4] H. E. Daly, and J. Cobb, For the common good: redirecting the economy towards community, the environment, and a sustainable future. Boston: Beacon Press, 1989. [5] P. Dasgupta, Human well being and the natural environment. Ox- ford: Oxford University Press, 2002. [6] J. N. Blignaut, “Towards an economic development ethic”, in Sus- tainable options, J. N. Blignaut, M. P. de Wit, (Ed). Capetown: UCT Press, 2004, pp. 515-522. [7] B. Fuller, Critical Path. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1981. [8] J. Aronson, J. N. Blignaut, S. J. Milton, and A. F. “Clewell, Natural capital: The limiting factor”. Ecol. Eng., vol. 28, pp. 1-5, 2006. Fig (5). Growing economy does not expand into a void, but into a finite sustaining and containing biosphere. Through the process of economic growth, society exhausts natural capital and thereby its vital support functions. 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Georgescu-Roegen, The entropy law and the economic process. Cambridge: Har. University Press, 1971. [39] J. Farley, and H. E. Daly, “Natural capital: the limiting factor-A reply to Aronson, Blignaut, Milton & Clewell”, Ecol. Eng., vol. 28, pp. 1-5, 2006. [40] R. Ayres, Turning point: the end of the growth paradigm. London: Earthscan, 1998. Received: March 26, 2008 Revised: April 25, 2008 Accepted: April 25, 2008 © Birgitta Dresp-Langley; Licensee Bentham Open. This is an open access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5/), which permits unrestrictive use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited.
work_hi6c7sbt7rfohew6dxkgqpb2bi ---- AMS volume 18 issue 1 Cover and Back matter THE BOOK OF CONCORD Thoreau's Life as a Writer William Howarth In this remarkable portrait William Howarth focuses on Thoreau's Journal, tracing the history of Thoreau's imagination and placing the popular images of Thoreau as mystic, radical and naturalist in the context of his life as a writer. 00.6539 3 £3.95 272pp January 1984 THE BLITHEDALE ROMANCE Nathaniel Hawthorne Introduction by Annette Kolodny The Blithedale Romance is based in part on Hawthorne's own experiences at Brook Farm, an experimental socialist community. It is a superb depiction of a Utopian community that cannot survive the individual passions of its members. 039.028 6 E1.95 296pp January 1984 LOVE AND DEATH IN THE AMERICAN NOVEL Leslie Fiedler 'One of the great, essential books on the American imagination...an accepted major work' — New York Times 'Anyone concerned with the understanding of American literature and American morals will have to take it into account' — George Steiner 055.1123 E4.95 512pp April 1984 A MODERN INSTANCE William Dean Howells Introduction by Edwin H. Cady The publication in 1882 of A Modern Instance marked the author's transition to leading American novelist and champion of realism in American literature. With its roots in Howells's concern with the question of what makes an American, it introduced in American literature two innovative and powerful themes - divorce and the new journalism. 039.027 8 £3.95 496pp April 1984 A PHILIP ROTH READER Philip Roth Introduction by Martin Green Some of the best episodes from the novels and prose, including the newly revised version of The Breast, by 'one of America's most eagerly-read novelists, and one of the most excitingly unpredictable' — Sunday Times 00.55185 £4.95 512pp March 1984 WALDEN and CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE Henry David Thoreau Introduction by Michael Meyer In Walden Thoreau creates a 'shining example' of Transcendental individualism. Civil Disobedience is less a call to political activism than a statement of Thoreau's insistence on living a life of principle. 039.044 8 £2.50 432pp January 1984 For further information please write to The Academic Marketing Department, Penguin Books Ltd., 536 King's Road, London SW10 0UH Jnl. of American Studies, 18,1 (i) terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core The Divided Mind Ideology and Imagination in America, 1898-1917 PETER CONN Developing a series of vivid portraits of representative Americans from a broad range of fields, this lively interpretation of a fascinating period in American culture shows how central to the American consciousness was a sense of tension between tradition and innovation, order and liberation. £22.50 net Cambridge Studies in American Literature and Culture The Puritan conversion Narrative The Beginnings of American Expression PATRICIA CALDWELL An exploration of the testimonies of spiritual experience delivered by puritans in the michseventeenth century in order to qualify for membership of their local churches. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core The Rock Art of the North American Indians CAMPBELL GRANT The first highly illustrated general introduction to the rock art of the North American Indiana This art expresses accurately the harmonious relationship that existed between the Indians and nature, and reflects their awed sense of an all-pervading spirit world. 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Even as the civil rights movement swept America, Chicago dealt with its rapidly growing black population not by abolishing the ghetto, but expanding and reinforcing it The result saw the emergence of a ghetto now distinguished by government support and sanctioa £20.00 net CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS (iii) terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core The Art of the City Views and Versions of New York Peter Conrad Peter Conrad's imaginative study of the magic and modernism of New York, from the early nineteenth century to the present day, as seen through the eyes of novelists, dramatists, poets, photographers, painters and other artists. Many striking photographs are included. 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Oxford University Press (iv) terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core N O T E S F O R C O N T R I B U T O R S 1 A l l c o n t r i b u t i o n s a n d e d i t o r i a l c o r r e s p o n d e n c e s h o u l d b e s e n t t o : T h e E d i t o r , Journal of American Studies, S c h o o l o f E n g l i s h a n d A m e r i c a n S t u d i e s , U n i v e r s i t y o f E a s t A n g l i a , N o r w i c h N R 4 7 T J , E n g l a n d . 2 A r t i c l e s s h o u l d g e n e r a l l y c o n t a i n a b o u t 5,000 w o r d s . L o n g e r o r s h o r t e r articles, o r articles i n t w o o r m o r e p a r t s , m a y b e a c c e p t e d b y a r r a n g e m e n t w i t h the E d i t o r s . } S u b m i s s i o n o f a n a r t i c l e is t a k e n t o i m p l y that it has n o t p r e v i o u s l y b e e n p u b l i s h e d , a n d is n o t b e i n g c o n s i d e r e d f o r p u b l i c a t i o n e l s e w h e r e . 4 C o n t r i b u t i o n s s h o u l d b e c l e a r l y t y p e d i n d o u b l e s p a c i n g ( i n c l u d i n g f o o t n o t e s ) , p r e f e r a b l y o n A 4 p a p e r , w i t h a w i d e left-hand m a r g i n . D i a g r a m s , m a p s a n d i l l u s t r a t i o n s m a y b e i n c l u d e d . 5 S p e l l i n g m a y c o n f o r m e i t h e r t o B r i t i s h o r A m e r i c a n u s a g e , p r o v i d i n g it is c o n s i s t e n t t h r o u g h o u t . 6 F o o t n o t e s s h o u l d b e u s e d s p a r i n g l y : in g e n e r a l , t o g i v e s o u r c e s o f direct q u o t a t i o n s , r e f e r e n c e s t o m a i n a u t h o r i t i e s o n d i s p u t a b l e q u e s t i o n s , a n d e v i d e n c e r e l i e d o n f o r a n e w o r u n u s u a l c o n c l u s i o n . T h e y s h o u l d b e n u m b e r e d c o n s e c u t i v e l y , a n d m a y m o s t c o n v e n i e n t l y b e p l a c e d , i n d o u b l e s p a c i n g , at the e n d o f the a r t i c l e . 7 F o r g u i d a n c e o n matters o f s t y l e , c o n t r i b u t o r s s h o u l d refer e i t h e r t o t h e ML,A Handbook ( 1 9 7 7 ) , o r t o the Journal of American Studies Style Notes, c o p i e s o f w h i c h m a y b e o b t a i n e d f r o m t h e E d i t o r s . 8 C o n t r i b u t o r s s h o u l d k e e p o n e c o p y o f t h e t y p e s c r i p t f o r c o r r e c t i n g p r o o f s . 9 N o t e s i n t e n d e d f o r the E d i t o r s o r P r i n t e r s h o u l d b e o n a separate sheet. 10 F i r s t p r o o f s m a y b e r e a d a n d c o r r e c t e d b y c o n t r i b u t o r s p r o v i d e d that they can g i v e the E d i t o r a n a d d r e s s t h r o u g h w h i c h t h e y c a n b e r e a c h e d w i t h o u t d e l a y a n d c a n g u a r a n t e e t o r e t u r n t h e c o r r e c t e d p r o o f s t o t h e E d i t o r , b y airmail w h e r e n e c e s s a r y , w i t h i n t h r e e d a y s o f r e c e i v i n g t h e m . 1 1 C o r r e c t i o n s s h o u l d b e k e p t t o a n a b s o l u t e m i n i m u m . T h e y s h o u l d b e c o n f i n e d t o e r r o r s o f t h e t y p i s t o r p r i n t e r u n l e s s t h e E d i t o r a u t h o r i z e s o t h e r w i s e . 1 2 C o n t r i b u t o r s o f articles a n d r e v i e w essays r e c e i v e 25 free offprints. E x t r a c o p i e s m a y b e o r d e r e d a c c o r d i n g t o a scale o f c h a r g e s . 13 C o n t r i b u t o r s n e e d n o t b e m e m b e r s o f t h e B r i t i s h A s s o c i a t i o n f o r A m e r i c a n S t u d i e s . U n s o l i c i t e d t y p e s c r i p t s c a n o n l y b e r e t u r n e d t o o v e r s e a s c o n t r i b u t o r s w h o s e n d I n t e r n a t i o n a l R e p l y C o u p o n s ( n o t p o s t a g e s t a m p s ) . 1 4 C o n t r i b u t o r s o f a c c e p t e d articles w i l l b e a s k e d t o a s s i g n t h e i r c o p y right, o n certain c o n d i t i o n s , t o C a m b r i d g e U n i v e r s i t y P r e s s , t o h e l p p r o t e c t their material, p a r t i c u l a r l y i n the U S A . terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core Volume 18 Number i April 1984 Journal of American Studies The Popular Concept of ' H o m e ' in Nineteenth-Century America M A X I N E V A N D E W E T E R I N G The Soldier at the Heart of the War: The Myth o f the Green Beret in the Popular Culture of the Vietnam Era A L A S D A I R S P A R K Film Noir: The Politics of the Maladjusted Text R I C H A R D M A L T B Y Out of the L i g h t : A n Analysis of Narrative in Out of the Past J O H N H A R V E Y The Comedian as the Letter ' N ' : Sight and Sound in the Poetry of William Carlos Williams T O N Y B A K E R Review Essay Segregation and the Southern Business Elite T O N Y B A D G E R Reviews © Cambridge University Press 1984 Cambridge University Press The Pitt Building, Trumpington Street, Cambridge CB2 i R P 32 East 57th Street, N e w Y o r k , N Y 10022 Printed in Great Britain at the University Press, Cambridge terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core
work_hijep5rt2ngfrpwn3jukaxleii ---- PANORAMICA: Usa 2015 B BURKE, Peter, What is the history of knowledge?, Cambridge-Malden, Polity Press, 2015, 160 pp. a cura di Swen STEINBERG traduzione di Alessandro SALVADOR Peter Burke, che con la sua opera Social History of Knowledge1, ha, in passato, offerto contributi essenziali per riorientare in termini storiografici le scienze umane e sociali, offre, con questo lavoro introduttivo, molto più che semplici approcci e metodi per la ancora giovane storia della conoscenza. Egli ne indica anche le fondamenta e i suoi sviluppi storici, che sono connessi a sociologi come Max Weber o Karl Mannheim e con gli approcci alla sociologia della conoscenza. La focalizzazione della storia della conoscenza, che prende in considerazione specifici patrimoni, i loro sviluppi, le distribuzioni e le modifiche, ricevette impulsi fondamentali dai dibattiti, occorsi negli anni Novanta, sulle moderne società del sapere e prende le distanze da una storia della conoscenza classica, orientata alle istituzioni, e dalla storia intellettuale, concentrata sulle persone. Dopo una breve introduzione sulla concettualizzazione storiografica della conoscenza, Burke presenta nel secondo capitolo i concetti principali: l’autorità e il monopolio della conoscenza, l’innovazione e l’interdisciplinarietà, gli ordini e le pratiche della conoscenza, il sapere situazionale ed estorto e, infine, il regime dell’ignoranza negli sviluppi consecutivi della conoscenza. Nel capitolo tre, Burke presenta le forme del sapere, differenziando le conoscenze collettanee (gathering knowledges), le conoscenze analitiche (analysing knowledges), le conoscenze diffuse 1 BURKE, Peter, A social history of knowledge: from Gutenberg to Diderot, Cambridge-Malden, Polity Press – Blackwell Publishers, 2000. Diacronie Studi di Storia Contemporanea www.diacronie.it N. 28 | 4|2016 La voce del silenzio: intelligence, spionaggio e conflitto nel XX secolo 24/ PANORAMICA: Usa 2015 Swen STEINBERG, Elisa GRANDI * PANORAMICA: Usa 2015 Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea 2 (disseminating knowledges) e le conoscenze applicative (employing knowledges). Queste forme del sapere vengono quindi collocate in una prospettiva storica ossia fatte risalire ad essa. Nell’ultimo capitolo vengono trattati, quindi, i problemi e le prospettive della storia della conoscenza. Una cronologia e una bibliografia essenziale completano un volume molto leggibile e semplice da consultare grazie all’indice analitico. Burke argomenta infine in modo convincente che, in una prospettiva a lungo termine, una storia della conoscenza può offrire nuove strade in ottica globale o transnazionale fintanto che vengano prese in considerazione le conoscenze in movimento (knowledge on the move2) o che ci si focalizzi sui produttori della conoscenza al di là della scienza e con l’aiuto di categorie moderne (ad esempio gli aspetti di genere). BOYER, Christopher R., Political Landscapes: Forests, Conservation, and Community in Mexico, Durham, Duke University Press, 2015, 360 pp. a cura di Swen STEINBERG traduzione di Alessandro SALVADOR L’analisi di Christopher R. Boyer offre un contributo cruciale sulla storia ambientale dell’America Latina e su tematiche che vanno oltre ai centri e verso le periferie, come era già accaduto con la prospettiva post-coloniale in riferimento all’India o all’Africa. In modo non dissimile da questi lavori, Boyer non si limita a prendere in considerazione interrogativi di tipo economico o scientifico collegati alle scienze forestali e ai dibattiti sulla conservazione. Egli va oltre e riscontra ioni sociali. Racconta così la sua storia ambientale come storia sociale, prendendo ad esempio le regioni del Michoacàn e del Chihuahua. La storia della moderna scienza forestale in queste regioni viene rappresentata come un costante conflitto tra il governo, gli studiosi delle foreste, le aziende di legname (in parte straniere) e la popolazione locale. Le foreste del Messico, la cui estensione si è ridotta di quasi il 50% nel corso del ventesimo secolo, diventano quindi “panorami politici” poiché in esse si risolvono le dispute sull’utilizzo della natura o vengono fomentati conflitti tramite interventi esterni. Questo sguardo sull’agire e sul sapere di attori regionali viene contestualizzato nello sviluppo delle politiche forestali che, in Messico, hanno avuto una tendenza soprattutto liberale fino alla Seconda guerra mondiale per essere poi fortemente regolate dallo stato e approdare poi, negli anni Ottanta, ad una fase neoliberale. 2 BURKE, Peter, What is the history of knowledge?, Cambridge-Malden, Polity Press – Blackwell Publishers, 2015, p. 123. SWEN STEINBERG, ELISA GRANDI Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea 3 BERRY, Evan, Devoted to Nature: The Religious Roots of American Environmentalism, Oakland, University of California Press, 2015, 272 pp. a cura di Swen STEINBERG traduzione di Alessandro SALVADOR Lo studio di Evan Barry congiunge la ricerca sulla storia ambientale con degli interrogativi sul mondo della religione e analizza i collegamenti tra l’ambientalismo americano e la religione tra Gilded Age e l’era progressista (ca. 1877-1920) andando però, alle sue origini e, in prospettiva, ben oltre questi confini. Berry si occupa di una tematica centrale nell’autocoscienza e nell’identità degli Stati Uniti quando erano ancora un giovane stato nazionale, in cui i legami con la natura e il concetto di luogo selvaggio giocavano inizialmente – e giocano in parte anche tuttora – un ruolo fondamentale. Anche se l’influenza che personalità legate al trascendentalismo come Ralph Waldo Emerson, Margaret Fuller o Henry David Thoreau hanno esercitato su questi concetti è stata sufficientemente studiata, le fondamenta teologiche e gli sviluppi successivi di stampo religioso non sono state finora sufficientemente analizzate. Evan Berry può quindi concludere che l’ambientalismo americano, anche nel Ventesimo secolo, è stato fortemente influenzato da elementi religiosi e che la sua comprensione della natura si è identificata soprattutto tramite il concetto cristiano della redenzione. Questo ha portato non solo ad un forte legame identitario con la natura, ma ha anche delineato gli approcci per definire cosa sia possibile fare all’interno della natura e come essa si possa utilizzare in senso turistico o ricreativo. I collegamenti illustrati da Berry mostrano quindi il potenziale dell’analisi storico-culturale superando le cornici interpretative usuali per il XIX e XX secolo, come lo stato nazionale, e indicano applicazioni che vanno al di là del contesto degli Stati Uniti. BROCK, Emily K., Money Trees. The Douglas Fir and American Forestry, 1900-1944, Corvallis (Oregon), Oregon State University Press, 2015, 272 pp. a cura di Swen STEINBERG traduzione di Alessandro SALVADOR Il lavoro di Emily K. Brock analizza lo sviluppo delle moderne scienze forestali prendendo ad esempio il patrimonio forestale degli stati dell’Oregon e di Washington, negli USA: Brock illustra i dibattiti scientifici ed ecologici come anche le prese di posizione delle industrie del legname e le strategie delle amministrazioni statali, con le PANORAMICA: Usa 2015 Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea 4 relative implicazioni politiche. Il nodo centrale è che attorno al 1900, contemporaneamente alla crescita del movimento conservazionista, non solo si ebbe la professionalizzazione delle scienze forestali negli USA ma, a nord-ovest, si crearono delle vere e proprie Tree Farms nei vasti possedimenti del “barone del legno” Frederick Weyerahaeuser, in cui venivano piantati e fatti crescere rapidamente e in modo industriale gli abeti di Douglas. Questa economizzazione dell’ecologia, trattata spesso in modo sbrigativo nei trattati sul movimento conservazionista americano, si occupava anche della questione centrale di definire concetti come sostenibilità e senso civico. In seguito, la definizione della funzione che le foreste rivestivano per l’economia e la società cambiò, ma si sviluppò anche attraverso i metodi delle Tree Farms in un’ottica che privilegiava l’economia. Brock non riesce sempre a descrivere i diversi gruppi di attori nelle loro relazioni reciproche e anche il concetto di forestry rimane parzialmente indefinito nel suo utilizzo (scienza forestale, economia forestale o gestione delle foreste). Il lavoro di Emily K. Brock mostra però in modo convincente il potenziale di una ricerca focalizzata e centrata sugli attori che, combinata con i dibattiti scientifici, economici e pubblici, offre un contributo essenziale alla storia ambientale che, in una prospettiva comparativa, può trovare applicazione per altre regioni del mondo. PARSONS, Elaine Frantz, Ku-Klux The Birth of the Klan during Reconstruction, Chapel Hill (North Carolina), The University Of North Carolina Press, 2015, 272 pp. a cura di Elisa GRANDI Il libro di Elaine Frantz Parsons, professoressa associata della Duquesne University (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania) fornisce il primo resoconto dettagliato delle origini e dell’affermazione del Ku Klux Klan all’indomani della Guerra Civile. A differenza di altri episodi di violenza razziale che caratterizzarono gli anni immediatamente successivi alla sconfitta degli Stati del Sud, il Klan si affermò come un fenomeno radicalmente diverso, poggiando allo stesso tempo su di un forte radicamento locale e su di una visibilità nazionale. Dosando sapientemente un livello di dettaglio nella ricostruzione degli avvenimenti mai raggiunto nella storiografia sul tema e un’analisi dell’affermazione del discorso e dell’ideologia che accompagnò l’ascesa del Klan, l’autrice si muove su due livelli di analisi: da un lato lo studio degli “uomini che agivano sul campo”, attraverso un insieme di relazioni politiche e comunitarie radicate nel territorio in cui operavano, dall’altro “l’idea del Klan” nel discorso pubblico, che viene ricostruita principalmente attraverso la stampa, locale e nazionale. Questa doppia SWEN STEINBERG, ELISA GRANDI Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea 5 prospettiva permette di dimostrare uno degli aspetti fondanti dell’analisi: la congiuntura di interessi tra bianchi del Sud e del Nord, tanto Repubblicani quanto Democratici, che permisero l’affermazione del Klan. Gli interessi rappresentati dai bianchi degli Stati del Nord amplificarono in maniera determinante il fenomeno del Ku Klux Klan, gli diedero una forma specifica permettendo che acquisisse una coerenza nazionale. PANORAMICA: Usa 2015 Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea 6 * Gli autori Swen Steinberg, storico, è professore associato in storia regionale alla Technische Universität di Dresda. Da ottobre 2014 fino a ottobre 2016 è ricercatore ospite presso la University of California Los Angeles con un finanziamento post-dottorale della Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft sul tema: Una storia transnazionale della conoscenza. Montagne, foreste e miniere tra Europa e America, 1760-1960. I suoi interessi di ricerca sono le concezioni dell’Economia del cultura, le trasformazioni economiche, la storia della conoscenza e gli studi sugli esuli. Ha pubblicato diversi libri e articoli su questi temi. Attualmente sta lavorando ad una analisi delle reti di giornalisti tedeschi esiliati in Cecoslovacchia (per «Metropol», «Berlin») e all’edizione dei carteggi di Kurt Eisner. URL: < http://www.studistorici.com/progett/autori/#Steinberg > Elisa Grandi si è laureata in Storia all’Università di Bologna nel 2005, ha ottenuto la specializzazione in Storia del Mondo contemporaneo nello stesso ateneo, nel 2007. È alumna del Collegio Superiore dell’Università di Bologna. È stata Visiting Student alla Duke University (2009), Visiting Scholar alla New School of Social Research (2010), borsista Eiffel-Excellence presso il laboratorio SEDET di Parigi (2011) e Attaché de Recherche all’Université Paris Diderot (2011-2012). Sta completando un dottorato di storia economica all’Universita Paris Diderot, in cotutela con l’Università di Bologna, sui piani di sviluppo finanziati dalla Banca Mondiale in Europa e America Latina negli anni Cinquanta e Sessanta. Dal 2012 lavora come Senior Researcher nell’Equipex DFIH (Données Financières Historiques) della Paris School of Economics e dal 2014 insegna Storia della globalizzazione all’Université Paris 7 – Denis Diderot. URL: < http://www.studistorici.com/2010/12/07/elisa_grandi/ > Per citare questo articolo: STEINBERG, Swen, GRANDI, Elisa, «Panoramica: Usa 2015», Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea : La voce del silenzio: intelligence, spionaggio e conflitto nel XX secolo, 29/12/2016, URL:< http://www.studistorici.com/2016/12/29/usa_numero_28/ > Diacronie Studi di Storia Contemporanea www.diacronie.it Risorsa digitale indipendente a carattere storiografico. Uscita trimestrale. redazione.diacronie@hotmail.it Comitato di redazione: Jacopo Bassi – Luca Bufarale – Antonio César Moreno Cantano – Deborah Paci – Fausto Pietrancosta – Alessandro Salvador – Matteo Tomasoni – Luca Zuccolo Diritti: gli articoli di Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea sono pubblicati sotto licenza Creative Commons 3.0. Possono essere riprodotti e modificati a patto di indicare eventuali modifiche dei contenuti, di riconoscere la paternità dell’opera e di condividerla allo stesso modo. La citazione di estratti è comunque sempre autorizzata, nei limiti previsti dalla legge.
work_hjauwvqqrfdn7irpdxznto6kae ---- 02.indd - 3 2 - C P A 4 [F1] Propuesta de escenografía para “Der Golem”. Hans Poelzig 1920 - 3 3 - M a te ri a y p o b re z a Materia y pobreza Materia, pobreza, material, acumulación, modernidad, sociedad La acumulación material es uno de los signos más identifi cables de la pobreza. El pobre vive apegado a la tierra, esa es su única posesión y a partir de ella construirá sus refugios, sus habitaciones, sus utensilios. Las construcciones de arcilla, de barro, moldeadas con gran abundancia de materia se encuentran en los poblados primitivos, pero cualquier situación marcada por la extrema pobreza lo estará también por las acumulaciones de material. Resulta inimaginable una situación de pobreza que no implique la acumulación de materia y esto es particularmente evidente en las sociedades desarrolladas, donde un mendigo es reconocible por su montaña de ropas, calzado o enseres de todo tipo. Resulta, sin embargo, signifi cativo que en los discursos de los ideólogos de la modernidad, la identifi cación de ésta con el advenimiento de una sociedad sin clases venga acompañada de una apelación a la pobreza, una nueva pobreza fría y sobria, propia de una habitación humana abierta y transparente, casi desnuda, e igualitaria para todos los hombres sin distinción de clases sociales. Así, la pobreza moderna estaría ligada al material, a los nuevos materiales, pero no es una condición impuesta, sino elegida, o al menos aceptada como inevitable por el nuevo hombre. La convivencia entre una pobreza de la acumulación material y una pobreza de ascetismo y renuncia es un hecho tanto en los discursos como en las obras de las vanguardias del siglo XX. La acumulación de materia informe y trabajada manualmente tiene lugar al mismo tiempo que la exhibición de la desnudez y la frialdad de los materiales producidos por la industria. Y en ambos casos, se apela a la pobreza como última referencia para las obras que tratan de ser una expresión fi el de las aspiraciones de su época. Matter, poverty, material, accumulation, modernity, society Accumulation of matter is one of the most recognizable signs of poverty. The poor lives close to the earth, this is his only property and he will use it to build his shelters, his rooms, or his utensils. The clay or mud constructions, moulded with a great amount of material, are found in primitive villages, but any situation of extreme poverty tends to be associated with an accumulation of matter whatever its origin. A situation of poverty not related with the accumulation of matter seems inconceivable and this is particularly evident in our developed societies, where a beggar is recognized in any street by his pile of clothes, shoes, and any sort of personal property. It is a signifi cant fact that many intellectual discourses on modernity identify the concept of modernity with that of a classless society and that, at the same time, they invoke poverty as a distinct mark of the new man. This new poverty is sober and cold as human habitation is open and transparent, almost naked, and it is equal for any man whatever his social strata. In this way, modern poverty is tied to material, to the new materials, but it is a chosen condition, nor an imposed one, or at least it is accepted as inevitable by the new man. Both accumulative poverty and ascetic poverty coexist in the discourses and works of 20th century avant- gardes. And in some contemporary works, we fi nd either an accumulation of shapeless and hand-worked matter or an exhibition of bare and cold materials industrially produced. In both cases, poverty is invoked as the ultimate reference for those works, intended to be a true expression of their epoch. María Teresa Muñoz Profesora titular Departamento Proyectos Arquitectónicos Escuela Técnica Superior de Arquitectura de la U.P de Madrid - 3 4 - C P A 4 La acumulación material es uno de los signos más identi icables de la pobreza. El pobre vive apegado a la tierra, esa es su única posesión y a partir de ella construirá sus refugios, sus habitaciones, sus utensilios. Las construcciones de arcilla, de barro, moldeadas con gran abundancia de materia se encuentran en los poblados primitivos, pero cualquier situación marcada por la extrema pobreza lo estará también por las acumulaciones de material, sea cual sea su cualidad y su procedencia. Por otra parte, los pobres ofrecen muchas veces una destreza en el trabajo material cuya consecuencia es la producción de una técnica constructiva y una artesanía propias, la materia se ve entonces transformada hasta límites que sobrepasan esta estricta condición material para convertirse en algo de un nivel superior, algo distinto, un producto industrial o una obra de arte. Pero igualmente en la pobreza se da el camino inverso, la actividad que opera desde la materia transformada hacia el puro material. Los pobres tratan de conseguir por distintos medios objetos manufacturados o incluso obras de arte para devolverlos a su condición anterior, a la de puro material, como el oro o la plata por ejemplo, para obtener de ellos un bene icio económico. Resulta inimaginable una situación de pobreza que no implique la acumulación de materia y esto es particularmente evidente en las sociedades desarrolladas, donde un mendigo es reconocible en la calle por su montaña de ropas, calzado o enseres de todo tipo que transporta con él a cualquier lugar. La identi icación entre materia y opresión, cuando la opresión no es sino una consecuencia de la pobreza, ha aparecido representada en diferentes formas, algunas tan literales como la del protagonista de la película Der Golem realizada en 1920 por Paul Wegener y cuya escenogra ía fue encargada al arquitecto Hans Poelzig, ayudado por la escultora Marianne Moeschke y el escenógrafo Karl Richter. En Der Golem existe una identi icación entre el personaje principal, un gigante de arcilla, y la pequeña ciudad en la que suceden los hechos que se relatan, una angosta calle central lanqueada por edi icios masivos con huecos apuntados y formas libres que sugieren posibles metamorfosis de sus fachadas inclinadas, sus cubiertas torcidas o sus torres inestables. La solidez es la condición necesaria para la expresión de una película muda en la que el ambiente construido debe ser capaz de hablar tanto como los personajes. Pero será Golem, el gigante de arcilla el que represente con más intensidad la capacidad de la pura materia para erigirse en agente de liberación, y posteriormente de opresión, desde el momento en que la materia es capaz de ser activada hasta cobrar vida, como también puede ser privada de esta vida y ser devuelta a su condición inerte originaria. Entre estos dos polos opuestos, la liberación y la opresión, transcurre la vida de los habitantes de la ciudad, en un circuito inexorable que no hace sino reproducir una y otra vez sus condiciones de pobreza y de sumisión. El gigante, que no es al principio más que un montón de tierra, será activado por la palabra de un mago hasta transformarse en una criatura viviente pero, tras llevar a cabo la labor que se le ha encomendado, se intenta devolverle de nuevo, a pesar de su resistencia, a la condición de puro material. La construcción de los pobres está siempre amenazada por su propia destrucción, en un ciclo que se repite una y otra vez en torno a la condición misma de la pobreza. La constante amenaza de los desastres naturales o los provocados por el hombre acabarán, en uno u otro momento, con el trabajo realizado sobre la materia para transformarla, para convertirla en algo vivo, y la aniquilación de la vida acabará con toda esperanza de una de initiva liberación de la pobreza. Sólo será posible volver a empezar. En Der Golem, Hans Poelzig construye una escenogra ía sin una precisa ubicación geográ ica ni histórica, aunque sus referencias sean inequívocamente medievales y góticas. La arquitectura dependerá sobre todo de su condición material, lo que permite someterla a profundas distorsiones y establecer grandes diferencias entre el interior y el exterior de los edi icios, separados por gruesas envolventes de barro que dan forma a las viviendas como cavernas, pero también al único espacio público en el que se reúnen unos hombres marginados y sometidos al poder de la autoridad y de la magia. El gran arco que cierra la calle principal expresa el límite ísico de la ciudad, que será un ámbito cerrado también hacia el cielo por medio de las chimeneas y las irregulares cubiertas inclinadas de los edi icios. La arquitectura busca ser la expresión de una sociedad encerrada y en la que, sólo momentáneamente, la materia cobrará vida en el gigante Golem, para después ser esta misma sociedad la que reclame y inalmente consiga anular este impulso vital para regresar a su materialidad original. El hombre de arcilla, que en principio obedece las órdenes de su creador, deja de hacerlo y actúa de acuerdo a sus propios impulsos caminando enloquecido por la ciudad y amenazando a sus habitantes. Una niña será quien inalmente logre extraer la cápsula de la vida del gigante y hacerlo yacer inerte sobre la tierra. El hecho de que Golem, el hombre de arcilla, sea un gigante indica hasta qué punto es peligrosa la materia fuera de sus propios límites dimensionales, y sobre todo cuando a esto se añade una falta de sumisión de la materia a los dictados de los humanos. Golem, una creación del hombre, se comporta como una fuerza incontrolada de la naturaleza, como lo es [F2] Construcción de una bóveda de adobe en Egipto. [F3] La calle de “Der Golem” - 3 5 - M a te ri a y p o b re z aun volcán, una riada o una tormenta, que son dinámicos pero no orgánicos, animados pero no vivientes, según la terminología de Thornstein Veblen. En este sentido, el gigante es tan amenazador y tan destructivo como estos desastres naturales, que se ciernen con frecuencia sobre las poblaciones más pobres e indefensas. Y como ellos, será la acumulación de materia el agente más destructivo e incontrolable, que acabará con la vida de las gentes, con sus viviendas, con sus cosechas o sus medios de subsistencia. La materia no hará sino añadir más pobreza a la pobreza. Resulta signi icativo que en los discursos de los ideólogos de la modernidad, la identi icación de ésta con el advenimiento de una sociedad sin clases venga acompañada de una apelación a la pobreza como distintivo de ese nuevo hombre, liberado de las servidumbres, las formas y los usos del pasado. Walter Benjamin, por ejemplo, se declara convencido de que la nueva arquitectura de acero y cristal satisface las promesas inherentes a la condición moderna porque, en sus propias palabras, esta arquitectura es la auténtica expresión de la pobreza que es típica de la nueva civilización y anticipa la realización de una sociedad transparente y sin clases. Es decir, Benjamin también apela a la condición material de la arquitectura, a los nuevos materiales, como distintivo de la pobreza, esta vez una pobreza extendida a toda la sociedad y no únicamente al sector más bajo y oprimido de ella. La pobreza material es también liberación, pero no porque el hombre se haya liberado de su dependencia de la materia, sino porque unos materiales han sido sustituidos por otros, la opacidad y pesantez de la arcilla, del barro, han sido sustituidas por la ligereza del acero y la transparencia del cristal. Abandonados los deseos de confort del pasado, la nueva pobreza es fría y sobria y la habitación humana es abierta y transparente, casi desnuda, e igualitaria para todos los hombres sin distinción de clases sociales. Así, la pobreza moderna está ligada al material, a los nuevos materiales, pero no es una condición impuesta, sino elegida, o al menos aceptada como inevitable por el nuevo hombre. Es importante señalar que la pobreza, por tanto, está presente tanto en los discursos sobre la sociedad y el arte primitivos como en los distintos modos de entender los rasgos distintivos de la modernidad y, además, que la pobreza siempre está sustentada por su dependencia del material. La pobreza puede ser acumulación o privación, pero en todo caso es una condición estéticamente positiva en contra de las connotaciones negativas implícitas en cualquier noción de riqueza; la pobreza es sincera y real, mientras que la riqueza es falsa, arti iciosa e inútil. Sin embargo, los pobres siempre están dispuestos a emular y reproducir tanto los usos como las construcciones de los ricos. Y esto es particularmente evidente en el caso de los materiales que emplean, la sustitución de los muros de adobe por otros de hormigón o de las cubiertas de tierra por otras de madera es un primer signo de escalada social, que se hará más acusado cuando se da paso a materiales de revestimiento más re inados o cualquier forma de decoración imitada de otros modelos. El salto cualitativo que supone la llamada pobreza moderna no supone, por tanto, simplemente el paso de unos materiales a otros, sino la renuncia total a cualquier tipo de trabajo artesano sobre materiales tradicionales, supone la alienación absoluta del hombre y su habitación, sobre la que ya el propio hombre no ejercerá ningún control material, renunciando a la artesanía a favor de la industria. El nuevo pobre dependerá, igual que el primitivo, de la materia pero deberá renunciar a su contacto con ella, a su trabajo sobre ella y, sobre todo, a su posesión. Una de las imágenes más expresivas de lo que signi ica esta nueva pobreza promovida por la modernidad la encontramos en un interior de Hannes Meyer realizado en el año 1926. Se trata de una habitación amueblada con una silla plegable, un colchón levantado sobre cuatro patas, un gramófono y dos pequeñas estanterías colgadas en la pared. Tanto el suelo como las paredes están construidos con simples lonas, mientras que los muebles son de madera, de metal o de materiales sintéticos. El propio Hannes Meyer en un texto de ese mismo año “Die Neue Welt” habla de los nuevos materiales que deben usarse en las nuevas viviendas, materiales desnudos como el aluminio, el hormigón armado, el cristal, el linóleo o los plásticos, sin ningún tipo de referencia local ni artesana, materiales producidos por la industria internacional. Y, como demuestra la exhibición de su interior, de iende que la vivienda no es otra cosa que sus componentes; lámparas eléctricas, sillas plegables, mesas rodantes, bañeras y gramófonos. Ni la personalidad, ni la comodidad, ni el alma, son un objetivo de la construcción de la vivienda, estos residen en el modo de comportarse, en la conducta de los hombres, y no en las alfombras persas o en los cuadros de las paredes. Esta es la respuesta radical de Meyer desde la arquitectura a las demandas de la nueva sociedad y el nuevo hombre, la desnudez y la tecni icación de los lugares de habitación en los que se exhibe una ética y una estética de la pobreza. Sin embargo, al mismo tiempo que se proponen estos interiores ascéticos e impersonales, sin apenas huellas de su condición material, no sólo por parte de Hannes Meyer sino en todo el entorno de Walter Gropius y la Bauhaus, se produce el fenómeno contrario, el de - 3 6 - C P A 4 una también nueva propuesta de acumulación de material como procedimiento artístico. Es el caso de Kurt Schwitters y su Merzbild o Merzbau, donde se van depositando una serie de objetos o fragmentos de objetos hasta construir un conjunto sin forma pero fuertemente ligado a la personalidad de su constructor. Materiales sin un valor propio, pero cargados de ecos o vivencias personales, se colocan unos sobre otros hasta formar una pirámide o una gruta en las que también se reproducen las condiciones propias de la pobreza, la acumulación de todo tipo de residuos. O el de su antecedente, el llamado Plasto-Dio-Dada- Drama de Johannes Baader, expuesto en la Feria Dada del 1920, un collage tridimensional formado por materiales de desecho realizado con la intención de convertirlo en una alegoría de su país, Alemania, y en una parodia de la arquitectura monumental del constructivismo ruso, en especial del Monumento a la Tercera Internacional de Vladimir Tatlin. Aunque la apelación a una nueva pobreza por parte de los promotores intelectuales de la modernidad arquitectónica se hace como oposición a las construcciones y los interiores burgueses característicos del siglo XIX, plagados de materiales costosos, de ricos tejidos y de valiosas obras de arte, lo cierto es que esta pobreza moderna tiene poco que ver con la auténtica pobreza de quienes están condenados a una exclusión social ya sea por su localización geográ ica, en los entornos rurales, o por su absoluta carencia de recursos. La sociedad sin clases vendría más de una renuncia voluntaria a las comodidades burguesas por parte de los ricos que de un avance social por parte de los pobres, siempre que una revolución completa no borrara por completo estas diferencias económicas. O más bien, vendría de una transformación de las clases medias de la sociedad, las únicas capaces de promover y asimilar los cambios éticos y estéticos propuestos por la modernidad arquitectónica y artística, nunca de los demasiado ricos, reacios a renunciar a sus privilegios y sus costumbres, ni de los demasiado pobres, incapaces de hacerlo por estar demasiado ocupados en los puros problemas de supervivencia. La cuestión entonces es por qué esa insistencia en la pobreza como signo de los nuevos tiempos, de una sociedad sin clases, y si este concepto de pobreza, convertido en emblema de la modernidad, pasa de ser una condición económica a un estado mental, aunque conservando en todo caso la relación originaria entre pobreza y materia. La convivencia entre una pobreza de la acumulación material y una pobreza de ascetismo y renuncia es un hecho tanto en los discursos como en las obras de las vanguardias del siglo XX. La película Der Golem se realiza el mismo año 1920 que Baader construye su Plasto- Dada-Dio-Drama y ambos coinciden geográ ica e históricamente con las los interiores de Hannes Meyer o Walter Gropius. La acumulación de materia informe y trabajada manualmente tiene lugar al mismo tiempo que la exhibición de la desnudez y la frialdad de los materiales producidos por la industria. Y en ambos casos, se apela a la pobreza como última referencia para las obras que tratan de ser una expresión iel de las aspiraciones de su época. Y en otro ámbito de la cultura, los ilósofos marxistas toman posiciones antagónicas sobre las dos tendencias que luchan por la hegemonía de la modernidad, el funcionalismo y el expresionismo. Si Benjamin se manifestaba a favor de la sobriedad, la transparencia y la desnudez, la frialdad de la arquitectura de los nuevos materiales industriales, y si en la misma línea Lukács combate al movimiento expresionista como decadente, Ernst Bloch defenderá las cualidades de calidez y reclusión propias de la arquitectura expresionista, la única que para él apela a un sentimiento utópico y que anticipa las posibilidades de un mundo distinto, de un mundo mejor. Más allá de los límites temporales en que se produjeron los mani iestos modernos y de la hegemonía en la arquitectura de la vertiente funcionalista a lo largo de varias décadas, los discursos sobre la pobreza como condición propia del nuevo hombre o las llamadas a la consecución de una sociedad sin clases a través de la arquitectura y los nuevos materiales parecen cesar. Sin embargo, aunque desaparezca del vocabulario de los arquitectos el término pobreza, que quedará reservado para actuaciones puntuales en lugares periféricos, la in luencia del debate anterior se introducirá inconscientemente en las propuestas arquitectónicas de la segunda mitad del siglo XX, tanto en las que se reconocen como más continuistas con los discursos modernos como con las más rupturistas y críticas. Sin este pensamiento subyacente sobre la pobreza sería di ícil entender las propuestas, por ejemplo, de Buckminster Fuller, pero también las de Robert Venturi o incluso las de Philip Johnson. Y, más allá de la arquitectura, el discurso de la pobreza es fundamental para algunos artistas que, como Donald Judd, trabajan en los límites de la disciplina. La herencia de la modernidad ha impuesto la necesidad de trabajar desde la óptica de la pobreza, de reconocer que hoy todos somos pobres otra vez como señala Ernst Bloch, porque la pobreza es una actitud de la que el nuevo hombre no puede abdicar, cualquiera que sea el modo en que se conciba este término. Desde la exhibición de los materiales en las obras del brutalismo inglés al interés por las construcciones de los pueblos primitivos como [F4] Das Grosse Plasto-Dio-Dada-Drama. Johannes Baader 1920 [F5] Interior. Hannes Meyer 1926 - 3 7 - M a te ri a y p o b re z alos Dogon, desde las utopías tecnológicas a las propuestas de nuevas formas de habitar en las utopías de los años sesenta, todas ellas exigen por parte de quien las crea y quien las percibe una acuerdo tácito sobre la aceptación de la pobreza como situación inevitable, y también deseable, del mundo en que vivimos o el que se trata de construir. John Cage, tomando como referencias al músico Erik Satie y al escritor Henry David Thoreau, ha formulado de manera expresa esta necesidad de trabajar desde y para la pobreza, de la pobreza como objetivo último de la actividad artística e incluso de la pobreza como estado mental. Asumir que todo trabajo arquitectónico está o debe estar condicionado por una nueva pobreza signi icaría entonces haber desterrado del pensamiento de los arquitectos todo lo que tenga que ver con la riqueza, el lujo, lo super luo o la ostentación. Pero lo cierto es que esto no es así. En primer lugar, porque cada uno de los dos conceptos de pobreza acusa al contrario de ser uno mero disfraz de los gustos de las clases socialmente privilegiadas y, en segundo lugar, porque estos dos modos de entender y construir la pobreza están llamados a convivir. La arquitectura, de nuevo, ha encontrado en la acumulación de material y en la exhibición de sus cualidades ísicas unas inmensas posibilidades expresivas, tanto haciendo uso de materiales naturales y modos de construir tradicionales como explotando al máximo las posibilidades de los materiales industriales. Pero, en todo caso, la pobreza que se trata de expresar con los edi icios ya no tiene que ver con la vivienda del hombre, sino que pasa a ser una cualidad cuyo signi icado es colectivo, social. Este es el caso de muchas arquitecturas públicas contemporáneas que hacen uso de materiales naturales en sus fachadas o sus espacios interiores, pero sobre todo es el caso de ciertos fenómenos cada vez más frecuentes, cuando se producen aglomeraciones de individuos que construyen ellos mismos algo parecido a barrios espontáneos que parecen directamente salidos de los arrabales o las periferias más deprimidas y que son erigidos en los lugares más importantes y visibles de la ciudad. Estos lugares son creados a imagen de los desordenados y multiformes barrios marginales, con aglomeraciones de los más diversos materiales capaces de alojar e identi icar a la gente que se instala en ellos. Montañas de tablas viejas, de lonas o utensilios de plástico construyen estructuras complejas en las que se descubren complicadas instalaciones de cables eléctricos para conectar los aparatos electrónicos o los electrodomésticos capaces de proporcionar calor y un cierto confort a la población que acude a ellos. La ropa está dispersa por todas partes o se cuelga para conseguir una cierta protección contra el viento y, en medio de este conglomerado continuo, los únicos vacíos son los destinados a las asambleas en forma de círculo. Es di ícil tener una explicación para este tipo de asentamientos espontáneos desde un punto de vista social, pero igualmente di ícil es entenderlos como arquitectura, como forma, más allá de su apelación a los signos más reconocibles de la pobreza y de la exhibición de esta pobreza en los lugares más emblemáticos de las ciudades. Cualquier manifestación ciudadana de protesta o reivindicación está dispuesta a adoptar como forma ísica y aglutinante social estos campamentos o asentamientos espontáneos que colocan a la vista de cualquiera las condiciones más reconocidas de la pobreza, condiciones que signi icativamente se mani iestan a través de enormes acumulaciones de materia. Lo que nos muestra esta proliferación de acampadas urbanas, algunas temporales pero la mayoría con voluntad de permanencia, es que la exclusión social no es ya una cuestión individual, que la pobreza asumida como ética del hombre moderno no puede ser simplemente el ideal revolucionario de unos pocos, o el mani iesto antimaterialista de un grupo de intelectuales, sino que es algo que aparece con toda su crudeza en las condiciones de pobreza material a las que cada día más seres humanos se ven condenados en tantos lugares de nuestro mundo civilizado. MATERIA POBREZA MATERIAL ACUMULACIÓN MODERNIDAD SOCIEDAD [F7] Vivienda en la Bauhaus. Walter Gropius 1928 [F6] Merzbau. Kart Schwitters 1930
work_hjpnpo7xfvcg5g7swwy7ilqmhi ---- Microsoft Word - 63-05.doc econstor Make Your Publications Visible. A Service of zbw Leibniz-Informationszentrum Wirtschaft Leibniz Information Centre for Economics Bosetti, Valentina; Locatelli, Gianni Working Paper A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks� Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Nota di Lavoro, No. 63.2005 Provided in Cooperation with: Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei (FEEM) Suggested Citation: Bosetti, Valentina; Locatelli, Gianni (2005) : A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks� Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks, Nota di Lavoro, No. 63.2005, Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei (FEEM), Milano This Version is available at: http://hdl.handle.net/10419/74248 Standard-Nutzungsbedingungen: Die Dokumente auf EconStor dürfen zu eigenen wissenschaftlichen Zwecken und zum Privatgebrauch gespeichert und kopiert werden. Sie dürfen die Dokumente nicht für öffentliche oder kommerzielle Zwecke vervielfältigen, öffentlich ausstellen, öffentlich zugänglich machen, vertreiben oder anderweitig nutzen. Sofern die Verfasser die Dokumente unter Open-Content-Lizenzen (insbesondere CC-Lizenzen) zur Verfügung gestellt haben sollten, gelten abweichend von diesen Nutzungsbedingungen die in der dort genannten Lizenz gewährten Nutzungsrechte. Terms of use: Documents in EconStor may be saved and copied for your personal and scholarly purposes. You are not to copy documents for public or commercial purposes, to exhibit the documents publicly, to make them publicly available on the internet, or to distribute or otherwise use the documents in public. If the documents have been made available under an Open Content Licence (especially Creative Commons Licences), you may exercise further usage rights as specified in the indicated licence. www.econstor.eu This paper can be downloaded without charge at: The Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Note di Lavoro Series Index: http://www.feem.it/Feem/Pub/Publications/WPapers/default.htm Social Science Research Network Electronic Paper Collection: http://ssrn.com/abstract=718621 The opinions expressed in this paper do not necessarily reflect the position of Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Corso Magenta, 63, 20123 Milano (I), web site: www.feem.it, e-mail: working.papers@feem.it A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks’ Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Valentina Bosetti and Gianni Locatelli NOTA DI LAVORO 63.2005 MAY 2005 NRM – Natural Resources Management Valentina Bosetti, Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Gianni Locatelli, DISCo, Università di Milano Bicocca A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks’ Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Summary Wilderness protection is a growing necessity for modern societies, and this is particularly true for areas where population density is extremely high, as for example Europe. Conservation, however, implies very high opportunity costs. It is thus crucial to create incentives to efficient management practices, to promote benchmarking and to improve conservation management. In the present paper we propose a methodology based on Data Envelopment Analysis, DEA, a non parametric benchmarking technique specifically developed to assess the relative efficiency of decision-making units. In particular, the objective of the discussed methodology is to assess the relative efficiency of the management units of the protected area and to indicate how it could be improved, by providing a set of guidelines. The main advantage of this methodology is that it allows to assess the efficiency of natural parks’ management not only internally (comparing the performance of the park to itself in time) but also by external benchmarking, thus providing new and different perspectives on potential improvements. Although the proposed methodology is fairly general, we have applied it to the context of Italian National Parks in order to produce a representative case study. Specifically, the choice of adequate cost and benefit indicators is a very important and delicate phase of any benchmark analysis. For this purpose, a questionnaire was used to investigate the opinions of Italian National Parks managers and stakeholders and to define the relevant indicators for the analysis. Finally, relevant policy implications for the case study are given. Keywords: Data envelopment analysis, Natural park management JEL Classification: Q01, Q26, Q56 Address for correspondence: Valentina Bosetti Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Corso Magenta 63 20123 Milano Italy Phone: +390252036938 Fax: +390252036946 E-mail: valentina.bosetti@feem.it 2 Introduction Since ancient eras, the idea of protecting portions of the land has appeared as a necessity. The reasons for this have intrinsically changed over time, going from the mere necessity of preserving hunting areas to the idea of biological conservation, which remains one of today’s driving causes. Although in different times and places, and motivated by different concerns, this idea has led to the same result: the conservation of ecosystems that would otherwise have disappeared. Indeed, if on the one hand the first example of a modern National Park is quite recent (Yellowstone, Wyoming, instituted in 1872), on the other hand, examples of protected areas can be traced back to game reserves. The first example, which can be dated back to 7.500-7000 B.C., shows the existence of hunting areas in archaeological sites in South-west Iran. During the history of Indo-European civilizations, the aristocracy used to create game preserves in forests with the effect of conserving wide pristine areas which solely a very restricted number of individuals could make use of. This was also the case for Italy where many areas which are still protected today, were originally game preserves. The preservation of wilderness is also linked to religious activities, for example the holy woods of Mediterranean cultures. During the Middle Ages, almost all of the forests surrounding monasteries were turned into preserves and the population was forbidden to harvest these areas. In Italy, the Apennine forest of Abetone and the “Foreste Casentinesi” National Park have been preserved to the present day thanks to the presence of eremitical places (Massa, 1999). However, the origins of the concept of ‘holy forests’ can be traced back to the Etruscan and Greek civilizations, when natural areas 3 surrounding towns were consecrated to divinities and any human activity was forbidden. The modern idea of protected areas, which underpinned the Yellowstone Park institution, was based on the recognition of the value of wilderness amenity and of the recreational services it produces. The American “Protection Ethics” sprung from the ideas of three naturalists: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau and John Muir. In their interpretation, for the first time wilderness was as important as religion. Nature could not be exploited for purely economic reasons. Moreover, the beauty of Nature had to be safeguarded in that its contemplation was recognized as a basic need for human beings; this ‘use value’, mainly centered on human needs, was at the foundation of this early protection ethic. At the beginning of the twentieth century, a new idea took shape: that of Gifford Pinchot. He based his thought on the philosophical outlook of John Stuart Mill and believed that preserving nature has first of all an economic rationale behind it. It was only around the 1950s that along with these different interpretations of nature’s conservation, essentially based on an anthropocentric perspective, a new thought emerged: that of Aldo Leopold. It was based on the recognition of the intrinsic value of the existence of nature and it constituted, in subsequent years, the foundation of modern evolutionary ecology. During the twentieth century, particularly in Europe, the erosion of territory, hence of ecosystems, due to human activities was dramatically increasing. This led to a growing concern for wilderness conservation issues, tracing back from the first meetings in Paris (1902) and London (1937), up to the 1987 report “Our Common Future”, prepared as a discussion basis for the Earth Summit held in Rio de Janeiro in 4 1992. During these subsequent meetings, the concept of a preserved natural area, the ‘natural park’, has undergone several successive transformations, until a new interpretation emerged. Natural parks should be government- managed territories, where development and preservation forces are kept in balance. Management should not only be concerned with environmental issues, but more broadly with the socio-economic features of the territory. Indeed, in a dynamic perspective, it might turn out more appropriate for conservation purposes, to open a protected area to some human activities, rather than to close it completely, preventing any development, even under a pure non-anthropocentric ethic of conservation. Indeed, it is now widely recognized that untouchable territories are bound to slowly disappear, because of land scarcity, and this is particularly true for highly populated areas as Europe. Therefore, in a long-term perspective, the involvement and sustainable development of human activities within protected areas may prove to be a win-win strategy. Within this enlarged vision, natural areas’ management entails the dynamic assessment of environmental quality indicators as well as the sustainability level of management activities, thus increasing the need for comprehensive indicators. Qualitative and quantitative indicators may support the decision- maker in comparing different realities, in evaluating the environmental and economic performance of its management’s policies, and in trying to forecast the effectiveness of potential changes in management strategies. There is a long tradition of benchmarking methodologies, however most of them are commonly restrained to cover an internal perspective and do not investigate how the analysed protected area is performing when compared to others. 5 The main objective of the present paper is the external benchmarking of protected areas. To this aim, it is necessary to introduce a common benchmarking methodology, capable of taking into account specific features of different realities. Data Envelopment Analysis (DEA) is an extremely flexible and useful methodology, which provides an indicator of the relative efficiency for each different analysed decision- making unit (in our case National Park Management offices), where efficiency is a measure of different features related to the environmental as well as to the economic or social impacts of the protected area. In this paper we present and discuss the application of DEA to the case of Italian National Parks. In order to create a common set of indicators, a preliminary questionnaire was administered to investigate the opinion of parks’ managers and other stakeholders at a qualitative level. A follow-up questionnaire was subsequently carried out in order to collect intertemporal quantitative data for all the indicators that were considered more relevant by managers and stakeholders. DEA analysis was carried out on the data set. The paper is organized as follows. Section 1 provides a brief literature review. In Section 2 a brief description of the DEA methodology is given, while in Section 3 the data set and the data collection methodology are discussed, together with the types of DEA analysis performed. Section 4 is a description of the main results and Section 5 concludes with a summary of the main findings along with the final remarks and future extensions. 6 1 DEA and the environment DEA is a multivariate technique for monitoring productivity and providing insights on the possible directions of improvement of the status quo, when inefficient. It is a non- parametric technique, i.e. it can compare input/output data, making no prior assumptions about the probability distribution under study. The origin of non- parametric programming methodology, with respect to the relative efficiency measurement, lies in the work of Charnes et al. (1978, 1979, 1981). DEA has been applied to several benchmarking studies and to the performance analysis of public institutions, such as schools (Charnes et al., 1981), hospitals (Nyman and Bricker, 1989), but also of private ones, such as banks (Charnes et al., 1990). An exhaustive analysis of its underlying theory and main applications can be found in Charnes et al. (1993), while a comprehensive literature review in Tavaresa (2002). Applications to environmental and resource management problems are less frequent. An interesting overview of the role of DEA in environmental valuation can be found in Kortelainen and Kuosmanen (2004), while a survey of indicators of firm’s environmental behavior can be found in Tyteca (1996). We briefly report some application studies in the following. Application Author Measure ecological efficiency Dyckhoff and Allen, (2001) Measure environmental impacts of different production technology De Koeijer, et al. (2002) Measure different systems of waste management Sarkis and Weinrach (2001) Measure efficiency of environmental regulation schemes Hernandez-Sancho et al. (2000) 7 2 Methodology Although DEA is based on the concept of efficiency that approaches the idea of a classical production function, the latter is typically determined by a specific equation, while DEA is generated from the data set of observed operative units (Decision Making Units or DMUs). The DEA efficiency score of any DMU is derived from the comparison with the other DMUs that are included in the analysis, considering the maximum score of unity (or 100%) as a benchmark. The score is independent of the units in which outputs and inputs are measured, and this allows for a greater flexibility in the choice of inputs and outputs to be included in the study. An important assumption of the DEA is that all DMUs face the same unspecified technology and operational characteristics, which defines the set of their production possibilities. The idea of measuring the efficiency of DMUs with multiple inputs and outputs is specified as a linear fractional programming model. A commonly accepted measure of efficiency is given by the ratio of the weighted sum of outputs over the weighted sum of inputs. It is however necessary to assess a common set of weights and this may give rise to some problems. With DEA methodology each DMU can freely assess its own set of weights, that can be inferred through the process of maximizing the efficiency. Given a set of N DMUs, each producing J outputs from a set of I inputs, let us denote by yjn and xin the vectors representing the quantities of outputs and inputs relative to the m-th DMU, respectively. The efficiency of the m-th DMU can thus be calculated as: 8 ⎥ ⎦ ⎤ ⎢ ⎣ ⎡ = = = ∑ ∑ = = Ii Jj xv yu e I i imi J j jmj m ,..,1 ,..,1 , 1 1 (1) where uj and vi are two vectors of weight that DMU m uses in order to measure the relative importance of the consumed and the produced factors. As mentioned, the set of weights, in DEA, is not given, but is calculated through the DMU’s maximization problem, that is stated below for the m-th DMU. 10 10 ,.,,.,1 1 .. max 1 1 ≤≤ ≤≤ =∀≤ ∑ ∑ = = i j I i ini J j jnj m v u Nmn xv yu ts e (2) To simplify computations it is possible to scale the input prices so that the cost of the DMU m’s inputs equals 1, thus transforming problem set in (2) in the ordinary linear programming problem stated below: + == = = ℜ∈≤≤≤≤ =∀≤− = = ∑∑ ∑ ∑ εεε ,1 ,1 ,.,,.,1 0 1 .. max 11 1 1 ij I i ini J j jnj I i imi J j jmjm vu Nmnxvyu xv ts yuh (3) 9 In addition to the linearization constraint, weights have to be strictly positive in order to avoid the possibility that some inputs or outputs may be ignored in the process of determination of the efficiency of each DMU. If the solution to the maximization problem gives a value of efficiency equal to 1, the corresponding DMU is considered to be efficient or non-dominated, if the efficiency value is inferior to 1 then the corresponding DMU is dominated, therefore does not lie on the efficiency frontier, which is defined by the efficient DMUs. As for every linear programming problem, there is a dual formulation of the primal formulation of the maximization problem outlined in (3), which has an identical solution. While the primal problem can be interpreted as an output- oriented formulation (for a given level of input, DMUs maximizing output are preferred), the dual problem can be interpreted as an input- oriented formulation (for a given level of output, DMUs minimizing inputs are preferred). Scale effects can be accounted for modifying the model as presented in (3), in order to account for variable returns to scale (we adopt the solution suggested in Banker et al., 1984). Finally, the dynamic analysis was performed using the window approach, first put forward by Charnes and others (Charnes et al., 1978), in order to produce not only a static picture of efficiency, but also the evolution of efficiency of each municipality. The DEA is performed over time using a similar moving average procedure, where parks’ performances in one year are compared with their performances in another year. 10 3 Data Collection and Analysis To define environmental efficiency is a very challenging task; several different definitions of ecological efficiency exist in the literature. In the case of protected areas, the problem becomes even more complicated, because management and financial features have to be considered as well. As mentioned above, in a DEA study, the most crucial phase is indeed the choice of the representative benefit and cost indicators, which will be extremely influential in defining each DMU level of efficiency. For this reason, the direct involvement of stakeholders is appropriate, if not fundamental. The managers of all the National Parks1 in Italy were therefore interviewed through mail questionnaires in order to understand what they perceived as the most relevant indicators. In particular, for each proposed indicator, the respondent could choose among different qualitative definitions (very relevant, VR, relevant, R, not very relevant, NVR, and not relevant, NR). On the basis of the survey’s results, which are summarized in Table 1, a second survey was designed in order to obtain quantitative definitions of each of the indicators (the final set of indicators used in the DEA analysis is reported in Table 2 divided in three models, see section 4). On the output side, first the number of visitors to the park was considered as an indicator of its attractiveness, providing potential indirect benefit to the local economy. Second, the number of the parks’ employees, as an indicator of the social and economic indirect and direct benefits. Third, the number of economic businesses which are directly linked empowered or created thanks to the presence of the park (e.g. parks 1 There are 21 National Parks in Italy. The analysis was performed on the 17 parks which were able to produce the required data, which are: Abruzzo, Lazio and Molise; Arcipelago la Maddalena; Arcipelago Toscano; Asinara; Aspromonte; Cilento and Vallo di Diano; Circeo; Monti Sibillini; Gargano; Dolomiti Bellunesi; Foreste Casentinesi; Gran Paradiso; Gran Sasso and Monti della Laga; Majella; Val Grande; Vesuvio. 11 certifying farmers producing within the protected area). Fourth, the number of protected species, which is a good proxy of the environmental quality and biodiversity of the park (in some models the inverse of this biodiversity indicator was included as an input). Finally, the number of students who visit the park for environmental education trips, as a proxy of the social and educational benefits deriving from the park. On the input side, economic costs, computed aggregating management costs and variable costs and extraordinary expenses were considered. Moreover, the area extension was also considered as a proxy of fixed costs, which are assumed to be proportional to the area covered by the park. 4 Results Three different models have been used to perform DEA analysis. The choice of using more than one model specification derives from the consideration that the DEA technique is extremely sensitive to the choice of indicators. Hence, coherent responses obtained by different models prove to be more reliable and robust, diminishing the degree of subjectivity of the efficiency scores produced. Moreover, each different model mimics the three main existing management strategies, namely a ‘pure socio-economic development oriented’ (Model 1), a ‘pure conservation oriented’ (Model 2) and an ‘in between’ strategy (Model 3). In Table 3, results for Model 1, 2 and 3 (for the maximization of outputs approach, MAXOUTPUT) are shown, respectively. Parks scoring a 100% efficiency in Model 1 (as for example the National Park Foreste Casentinesi) are successfully promoting the development of the area. DMUs efficient according to Model 2 prove to have a high 12 natural performance, in terms of biodiversity conservation, attractiveness and capacity of diffusing awareness among new generations (as for example the National Park Gran Sasso and Monti della Laga). When a DMU is scoring maximum efficiency according to all three models, then one can argue the management has attained the sustainable development goal in a very broad sense. In the case of DMUs which are partially inefficient (as for example the National Park Gran Paradiso) it is possible to use the DEA analysis to obtain information concerning potential improvements of the management2 (see Figure 1). Finally, the total potential improvements, described in Figure 2, are defined by aggregating over all inefficient DMUs, in order to provide guidelines to properly allocate government incentives. Conclusions In recent years, a substantial re-interpretation of wilderness management objectives has occurred. According to this conceptual ‘revolution’, management strategies should aim at harmonizing human and nature’s interests, in the attempt of finding a balance between development and preservation, rather than a “put under a glass bell” approach. Nowadays a protected area has a new function: it is also a place where the concept of sustainable development can be put into practice and where traditional economic activities can be consistent with preservation needs. This is the interpretation of nature protection, and specifically of Natural Parks, underpinning the design of environmental protection strategies. 2 Parco Nazionale del Gargano, Parco del Vesuvio, Parco delle Foreste Casentinesi and Parco del Gran Sasso e dei Monti della Laga compose the peer group for the Parco Nazionale delle Dolomiti, used to define the virtual efficient DMU, thus providing information on potential improvements, P. 13 Accordingly, it becomes increasingly important to monitor multi-objectives efficiency, a task which can be successfully accomplished by adopting benchmarking techniques (as for example DEA). These techniques provide information about efficiency, interpreted as a multi dimensional object, but also enable a detailed analysis of potential improvements. The present study represents the first attempt to apply this methodology to this complex and experimental area. In particular, the methodology has been applied to the case of Italian National Parks; the resulting rankings and information to improve the management status have been provided as a feedback to their questionnaires to Parks’ managers and to the Italian authority. The next step on the research agenda is the enlargement of the data set to include a broader variety of parks (for example national parks of other countries in Europe) in order to produce a more reliable and useful efficiency classification. 14 References Banker, R.D., Charnes, A., Cooper, W. W. 1984. Some models for estimating technical and scale inefficiencies in data envelopment analysis. Management Science. 30 (9), 1078-1092. 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Rutcor Researc Report, 01-02, JANUARY, 2002 16 Tables and Figures OUTPUT VR-R NVR-NR a Number of annual visitors 100% 0% b Number of historical buildings 100% 0% c Number of protected species 89% 11% d Number of students which visit the park for environmental education trips 88% 12% e Number of equipped areas 56% 44% f Area extension 56% 44% g Number of parks employees 56% 44% h Number of environmental illegal acts 55% 45% i Restored environmental area extension 45% 55% l Presence of a certification system with park labels 44% 56% m Gadget sale 22% 78% n Number of economic business directly linked, empowered or created thanks to the presence of the park 22% 78% INPUT VR-R NVR-NR a Management costs 100% 0% b Variable costs 89% 11% c Area extension 56% 44% Table 1 - Results to questionnaire. The column VR-R presents the sum of the answers VR and R. The column NVR-NR presents the sum of the answers NVR and NR. (author) 17 Output Input Model 1 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Model 2 Visitors protected species environmental education trips Total costs Area extension Model 3 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Area extension Table 2 - Definition of input-output for the three models. Grey indicates input assumed as uncontrollable. (author) 18 MODEL 1 MODEL 2 MODEL 3 DMU Efficiency Efficiency Efficiency Abruzzo, Lazio e Molise 100 100 100 Arcipelago la Maddalena 6,54 45,2 22,94 Arcipelago Toscano 54,82 100 100 Asinara 100 100 100 Aspromonte 7,3 51,77 21,81 Cilento Vallo di Diano 16,56 30,14 35,33 Circeo 93,27 100 100 Dolomiti Bellunesi 23,56 62,28 33,07 Foreste Casentinesi 100 68,07 100 Gargano 68,23 100 100 Gran Paradiso 58,62 48,16 65,62 Gran Sasso e Monti della Laga 34,02 42,94 100 Majella 100 100 100 Monti Sibillini 100 92,45 100 Val Grande 9,43 100 53,32 Vesuvio 100 100 100 Table 3 - Efficiency results for the three models. (author) 19 52 52 67 -31 -86 0 -42 -100 -80 -60 -40 -20 0 20 40 60 80 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Area extension Figure 1 - Suggested potential improvements to obtain full efficiency. (author) 20 Total potential improvements 22% 15% 57% 1% 2% 2% 1% Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Area extension Figure 2 -Total potential improvements. (author) NOTE DI LAVORO DELLA FONDAZIONE ENI ENRICO MATTEI Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Working Paper Series Our Note di Lavoro are available on the Internet at the following addresses: http://www.feem.it/Feem/Pub/Publications/WPapers/default.html http://www.ssrn.com/link/feem.html http://www.repec.org NOTE DI LAVORO PUBLISHED IN 2004 IEM 1.2004 Anil MARKANDYA, Suzette PEDROSO and Alexander GOLUB: Empirical Analysis of National Income and So2 Emissions in Selected European Countries ETA 2.2004 Masahisa FUJITA and Shlomo WEBER: Strategic Immigration Policies and Welfare in Heterogeneous Countries PRA 3.2004 Adolfo DI CARLUCCIO, Giovanni FERRI, Cecilia FRALE and Ottavio RICCHI: Do Privatizations Boost Household Shareholding? 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The Case of Italian National Parks (lxv) This paper was presented at the EuroConference on “Auctions and Market Design: Theory, Evidence and Applications” organised by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei and sponsored by the EU, Milan, September 25-27, 2003 (lxvi) This paper has been presented at the 4th BioEcon Workshop on “Economic Analysis of Policies for Biodiversity Conservation” organised on behalf of the BIOECON Network by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, Venice International University (VIU) and University College London (UCL) , Venice, August 28-29, 2003 (lxvii) This paper has been presented at the international conference on “Tourism and Sustainable Economic Development – Macro and Micro Economic Issues” jointly organised by CRENoS (Università di Cagliari e Sassari, Italy) and Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, and supported by the World Bank, Sardinia, September 19-20, 2003 (lxviii) This paper was presented at the ENGIME Workshop on “Governance and Policies in Multicultural Cities”, Rome, June 5-6, 2003 (lxix) This paper was presented at the Fourth EEP Plenary Workshop and EEP Conference “The Future of Climate Policy”, Cagliari, Italy, 27-28 March 2003 (lxx) This paper was presented at the 9th Coalition Theory Workshop on "Collective Decisions and Institutional Design" organised by the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona and held in Barcelona, Spain, January 30-31, 2004 (lxxi) This paper was presented at the EuroConference on “Auctions and Market Design: Theory, Evidence and Applications”, organised by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei and Consip and sponsored by the EU, Rome, September 23-25, 2004 (lxxii) This paper was presented at the 10th Coalition Theory Network Workshop held in Paris, France on 28-29 January 2005 and organised by EUREQua. (lxxiii) This paper was presented at the 2nd Workshop on "Inclusive Wealth and Accounting Prices" held in Trieste, Italy on 13-15 April 2005 and organised by the Ecological and Environmental Economics - EEE Programme, a joint three-year programme of ICTP - The Abdus Salam International Centre for Theoretical Physics, FEEM - Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, and The Beijer International Institute of Ecological Economics. 2004 SERIES CCMP Climate Change Modelling and Policy (Editor: Marzio Galeotti ) GG Global Governance (Editor: Carlo Carraro) SIEV Sustainability Indicators and Environmental Valuation (Editor: Anna Alberini) NRM Natural Resources Management (Editor: Carlo Giupponi) KTHC Knowledge, Technology, Human Capital (Editor: Gianmarco Ottaviano) IEM International Energy Markets (Editor: Anil Markandya) CSRM Corporate Social Responsibility and Sustainable Management (Editor: Sabina Ratti) PRA Privatisation, Regulation, Antitrust (Editor: Bernardo Bortolotti) ETA Economic Theory and Applications (Editor: Carlo Carraro) CTN Coalition Theory Network 2005 SERIES CCMP Climate Change Modelling and Policy (Editor: Marzio Galeotti ) SIEV Sustainability Indicators and Environmental Valuation (Editor: Anna Alberini) NRM Natural Resources Management (Editor: Carlo Giupponi) KTHC Knowledge, Technology, Human Capital (Editor: Gianmarco Ottaviano) IEM International Energy Markets (Editor: Anil Markandya) CSRM Corporate Social Responsibility and Sustainable Management (Editor: Sabina Ratti) PRCG Privatisation Regulation Corporate Governance (Editor: Bernardo Bortolotti) ETA Economic Theory and Applications (Editor: Carlo Carraro) CTN Coalition Theory Network
work_hn2wvk3rineznpu7db4mmglaoa ---- Book reviewsThe Dingo Debate: Origins, Behaviour and Conservation Book reviews THE DINGO DEBATE: ORIGINS, BEHAVIOUR AND CONSERVATION By Bradley Smith (Ed) 2015. Published by CSIRO Publishing, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. 321 pp. Paperback, AU$39.95, ISBN 9781486300297 The ecological role of dingoes, wild (feral) dogs and their hybrids in the Australian landscape is a subject of intense debate and interest in the scientific literature of late (Wallach et al. 2009; Fleming et al. 2012; Allen et al. 2013, 2015; Hayward and Marlow 2014; Nimmo et al. 2015, to list just a few recent papers). This debate has invariably lead to the precipitation of two disparate views; (i) that of the dingo as an apex predator with beneficial wildlife management and conservancy effects through mesopredator and large herbivore suppression, or (ii) that of the wild/feral dog as responsible for significant livestock impacts necessitating its ongoing management and control. To that extent the nomenclature chosen by a person (either dingo or wild dog/hybrid) when referring to this large eutherian predator can typically polarise the discussion. Invari- ably, this apparent dichotomy has seen the position of the dingo/ wild dog/hybrid in Australian history, folklore and mainstream culture see-saw between that of unwanted rogue predator to unlikely hero, but seldom anywhere in between. Given that the fervour of discussions within the scientific literature over the role of dingoes/wild dogs in the Australian landscape show no sign of abating, the release of a book titled The Dingo Debate, would appear very timely indeed. However, this book does not delve deeply into this ‘hot bed’ of discussion as one might expect from the running title (certainly a mistaken assumption that I made), instead focusing on the attributes that define a ‘true’ dingo. This book, edited (and authored) by Bradley Smith with contributions by Rob Appleby, Chris Johnson, Damian Morrant, Peter Savolainen and Lyn Watson, focuses on the dingo in microscopic detail, and right from the word go, Bradley Smith states his unequivocal support and admiration for the dingo, proclaiming them to be ‘ythe king of the Australian bush’. The first two chapters of this book provide a highly detailed examination of the fundamental aspects of how ‘[d]ingoes are not dogs’, based on their physical, behavioural, genetic and cognitive attributes. This is followed up by chapter 3 which provides an in depth exploration of the origins of dingoes in Australia based on literature pertaining to historical and con- temporary investigations,including morerecentgenetic analyses. The next three chapters focus on human–dingo interactions, with chapter 4 The role of dingoes in Indigenous Australian lifestyle, culture and spirituality, providing an excellent in depth descrip- tion and discussion of an aspect of dingo/wild dog history which is not often explored or described in such detail. In the next two chapters Rob Appleby explores the inevitable negative interac- tions between dingoes and livestock, and dingoes and humans respectively. However, chapter 5 Dingo–human conflict: attacks on livestock, seemingly glosses over some of the more pertinent points of this highly contentious topic, particularly when compared to chapter 6 Dingo–human conflict: attacks on humans which is a comprehensive investigation of a range factors and drivers behind dingo attacks on humans, using Fraser Island as a case study. Chapter 7 reads much like a manual on methods with which to study dingoes, whilst in chapter 8 An ecological view of the dingo, Chris Johnson outlines the dynamic interplay of dingoes/wild dogs and suppression of mesopredators in the context of trophic cascades. The following two chapters (9 and 10) provide a detailed investigation by Bradley Smith into the cognitive capabilities of dingoes, via the use of several scientific experiments designedtotestthe problem solving ability ofhis test subjects. The final two chapters, co-authored by Bradley Smith, discuss the current and future role(s) of dingo sanctuaries in conservingdingoes and a synopsisofwhat the futuremay holdfor the dingo respectively. Of the 12 chapters presented in this book, Bradley Smith is sole or co-author of eight of them, and as such his strong support of dingoes is pervasive throughout much of the book. Indeed, by the time I got to chapters 9 Dingo intelligence: a dingo’s brain is sharper than its teeth and 10 The personality, behaviour and suitability of dingoes as companion animals, I was sensing a definite degree of peroration regarding the ‘superiority’ of dingoes to that of other members of the Canis genera. Whilst this may well be the case, I found that the repetitive nature and presentation of this theme ultimately detracted from many of the informative and favourable aspects of the book. However, I highly commend the final chapter Forging a new future for the Australian dingo. By this stage I was unsure as to what to expect, though I am pleased to say that I found it to be resoundingly successful in its balanced perspective and realistic expectations of what can be achieved with regard to the conservation and status of the dingo in contemporary Australia. While there are preceding definitive works describing the natural history of the dingo in Australia (e.g. Breckwoldt 1988; Corbett 2001), this book is a timely addition to the dingo specific literature, providing a detailed and intimate glimpse into the inner workings of the dingo. Given the current debate over their ecological role and/or function in the Australian landscape, perhaps it has never been such an imperative to have a thorough understanding of the dingo ‘psyche’. As a comprehensive and well referenced source of information regarding dingoes, dingo behaviour, their biology, and cognitive prowess, you can’t go wrong with this book. However, The Dingo Debate is much less of a debate and more a detailed statement on the unique attributes and iconic values that dingoes possess. As such, Bradley Smith presents us with a fastidiously well researched and referenced text which leads the reader through a compre- hensive reconstruction of what is known regarding dingoes and what sets them apart from other canids. Peter J. Adams School of Veterinary and Life Sciences Murdoch University, Murdoch WA, Australia References Allen, B. L., Allen, L. R., and Leung, L. K.-P. (2015). Interactions between two naturalised invasive predators in Australia: are feral cats suppressed CSIRO PUBLISHING Pacific Conservation Biology, 2017, 23, 107–111 http://dx.doi.org/10.1071/PCv23n1_BR Journal compilation � CSIRO 2017 www.publish.csiro.au/journals/pcb by dingoes? Biological Invasions 17, 761–776. doi:10.1007/S10530- 014-0767-1 Allen, B. L., Fleming, P. J. S., Allen, L. R., Engeman, R. M., Ballard, G., and Leung, L. K. P. (2013). As clear as mud: A critical review of evidence for the ecological roles of Australian dingoes. Biological Conservation 159, 158–174. doi:10.1016/J.BIOCON.2012.12.004 Breckwoldt, R. (1988). ‘A Very Elegant Animal: The Dingo.’ (Angus & Robertson: Sydney.) Corbett, L. K. (2001). ‘The Dingo in Australia and Asia.’ (JB Books: Adelaide.) Fleming, P. J. S., Allen, B. L., and Ballard, G.-A. (2012). Seven considera- tions about dingoes as biodiversity engineers: the socioecological niches of dogs in Australia. Australian Mammalogy 34, 119–131. doi:10.1071/ AM11012 Hayward, M. W., and Marlow, N. (2014). Will dingoes really conserve wildlife and can our methods tell? Journal of Applied Ecology 51, 835–838. doi:10.1111/1365-2664.12250 Nimmo, D. G., Watson, S. J., Forsyth, D. M., and Bradshaw, C. J. A. (2015). FORUM: Dingoes can help conserve wildlife and our methods can tell. Journal of Applied Ecology 52, 281–285. doi:10.1111/1365-2664.12369 Wallach, A. D., Murray, B. R., and O’Neill, A. J. (2009). Can threatened species survive where the top predator is absent? Biological Conserva- tion 142, 43–52. doi:10.1016/J.BIOCON.2008.09.021 CLIMATE CHANGE ADAPTATION PLAN FOR AUSTRALIAN BIRDS By S. T. Garnett and D. C. Franklin (Eds) 2014. Published by CSIRO Publishing, Melbourne, Australia. 262 pp. Paperback, AU$69.95, ISBN 9780643108028 This book provides the first climate change adaptation plan for any faunal group anywhere in the world. It is refreshing to see a country, Australia, leading the world when its conservative government is in denial and was quoted in the media as likening climate change to a science fiction fantasy (Bourke 2014). I am reading this book and writing the review while sitting at a historic hotel where the writers Somerset Maugham and James A Michener wrote, Sir Charles Kingsford Smith ‘dropped’ in for a drink in 1928, and Queen Elizabeth II waved from the balcony in 1953. I, as they did, am looking at mist enshrouded volcanic rises on the island of Viti Levu, in Fiji. I am listening to the subtle lapping of the Pacific Ocean not more than six metres away and considerably less than a metre below me, though not quite up to the high water mark yet. I cannot help but wonder at the irony of reviewing this first-of-its-kind book on climate change in this place and wonder how much longer before the spot where I am sitting is drowned. Sea-level rise seems suddenly more tactile sitting here and watching the rising tide on the shore of Suva Harbour. There are thousands of Pacific Islands where others sit watching this rising tide uncertain about exactly how far it will climb, but knowing it will climb higher. This book tells us something of the uncertainties about climate change in Australia in relation to its birds. It untangles some of the uncertainties of an uncertain future in a climate-changed world. The lead editor and author of this book, Stephen Garnett, a research professor at Charles Darwin University, has co-written three action plans for Australia’s threatened birds. These texts have been accepted as the defining sources in their time, only being replaced by the later versions. The co-editor and author Don Franklin is an ornithologist, plant ecologist and biogeogra- pher. He has studied relationships between climate change and plants and worked with threatened birds in northern and southern Australia. Both are appropriately qualified to stand as editors and authors of this work. The authors of the individual sections are given as Stephen Garnett, Chris Pavey, Glenn Ehmke, Jeremy VanDerWal, Lauren Hodgson and Donald Franklin; others names can be found in the acknowledgements of those who helped bring the book to fruition. Names such as Hugh Ford and Lynda Chambers Andrew Burbidge, Leo Joseph, Penny Olsen, Mike Weston, Nicholas Carlile and David Priddel high- light the wealth of ornithological knowledge that was drawn upon and contributed to the production of this book. This publication outlines the nature of the threats posed by climate change for the birds most likely affected and provides suggestions on what might be done in response along with approximate costs. The aims of this book were to identify bird taxa most threatened by climate change, an action that comple- ments the Action Plan for Australian Birds 2010 (by Garnett et al., 2011). More specifically the intent is to: (i) highlight some taxa requiring a more detailed consideration; (ii) more generally highlight the nature of risks to birds and other biodiversity and (iii) provide recommendations for management of the most threatened individual taxa. Note: the authors stress that they do not aim to provide a definitive list of all taxa at risk. The book opens with a relevant introduction, An Uncertain Future and this point needed to be addressed at the start. Not that human induced climate change is uncertain, but that many uncertainties about the distribution and effects of climate change exist, which are then confounded by existing threats to taxa. After the introduction this book is structured with four self- contained sections, which have different authors and their own references. These sections explore the background on the expo- sure, sensitivity and vulnerability of Australian birds to climate change and on Conserving Australian bird populations in the face of climate change. These four sections are followed by the individual accounts with a preamble the Adaptation profiles for Australian birds that are highly sensitive and highly exposed. This layout with self-contained units gives a clear indication of the authors of each section yet does not cause unnecessary repetition. Stephen Garnett and Don Franklin are co-authors on each section. The 59 species accounts begin on page 81 and fill most of the remaining 180 pages. This structure allows the reader to choose to read the background information about Australian birds and climate change or jump straight to the species accounts and to the taxa of interest. However, fully understanding the recommendations for indi- vidual taxa is dependent on understanding what is in the opening sections. My version of the book was in paperback, but there are epdf and epub versions available. Other than the sections discussed above there are a contents and an index, which are tidy and easy 108 Pacific Conservation Biology Book reviews http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/S10530-014-0767-1 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/S10530-014-0767-1 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/J.BIOCON.2012.12.004 http://dx.doi.org/10.1071/AM11012 http://dx.doi.org/10.1071/AM11012 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/1365-2664.12250 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/1365-2664.12369 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/J.BIOCON.2008.09.021 to scan through quickly. The index carries some useful annotations with some taxa divided into their geographical components. There is a foreword written by Paul Sullivan the CEO of Birdlife Australia; an Acknowledgements page, which provides information on the many others that helped produce the text; and a tabulated appendix giving a relative rank (very high/ high/medium/low) for 555 taxa, which are considered highly exposed to and/or sensitive to climate change. The primary audience for this book must surely be conservation professionals (conservation biologists, managers, planners and administra- tors); it is a must for biological libraries while some students and teachers both secondary and tertiary could benefit from reading it. My first thought when this book arrived on my desk was: it’s too soon! The predictions around climate change are too unset- tled and too varied. There are not enough data or there are no data at all on how climate change will affect each of the subspecies and too many species have ranges that encompass vast tracts of Australia and thus a large variation of predicted effects. However, the introduction immediately settled my angst stating, ‘A climate change world contains much uncertaintyy’ The authors then go on at length and in detail to link what is known about climate change to what is known about the birds; they do this over the next 80 pages with citations and references at the end of each section. But, this is not to say that all uncertainty is unravelled it is merely somewhat smoothed. This book also adds to what is understood about threatened birds in the Action Plan for Australian Birds 2010 (Garnett et al. 2011) by, as the editors put it, ‘‘our analysis complementsy by incorporating climate change as an additional stressor’’. Without doubt one of the most valuable facets of the book is that it collates so much pertinent data regarding the birds and climate change into one place. An immediate flow-on effect will be attempts to more clearly understand the fates of the taxa, a significant benefit to the fields of ornithology and ecology. Another bonus is the addition of costings—how much will it cost to undertake the suggested actions for each taxon. No doubt the cost is relevant to someone. One stated objective of the book was to point out the nature of the threats to the avifauna and this has been achieved in the four explanatory sections and the preamble that lead into the recommendations for the individual taxa. The audience that will most likely gain immediate benefit from this text will be those associated with any planning involving any bird taxa listed in its pages. Students and supervisors will gain background on understanding how climate changes might or does influence biota. However, the dense text, at 262 pages is 261 pages too long for conservative politicians in denial of climate change. The organisation of the book into explanatory sections before the recommendations for individual taxa lends itself to its end use as a searchable tool, but it also allows it to be read as a text that will explain some the uncertainties of climate change. Alas, I wonder how long it will stay up-to-date given the ever- improving predictions coming from climate scientists and the emerging data on the response by birds to climate change. To this end I would like to have seen this presented in an online and updatable format rather than a book. The level of research in this book is high. The editors and authors and those others listed in the acknowledgements are a litany of the right authors and reviewers. The reference lists at the end of each section are appropriate for primary research and the review of pertinent primary research. I had no complaints with the writing style and layout of the information, although I am frustrated by having page numbers left off the first page of each section for stylistic reasons. The level of writing is appropriate for conservation professionals, planners and tertiary students. I note that Hugh Ford is credited with reading and commenting on the whole publication. The quality of supplementary material, for example, the maps is very high. The editors accord thanks to Glenn Ehmke who collated exhaustive data to subspecies (apparently not done before) and produced all the high-quality maps. Many figures presented are in colour improving their presentation and read- ability, although red and green bar graphs will provide difficul- ties for the large number of red-green colour blind readers. The front cover has a picture of a Hooded Plover Thinornis rubri- collis, which purportedly may have to move its nests higher up the beach to avoid sea-level rises. On the whole this publication is of a very high academic standard. It deals with the uncertainty around the ever- improving predictions well and explains how and why this is done. It is the first book of its kind and is therefore difficult to compare with other texts. To my mind it maintains the high standard that the senior author has set with the various Action Plans for Australian birds. The team putting it together is extensive and must include many more than could be acknowl- edged. The very great necessity of using subspecies has added credibility to the results. Given the greatly varied impacts that climate change brings to the large and geographically-varied Australian continent and the burgeoning data on responses of the bird taxa, I suspect that this book’s dominance will be short-lived. It is nevertheless an important document and must be used now for decisions that must be made now. I recom- mend this book to conservation researchers, planners, and administrators. I would also suggest that it would be useful to lobbyers and advocacy groups. Finally it must be said that politicians must scan it to find out what will happen to the birds and the climate in their constituencies, they may also note the recommendations for the actions that must be taken to either ameliorate or avoid adverse impacts. I hope they do read it, but I doubt they will. Graham R. Fulton School of Veterinary and Life Sciences, Murdoch University, South Street Murdoch, Western Australia, 6150 References Bourke, L. 2014. LNP backbencher George Christensen likens climate change to science fiction film plot. ABC News Online http://www.abc. net.au/news/2014-07-09/backbencher-likens-climate-change-to-science- fiction-film-plot/5583734 (viewed July 9, 2014.) Garnett, S., Szabo, J., and Dutson, G. 2011. The Action Plan for Australian Birds 2010. CSIRO Publishing, Melbourne. Book reviews Pacific Conservation Biology 109 http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-07-09/backbencher-likens-climate-change-to-science-fiction-film-plot/5583734 http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-07-09/backbencher-likens-climate-change-to-science-fiction-film-plot/5583734 http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-07-09/backbencher-likens-climate-change-to-science-fiction-film-plot/5583734 THE VIEW FROM LAZY POINT: AN UNNATURAL YEAR IN A NATURAL WORLD By C. Safina 2011. Picador, New York. 401 pp. Price US$18.00, ISBN 9781250002716 I was initially encouraged to read this book by Professor J. E. N. ‘Charlie’ Veron, who, I had just blasted with some notes from my data and quotes from senior ornithologists on the demise of eastern-Australian honeyeaters that had once migrated in uncountable numbers. In return he asked if I had read ‘The View from Lazy Point’ and stated, ‘If not you must.’ Now I have and my review follows. The author of this book, Carl Safina, has PhD in Ecology from Rutgers University. He is the founding president of The Safina Centre (formerly Blue Ocean Institute) at Stony Brook University, where he also co-chairs the University’s Centre for Communicating Science. He has authored five other books about how the ocean is changing and ,200 scientific and popular publications. He has won awards for his writing: this publication, The View from Lazy Point, won the 2012 Orion Award (an award presented annually, by Orion Magazine, for books that deepen the reader’s connection to the natural world). This book presents a year in the life of Carl Safina as he moves about the area around his home at Lazy Point, Long Island. He paints a quite detailed picture. His imagery is expanded with explanations of the ecology and other sciences involved in what he sees. These thoughts are then juxtaposed with the changes brought about by human impact and climate change, which have occurred around his Lazy Point locality in Long Island Sound and globally. These are in turn juxtaposed with quotes and thoughts from an impressively broad range of academics and classic literature: quotes and thoughts as varied as general thoughts from Albert Einstein, warnings from the economist John Stuart Mill and Thomas Malthus’s deep con- cerns about geometric population growth. The chapters of the book are given as months of the year (plus some travel adventures) taking us through the seasons, but the depth of additional material almost overwhelms this structure. The months give the author a narrative direction and a stopping point after one year. The detail in the story is that of the biology Carl Safina sees in his local environs around Lazy Point and in his wanderings, which are described in a context of a changing world. This is largely, but not entirely, a marine perspective. He also describes the birds in their life-and-death struggles and the smaller invertebrates that the fish feed on and their relationship to the climate and changing seasons. It is a lot of material, which at times seems overwhelming; and I wondered as I read was it too much detail? In fairness to the author, the world is full of detail and the story of human impact on that detail is exceedingly full. I gradually came around to enjoying this over-abundant infor- mation as I saw leads and ideas for my own writing. Overall the book is 401 pages, which includes an index and a useful reference section. The text also attempts frequent stylistic forays into artistic expressions through creative metaphors, similes and poignant phrases. No doubt these are the parts of the book that have led some reviewers to call Safina a modern day Thoreau: I cannot agree—Henry David Thoreau stands alone, particularly with Walden; or, Life in the Woods (Thoreau 1854). Such a comparison is analogous to comparing Richard Dawkins to William Shakespeare—completely overdrawn! Nonetheless, the art mixed with science helps the book to convey its messages with greater emphasis. Structurally the book opens with a short biography on the author, a list of contents and a useful prelude that casually points to what can be expected in both writing style and content. The references, acknowledgements and an index close out the book. The index seems computer generated as is the trend: for example the word government with a lower case g has four entries and a note to ‘see democracy’, while the unspecified word ‘forests’ scores 17 entries; on the plus side other more specific words can be found. This book is pitched at a wide audience; from the general readership, to those who watch Carl on television and may be familiar with his personality, to an academic audience that will nod and sigh in agreement. However, there is enough detail in the book to interest professional biologists/ecologists both marine and terrestrial. Since there are pertinent discussions on how changing the world affects food-chains and food that humans consume. It will be useful for economists to read it and get an idea of how badly they are managing the planet. One of the strengths of this book is the positivity that exudes from the author. ‘‘The future is by no means doomed. I’m continually struck by how much beauty and vitality the world still holds.’’ This is from the first page of reading in the prelude. I am encouraged and must agree there is beauty in my world too as I count birds and watch them interact with their prey and each other. What at first I thought was a weakness became a strength as I kept reading. This is the abundant detail. Biology is full of detail naturally, thus to paint anything like the full picture—a lot of detail is required. Two more obvious strengths of the book are the author’s voice and knowledge. His voice is casual yet professionally informed; his style of writing brings the reader intimately into his journey and his knowledge. This knowledge is something that can only be drawn from a life-time as an academic who connects with other academics. There is a lot in this book and if it was not friendly to read I might have put it down—I kept reading. In terms of aiding the discipline, if I imagine this book read by a young postgraduate student embarking on a career in marine or terrestrial biology, I am confident it will paint them an encouraging picture of how they might one day look back into their own career. It will no doubt encourage some while warning others of the damage we do to the planet. It is not a text book and does not unequivocally fill any educational, research or profes- sional functions. This is not to say it does not have academic value. It is enjoyable to read and may enthuse academics. In particular, I enjoyed passages that looked back into the author’s past and compared the state of frogs or food-chains to the present. It made me think of my own examples of processes and organisms that I have watched over time. It has a scholarly base acquired from a great deal of learning and personal research with the bulk of the text seemingly taken from memory. However, there are clearly sections that have been fact-checked and referenced carefully. The level of 110 Pacific Conservation Biology Book reviews research that has gone into the book is needed in the sense that the book is a summary on the effects of overpopulation and over- exploitation, by humans, on the environment. It is merely centred at a ‘field-site’, but not confined to it. There is a small amount of supplementary material with occasional sketches through the book, these are without legends, but are discussed in the adjacent text. There are maps of the sites the author visits and discusses such as: Lazy Point, Long Island; the Belize Reef in the Caribbean Sea; and King George Island at the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula. The sketches and the maps are useful and informative, and add enough detail for those that want it. There must be many books similar to this one, but I cannot recall any of them going into as much detail and doing it on such a personal level. I would recommend this book to general readers who want to get a clearer grasp on the ecology of our planet and the costs of over-exploitation. Oddly enough I would recommend it for the same reasons to professional ecologists and to see how they might put their own books together. Graham R. Fulton School of Veterinary and Life Sciences, Murdoch University, South Street Murdoch WA 6150, Australia Reference Thoreau, H. D. 1854. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. Ticknor and Fields, Boston. www.publish.csiro.au/journals/pcb Book reviews Pacific Conservation Biology 111
work_hvzq6c6hdzbl7eeasgkrh5zxny ---- Complex, compound and critical: recognising and responding to the factors influencing diverse preservice teacher experiences of practicum Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=capj20 Asia-Pacific Journal of Teacher Education ISSN: 1359-866X (Print) 1469-2945 (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/capj20 Complex, compound and critical: recognising and responding to the factors influencing diverse preservice teacher experiences of practicum Jenna Gillett-Swan & Deanna Grant-Smith To cite this article: Jenna Gillett-Swan & Deanna Grant-Smith (2017) Complex, compound and critical: recognising and responding to the factors influencing diverse preservice teacher experiences of practicum, Asia-Pacific Journal of Teacher Education, 45:4, 323-326, DOI: 10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 Published online: 14 Jul 2017. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 882 View related articles View Crossmark data https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=capj20 https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/capj20 https://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 https://doi.org/10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 https://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=capj20&show=instructions https://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=capj20&show=instructions https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2017-07-14 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2017-07-14 EDITORIAL Complex, compound and critical: recognising and responding to the factors influencing diverse preservice teacher experiences of practicum The practicum (or professional experience) is an entrenched feature of initial teacher education programs. In recent years, there has been an emphasis on improving the quality of practicum experiences in both academic research (e.g. Grudnoff & Williams, 2010; Lawson, Çakmak, Gunduz, & Busher, 2015) and in teacher education policy (e.g. TEMAG, 2014). However, while the practicum is generally considered by participants to be one of the most influential experiences in their preservice teacher education (Busher, Gündüz, Cakmak, & Lawson, 2015) it is also recognised as being one of the most stressful (Gardner, 2010). As a result, there is an increasing tendency in recent work to explore the practicum through the eyes and experiences of participants (Buckworth, 2017; Grant- Smith & Gillett-Swan, 2017). Yet, despite increasing recognition of the personal factors that can influence experiences of practicum, and the impact that of practicum participa- tion can exert on other life domains and commitments, these ideas are rarely centred in discussions of practicum (Grant-Smith, Gillett-Swan, & Chapman, 2016). Indeed, it could be argued that in the pressurised environment of the practicum, these considerations are especially influential and are of growing importance as a result of the increased participation of non-traditional students in teacher education programs. The papers in this issue coalesce around the theme of complexity, particularly as it relates to the practice and promotion of practicum as the preeminent activity in initial teacher education for developing and practicing teaching skills in an authentic yet supervised teaching environment. The importance of understanding the complexity involved in providing positive practicum experiences and the influence of personal factors on success is foregrounded in the contribution by Fiona Ell, Mavis Haigh, Marilyn Cochran-Smith, Lexie Grudnoff, Larry Ludlow and Mary Hill. They highlight the need to account for and respond to the individual differences of preservice teachers – such as their personal circumstances, learning history, and prior experiences – as well as the complex and multi-layered contexts, schools, and policy/political environments in which new teachers learn to teach and the larger structures of privilege and inequality that intersect with these. Providing appropriate support systems is often posited as a way of helping preservice teachers to navigate this complexity. Wendy Nielsen, Juanjo Mena, Anthony Clarke, Sarah O’Shea, Garry Hoban and John Collins describe the importance of in-school mentoring by supervising teachers in supporting preservice teacher success during placement, and outline the challenges mentors face in undertaking this role. In parti- cular, they highlight the implications of providing limited capacity building for super- vising teachers on the practicum experiences of preservice teachers. Emphasising the ASIA-PACIFIC JOURNAL OF TEACHER EDUCATION, 2017 VOL. 45, NO. 4, 323–326 https://doi.org/10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 © 2017 Australian Teacher Education Association http://www.tandfonline.com http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590&domain=pdf differences between teaching preservice teachers and children, they argue that in order to ensure a quality learning experience for preservice teachers, it is incumbent upon universities to invest in the development of in-school mentors to increase their capacity to provide personalised and focused support. This support should respond to the unique needs and circumstances of individual preservice teachers when undertaking their professional placements. The authors further argue that this investment will likely have positive flow on effects for the profession more generally as a result of greater alignment with the key desired outcomes and attributes that each university hopes to instil in their graduates. The remaining papers in this issue take an intersectional view to consider the impacts of the practicum experience on, and challenges experienced by, preservice teachers with parental responsibilities, second-career preservice teachers, failing preservice teachers, and preservice teachers with English as an additional language. These challenges have the potential to have significant impacts on the development of preservice teachers’ professional identity and successful degree and practicum completion as they navigate a complex, and often conflicting, web of professional, academic, and personal expecta- tions and commitments. Recognition of the challenges individual practicum participants face, validates their experiences and provides opportunities for self-reflection and devel- opment. However, they may also provide context for those tasked with educating and safeguarding the wellbeing of the next generation of teachers as they enter the profes- sion and embark on their own professional journeys. Highlighting the influence of a range of personal and external pressures on the ability of failing final year preservice teachers to complete their studies, or enter the teaching profession, Jenny Buckworth’s contribution presents an under-represented voice and perspective in the practicum experience by focussing on the experiences of those being left behind – failing students. She argues that preservice teacher experiences of rela- tional disparity and alienation contributes significantly to their experiences and that a mismatch between expectations and the realities they were faced in the classroom was a source of additional pressure and tension which contributed to their unsuccessful completion of the practicum experience. Consistent with this critique of the one-size-fits-most approach to preservice teacher education, Lisa Murtagh argues in the next paper that this reductionist approach serves to exclude, rather than include, those that do not fit the normative model of pre-service teachers rather than accommodating the complexity and diversity of preservice tea- chers. In particular she highlights the complexities faced by teacher educators in meet- ing the needs of the growing number of “non-traditional” students participating in initial teacher education. These non-traditional students are faced with additional personal and family responsibilities and challenges relative to the more “traditional” school-leaver undergraduate student. This includes the compound impact of the need of “mature- aged” students to concurrently manage complex personal lives (such as caring respon- sibilities) and their nascent professional identity and academic responsibilities in which they are caught up in a balancing act between study, work and domestic responsibil- ities. Reflecting on tutors’ perspectives of working with preservice teacher students with parental responsibilities, Murtagh suggests that while they are aware of some of the issues that these students face, there is little consensus on what they as initial teacher educators can do to help. 324 EDITORIAL Although there are also growing numbers of international students electing to undertake initial teacher education programs in countries like Australia, for whom English is not their first language, little research has been undertaken which focusses on their unique experiences and needs. Minh Nguyen’s contribution provides a case study of the practicum experiences of a non-native English speaker preservice teacher and the additional challenges faced in engaging in professional experience. She argues that being an international student presents additional academic, personal, and institu- tional complexities, which may impact their practicum experiences. Additionally, Nguyen asserts that there are difficulties and tensions inherent in resolving and negotiating different identities through, and as a result of, the practicum experience. In the final paper, Denise Beutel and Leanne Crosswell draw on the perspectives of second-career teachers (“career-changers”) to explore the implications of identity development and resilience alongside the challenges associated with their precon- ceptions and initial classroom experiences. They argue that it is during practicum that teacher identity is at its most unstable and that this is particularly so for career- changers, as they need to navigate the transition from their previous career identity to reforging a new professional identity as a teacher. This shift requires them to revert to a sometimes uncomfortable novice professional identity while at the same time benchmarking teaching against their previous career identities, practices and performance. The competing demands on, and inconsistency in experiences of, the preservice teachers discussed in these papers highlights the increasing complexity and diversity of the preservice teacher cohort and the ways that their individual and unique needs compound the challenges of entering a stressful, high-accountability and expectation laden profession. Together these papers make a compelling case for initial teacher education programs to focus not only on the pedagogical quality of the preservice teacher experience but also on the need to ensure that the expectations and needs of the diversity of the cohort are met. As Murtagh in this issue describes, “while the university is opening its doors to a diverse group of trainees, they remain, in many ways invisible”. This has significant implications for preservice teachers, their wellbeing, professional experiences and preparation for the profession. These papers demonstrate an increasing awareness of these issues but also a concerning lack of action in respond- ing to them. It is clear that there are significant challenges facing the profession and those involved in preservice teacher education, that are compounded by a range of internal and external pressures. In Walden, Henry David Thoreau invites readers to reflect that “the cost of a thing is the amount of…life which is required to be exchanged for it” (2010, p. 17). These words, first penned in 1854, highlight the need to consider not just what is gained through certain experiences but also what these experiences might cost us. This is particularly the case when these experiences are mandated. In the case of preservice teachers it is imperative that the benefits of participation in practicum don’t just outweigh any financial, emotional, psychological and physical costs, but that we actively work toward minimising these costs. Individually and collectively the papers included in this Special Issue foreground the practicum experiences of different cohorts to remind us of the imperative of providing voice to the diverse student cohort and ensuring that the benefits of practicum do not outweigh the costs of participation. ASIA-PACIFIC JOURNAL OF TEACHER EDUCATION 325 Acknowledgements We would like to thank Kathryn Bown for her support, professionalism and encouragement in the preparation of this special issue. We would also like to thank the contributing authors for their contributions and willingness to meet sometimes tight timeframes. Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the authors. References Buckworth, J. (2017). Issues in the teaching practicum. In G. Geng, P. Smith, & P. Black (Eds.), The challenge of teaching: Through the eyes of pre-service teachers (pp. 9–17). Singapore: Springer. Busher, H., Gündüz, M., Cakmak, M., & Lawson, T. (2015). Student teachers’ views of practicums (teacher training placements) in Turkish and English contexts: A comparative study. Compare: A Journal of Comparative and International Education, 45(3), 445–466. doi:10.1080/ 03057925.2014.930659 Gardner, S. (2010). Stress among prospective teachers: A review of the literature. Australian Journal of Teacher Education, 35(8), 18–28. doi:10.14221/ajte.2010v35n8.2 Grant-Smith, D., & Gillett-Swan, J. (2017). Managing the personal impacts of practicum: Examining the experiences of graduate diploma in education students. In J. Nuttall, A. Kostogriz, M. Jones, & J. Martin (Eds.), Teacher education policy and practice: Evidence of impact, impact of evidence (pp. 97–112). Singapore: Springer. Grant-Smith, D., Gillett-Swan, J., & Chapman, R. (2016). WiL wellbeing: Exploring the impacts of unpaid practicum on student wellbeing. Perth: National Centre for Student Equity in Higher Education, Curtin University. Grudnoff, L., & Williams, R. (2010). Pushing boundaries: Reworking university–school practicum relationships. New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies, 45(2), 33–45. Lawson, T., Çakmak, M., Gunduz, M., & Busher, H. (2015). Research on teaching practicum: A systematic review. European Journal of Teacher Education, 38(3), 392–407. doi:10.1080/ 02619768.2014.994060 Teacher Education Ministerial Advisory Group (TEMAG). (2014). Action now: Classroom ready teachers. Department of education and training, Australian Government. Retrieved from http://www.studentsfirst.gov.au/teacher-education-ministerial-advisory-group Thoreau, H. D. (2010). Walden, or life in the woods. Boston, MA: Shambhala. Jenna Gillett-Swan and Deanna Grant-Smith Queensland University of Technology jenna.gillettswan@qut.edu.au 326 EDITORIAL https://doi.org/10.1080/03057925.2014.930659 https://doi.org/10.1080/03057925.2014.930659 https://doi.org/10.14221/ajte.2010v35n8.2 https://doi.org/10.1080/02619768.2014.994060 https://doi.org/10.1080/02619768.2014.994060 http://www.studentsfirst.gov.au/teacher-education-ministerial-advisory-group Acknowledgements Disclosure statement References
work_hxktjt6jyrbxnn45gipdtu7aji ---- The Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V and Its Unique Regulation by RecA and ATP The Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V and Its Unique Regulation by RecA and ATP Published, JBC Papers in Press, August 26, 2014, DOI 10.1074/jbc.X114.607374 Myron F. Goodman From the Molecular and Computational Section, Departments of Biological Sciences and Chemistry, University of Southern California, Los Angeles, California 90089 My career pathway has taken a circuitous route, beginning with a Ph.D. degree in electrical engineering from The Johns Hopkins University, followed by five postdoc- toral years in biology at Hopkins and culminating in a faculty position in biological sciences at the University of Southern California. My startup package in 1973 con- sisted of $2,500, not to be spent all at once, plus an ancient Packard scintillation counter that had a series of rapidly flashing light bulbs to indicate a radioactive read- out in counts/minute. My research pathway has been similarly circuitous. The discov- ery of Escherichia coli DNA polymerase V (pol V) began with an attempt to identify the mutagenic DNA polymerase responsible for copying damaged DNA as part of the well known SOS regulon. Although we succeeded in identifying a DNA polymerase, one that was induced as part of the SOS response, we actually rediscovered DNA poly- merase II, albeit in a new role. A decade later, we discovered a new polymerase, pol V, whose activity turned out to be regulated by bound molecules of RecA protein and ATP. This Reflections article describes our research trajectory, includes a review of key features of DNA damage-induced SOS mutagenesis leading us to pol V, and reflects on some of the principal researchers who have made indispensable contribu- tions to our efforts. N ever having taken a college-level course in biology, I was nonetheless appointed as an assistant professor in biological sciences at the University of Southern California in 1973. My undergraduate training at Queens College and Columbia University was primarily in physics and electrical engineering. My Ph.D. thesis in electrical engineer- ing from The Johns Hopkins University was entitled Selective Hydrolysis of Adenosine Triphos- phate Resulting from the Absorption of Laser Light in a Stretching Mode of the Terminal Phosphate Group, which meant that, at the very least, I needed to learn how to measure the hydrolysis of ATP 3 ADP � Pi. Maurice (Moishe) J. Bessman (Fig. 1), a professor of biology at Hopkins, provided a lab bench and personalized instruction for measuring inorganic phosphate release using the Lowry-Lopez colorimetric assay. The intellectual interest in Moishe’s lab focused on understand- ing the biochemical basis of mutagenesis. Their exciting studies on DNA synthesis fidelity using bacteriophage T4 mutator and antimutator DNA polymerases proved infectious, so much so that when I received a Ph.D. degree in electrical engineering in 1968 from Hopkins, in lieu of a $30,000 salary offer from Bell Labs (Murray Hill, New Jersey), I chose instead to pursue the opportunity to learn and, more importantly, appreciate biochemical enzymology as a postdoctoral fellow with Moishe at a National Institutes of Health fellowship stipend of $6,500. From 1968 onward, the study of DNA polymerase fidelity became an enduring interest. THE JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOL. 289, NO. 39, pp. 26772–26782, September 26, 2014 © 2014 by The American Society for Biochemistry and Molecular Biology, Inc. Published in the U.S.A. 26772 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 REFLECTIONS This is an open access article under the CC BY license. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Mutations for Worse or Better Mutations are almost always bad, typically with nega- tive consequences, in all forms of life. However, mutations can also be good, in fact essential, by serving as the engine that drives evolution. A specialized DNA polymerase fam- ily, the Y-family, has been studied for over a decade. With examples spanning bacteria to humans, the central role of Y-family polymerases appears to be copying past damaged DNA template bases that block replication. There is no free lunch, however, because the costs of fully replicating the genome are often mutations frequently targeted at lesion sites, but occasionally occurring within undamaged template regions. These Y-family enzymes are referred to as translesion synthesis (TLS)1 polymerases. This Reflec- tions article describes the path leading to our discovery of the Y-family Escherichia coli DNA polymerase V (pol V) and to the further discovery of pol V properties that set it apart even from other Y-family polymerases. The path to the discovery of pol V is closely linked to more than sixty years of experiments and concepts in the area referred to as “SOS error-prone DNA repair.” The logical place to begin is by reflecting on the insights that revealed the transcriptionally regulated error-prone DNA repair pathway in E. coli, the SOS regulon, which led us to pol V. The Origin of SOS Error-prone DNA Repair The year of the discovery of the structure of DNA, 1953, is coincidentally the year that Jean Weigle made a seminal observation showing that bacteriophage � can be revital- ized after killing it with UV light (1). Although the word “seminal” tends to be overused, especially when viewed alongside Watson and Crick, Weigle’s experiment was nevertheless remarkable. It showed that UV light-irradi- ated bacteriophage �, which were unable to generate prog- eny phage (i.e. form plaques when infecting E. coli), did in fact form plaques when the infected E. coli had also been exposed to UV light. Weigle further found that reactiva- tion of bacteriophage � was accompanied by a large increase in phage mutagenesis (1). During the late 1960s to early 1970s, genetic studies by Evelyn Witkin (Fig. 2) were instrumental in showing that phage reactivation could be attributed to the presence of a DNA damage-inducible bacterial pathway that regulated the transcription of genes designed to repair the E. coli chromosome (2, 3). While eliminating DNA damage in the bacterial chromosome, newly induced bacterial repair and recombination proteins also repaired the phage DNA, enabling bacteriophage � to generate progeny and subse- quently lyse the cell. Miroslav Radman (Fig. 2) proposed in 1974 that this was a repair pathway of last resort, an “SOS” mutagenic pathway that could repair DNA in an error-free manner but could also allow unrepaired DNA to be copied by an error-prone process (4). DNA template lesions that would normally block repli- cation fork progression could be copied via TLS, but at the cost of causing mutations targeted at DNA template lesions and elsewhere as well. A genetic locus was identi- fied in the late 1970s that fit the error-prone role envi- sioned by Radman, the UV mutagenesis (umu) locus (5, 6). The locus was so named because when the umu genes were mutated, UV radiation did not produce chromo- somal mutations in excess of spontaneous background levels. This locus was subsequently shown to encode two 1 The abbreviations used are: TLS, translesion synthesis; pol V; DNA polymerase V; ssDNA, single-stranded DNA; pol III HE, pol III holoen- zyme complex; ATP�S, adenosine 5�-O-(thiotriphosphate); MALS, multiangle light scattering. FIGURE 1. Maurice J. Bessman (1973) shown brewing a cup of joe bearing his initials, “MJB” (see coffee label at rear). FIGURE 2. Miroslav Radman (left) with Evelyn Witkin (right), Paris (2012). REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 • VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY 26773 SOS-regulated genes, umuC and umuD (7, 8), which are used to form pol V (9). Two proteins regulate the SOS response, LexA and RecA. LexA is a repressor that binds to more than 40 oper- ators in the DNA damage-inducible regulon. Each opera- tor has a consensus LexA-binding sequence, but with different neighboring sequences that determine repres- sor-operator binding affinities. Early protein induction, e.g. RecA (�1 min post-UV), accompanies weak LexA binding, whereas late protein induction, e.g. pol V (�45 min), results from strong LexA binding to the umuDC operon. The late appearance of pol V provides the cell an early temporal window to feature error-free ways to excise DNA damage involving base excision, nucleotide excision, and homologous recombination. At later times, chromo- somal damage that remains unrepaired is then subjected to pol V-catalyzed TLS in a last-ditch effort to restart replication. RecA protein is induced rapidly following the exposure of E. coli to UV radiation or to chemicals that damage DNA. RecA assembles cooperatively on regions of single- stranded DNA (ssDNA) in the presence of ATP to form a nucleoprotein filament, often referred to as RecA*. RecA* plays so many different roles and is so important to the cell that I sometimes present a tongue-in-cheek seminar slide listing the three most salient aspects of life: death, taxes, and RecA nucleoprotein filaments. Roles for RecA* include initiating DNA strand invasion as a first step in homologous recombination (10) and serving as a copro- tease facilitating the autocatalytic cleavage of the LexA repressor to induce the SOS response and, similarly, facil- itating cleavage of the UmuD2 protein to its shorter muta- genically active form, UmuD�2 (11–13). UmuD�2 interacts with UmuC to form pol V (UmuD�2C) (9). pol V copies undamaged DNA and performs TLS in the absence of any other E. coli DNA polymerase (9) but only when RecA* is present in the reaction. pol V (9) or UmuC (14) has minimal activity in the absence of RecA*. In 2009, we determined that the role of RecA* was to transfer a RecA monomer from the 3�-end of the nucleoprotein fil- ament, which, along with a molecule of ATP, “activates” pol V to a mutasome complex, designated as pol V Mut (UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP) (15). A Separate Role for RecA in SOS Mutagenesis In 1989, Raymond Devoret (Fig. 3) and colleagues iden- tified a recA mutant (originally named recA1730, which we now know to be recA(S117F)) that abolished SOS mutagenesis entirely (16). UV light-induced mutations, which typically increased by �100-fold in wild-type recA cells, remained at spontaneous background levels in recA1730 cells. The other RecA functions, including homologous recombination, conversion of UmuD to UmuD�, cleavage of the LexA protein, and induction of SOS, all occurred in cells that overexpressed RecA(S117F) (16), but SOS mutagenesis did not. Therefore, the absence of UV light-induced mutagenesis in this recA mutant background could not be attributed to the seemingly obvi- ous reason that SOS could not be turned on. Instead, RecA must possess a separate mutagenic function. The identifi- cation of this new RecA function, especially in its connec- tion to pol V, became the overriding research goal for my laboratory. Damaged Goods We entered the SOS mutagenesis field serendipitously as a result of an “out of the blue” phone call in 1986 from Bruce Kaplan and Ramon Eritja at City of Hope in nearby Duarte, California. They asked if I could think of a biolog- ical use for a new reduced deoxyribose compound that they had recently synthesized in the form of a phosphora- midite incorporated in a DNA strand using their home- made DNA synthesizer. This was the first type of abasic site to be synthesized. Reduction at the C-1 position of the sugar rendered the potentially labile sugar stable as a rock, so the abasic lesion could be incorporated on a DNA tem- plate strand site-specifically and with high yield. The lesion-containing template annealed to an oligonucleotide 5�-32P-labeled primer strand could then be copied by any DNA polymerase. We could determine the fraction of extended primers that were blocked one base before the lesion, stopped opposite the lesion, and, most importantly, extended beyond the lesion, indicating successful TLS (17). FIGURE 3. Raymond Devoret a pris dîner à Sage American Grill and Oyster Bar, New Haven, Connecticut (2013). REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V 26774 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 Parenthetically, we analyzed the polymerase-catalyzed 32P-labeled primer extension data using a brand-new tech- nological marvel. Our lab had recently purchased a first edition PhosphorImager, which was developed by a startup company called Molecular Dynamics. This new technology allowed us to simultaneously visualize about twenty lanes of a polyacrylamide gel on which primers were separated electrophoretically according to length, so primers differing by just single-nucleotide additions were easily observed. The imaging provided high resolution and unheard-of sensitivity. A barely visible gel band, corre- sponding to polymerase extension directly opposite a lesion, and faint TLS extension bands continuing beyond the lesion could be resolved from the much darker gel band, which corresponded to a polymerase blocked at the lesion. The faint-to-dark band detection sensitivity was about �1000-fold, far exceeding the 30-fold range previ- ously available using x-ray film scanning densitometry. A gel fidelity assay developed concurrently in our lab by my graduate students Michael Boosalis and Sandra Randall and my next-door faculty colleague John Petruska required the ratio of adjacent integrated gel band intensi- ties as input to quantify nucleotide incorporation veloci- ties. We showed that by determining the ratio of right and wrong incorporations, we could obtain the fidelity for any polymerase, including those with 3� 3 5�-exonuclease proofreading (18). A Digression into DNA Polymerase II RecA had yet to appear on our radar screen when we began looking for a biochemical basis for SOS mutagenesis in 1986. Devoret’s paper demonstrating a separate role for RecA in SOS mutagenesis would be published three years later (16). Our initial foray into SOS was to take a bot- tom-up approach by incubating crude lysates prepared from untreated and nalidixic acid-treated E. coli with primer-template DNA containing an abasic template lesion. We observed a 7-fold increase in an unknown polymerase activity in DNA-damaged cell lysates exposed to nalidixic acid compared with undamaged cell lysates (19). DNA polymerase II (pol II) emerged as the enzyme activity responsible for the DNA damage-induced TLS activity based on its similar molecular mass and enzymatic properties to those of pol II reported by Jerry Hurwitz in 1972 (20). However, the 7-fold activity induction number turned out to be especially important. By inserting a lacZ reporter gene at various locations on the E. coli chromosome, Gra- ham Walker (Fig. 4) had previously identified a series of individual loci distributed along the chromosome that were induced in response to DNA damage, which he called damage-inducible (din) genes (21). This important study provided a salient piece of information: one of the induced genes, dinA, showed a 7-fold increase in transcription. The close correspondence of transcriptional induction to the polymerase activity induction suggested to us that dinA could be the structural gene for pol II, which was con- firmed by showing that the nucleotide sequences for dinA and our structural gene for pol II were the same (22). A concurrent paper identifying dinA as the gene for pol II was published by Shinagawa and colleagues (23). Trials and Tribulations of UmuC and the Identification of a UmuD�2C Complex The power of E. coli genetics to investigate complex bio- chemical processes was clearly evident in the reconstitu- tion of a minimal system that was able to catalyze TLS in vitro. The complement of genetic requirements included the UV mutagenesis proteins UmuC and UmuD� and the RecA protein. A primer-template DNA, including a dam- aged base on the template strand, could be used as a sub- strate. Based on genetic evidence available in the mid- 1980s, the first TLS model was formulated by Bryn Bridges and his graduate student Roger Woodgate (Fig. 5). The Bridges-Woodgate two-step model (Fig. 6A) proposed that the role of the UmuDC proteins was to shepherd DNA polymerase III (pol III) past replication-blocking lesions by reducing polymerase fidelity, e.g. possibly by inhibiting exonucleolytic proofreading (24). It was sug- gested that in the first step, pol III could insert a nucleotide FIGURE 4. Graham Walker, Cambridge, Massachusetts (2013). REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 • VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY 26775 opposite a template lesion but could go no further. It required the Umu proteins and RecA* to copy past the lesion, after which there would be clear sailing on undam- aged template DNA until further damage was encoun- tered. Whatever the mechanism for TLS might turn out to be, it seemed clear that the Umu proteins working along with RecA* were required for pol III-catalyzed TLS. Following the discovery in 1988 that SOS mutagenesis required cleavage of UmuD to UmuD� (11–13), an updated TLS model was proposed by Harrison (Hatch) Echols (Fig. 7) and me (Fig. 5). This next generation model included UmuD� in place of UmuD and the pol III holoen- zyme complex (pol III HE) in place of pol III (Fig. 6B) (25). The stage was almost, but not quite, set to reconstitute TLS in vitro. pol III HE, RecA*, and UmuD� were available as purified proteins. However, UmuC was lacking. In 1989, Hatch and his postdoctoral student Roger Woodgate, who was to become a longtime and current collaborator of ours, reported the purification of UmuC and its interaction with UmuD and UmuD� (26). UmuD and UmuD� were soluble in aqueous solution. In contrast, UmuC was insoluble and con- fined to inclusion bodies, prompting Roger to denature the protein in urea and renature it by slowly dialyzing out the urea. The result was a refolded form of UmuC that was solu- ble in aqueous solution. A similar denaturation-renaturation strategy had proved successful for purifying the insoluble �-proofreading subunit of E. coli pol III, resulting in a water- soluble active 3�-exonuclease (27). However, extension of a primer past a template lesion (i.e. TLS) was marginal when renatured UmuC was used along with pol III HE, UmuD�, and RecA* (28). FIGURE 5. Roger Woodgate, Bryn Bridges, Myron F. Goodman, and Mengjia Tang (left to right): four SOS error-prone generations, Hilton Head, South Carolina (1999). FIGURE 6. Evolving models for SOS error-prone TLS involving UmuD�2C (pol V) and RecA*. A, pol III core (composed of �-polymerase, �-proofreading exonuclease, and �-subunits) copies past a damaged template site X, requiring the presence of UmuDC and RecA* situated in cis on the damaged template strand being copied. B, pol III HE (com- posed of pol III core � �-sliding clamp � �-clamp-loading complex) catalyzes TLS, requiring the presence of UmuD�C and cis-RecA*. C, pol V (composed of UmuD�2C) catalyzes TLS, requiring the presence of cis- RecA*. D, pol V activated by a RecA* located in trans to the primer- template DNA catalyzes TLS. E, pol V Mut (composed of pol V � RecA (red circle) � ATP (inverted blue triangle)) catalyzes TLS in the absence of RecA*. REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V 26776 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 Sadly, my close friend Hatch passed away on April 11, 1993. Several days earlier, I was invited by his wife, Carol Gross, to visit Hatch in their Berkeley home. During this very touching and brief visit, Hatch asked that I continue trying to reconstitute a biochemical system for TLS. One could study the renatured form of � with confi- dence because it was known that the native � had a clearly defined 3�-exonuclease activity when present as a compo- nent of the soluble pol III core. However, in the case of UmuC, an alternative approach might be better suited to investigate a protein with no known biochemical function. Irina Bruck (a graduate student at the University of South- ern California), Roger and I rebooted the study on UmuC, taking an alternative approach that opened the way to identify UmuC, not by itself but rather as part of soluble heterotrimeric complex, UmuD�2C (29). By coexpressing the UmuD�C proteins, overproduced from a high-expression promoter, and purifying the UmuC protein from a strain carrying a deletion of the entire umuDC operon, we obtained a sizable amount of a soluble 46-kDa protein that we identified as UmuC by Western blotting and microsequencing. At the end of a multistep purification process, UmuC remained soluble but, as we soon discovered, only because it was accompa- nied throughout each step in the purification by UmuD�. During the purification, UmuC remained bound to UmuD� as a stable 70-kDa heterotrimeric complex, UmuD�2C (29). Having UmuD�2C in hand, we then embarked on reconstituting an SOS TLS system in vitro that included the minimal requirements determined genetically, the UmuC and UmuD� proteins, RecA*, prim- er-template DNA, and, of course, a DNA polymerase that was almost surely pol III HE (25). However, that turned out not to be the case as described next. TLS Requires the Umu Proteins and RecA, But Not pol III The approach to reconstitute TLS with purified pro- teins dictated by the genetics was straightforward. Simply take a primer-template DNA having a 5�-32P-labeled primer and a template containing an abasic lesion and incubate it with purified RecA, UmuD�2C, and pol III HE. The expectation was that pol III HE would extend the 32P-labeled primer up to the template lesion, but not beyond, in the absence of either RecA or UmuD�2C. The hope was that the addition of both RecA and UmuD�2C would allow pol III to insert a deoxynucleotide opposite the noncoding lesion and then continue primer extension to reach the end of the template strand. The hoped-for result was attained except for one unforeseen observation. Exten- sion of the primer, copying undamaged template DNA to reach the lesion and then copying past the lesion (TLS), occurred in the absence of pol III core (30)! The wholly sur- prising result was that something other than pol III was able to avidly synthesize DNA. TLS was not the only unusual activity observed. Experiments leaving out one of the dNTP substrates made it pretty obvious that deoxynucleotide mis- incorporations were also occurring to an unprecedented extent opposite normal template bases. It had occurred to us that UmuD�2C might be a new type of low-fidelity DNA polymerase. I had mentioned at a 1998 Taos conference that “DNA processing takes place in accordance with the ‘four Rs’: Replication, Recombina- tion, Repair, REDUNDANCY,” and added that “if UmuD�2C walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then perhaps it is a duck, disguised as a new type of DNA polymerase.” We titled the 1998 PNAS paper describing TLS “Reconstitution of in vitro lesion bypass dependent on the UmuD�2C mutagenic complex and RecA protein” (30). Bob Lehman, who communicated the paper to PNAS, suggested that we were being overly conservative by not stating flat out in the title that UmuD�2C was a new SOS-induced error-prone DNA polymerase. In hindsight, I obviously should have taken Bob’s advice, but as Dick Vermeil, the superb head football coach for our “hated” rival school UCLA, had aptly said in a quote paraphrased from the poet Henry David Thoreau, “Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.” There was, however, a mitigating factor in my chicken- ing out. The specific activity of the low-fidelity TLS activ- ity was miniscule, nowhere near that of pol I, II, or III, and perhaps a small contaminant from one or more of the pols FIGURE 7. Hatch Echols, Berkeley, California (circa 1980). REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 • VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY 26777 could be present. Thanks to an exquisitely sensitive neu- tralizing antibody against pol I provided to us by Larry Loeb at the University of Washington, we could confi- dently rule out pol I as a contaminant. The deliberate addi- tion of pol III inhibited TLS, suggesting that it was unlikely to be present in the preparation, but we could not entirely eliminate an adventitious presence of pol II. We had no antibody against pol II and no pol II deletion strain to exploit. Notably, as recounted above under “A Digression into DNA Polymerase II,” pol II was itself pretty adept at TLS. pol II was also induced by the SOS regulon in vivo in response to DNA damage (19, 22). Here, I reflect on that, back in the day, circa 1998 –2004, we were fortunate to recover �2– 4 mg of purified UmuD�2C from 30 liters of cells, even when overproduced. To obtain more workable amounts of UmuD�2C, Roger Woodgate fired up the 200- liter fermenter at the National Institutes of Health, ship- ping many grams of spun-down cell pellets to us on dry ice. This ensured a quarterly profit for FedEx lasting for several years. It also gave rise to heavy-duty KP (kold room patrol) by graduate students Irina Bruck, Mengjia Tang (Fig. 5), and Xuan Shen. Under such trying circumstances, a minor polymerase contaminant would not be too surprising. A concurrent paper by Zvi Livneh and colleagues showed that when UmuC had a maltose-binding protein attached to its N terminus, it was soluble in aqueous solu- tion; maltose-binding protein-UmuC along with UmuD�, RecA*, and pol III HE performed TLS. However, in con- trast with our data, pol III HE was a necessary component in their reconstituted system (31). Absent pol III, there was no detectable TLS in Livneh’s system. A PNAS Commen- tary discussing the two papers was written by Graham Walker and entitled “Skiing the black diamond slope: pro- gress on the biochemistry of translesion DNA synthesis” (32). Graham’s title referred specifically to a statement made by Hatch to a packed audience during a replication and repair “skiing” meeting held in Taos, New Mexico, in 1992, where he referred to UmuC as the “black diamond slope of DNA biochemistry.” Black double diamond slope is what I remember Hatch having said. Either way, one or two diamonds, by mid- 1998, the difficulties with UmuC and, more generally, with the biochemical reconstitution of TLS were at long last being bypassed (pun intended). In 1999, the heterotri- meric UmuD�2C complex was unequivocally shown to be a bona fide DNA polymerase (9), with the polymerase activity residing in the UmuC subunit (9, 14). The year 2001 witnessed the identification of a new polymerase family, the Y-family polymerases (33), that grew rapidly. A recent count identified 13 family members spanning from microorganisms to humans (34, 35). A Fly in the cis-RecA* Filament Ointment The model for TLS that Hatch and I proposed in 1990 (Fig. 6B) had not strayed far from the 1985 Bridges- Woodgate model (Fig. 6A), although the proteins involved were modified according to new biochemical data, includ- ing dispensing with pol III HE and replacing it with pol V (UmuD�2C) (Fig. 6C) (9). However, the core feature of the model remained: TLS was assumed to require the pres- ence of a RecA* nucleoprotein filament assembled on the region of ssDNA located in cis at the 5�-side of the dam- aged template base (Fig. 6, A–C). Positioning of RecA* on the template strand proximal to the lesion surely made sense. When asked why he robbed banks, Willie Sutton famously replied, “Because that’s where the money is.” The same localization principle logically accounted for posi- tioning of RecA*. Although assembly of RecA* in cis on the template strand being copied was a reasonable supposi- tion, there was no direct evidence to support it. We were soon led to rethinking where and how RecA* functioned during TLS because of a talk that I gave in November 2000 at the National Academy of Sciences Col- loquium on “Links Between Recombination and Replica- tion: Vital Roles of Recombination” at University of Cali- fornia, Irvine. Projected on the screen were PAGE data depicting 32P-labeled primer elongation bands visualized at single-nucleotide resolution with remarkable clarity using the aforementioned PhosphorImager. Although the data showed that TLS was greatest with a RecA/ssDNA ratio of �1 RecA monomer/3–5 nucleotides, which is consistent with the optimal ratio for RecA* filament for- mation, TLS was also clearly observed at �1 RecA mono- mer/50 nucleotides. Following my talk, Mike Cox (Fig. 8) mentioned to me privately that RecA* would be unlikely to assemble on the region of ssDNA downstream of the tem- plate lesion at 1 RecA monomer/50 nucleotides. I was grateful that Mike spared me a public “gotcha,” all the more so because his point proved to be spot-on. When one makes primer-template DNA by annealing a relatively short primer to a longer template strand, thermodynamics dictates that a portion of the DNA remains single- stranded. Furthermore, because we typically used an excess of primers over template to optimize the yield of the primer-template DNA duplex, there was always an excess of primer strands in solution to bind with RecA. Although the ratio of �1 RecA monomer/50 nucleotides was not sufficiently high for RecA nucleoprotein filament assem- bly on the primer-template DNA duplex, the ability to REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V 26778 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 observe pol V-catalyzed TLS (36) suggested that perhaps RecA* forming on the shorter free primer strands was somehow able to facilitate lesion bypass by pol V by acting in trans (Fig. 6D) (37). We viewed these data as a potential “fly in the cis-RecA* filament ointment.” Perhaps RecA* assembled in trans on a ssDNA strand that was not being copied by pol V. Transactivation of pol V by RecA* Compelling evidence for transactivation of pol V-cata- lyzed DNA synthesis, including TLS, was obtained by Katharina (Kathi) Schlacher, a graduate student who came to our lab initially with the limited objective of performing a Master’s thesis project for a year and defending in Aus- tria, which she did. To our good fortune, Kathi then decided to return to the lab to initiate the transactivation studies, which I am pleased to say won her the “Best Ph.D. Dissertation of 2006” award from the University of South- ern California. The key to proving that pol V can be acti- vated via the assembly of RecA* on ssDNA that is not being copied was to design a primer-template DNA that could not support template filament formation. The prim- er-template was formed as a stable DNA hairpin with just a 3-nucleotide overhang region at its 5�-end to serve the template strand (see e.g. Fig. 9B, left) (37). A RecA mono- mer has a 3-nucleotide footprint on ssDNA, leaving no space on the template strand to form a cis-RecA* filament downstream of UmuD�2C. Instead, RecA* filaments were assembled on separate ssDNA molecules, which acted in trans on the primer-template DNA duplex hairpins. The 3-nucleotide template overhangs were copied but only with trans-RecA* present (37). The reaction of pol V with the primer-template DNA hairpins was second-order, i.e. linearly proportional to the concentration of trans-RecA*, leaving little (if any) room for doubt that RecA* assembled on a DNA different from the one being copied was respon- sible for pol V activity (Fig. 6D). The historical positioning of RecA* downstream of pol V on the template strand being copied has always been based on an Occam’s razor-like rationale that because RecA* was required for TLS, it had to act at a blocked replication fork (38). What had not been contemplated is that the role of RecA* might actually be indirect: that it is not interacting with a RecA* filament, be it located either in cis or in trans, that activates pol V, but instead, RecA* is FIGURE 8. Mike Cox, Madison, Wisconsin (circa 2009). This is how he looks today. FIGURE 9. pol V Mut (UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP) is a stand-alone DNA polymerase able to synthesize DNA in the absence of RecA*. A, pol V Mut is formed by incubating pol V with RecA* bound to resin and removing the resin-bound RecA*, leaving pol V Mut in solution. B, pol V Mut formed with wild-type RecA copies DNA, whereas pol V Mut formed with Devoret’s SOS nonmutagenic RecA1730(S117F) cannot copy DNA. Red circle, RecA; inverted blue triangle, ATP or ATP�S. nt, nucleotides. REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 • VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY 26779 needed to transfer a RecA monomer from its 3�-proximal tip to pol V and thereby activate it for DNA synthesis (15). Captured Alive, the Active Form of pol V Is UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP Deciphering the role of RecA* remained the key bio- chemical challenge, a mystery that had persisted since the mid-1980s with the Bridges-Woodgate model (Fig. 6A) (24) and crystallized by Devoret’s discovery of an essential role for RecA* in damage-induced mutagenesis, distinct from its roles in recombination and the coproteolytic cleavage of the LexA repressor and UmuD (16). Mixing pol V with trans-RecA* resulted in an active enzyme capa- ble of copying undamaged and damaged templates (37), but mixing pol V with RecA did not (39). An experiment was needed to nail down unambiguously how and why RecA* acts during pol V-catalyzed TLS. We addressed the “how and why” by incubating pol V with RecA* in the absence of primer-template DNA and then isolating a possibly modified form of the polymerase with RecA* no longer present (Fig. 9A). The strategy entailed assembling RecA* filaments on ssDNA oligonu- cleotides that were stably attached to resins or beads (15). Following pol V incubation with immobilized RecA* and removal of the RecA* by centrifugation, we found that pol V had undergone a major modification. A single RecA molecule had been transferred from the 3�-proximal tip of RecA* to UmuD�2C, which, along with the binding of a molecule of ATP (or ATP�S), converted the virtually inac- tive pol V to the stand-alone activated pol V Mut (UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP) (Fig. 9A). This was the first time that pol V was observed to synthesize DNA without RecA* (Fig. 9B) (15). A new model for TLS involved pol V Mut with RecA* no longer directly in the picture (Fig. 6E). pol V Mut was active with a bound wild-type RecA monomer, whereas pol V Mut was dead when formed with Devoret’s UV light-nonmutable RecA(S117F) mutant (Fig. 9B) (15). pol V Mut(S117F) had no measurable DNA synthe- sis activity in vitro even though it was also transferred to UmuD�2C from the 3�-RecA* filament tip to form a stable, yet inactive, pol V Mut complex (15). It was gratifying to give a biochemical face to Devoret’s critically important genetic identification of an independent mutagenic function for RecA*, which had provided the impetus for our work. After submitting a manuscript to Nature, a multiangle light scattering (MALS) instrument arrived at the Univer- sity of Southern California in the two weeks intervening between receipt of two referees’ reports and the third report, which requested (i.e. demanded) more convincing evidence for the existence of a stable complex composed of a RecA monomer bound to UmuD�2C. MALS measures the absolute molecular mass of a pure protein in aqueous solution, subject only to a few nonrestrictive assumptions regarding protein globular shape (40). A mass standard for either calibration or comparison is not even required. Using MALS, we identified a light scattering peak centered at 113 kDa corresponding to a complex of UmuD�2C- RecA. Using SDS-PAGE, we showed that the protein com- position in the 113-kDa peak contained UmuC, UmuD�, and RecA. The Unexpected Identification of pol V Mut as DNA-dependent ATPase Thanks to MALS and the third reviewer, pol V Mut was captured alive as UmuD�2C-RecA (15). However, a ques- tion remained: what about ATP? Was ATP required for pol V Mut activity? The short answer is that when present as UmuD�2C-RecA, pol V Mut lacking ATP cannot syn- thesize DNA. To be active, it must have a molecule of ATP (or ATP�S) bound to form UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP (15). FIGURE 10. Model for pol V Mut regulation by RecA and ATP. Transfer of a RecA molecule (red circle) from RecA* and the subsequent binding of an ATP molecule (inverted blue triangle) to UmuD�2C form activated pol V Mut (UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP). A bound ATP molecule is required for polymerase binding to primer-template DNA. pol V copies an undam- aged region of DNA, inserts a deoxynucleotide opposite a lesion (X), and continues DNA synthesis beyond the lesion (TLS). pol V Mut is deacti- vated after dissociating from the primer-template DNA. Dissociation is dependent on pol V Mut-dependent ATP hydrolysis. REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V 26780 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 The unresolved question was why. The answer that we arrived at while I was writing these Reflections is that pol V Mut function is regulated by an intrinsic DNA-dependent ATPase activity (41). The binding of a single ATP mole- cule to pol V Mut is required to bind the polymerase to primer-template DNA. DNA synthesis, including TLS, then takes place. ATP hydrolysis triggers the dissociation of pol V Mut from the DNA. pol V Mut appears to func- tion as an on-off toggle switch. Once activated, it performs a single round of DNA synthesis. Following ATP hydroly- sis, the enzyme dissociates from primer-template DNA in a deactivated form (Fig. 10). No such ATPase activity or autoregulatory mechanism has previously been found for a DNA polymerase. What is the biological basis for the complex regulation of pol V by ATP? Mutagenic DNA synthesis during the SOS response is seemingly an act of cellular desperation that would best be limited as to when and where it is used. The regulation of pol V Mut is needed to limit mutations, especially in rapidly dividing cells (42). Mutational lethal- ity can be avoided by restricting low-fidelity DNA synthe- sis to short DNA segments confined to replication forks blocked by DNA damage and to replication restart at stalled replication forks on undamaged DNA. Keeping pol V Mut processivity in check appears to be role of the inter- nal ATPase that triggers polymerase dissociation from primer-template DNA (41). In essence, the enzyme has evolved to do the absolute minimum to get cellular DNA synthesis restarted. Acknowledgments—I thank Matty Scharff and Phuong Pham for provid- ing valuable and constructive criticisms on the manuscript and Jeff Ber- tram and Phuong for aid with the illustrations. I thank Evelyn Witkin, Michael Devoret, Mike Cox, Maurice Bessman, Graham Walker, and Stuart Linn for generously sending photographs. I am indebted to past and present students and postdoctoral fellows who provided invaluable intellectual support for the SOS-pol V studies while having interests that differed from pol V. These other projects investigated the fidelity of DNA polymerases and, more recently, the mutator mechanisms of APOBEC dC deaminases. The NIGMS, NIEHS, and NCI have provided generous sustenance. I especially thank Dan Shaughnessy (NIEHS), Dick Pelroy (NCI), and the late Paul B. Wolfe (NIGMS) for their gracious support and advice throughout my forty years and counting in the business. Address correspondence to: mgoodman@usc.edu. REFERENCES 1. Weigle, J. J. (1953) Induction of mutation in a bacterial virus. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 39, 628 – 636 2. Witkin, E. M. (1967) The radiation sensitivity of Escherichia coli B: a hypothesis relating filament formation and prophage induction. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 57, 1275–1279 3. Witkin, E. M. (1969) Ultraviolet-induced mutation and DNA repair. Annu. Rev. Microbiol. 23, 487–514 4. Radman, M. (1974) Phenomenology of an inducible mutagenic DNA repair pathway in Escherichia coli: SOS repair hypothesis. in Molecular and environ- mental aspects of mutagenesis (Prakash, L., Sherman, F., Miller, M., Lawrence, C., and Tabor, H. W., eds) pp. 128 –142, Charles C. Thomas, Springfield, IL 5. Kato, T., and Shinoura, Y. (1977) Isolation and characterization of mutants of Escherichia coli deficient in induction of mutations by ultraviolet light. Mol. Gen. Genet. 156, 121–131 6. Steinborn, G. (1978) Uvm mutants of Escherichia coli K12 deficient in UV mutagenesis. I. Isolation of uvm mutants and their phenotypical characteriza- tion in DNA repair and mutagenesis. Mol. Gen. Genet. 165, 87–93 7. Kitagawa, Y., Akaboshi, E., Shinagawa, H., Horii, T., Ogawa, H., and Kato, T. (1985) Structural analysis of the umu operon required for inducible mutagen- esis in Escherichia coli. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 82, 4336 – 4340 8. Perry, K. L., Elledge, S. J., Mitchell, B. B., Marsh, L., and Walker, G. C. (1985) umuDC and mucAB operons whose products are required for UV light- and chemical-induced mutagenesis: UmuD, MucA, and LexA proteins share ho- mology. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 82, 4331– 4335 9. Tang, M., Shen, X., Frank, E. G., O’Donnell, M., Woodgate, R., and Goodman, M. F. (1999) UmuD�2C is an error-prone DNA polymerase, Escherichia coli pol V. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 96, 8919 – 8924 10. Cox, M. M. (2003) The bacterial RecA protein as a motor protein. Annu. Rev. Microbiol. 57, 551–577 11. Nohmi, T., Battista, J. R., Dodson, L. A., and Walker, G. C. (1988) RecA-medi- ated cleavage activates UmuD for mutagenesis: mechanistic relationship be- tween transcriptional derepression and posttranslational activation. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 85, 1816 –1820 12. Burckhardt, S. E., Woodgate, R., Scheuermann, R. H., and Echols, H. (1988) UmuD mutagenesis protein of Escherichia coli: overproduction, purification, and cleavage by RecA. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 85, 1811–1815 13. Shinagawa, H., Iwasaki, H., Kato, T., and Nakata, A. (1988) RecA protein-de- pendent cleavage of UmuD protein and SOS mutagenesis. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 85, 1806 –1810 14. Reuven, N. B., Arad, G., Maor-Shoshani, A., and Livneh, Z. (1999) The mu- tagenesis protein UmuC is a DNA polymerase activated by UmuD�, RecA, and SSB and is specialized for translesion replication. J. Biol. Chem. 274, 31763–31766 15. Jiang, Q., Karata, K., Woodgate, R., Cox, M. M., and Goodman, M. F. (2009) The active form of DNA polymerase V is UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP. 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(1990) Mutation induced by DNA damage: a many protein affair. Mutat. Res. 236, 301–311 26. Woodgate, R., Rajagopalan, M., Lu, C., and Echols, H. (1989) UmuC mutagen- esis protein of Escherichia coli: purification and interaction with UmuD and UmuD�. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 86, 7301–7305 27. Scheuermann, R. H., and Echols, H. (1984) A separate editing exonuclease for DNA replication: the � subunit of Escherichia coli DNA polymerase III holoen- zyme. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 81, 7747–7751 REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 • VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY 26781 28. Rajagopalan, M., Lu, C., Woodgate, R., O’Donnell, M., Goodman, M. F., and Echols, H. (1992) Activity of the purified mutagenesis proteins UmuC, UmuD�, and RecA in replicative bypass of an abasic DNA lesion by DNA polymerase III. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 89, 10777–10781 29. Bruck, I., Woodgate, R., McEntee, K., and Goodman, M. F. 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Genetics 194, 409 – 420 REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V 26782 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 The Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V and Its Unique Regulation by RecA and ATP The Origin of SOS Error-prone DNA Repair A Separate Role for RecA in SOS Mutagenesis Damaged Goods A Digression into DNA Polymerase II Trials and Tribulations of UmuC and the Identification of a UmuD'2C Complex TLS Requires the Umu Proteins and RecA, But Not pol III A Fly in the cis-RecA* Filament Ointment Transactivation of pol V by RecA* Captured Alive, the Active Form of pol V Is UmuD'2C-RecA-ATP The Unexpected Identification of pol V Mut as DNA-dependent ATPase Acknowledgments REFERENCES
work_hynomysyxrggtnnffkm32s62ya ---- Hindawi Publishing Corporation Diagnostic and Therapeutic Endoscopy Volume 2013, Article ID 206839, 2 pages http://dx.doi.org/10.1155/2013/206839 Editorial Advanced Endoscopic Imaging Helmut Neumann,1 Klaus Mönkemüller,2 Markus F. Neurath,1 Arthur Hoffman,3 and Charles Melbern Wilcox2 1 Department of Medicine I, University of Erlangen-Nuremberg, Ulmenweg 18, 91054 Erlangen, Germany 2 Basil Hirschowitz Endoscopic Center of Excellence, University of Alabama, Birmingham, AL, USA 3 St. Marienkrankenhaus Katharina-Kasper, Richard-Wagner Straße 14, 60318 Frankfurt am Main, Germany Correspondence should be addressed to Helmut Neumann; helmut.neumann@uk-erlangen.de Received 27 February 2013; Accepted 27 February 2013 Copyright © 2013 Helmut Neumann et al. This is an open access article distributed under the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. It was in the late 18th century when the American essayist, poet, and philosopher Henry David Thoreau quoted “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” Indeed, more than 200 years later, this phrase is still valid and relevant, especially in the field of gastrointestinal (GI) endoscopy. Endoscopists in the whole world are working hard to improve diagnosis and therapy of our patients. Despite these efforts, we are still confronted with some limitations of GI endoscopy including the lack of detection of colon polyps (i.e., significant adenoma miss rates), delayed diagnosis, and difficult areas to access, like the pancreatobiliary tract or the small bowel. In the attempt to overcome these limitations, new endo- scopic techniques are constantly being introduced. New endoscopic imaging techniques now allow for a more detailed analysis of mucosal and submucosal structures and include virtual chromoendoscopy, magnification endoscopy, and endocytoscopy. Various studies have shown the usefulness of these imaging techniques for conditions such as Barrett’s esophagus, colon polyps, and early neoplasias of the luminal GI tract. Moreover, the recently introduced confocal laser endomicroscopy (CLE) system allows us to analyze structures at the cellular and subcellular layer thereby obtaining an optical biopsy during ongoing endoscopy. Besides, CLE has the potential to visualize fluorescence labeled structures against specific epitopes, that is, in gastrointestinal cancer or inflammatory bowel disease, thus adding molecular imag- ing to the field of endoscopic research. Furthermore, with the development of balloon-assisted endoscopy and capsule endoscopy, the endoscopist is now able to visualize the entire small bowel. Lastly, visualization beyond the mucosa is also important. This is accomplished with endoscopic ultrasonography (EUS). EUS plays now a pivotal role for the management and therapy of various diseases. Through EUS, the “eye” of the endoscopist is extended beyond the lumen allowing for a detailed examination of most adjacent structures to the luminal GI tract. This special issue focuses on the exiting new develop- ments of GI endoscopy. We are proud to present original arti- cles and state-of-the-art reviews on the latest developments in the field of advanced endoscopic imaging. We are aware that it is impossible to cover the entire spectrum of advanced endoscopy in only one issue. The presented topics, however, highlight some of the most current aspects, controversies, and recommendations in selected areas of advanced GI imaging. B. E. Bluen and coworkers analyzed the impact of EUS- FNA on patient management. Files from 268 patients were evaluated. In the conclusion, the authors suggest that the diagnostic accuracy of EUS-FNA might be improved fur- ther by taking more FNA passes from suspected lesions, optimizing needle selection, having an experienced echo- endoscopist available during the learning curve, and lastly having a cytologist present during the procedure. C. Xu et al. reviewed the technique and applications of contrast- enhanced harmonic EUS (CH-EUS) in pancreatic diseases and compared the technique to computed tomography, mag- netic resonance imaging, and conventional EUS. The authors concluded that CH-EUS could be used for adequate sampling 2 Diagnostic and Therapeutic Endoscopy of pancreatic tumors but could not replace EUS-FNA now. Mohammad-Alizadeh and coworkers evaluated the efficacy of limited sphincterotomy plus large balloon dilation for removal of biliary stones in a prospective nonrandomized study including 50 patients. The authors described that the combined approach is an effective and safe treatment in patients with challenging bile duct stones. M. Iwatate et al. evaluated NBI (Olympus, Tokyo, Japan) and NBI combined with magnification for the evaluation of colorectal lesions and additionally gave an outlook on future prospects. Digital chromoendoscopy techniques were evalu- ated in two different trials of this special issue. C. E. O. dos Santos and coworkers presented the results of a prospective randomized study comparing the accuracy of Fujinon Intelli- gent Color Enhancement (FICE; Fujifilm, Tokyo, Japan) and real-time chromoendoscopy for the differential diagnosis of diminutive (<5 mm) neoplastic and nonneoplastic colorec- tal lesions and found that both approaches showed high accuracy for the histopathological diagnosis of diminutive colorectal lesions. S. Hancock et al. described the potential of i-scan (Pentax, Tokyo, Japan) in clinical endoscopic practice in upper and lower endoscopic procedures and described the potential usefulness of this technique for real-time diag- nosis and characterization of GI lesions. The small bowel was discussed in two manuscripts of this special issue. H. Suzuki et al. described the successful treatment of early stage jejunal adenocarcinoma by endoscopic mucosal resection using double-balloon enteroscopy. Whereas there are several reports on polypectomy of the small bowel, this is the first report of EMR of this part of the GI tract. J. Chen and J. Lee reviewed the current development of machine-vision-based analysis of wireless capsule endoscopy, thereby focusing on the research that identifies specific gastrointestinal pathology and methods of shot boundary detection. CLE is an advanced endoscopic imaging technique. R. Pittayanon et al. described for the first time the learning curve of CLE for assessment of gastric intestinal metaplasia. The authors found that after a short session of training, even beginners could achieve a high level of accuracy with a substantial level of interobserver agreement. Foersch et al. described the potential of molecular imaging using CLE for imaging of COX-2 activity in murine sporadic and colitis-associated colorectal cancer. The authors pose a proof of concept and suggested the use of CLE for the detection of COX-2 expression during colorectal cancer surveillance. Finally, S. Peter et al. presented a state-of-the-art review on the potential of CLE for real-time histopathological evaluation of the pancreaticobiliary system. They concluded that the novel use of this technique is particularly of signif- icance in differentiating indeterminate biliary strictures as treatment depends on an accurate and prompt diagnosis. We highly appreciate the excellent contributions of all authors of this special issue and want to encourage all readers to be receptive on the rapidly growing field of advanced endoscopic imaging. Nonetheless, just utilizing a new method is not enough; a clear understanding of how the method is used and how the findings are interpreted is the key for a successful endoscopy: “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” Helmut Neumann Klaus Mönkemüller Markus F. 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work_hyvcsab6k5aofdl4svlblk7l54 ---- PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR ARTICLE This article was downloaded by: [Wright, Tom] On: 8 June 2010 Access details: Access Details: [subscription number 922889062] Publisher Routledge Informa Ltd Registered in England and Wales Registered Number: 1072954 Registered office: Mortimer House, 37- 41 Mortimer Street, London W1T 3JH, UK Studies in Travel Writing Publication details, including instructions for authors and subscription information: http://www.informaworld.com/smpp/title~content=t902189980 The results of locomotion: Bayard Taylor and the travel lecture in the mid- nineteenth-century United States Tom F. Wright Online publication date: 08 June 2010 To cite this Article Wright, Tom F.(2010) 'The results of locomotion: Bayard Taylor and the travel lecture in the mid- nineteenth-century United States', Studies in Travel Writing, 14: 2, 111 — 134 To link to this Article: DOI: 10.1080/13645141003747207 URL: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13645141003747207 Full terms and conditions of use: http://www.informaworld.com/terms-and-conditions-of-access.pdf This article may be used for research, teaching and private study purposes. Any substantial or systematic reproduction, re-distribution, re-selling, loan or sub-licensing, systematic supply or distribution in any form to anyone is expressly forbidden. The publisher does not give any warranty express or implied or make any representation that the contents will be complete or accurate or up to date. The accuracy of any instructions, formulae and drug doses should be independently verified with primary sources. The publisher shall not be liable for any loss, actions, claims, proceedings, demand or costs or damages whatsoever or howsoever caused arising directly or indirectly in connection with or arising out of the use of this material. http://www.informaworld.com/smpp/title~content=t902189980 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13645141003747207 http://www.informaworld.com/terms-and-conditions-of-access.pdf Studies in Travel Writing Vol. 14, No. 2, June 2010, 111–134 The results of locomotion: Bayard Taylor and the travel lecture in the mid-nineteenth-century United States Tom F. Wright* During the mid-nineteenth century, appearances by returning travellers were a ubiquitous feature of the American popular lecture circuit. Attending such talks was one of the few means by which the majority of citizens acquired an insight into distant cultures. These ‘travel lectures’ became an idiom of an emerging mass entertainment culture, one of the period’s more under-appreciated and idiosyn- cratic cultural practices. Drawing upon a range of archival materials, this essay explores the scope of the phenomenon during the period 1840–70, and argues that these oratorical events represented interpretive performances or ‘dramas of appraisal’ through which performers brought reformist themes to the platform. Focusing on the career of the poet, writer and diplomat Bayard Taylor – the archetypal ‘travel lecturer’ of the period – it reveals the ways in which he used the form to advance a moral vision of mid-century American cosmopolitanism. Keywords: travel; lecture; oratory; oratorical culture; performance; cosmopoli- tanism; nineteenth century; United States; Bayard Taylor In a chapter of Little Women (1868) entitled ‘Literary Lessons’, Louisa May Alcott’s heroine Jo is disturbed from her writing and ‘prevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lecture’ at the Concord Lyceum: It was a people’s course – the lecture on the Pyramids, – and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject for such an audience, but took it for granted that some great social evil would be remedied, or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories of the Pharaohs, to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were spent in trying to solve harder riddles than that of the Sphinx. Unmoved at the speaker ‘prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabeti and hieroglyphics’, Jo proceeds instead contentedly to compose stories in her head before ‘the lecture ended, and the audience awoke’. 1 The incident gently satirised an American scene immediately familiar to much of Alcott’s domestic audience. On winter evenings during the mid-nineteenth century, hundreds of communities throughout the nation gathered in meeting halls and lyceums to consume edifying addresses by visiting orators. The period represented the peak of the American popular lecture system, offering eclectic ‘people’s courses’ of talks in towns such as Alcott’s Concord, Massachusetts. Alongside lectures on temperance and ethical conduct, the appearances of returning travellers delivering eyewitness accounts of exotic locations were a ubiquitous feature of the circuit. Speaking at the Brooklyn Athenaeum in February 1860, New England abolitionist and orator Wendell Phillips delivered just such an address, a lecture entitled ‘Street Life *Email: tomwright@post.harvard.edu ISSN 1364–5145 print/ISSN 1755–7550 online � 2010 Taylor & Francis DOI: 10.1080/13645141003747207 http://www.informaworld.com D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 in Europe’. The Brooklyn Eagle reported that, introducing the topic to his audience he remarked that: the system of public lecturing might be considered from one point of view as a great labor-saving machine. One man travels through books and brings back to you the result of his journeying; another travels over the globe and brings back the result of his locomotion. 2 Such presentations of the ‘results of locomotion’ became an established idiom of an emerging mass entertainment culture, one of the more under-appreciated and idiosyncratic cultural practices of the period. Attending such talks was one of the scarce means by which many Americans acquired an insight into distant geographies and cultures. These presentations – which I term ‘travel lectures’ – covered a diverse array of oratorical performances, but often involved a single figure recounting and interpreting esoteric personal experiences. It was a form attempted by figures as various as Anna Dickinson, Herman Melville and Mark Twain, and the specialism of a handful of principal performers such as Bayard Taylor, the archetypal ‘travel lecturer’ of the period. Beginning to think about the travel lecture through its appearance in Little Women allows us to glimpse its uncertain contemporary status. Alcott’s ironic portrayal suggests that audiences routinely assumed the utility of lyceum discourses, uncritically presuming that they would meet ‘some’ broad national appetites and address ‘some’ imprecise reform agendas. Moreover, she posits that this reflex assumption blinded lecture-goers to the tangential irrelevance of addresses such as travel accounts. They were thus axiomatically middlebrow cultural productions, of putative cultural capital but lacking in import, occupying an ambiguous cultural status. Partly as a result, like Alcott’s heroine Jo, modern scholarship seems to have taken the popular travel lecture, ‘for granted’, as an innocuous sideshow to more contentious, pungent oratory. Surprisingly for an aspect of culture so important to so many, there has been a relative lack of recent engagement with nineteenth-century public lecturing in the United States, aside from the work of Donald Scott, Angela Ray and David Chapin. 3 This is in part an inevitable consequence of the ephemeral nature of lecture culture. Nonetheless, the materials for its study – broadsides, newspaper reports, advertisements and manuscripts – are far from scant, and combine to provide glimpses of the transnational appetites and curiosities of the mid-century republic. In what follows, I draw upon a range of such materials to offer an outline sketch of the broad phenomenon of the travel lecture during the years 1840–70, the period of its greatest popularity and a fleeting moment before visual technologies diluted its essentially literary character. 4 Reconsidering the diverse cultural work performed by these lectures, I adopt Alcott’s phraseology to recover the ways in which they both supplied various ‘great wants’ of mid- century culture and assailed some of the republic’s ‘great social evils’. I trace this interplay through the richly suggestive figure of Taylor, whose attempts to advance a moral vision of exemplary cosmopolitanism reveals the ambivalence and limits of the travel lecture form. The lyceum and popular lecture system What became known as the ‘lyceum movement’ originated from a pioneering institution for community education established in Millbury, Massachusetts in 1826, aiming to provide workers with a secular, non-partisan centre for civic life. 5 Catalysed by the self- improvement ethos of the Jacksonian era, a loosely connected network of between 4000 and 5000 similar lyceums had developed nationally by 1840. 6 Their initial participatory 112 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 character gradually evolved into a commercial circuit based upon the hosting of lectures in seasons that ran from October to April, and by 1855 the Boston Evening Transcript observed that ‘every town or village of any sort of enterprise or pretentions has its annual course of popular lectures, while the cities support several courses’. 7 In smaller communities, performances took place in town halls; in the major cities, venues and lecture-sponsoring organisations proliferated, and stages such as Boston’s Tremont Temple and Philadelphia’s Musical Fund Hall became hallowed platforms. Though Northern authors maintained that the system ‘never existed in the South and could not be tolerated there’, a Southern circuit had been in existence since the 1830s and venues such as the Richmond and Charleston Lyceums became important lecturing centres. 8 According to Scott, ‘by fairly conservative estimate, attendance at public lectures probably reached close to half a million people each week during the lecture season’. 9 An average lecture price of 50c prescribed a certain income, and lecture-going was traditionally associated with female and young male members of the emerging middle classes, a self-consciously refined arena for communal edification. Furthermore, as one observer saw it, the lyceum had a markedly nativist emphasis, with ‘foreign immigrants’ tending ‘to avoid it – or to taste of it, as they do of any other national dish, with courtesy but not with relish’. 10 In practice, the movement represented an institutional attempt to foster the ethos and values of Northeastern civic nationalism. 11 In addition to being trailed in advance, noteworthy lectures were recorded in prominently placed newspaper reports, which ranged from brief précis to verbatim transcriptions. These evocative reports were often interpretative, providing a commentary on attendance and audience reaction, and were an essential part of the ‘text’ of any lecture, generating a potentially revealing discursive interplay between journalist and performer. Such reports raise inevitable authorial problems, with some rendered in direct reported speech, others in a shifting hybrid of transcription and editorial exegesis. Crucially, this reporting practice meant that the audience for any given lecture was threefold: a primary audience in the venue, perhaps a few thousand at most; a second audience of thousands more readers who consumed lectures in papers such as the New York Tribune with national readership; and a potential third group who read subsequent appropriated reprints of these lecture reports in local papers across the nation. 12 These institutional arrangements gave birth to the short-lived profession of the ‘public lecturer’ and the dominance of the national marketplace by a small number of eminent names largely drawn from the metropolitan elites of Boston and New York who toured the country lucratively each winter. 13 Hailed by Putnam’s Magazine in 1857 as ‘the intellectual leaders of intelligent progress in the country’, these celebrity lecturers included such renowned cultural figures as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Brooklyn preacher Henry Ward Beecher, and temperance speaker John B. Gough. 14 Travel lectures One condition of the circuit was that speakers brought to the platform some form of practical first-hand knowledge, and in this way, physicians, military veterans and cultural arbiters of all kinds found enthusiastic audiences. So too did the broader group of individuals returning from distant excursions. In the mid-century republic, travellers were by definition people of consequence, and accounts of their experience were seen to promise both entertainment and information. For the purposes of this discussion, the ‘travel lecture’ is defined as an oral rendition of first-hand experience, imparting esoteric Studies in Travel Writing 113 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 knowledge about distant places or peoples, most often delivered by Americans returning from international excursions. It represented a discursive space where several other modes of expression and inquiry – natural history, popular anthropology, comparative politics, autobiography, landscape description – overlapped in the lecture hall. Approaches and registers ranged from the urbane to the demotic, from scientific analysis to touristic reminiscence. As Scott maintains, ‘the travel lecture was less a travelogue than a kind of comparative ethnography’ an oratorical performance that fused description and comparison to communicate the realities of unfamiliar geographic and social conditions, with the cardinal aim of allowing audiences to ‘travel’ vicariously. 15 No season would have been complete without at least one lecture topic occasioned by a period of travel, and these performances became a hallmark of courses from the humblest lyceum to prestigious courses such as Boston’s Lowell Institute series. 16 A high- water mark of the vogue for these lectures can be seen in the records of the Salem, Massachusetts Lyceum course of 1853–4 (Figure 1). 17 In this season, which featured some of the circuit’s leading names, five out of 18 lectures were on subjects that newspaper accounts confirm as reports of international or domestic travel: ‘France’, ‘Cuba and the Cubans’, ‘Europe’, ‘The Arabs’ and ‘The Valley of the Mississippi’. 18 As this course suggests, the repertoire of locations covered in these lectures was eclectic, a range that provides an index to the fashions of the period and antebellum society’s thirst for knowledge about the world beyond the republic. Perennially popular subjects were locations such as the Holy Land, Western Europe, and the developing American West; most attractive of all were the even more exotic locations of Africa, the Far East and the Arctic. The range of travel orators was also diverse, the personalities of individual performers frequently being as important an attraction as their chosen theme. The Atlantic Monthly observed in 1865 that ‘narratives of personal travel . . . have been quite popular, and indeed, have been the specialties of more than one of the most popular of American lecturers, whose names will be suggested at once by this statement’. 19 First, there were those such as Taylor or the Arctic explorers Elisha Kent Kane and Isaac Hayes, whose fame largely rested on voyages; second, there were more substantial public figures such as Mendelssohn Quintette Club – Concert George Sumner – France Ralph Waldo Emerson – American Character George B. Cheever – Reading and Mental Cultivation W.H. Hurlbut – Cuba and the Cubans William R. Alger – Peter the Great John P. Hale – Last Gladiatorial Exhibition at Rome Octavius B. Frothingham, Salem – Europe Thomas Starr King – Property George W. Curtis – Young America Henry Ward Beecher – Ministrations of the Beautiful Theodore Parker – The Function of the Beautiful Bayard Taylor – The Arabs Henry W. Bellows – New England Festivals Anson Burlingame – The Valley of the Mississippi D.A. Wasson – Independence of Character Prof. Guyot – Distribution of the Races Wendell Phillips – The Lost Arts In The Massachusetts Lyceum During the American Renaissance, ed. Kenneth W. Cameron Figure 1. Salem Lyceum Course 1853–4. 114 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 Phillips or Emerson, who sporadically reflected upon their travels on the platform. 20 Reports also testify to travel accounts delivered by some curious or unexpected figures. During the early 1860s, audiences throughout the country were treated to Rev. W.H. Milburn, former chaplain to the US Congress, speaking on ‘What a Blind Man Saw in Paris’ and ‘What a Blind Man Saw in London’. 21 In 1872, Civil War General William T. Sherman regaled Cincinnati with an unlikely account of ‘his travels among the Greek islands’. 22 Perhaps most peculiar, in 1859 The Lowell Daily Citizen tells us of ‘a fellow named McKinney’: who escaped jail at Dayton, Ohio, went to New Madison, Indiana, and gave a course of lectures on his travels in the Holy Land. He did the thing so well that he was invited to repeat his lectures in the college there, but before he had finished an officer came along in pursuit, and he was obliged to make a precipitate retreat. 23 As Carl Bode observed, ‘the traveler who brought back his tales could generally count on prompt engagements’, in part due to lecture committees’ approval of travel reports as reliably uncontroversial. 24 Public lecturing operated within a carefully regulated discursive space, and as Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr was later to remark, there was ‘an implied contract to keep clear of doubtful matters’. 25 Alongside biography or conduct, ‘travel’ presentations were viewed as an ideal way of achieving this whilst simultaneously meeting the lyceum’s original function of ‘diffusing’ useful information. 26 These lectures could aid an appreciation of novel agricultural processes; could foster an understanding of other nations and peoples; and could underwrite democratic decisions with an awareness of competing traditions and social formulations. As Henry David Thoreau remarked of the self-censorship of the lyceum, ‘the little medicine [audiences] get is disguised with sugar’: these lectures offered the ‘sugar’ of pleasurable evocation, alongside ‘medicinal’ acts of cultural translation. 27 To be sure, the ostensible emphasis of these events was frequently on entertainment, most clearly in such presentations as the ‘thrilling’ Arctic narratives of Kane and Hayes. 28 Lectures could consist of mere international small talk, as in a series of lectures on ‘England and the English’ delivered by Rev. C. Pinkney in Baltimore in 1844, which dealt mostly in physical descriptions of Queen Victoria and Albert. 29 They could also offer vehicles for light satirical commentary, as in playwright Dion Boucicault’s 1854 ‘Sketches of European Society’, which humorously lampooned the foibles of the French and British nobility. 30 They could even occasionally resemble theatrical performance, as with Gough’s series of flamboyant lectures on London during the 1860s, the highlight of which was a series of well-received impersonations of cockney street characters and Parliamentary figures. 31 Other categories of lecturer offered more substantively educational experiences to audiences. Some such as French-American naturalist Paul du Chaillu used reports as the basis for popular scientific instruction, and the popularity of his accounts of Africa was the subject of a Harper’s Weekly article in 1869 (Figure 2). 32 As depicted in Little Women, others offered historical and archaeological descriptions, frequently accompanied with visual aids, as in an 1840 New York lecture on ‘Modern Jerusalem’ ‘illustrated with 40 splendid Illuminated Paintings, from drawings taken on the spot’ (Figure 3). 33 Subjects and locations were often topical, supplying news and fresh information, with a number of lecturers providing first-hand accounts of the European revolutions of 1848, the Great Exhibition of 1851 and the Paris Exposition of 1869. 34 Particularly urgent were those addresses by Civil War participants which provided Northern audiences with eyewitness accounts of the progress of the Union forces in the South. 35 Studies in Travel Writing 115 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 A popular sub-genre of presentation supplied another ‘great want’ of Eastern audiences in the form of explanations and interpretations of westward expansion. Frequently performed by missionaries, clerics or settlers, these lectures often had the more or less explicit aim of spurring internal emigration, offering inspiration and guidance for Easterners hoping to emulate pioneer success. They could be anthropological, as Figure 2. ‘Mr. Paul Du Chaillu Lecturing to the Young People of Boston’, Harper’s Weekly, 6 March 1869. Figure 3. Mr. Dickinson, ‘Lecture Descriptive of Modern Jerusalem’, New York, 1840. Reproduced with permission of American Antiquarian Society. 116 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 in Rev. Parsons’s 1841 report on ‘The Physical, Social and Moral Condition of Wisconsin Territory’ in Worcester, Massachusetts (Figure 4). 36 Other examples were straightfor- wardly autobiographical, such as Rev. Peter Cartwright’s lectures on ‘Pioneer Life in the West’ at the Episcopal Church in Manhattan in 1860. 37 This brand of lecture represented part of the dominant imperialist discourse surrounding Manifest Destiny, but Eastern audiences were also occasionally treated to oppositional visions of Western developments, as in the talks of Native American Chief Kah-ge-ga-gah-bowh (aka ‘George Copway’), who lectured widely during the 1840s and 1850s describing the landscapes of Wisconsin and the threatened practices of the Ojibway tribe. 38 As this survey demonstrates, the performances of travellers supplied a range of the ‘great wants’ of nineteenth-century culture: providing excitement, escapism, adventure, instances of heroism, patriotic reassurance and guidance. Travel lectures also sometimes aimed to remedy ‘great evils’ of antebellum society, and a number of performers used the form as an oblique but effective medium for bringing reformist themes to the platform. Many used accounts of experience abroad to rebuke American society, as was the case with New York Tribune editor Horace Greeley’s admonitory account of the Great Exhibition entitled ‘The Crystal Palace and Its Lessons’, which lamented the state of American industry and advocated reform of free trade. 39 Similarly, Phillips’s ‘Street Life in Europe’ drew on experience of Old World racial attitudes to condemn the relative intolerance exhibited in the cities of the US. 40 Others used a comparative frame as a warning, as with educationalist Horace Mann’s lecture on ‘Great Britain’ which drew on descriptions of the English labouring classes to argue for the necessity of republican educational institutions. 41 During the late 1860s, women’s rights reformer Anna E. Dickinson toured an eyewitness report of Utah entitled ‘Whited Sepulchres’, a piece that began as a descriptive travel narrative, before evolving into an outspoken critique of gender relations under Mormonism. 42 Figure 4. Rev. Parsons, ‘The Physical, Social and Moral Condition of Wisconsin Territory’, Worcester, MA, 1841. Reproduced with permission of American Antiquarian Society. Studies in Travel Writing 117 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 The most incendiary of such lectures were those by orators who used reports of both international and domestic travel as vehicles for abolitionist sentiment. This was true of both international and domestic topics. Speaking before the Boston Mercantile Library Association in 1847, the well-travelled Senator Charles Sumner offered an account of ‘White Slavery in the Barbary States’, marvelling at how ‘the evil I am about to describe . . . banished at last from Europe, should have entrenched itself in both hemispheres between the same parallels of latitude’. 43 In a lecture featured in the Salem course of 1853–4, Free Soil Party spokesman Anson Burlingame spoke on the seemingly innocuous topic of ‘The Valley of the Mississippi’, but the Cambridge Chronicle reported that he ‘elected this subject . . . for the purpose of fixing a few transient memorials of that wonderful valley’, before documenting the lecture’s escalation to a crescendo of anti- slavery rhetoric: ‘In the name of humanity, I protest: let the declaration go forth from Old Fanueil Hall, let it rise from every section of the republic . . . by every shining mountain, Nebraska Shall Be Free!’ 44 In providing this broad platform for cross-cultural reflection, the eyewitness travel report offered a significant degree of freedom to orators, a potential discursive range far beyond any notional remit. Performers could exploit an innocuous set of broad conventions of the travel report – evocative first-hand description, curious information, comparative cultural interpretation – to pronounce on almost any subject. Rhetorically, they were acts of inductive reasoning, treating empirical experience of distant practices to argue for local reform. As with the wider genre of nineteenth-century travel writing, these lectures centred on potent messages about ‘nationhood’ and ‘otherness’, articulated with varying degrees of conscious obliqueness. However, the oral form transformed the purchase of this wider literary mode; in this still largely pre-visual mode, language was called upon to usher expectant audiences into distant lands. Moreover, oral renditions of travel material allowed for the evolving emotional or dramatic movement of the travel account to be experienced communally. Travel talks were therefore above all performances of interpretation, or dramas of appraisal. Though often fragmentary in their record of audience response, newspaper reports occasionally provide a sense of this galvanising public atmosphere. As Lawrence Levine has remarked of the performance culture of the period, ‘the very ethos of the times encouraged active audience participation’, a reality amply illustrated in reports of two lectures on British themes in 1850s’ New York. 45 An account of Emerson’s lecture on ‘England’ in 1850 recorded that ‘the loudest and most animated cheering occurred at the mention of the name of Oliver Cromwell – proof positive that he was before an audience who sprung from the people of whom Oliver was one’. 46 Three years later, a report on Mann’s ‘Great Britain’ detailed the dramatic silencing of a heckler: a gentleman from the gallery said he would like to say a word on the other side of the question. He was from the manufacturing districts, and could say that the statements were exaggerated; that – The gentleman’s voice was overpowered by a storm of sibillation. 47 Both cases testify to the readiness with which certain audiences endorsed or appropriated the symbolism of orators’ cross-cultural representations. Moreover, the experience of reading these reports reminds us that the importance of these events only partly lay in their initial oral expression. The implications of these dramas of appraisal were transformed through their reproduction in the print media, and reporters and editors participated in the encoding and dissemination of performances. Promotional materials were also central to this process, and advertising for these events reveals a range of motivations for attendance. Some lectures were marketed as purely 118 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 informational, others as more aspirational, as with Gough’s talks on London, which were specifically recommended to Philadelphia audience members ‘who design visiting the English metropolis’. 48 Most others were advertised simply in terms of narrative value or descriptive appeal. Performers deficient in these prized qualities were not highly regarded, the most prominent example being Melville, whose short-lived platform career speaking on ‘The South Seas’, and ‘Statues in Rome’ during the mid-1850s suffered from his apparent failure to provide such stimulation. 49 These performances existed as part of what David Chapin has termed ‘a culture of curiosity, built on knowledge of the world presented as both amusement and useful education’. 50 The purveyors of such knowledge occupied a unique place in mid-century culture, their lecturing activities providing ‘the possibility of forging careers’ in Lewis Perry’s terms ‘as intellectual middlemen’. 51 The act of travel rendered performers crucially distinct from most of their audience, and the ‘result’ of locomotion could be gauged by how separate and distinct these performers had become. Due to their accomplishments, travel lecturers represented exemplars, but were also obliged by lyceum conventions to interpret privileged experiences in a demotic way, to be simultaneously exceptional and representative. Bayard Taylor: performing cosmopolitanism Of no performer of the period was this more true than Bayard Taylor, the travel writer, poet and diplomat whose lectures dominated the platform of the 1850s. An 1873 Harper’s Weekly illustration entitled ‘The Lyceum Committeeman’s Dream’ (Figure 5) depicted him striding purposefully in Russian attire amidst a cohort of fellow celebrity orators, Figure 5. ‘The Lyceum Committeeman’s Dream – Popular Lecturers in Character’, Harper’s Weekly, 15 November 1873. Bayard Taylor top centre. Studies in Travel Writing 119 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 including Susan B. Anthony, Wilkie Collins and Mark Twain. One historian of the lyceum has termed him among ‘the most admired and talked-about men in antebellum America’, and his 1879 Harper’s Weekly obituary recalled that: for a long time in his earlier life, his lectures of travel were more charming and attractive to the public than any other lyceum oratory; special trains were run, and no hall was large enough for the crowds that wished to hear him. 52 Born into moderate means in Pennsylvania in 1825, Taylor rose to prominence as a result of serialised newspaper dispatches of his youthful adventures as an impoverished but resourceful traveller in Europe during the early 1840s. When these experiences were subsequently published as Views Afoot: Europe Seen with a Knapsack and Staff (1846), a generation of middle-class Americans were offered an innovatory guide to enjoying the Old World ‘on the cheap’. Possessed of acquisitive linguistic gifts and considerable personal charm, he found himself a natural traveller, and his combined voyages were on a vaster scale than any author or lyceum performer, covering more ground than perhaps any other American of his age. At the height of Gold Fever in 1849 Taylor travelled West to California and Mexico, excursions which resulted in El Dorado: Adventures in the Path of Empire (1850). In 1851 he travelled to the Levant and sailed down the Nile; in 1852 he pressed on to India and China before achieving his greatest coup the following year, accompanying US Commodore Perry on the successful 1853 commercial ‘opening’ of Japan. 53 The output from these and other voyages was prolific – including A Journey to Central Africa (1854); The Lands of the Saracen (1854); A Visit to India, China and Japan (1855); and Northern Travel (1857) – and Taylor became a literary sensation, widely hailed as a patriotic hero. Upon his return from Japan in 1854, he observed to his publisher that ‘curiosity is alive to see ‘‘The Great American Traveller’’. It provokes me and humiliates me, but I suppose it is natural, and I must submit to it.’ 54 Taylor duly embarked upon the lecture circuit, satisfying the curiosity of audiences across the nation who ‘longed to look upon this friend who had been with them such a pleasant companion in so many strange lands’. 55 He proved an immediate success, and though he soon grew to resent the time-consuming pressures of lecturing, he could not resist its rewards and repeatedly undertook full winter tours. 56 Taylor’s account books state that between 1850 and 1865 he delivered almost 800 lectures, netting him an average salary of $3363 versus the $2058 he received from publishing. 57 His repertoire consisted of a nucleus of five main lectures on exotic locations – ‘The Arabs’ (toured from 1853), ‘Japan and Loo Choo’ (1853); ‘India’ (1854), ‘Life in the North’ (1858) and ‘Moscow’ (1858) – alongside which Taylor frequently delivered a more abstract piece entitled ‘The Philosophy of Travel’ (1856). 58 In later years his attention turned to presentations on German literature and, to mixed success, ambitious socio- political addresses on such grand themes as ‘The American People’ (1861) and ‘American Life’ (1866). This latter group have been the only pieces to have received critical attention, but it is on the first group of popular eyewitness reports that his considerable contemporary fame rested. 59 Taylor periodically appeared in the costume of the region about which he was speaking, adopting Oriental robes while performing ‘The Arabs’ or an oversized Cossack cap for touring ‘Moscow’ (see Figures 6 and 7). 60 This theatrical element of his ‘act’ was central to his appeal. However, unlike fellow performers who became increasingly reliant upon visual aids, ‘magic lanterns’ and illustrations, reports suggest that Taylor’s art was a primarily oral, literary phenomenon. For the modern reader, some of this literary appeal 120 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 is elusive. In his published works, he is often a repetitive and wearisome guide, his admirably complete immersions in local culture frequently marred by a stylistic tendency for superlatives and extraneous statistics. The lecture scripts are necessarily comparatively condensed, and the more effective for it. Mature pieces such as ‘Moscow’ are relatively tightly focused, finely wrought collage-like compositions that weave exotic cultural allusion to figures from Western and Eastern traditions, anecdotes, precise geographic detail and rhapsodic imagery. In Alcott’s terms, Taylor’s performances met several great wants of antebellum culture: his accounts afforded vicariously pleasurable escapist experiences, and his appraisals met the ‘great want’ of international classification. An account of an 1854 performance of ‘Japan and Loo Choo’ in Cambridge, Massachusetts, centred on just such an act of classification, beginning with a comparison between the Chinese and the inhabitants of Japan, with the lecturer concluding the latter to be ‘immensely superior in capability and in promise . . . The Chinese however, are a stupid, almost witless race, fitted to their stagnant condition’. Such troubling moments represented influential codifications of races in hierarchical relation to putative American progress. During his platform career Taylor’s style developed from this early reductive emphasis on racial hierarchy towards meeting the ‘great want’ of aesthetic stimulation through vivid geographic sketches that served as dramatic highlights. It was this latter quality that was Figure 6. ‘Bayard Taylor’, Putnam’s Monthly, Vol. 4.4, August 1854. Studies in Travel Writing 121 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 clearly most admired by audiences. ‘Japan and Loo Choo’ was praised in New York in 1854 for its ‘extremely graphic . . . descriptions of the island scenes’ that generated ‘the strongest expressions of pleasure from the audience’; an 1855 Ohio report recorded that ‘his listeners can see clearly in their minds eye the things of which speaks’. 61 Having attended ‘Moscow’ in 1858, The Philadelphia Press deemed him ‘a true, faithful word- painter of scenes that come within the range of his perceptive intellect – Taylor’s powers are certainly extraordinary’. 62 One such dioramic set-piece occurs towards the beginning of ‘Moscow’, a recollection of Taylor’s first sight of the capital, worth quoting at length for its cumulative effects: Your eyes, accustomed to the cool green of the woods and swamps, are at first dazzled with the light. The sun is reflected from hundreds of gilded domes, whose long array fills up one third of the horizon, the nearest ones flashing in your face, and the farthest sparkling like stars in the distance. I have heard people attempt to compliment Nature by saying of a celebrated view: ‘How like a scene in a theatre!’ Yet one’s first impressions of Moscow might be expressed in almost these words. Its sudden burst of splendour – its confusion of gold and prismatic Figure 7. Bayard Taylor Carte de Visite, c. 1860 (Berg Collection, New York Public Library). 122 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 colors – does not belong to the sober landscape which surrounds it or the pale Northern sky which looks down upon it. It is an immense dramatic show, gotten up for a temporary effect, and you can scarcely believe that it may not be taken to pieces and removed as soon as its purpose has been achieved. Whence comes this wilderness of grass-green roofs, of pink, blue and yellow houses, out of which rise by hundreds spire and towers, stranger and more fantastic than ever were builded [sic] in the dream of an insane architect? Whence these gilded and silvered domes, which blind your eyes with reflected suns, and seem to dance and totter in their own splendour, as you move? It can be no city of trade and government, of pleasure and scandal, of crime and religion, which you look upon. It was built while the lamp was yet in Aladdin’s hands. 63 Rather than capturing a static image, the varied rhythms and constructions of the passage strive to dramatise a process of observation and appraisal. Taylor emulates the assault of Moscow on the senses, a spectacle represented as celestial, feral, enchanted, yet delicately insubstantial. Russian otherness is figured against the propriety of the ‘sober’ landscape, offsetting the city’s ‘confusion’ and the strange daring of its architecture. To experience Taylor reciting such a passage and rehearsing its rhetorical questions was to participate in his succession of metaphysical uncertainties, to share in the essentially passive theatricality of travel. The passage’s invocation of such theatrical aspects alludes to an interplay of visual and literary arts in the contemporary performance culture of spatial representation, and offers a commentary on the pictorial character of his own prose, a ‘dramatic show gotten up for temporary effect’. In the absence of magic lanterns or illuminated paintings, mimetic literary executions such as Taylor’s provided audiences with their most vivid encounters with distant scenes. Even in such passages as this, Taylor’s account retains a curiously informational character in its specification of ‘one third of the horizon’, and a diffidence of tone in the tentative gesture of ‘it might be expressed’. Just as central to the effect of such scenes was Taylor’s pronominal flexibility. His scripts often let the third-person ‘traveller’ drive his narrative (‘this tale will naturally recur to the mind of the traveller, who approaches Moscow’), achieving a sense of objective distance from his own travels. 64 As with other performers, he also frames his experience with reference to plural ‘we’ and ‘us’ of American identity (‘If any of us had asked his neighbour, three years ago . . .’; ‘In Finland, we find a different class . . .’). 65 Significantly, however, Taylor largely avoids the first- person singular, characteristically employing the second-person to establish a voice simultaneously intimate and authoritative. In the above passage, the action of viewing Moscow thus takes place specifically for its listeners (‘your eyes’, ‘your face’, ‘you can scarcely believe’). By modulating the addressee of his lectures in this way, Taylor presented his exploits as merely one in a succession of potential voyages, intimating the essentially representative typicality of his exploits, and the plausibility of audience repetition of such feats. This stylistic self-effacement contributed to Taylor’s self-conscious attainment of fellowship with his audiences. His lectures resisted mystifying himself or his achievements, aiding the process of what Ray has termed ‘the symbolic creation of Taylor as the public’s own observer, simultaneously a celebrity and a compatriot’. 66 In 1855 the Wisconsin Patriot thought ‘his manner [is] not that of the orator, but that of the companion – conversational’; in 1860 the Springfield News maintained that ‘everybody likes Bayard Taylor because he is a man of the people and puts on no airs’. 67 The early image of Taylor as the resourceful, indigent everyman of Views Afoot appears to have remained with popular audiences, and central to this appeal was his position as part of but crucially apart from the antebellum literary establishment. Studies in Travel Writing 123 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 Among these elite contemporaries, he enjoyed a markedly less positive reputation. Fellow poet and editor Park Benjamin coined the notorious, widely circulated witticism that Taylor had ‘travelled more and seen less than any man living’. 68 Melville, perhaps harbouring a degree of resentment at his rival’s lyceum success, is believed by some to have used Taylor as the basis for ‘The Cosmopolitan’, the worldly but naive dilettante in The Confidence Man (1856). 69 A contemporary coolly remarked of his lecturing that ‘reports of his latest trip are always well-received by the large class who (as Goethe says in his analysis of playgoers) do not care to think, but only to see that something is going on’. 70 Modern critical opinion of his lecturing has generally concurred, considering him at best as a minor heir to the Genteel Tradition of such derided figures as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, at worst as a mere shill of colonialism, a disseminator of the racial prejudices of his day. 71 David Mead concluded of his platform career that ‘his appeal was conscious and calculated; he had no share in the ideal of spreading culture’. 72 Taylor’s colonial vision clearly represents the most challenging aspect of his work for modern readers. His books were filled with repeated claims of the nature that ‘every important triumph which man has achieved since his creation belongs to the Caucasian race. Our mental and moral superiority is self-evident.’ 73 In his lectures, a prominent aspect of this vision lay in the repeated theme of the celebration of the ‘mobility’ of nations. In ‘the course of History’ he observed in ‘The Philosophy of Travel’, ‘we shall find that a country is progressive, in proportion as its people travel. None of the great nations of the ancient world ever grew up to power on its original soil’. 74 This process of international mobility was characteristically expressed in a troublingly violent register, typified by the frequent rhetorical suggestion that the traveller ‘should rather seek to penetrate the national character of each country he visits’. 75 Taylor was evasive about the processes and implications of imperialism, remarking of his role in the ‘opening up’ of Japan to US trade that: I leave it to others to discuss the question whether Japan has not a perfect right to exclude herself from intercourse with the world . . . destiny does not pause to consider these questions. There are certain things which happen, whether they seem to be right or not. 76 This celebration of destiny is twinned in the dramatic closing tableaux of ‘Japan and Loo Choo’ with a vivid expression of militarist patriotism: We carried with us, as a token of our nationality, a small boat’s ensign, and on arriving at the gate of the capital, one of the sailors fastened it to a light staff which he stuck into the barrel of his musket, and thus we carried the flag in triumph through the centre of the town. 77 However troubling they may seem, emphasis on these seemingly oblivious imperial aspects alone risks missing the broader personal and party-political agenda at work in Taylor’s lecturing. Correspondence from his earliest days of touring registers his realisation of the potential of his new role, expressing pleasure in the ‘great satisfaction’ of ‘magnetizing so many persons at once’. 78 It also indicates that at least for a time, he consciously sought to articulate serious lessons through what he described as his ‘lecturing crusade’ across the nation. 79 Reports repeatedly record this resolute aspect to his performances, noting Taylor’s characteristic transition from graphic description to abstract cross-cultural analysis. In 1855, the Wisconsin Patriot reported having ‘listened with great pleasure to this most philosophical of travellers, and most travelled of philosophers’. 80 In 1858, the Philadelphia Press praised ‘the lecturer’s happy manner of tinging his vivid and life-like descriptions with the sober colors of sound philosophical content’. 81 The consistent message of Taylor’s later lectures ultimately appears less one of imperial destiny than a Whiggish enactment of exemplary stances of appraisal. In ‘The Philosophy 124 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 of Travel’, he announced the broad aim of ‘presenting some of the nobler aims of travel . . . rescuing the practice from the imputation of being merely the result of an unsettled state of mind, or an unstable character’. 82 These nobler aims were most clearly expressed in a passage of direct guidance: I know of no better advice to give to one who wishes to obtain that broad and living experience of the world which travel only can supply, than follow the example of St. Paul and become all things unto all men. You can establish no magnetic communication with another race, without conforming in some degree to their manners and habits of life. Unless you do this, you carry your own country with you wherever you go, and you behold new forms of life merely from the outside, without feeling the vital pulse which throbs beneath. The only true way of judging of a man’s actions is to place ourselves in his situation, and take our bearings from that point; and the only way to understand a people thoroughly is to become one of them, for a time. 83 All of his lectures were at least in part hymns to these benefits of breadth of experience, which for Taylor amounted to the cultivation of an attitude of cultural openness and cosmopolitanism. Taylor believed that he was witnessing the close of an age of authentic cultural cosmopolitanism, an ethos and way of life whose passing he mourned. Throughout his multiple careers as traveller, diplomat and man of letters, he worked up a distinct vision of this lost cosmopolitan ideal, one reliant on versatility, adaptation and resistance to the wilder claims of nationalism. It was an ethos central to his cultural agenda, at the heart of such projects such as his Cyclopaedia of Modern Travel (1856), but was one he sought to convey most energetically on the lecture platform. 84 Taylor was one among several Whig voices who used the lyceum to urge for a reining in of boosterist passions, and the tendency of the United States to overvalue itself. One of the most popular performances of the period, Wendell Phillips’s ‘The Lost Arts’ (included on the 1853–4 Salem course discussed earlier) was a comparable attack on self-indulgent nationalist boosterism, advocating a greater respect for the achievements of past global civilisations. 85 Such sentiments became a major theme of Taylor’s lectures, disseminated by plentiful lecture reports. In 1854 ‘The Arabs’ reminded audiences in Georgia that ‘those who have only associated with their own race have but a little knowledge of human character’; ‘Man and Climate’ opened in Brooklyn in 1860 ‘with some general remarks setting forth the desirableness of acquiring a knowledge of the different branches of the human family’. 86 While unfailingly affirmative about American life, these lectures drew upon Taylor’s foreign experience to advocate a more sophisticated, cosmopolitan form of patriotism. This cosmopolitanism was reiterated through the aesthetic values of Taylor’s lectures. Their stylistic layering and multicultural allusiveness supplied for audiences a stance of elegant discrimination, and the frequently unassuming nature of his observations communicated a position of confident discernment. It was also part of the casualness of his tone, a disavowal of the high seriousness of his peers on the platform, favouring meandering over linear narrative. In ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, for example, he said: I propose, therefore, to give you my impressions of the Japanese, with such illustrations as may suggest themselves, rather than a connected narrative of my experience, much of which has already been made public. 87 If a cosmopolitan stance can be defined as partly that of boredom, then Taylor’s lecturing frequently exemplified this blasé attitude. 88 ‘In walking through palaces you lose your sense of the value of jewels’, he remarked in ‘Moscow’, ‘you look upon them at last with as much indifference as upon pine wood and pottery’. 89 These values were imparted through his urbane platform persona. In 1854, the Newark Advocate thought his style ‘dignified, Studies in Travel Writing 125 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 simple and unaffected’; in 1858, the Cambridge Chronicle considered his ‘easy conver- sational style’ to have ‘afforded a pleasant contrast to the spread eagle and pompous lectures so much in vogue’. 90 Taylor’s cosmopolitanism was almost a matter of physical bearing, his insouciance and costumes offering audiences the spectacle of the cosmopolite. Taylor has long been associated with Genteel literary culture, a milieu whose association has dogged his reputation, but whose own members are currently attracting revived interest for their comparably cosmopolitan emphases. 91 While he certainly enjoys many affinities with this tradition and with the Whig culture of Greeley’s Tribune, the intimate accessibility of his everyman persona also embodied a type of non-elite cosmopolitanism. As a lyceum celebrity, he personified the obtainable goal of travel, its potential for social mobility and personal growth, offering audiences a form of ‘performed cosmopolitanism’. It was in one sense cosmopolitanism as commodity whereby, for the price of admission, lyceum-goers could vicariously obtain ‘that broad and living experience of the world’. 92 Attending his performances, Taylor’s admirers gained exposure to an aspirational way of life: literary, itinerant, and amicable, an apparent representative of broadminded republican manhood. As the 1860s began, Taylor’s lyceum career faced a growing problem. Correspondence reveals his recognition of the absurdities of the occupation, not least the fact that conditions for the traveller on the provincial platform circuit were often as oppressive and treacherous as those in the regions about which he spoke. Eager to focus on more literary endeavours, he was increasingly unwilling to accumulate the experiences necessary for fresh travel lectures, turning to socio-political themed talks that were perhaps not best suited to his talents. Partly due to this shift in subject matter and his continued association with the abolitionist New York Tribune, Taylor became embroiled in the unavoidable clamour towards sectional conflict, and suffered a high-profile cancellation of his speaking engagements before the Young Men’s Christian Association in Richmond in 1860. 93 As Civil War broke out, Taylor continued to lecture to Northern audiences, perhaps now more than ever meeting the ‘great wants’ of escapism through his exotic accounts. Nonetheless, an 1863 Washington, DC, performance of ‘Moscow’ led to a memorable exchange with one such audience member who retained a belief in Taylor’s potential to remedy the most urgent of ‘great social evils’. Having attended the lecture at Willard’s Hall on 23 December, Abraham Lincoln wrote to Taylor, with whom he had a passing personal acquaintance, requesting the commission of a lecture on the realities of Russian serfdom, as an instructive parallel to Confederate slavery: My Dear Sir. I think a good lecture or two on ‘Serfs, Serfdom, and Emancipation in Russia’ would be both interesting and valuable. Could not you get up such a thing? Yours truly A. LINCOLN. 94 Though evidently deeply flattered, Taylor, due to time constraints, was forced to reply to his President in the negative: I am very much gratified by the manifestation of your personal interest in the subject, and hope that I may be able to contribute, though so indirectly, to the growth of truer and more enlightened views among the people. 95 This exchange testifies to a mutual belief in the reformist potential of the lecture circuit, and to Lincoln’s keen sense of the ‘value’ of popular amusements in shaping national opinion. Perhaps disclosing lingering doubts regarding his own abilities, it reveals Taylor’s awareness of the significant, ‘indirect’ cultural agency of his lecturing activities. It articulates his determination to exploit his ambiguous position as the ‘Great American 126 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 Traveller’ as a platform from which to stage resistance to what he regarded as misguided national sentiments, aspiring not only to captivate audiences, but to convert them. As Larzer Ziff has observed, ‘he believed he had acquired a comparative base from which to point out to his countrymen America’s shortcomings’. 96 The waning of Taylor’s lecturing career during the late 1860s, however, suggests the limits to this form of cultural authority. Upon his turn towards political commentary, audience responses grew increasingly lukewarm, and reports speak to a popular reluctance towards his more explicit comparative analyses. A report of ‘Ourselves and Our Relations’ from Quincy, New York, in December 1865 concluded that whilst ‘Mr. Taylor is a scholar, and has the appearance and bearing of a gentleman, as one might expect from so extensive a traveller . . . he is not a great thinker’, observing that he merely took ‘skilful advantage of his pursuit and position to propagate . . . purely partisan ideas’. 97 Sections of the public were seemingly unwilling to entirely accept the premise of the insightful traveller as oppositional voice. As George Landow has observed regarding the rhetorical authority of nineteenth-century non-fiction, ‘the audience is willing to pay attention to someone extraordinary and set apart from the majority of men, but any claim that one possesses special insight threatens to drive them away’. 98 By 1870, one New York reporter recommended that ‘Bayard Taylor can stand down. His audiences on his last lecture tour have been slim. He is ausgespielt [ finished].’ 99 Despite this retreat, not long before his death in 1878 Taylor pointed to an apparently enduring legacy of his lecturing tours, noting that ‘hardly a week passes, but I receive letters from young men’ influenced by his example: to achieve the education of travel; and believing as I do that the more broad and cosmopolitan in his views a man becomes through his knowledge of other lands, the purer and more intelligent shall be his patriotic sentiment – the more easily he shall lift himself out of the narrow sphere of local interests and prejudices – I rejoice that I have been able to assist in giving this direction to the mind of the American youth. 100 This direction came in the form of a continual entreaty for an appreciation of global culture and a challenge to parochialism and the wilder excesses of nationalism. These sentiments of curiosity and nuance were offered as the ‘results’ of his locomotion: results whose moral and civic benefits his writings insistently dignified, and which the dramas of appraisal of his underappreciated lyceum performances helped bring to the remotest communities in the nation. Epilogue In the years following the Civil War, the lecture circuit increasingly professionalised, culminating in the dominance of lecture agencies such as the Redpath Lyceum Bureau. 101 The catalogues of these agencies attest to the continued popularity of travel themes, which persisted in the successful career of explorer George Kennan into the late 1890s, by which time the lecture system evolved into the Chautauqua movement. 102 By this time, advances in visual technology had decisively ended the era of the free-standing, oral travel narrative. In effect, these lectures had always been embedded in a wider performance culture of spatial geographic representation alongside magic lanterns, raised maps and panora- mas. 103 Since the 1840s, lectures had occasionally been accompanied by illustrations and paintings (as in Figure 3), but by the post-war period even those lecturers who had earlier dealt in unadorned accounts now often presented stereopticon views, with oral testimony as a prominent but secondary attraction. 104 As the century drew to a close, heirs to Taylor Studies in Travel Writing 127 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 such as John L. Stoddard and Burton Homes achieved national fame as purveyors of the kinds of cinematic travelogues which film historian Jeffrey Ruoff has recently termed ‘virtual voyages’. 105 Meanwhile, a more conceptual challenge had been launched against the authority of these eyewitness reports. From the late 1850s humorists such as Stephen Massett and Artemus Ward began to tour the lecture circuit offering comic talks billed as straightforward eyewitness travel accounts. In 1863, Ward spoke in Ohio on ‘Sixty Minutes in Africa’, which the Cincinnati Inquirer recorded as a series of disjointed witticisms that closed with the declaration ‘I have not told you much about Africa. You did not suppose I would, and so, as the prestidigitators say, there is no deception about that.’ 106 Its Cincinnati audience recognised the satire: ‘The speaker administered some telling blows at the prevailing folly of putting on airs and funnily took off the ignorance concerning the West which prevails in New England.’ 107 Upon the transfer of the lecture to the East Coast, there was more irritation at Ward’s ‘deception’, and the Brooklyn Eagle concluded that the lecture had been a mere ‘joke on the audience . . . he spoke of almost everything but Africa, which was merely alluded to incidentally’. 108 The most prominent parody of this type was a lecture billed as ‘A Lecture on the Sandwich Islands’, the performance that helped introduce obscure journalist Mark Twain to national consciousness. First performed in San Francisco in 1868, it consisted of an obtuse account of his impressions of Hawaii gained as a correspondent for Californian newspapers, burlesquing the typically lofty informational tone of travel accounts: These islands are situated 2,100 miles southwest from San Francisco, California, out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Why they were put away out there, so far away from any place and in such an out-of-the-way locality, is a thing which no one can explain. 109 In a similar vein, advertisements for the lecture’s San Francisco performances (Figure 8) took aim at the mock-grandeur of certain lyceum presentations, announcing ‘A SPLENDID ORCHESTRA/is in town, but has not been invited/A DEN OF FEROCIOUS WILD BEASTS/Will be on exhibition in the next block/ MAGNIFICENT FIREWORKS/Were in contemplation for his occasion, but the idea has been abandoned.’ 110 By the time Twain reached the East, the act was being billed as a ‘humorous lecture’. 111 Despite this, in Jamestown, New York an audience member wrote to express outrage at ‘the irrelevancy and senselessness of nearly all his lecture . . . I went there expecting to hear something thrilling and original about those interesting islands, and this trash was all he had to offer.’ 112 The town’s newspaper felt it necessary to clarify that the lecturer had used his ‘ostensible theme for the sole purpose of hanging jokes to it’. 113 ‘The Sandwich Islands’ was in part a repudiation of Pacific missionaries and the genre of the ‘missionary lecture’. It also represented a broader challenge to the conventions and assumptions of the ‘travel lecture’, invoking a set of regional and class antagonisms. As portrayed in this essay, typical performers were overwhelmingly elite Northeastern males, often doubtless pompous in their appraisals of international experience for the ‘benefit’ of mid-Western audiences. In a sense Twain and Ward merely offered a more extreme version of the oblique way in which purveyors of travel lectures talked ‘around’ and ‘against’ the advertised themes of their talks. Their burlesques mocked the high- minded sobriety of the lyceum, debunking the prestige surrounding the activities of orators such as Taylor and exposing travel lecturing as merely another confidence trick. They concurred with the spirit of Alcott’s contemporaneous depiction in Little Women of such 128 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 lectures as lofty and ephemeral, an idiom of condescending cultural appraisals directed at social inferiors. Conclusions The dramas of appraisals offered by these travel lectures remains a largely unexplored area. Anglophone culture offers plentiful contemporary analogues to this American Figure 8. ‘The Sandwich Islands’, San Francisco Bulletin, 1 October 1866. Reproduced with permission of American Antiquarian Society. Studies in Travel Writing 129 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 phenomenon, from Anglican missionary talks and Royal Geographical Society presenta- tions to the lectures of Victorian comic orators such as Albert Smith. 114 Nonetheless, British parallels apparently offer little of comparable scope to the example of the United States. Entertainments involving global comparison were particularly attuned to the curiosities and anxieties of a nation with a rapidly expanding land empire, its history so characterised by mobility. Moreover, it was a culture in which oratory enjoyed a prominent national role, and in which the civic virtue of knowledge diffusion had acquired republican distinction. 115 Given this civic impetus, the enthusiasm of travel lecturers might be seen as an heir to the reportorial duties of returning travellers’ re-aggregation rituals in classical republicanism. 116 Moreover, as Judith Adler and others have argued, all processes of travel represent modes of ‘performance’; the phenomenon discussed in this essay proposes a suggestive way in which cultural aspects of this performance might be said to occur upon travellers’ return. 117 Despite the legitimate critiques of Twain and Alcott, it is clear that these performances represent a dynamic and still largely underexplored field of cultural activity. More than simply part of nineteenth-century spectacle culture, popular renditions of travel experiences should be recognised as influential ‘rational amusements’, operating at the intersection of mass culture and moral discourse. It was an oratorical phenomenon that offered a fleeting literary mode through which performances could foster inventive and powerful comparative views of American identity. As I have demonstrated, these dramas of appraisal provided a space for communal thinking about place, national selfhood, and the ethics of interpretation; they met both the ‘great wants’ of a mass society, and attempted to engage with its ‘great social evils’. It was a space whose creative and reformist potential was exploited by public figures such as Taylor as a unique vehicle for popular moral critique. Acknowledgements Research for this article was made possible by the award of a Mary C. Mooney Fellowship at the Boston Athenaeum. It owes much to the advice of Angela Ray, the generosity of Murray Wheeler Jr, Barbara and Eugene McCarthy, and the comments of Sarah Meer, Tim Youngs, Rav Casley Gera and James Emmott on early versions of this material. Notes 1. Louisa May Alcott, Little Women, Good Wives [1868] (London: Everyman, 1994), 293. 2. ‘Street Life in Europe’, Brooklyn Eagle, 22 February 1860. 3. Donald Scott, ‘The Popular Lecture and the Creation of a Public in the mid-Nineteenth- Century United States’, The Journal of American History 66, no. 4 (1980): 791–809; Scott, ‘Print and the Public Lecture System 1840–1860’, in Printing and Society in Early America, ed. William Joyce et al. (Worcester, MA: American Antiquarian Society, 1983); and Scott, ‘The Profession that Vanished: Public Lecturing in Mid-Nineteenth-Century America’, in Professions and Professional Ideologies in America, ed. Gerald Grierson (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1983). Angela Ray, The Lyceum and Public Culture in the Nineteenth-Century United States (East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2005); and Ray, ‘What Hath She Wrought? Woman’s Rights and the Nineteenth-Century Lyceum’, Rhetoric & Public Affairs 9, no. 2 (2006): 183–213. David Chapin, Exploring Other Worlds: Margaret Fox, Elisha Kent Kane, and the Antebellum Culture of Curiosity (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2004). Earlier valuable studies include Carl Bode, The American Lyceum: Town Meeting of the Mind (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1956) and David Mead, 130 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 Yankee Eloquence in the Middle-West: The Ohio Lyceum 1850–1870 (East Lansing: Michigan State College Press, 1951). 4. This essay draws upon (a) the newspaper holdings of the American Antiquarian Society; The Boston Athenaeum; Cambridge University Library; Harvard Widener Library, and Readex Historical Newspapers Online (Series 1–7); (b) the broadside holdings of the above and Boston Public Library, Massachusetts Historical Society and New York Historical Society; (c) the manuscript holdings of the above and Boston Public Library; Chester County Historical Society, PA; Cooper Union Library; and Harvard Houghton Library. 5. Josiah Holbrook, American Lyceum, or Society for the Improvement of Useful Knowledge (Boston, MA: Perkins & Marvin, 1829). 6. Bode, American Lyceum, 15. 7. ‘Popular Lectures’, Boston Evening Transcript, 29 October 1855. 8. Josiah Holland, ‘The Popular Lecture’, Atlantic Monthly 15, no. 89 (March 1865): 370. For accounts of the Southern lyceum, Jonathan Daniel Wells, The Origins of the Southern Middle Class 1800–1861 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina), 97; and Michael O’Brien, All Clever Men Who Make Their Way: Critical Discourse in the Old South (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1992); Bode, The American Lyceum, 87. 9. Scott, ‘The Profession That Vanished’, 12. Scott explains that ‘the figure is based on an estimate that 2000 lectures, with an average attendance of 250 people, took place each week during the season. See Robert J. Greef, ‘Public Lectures in New York: A Cultural Index of the Times’ (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 1941), 4–7. 10. Thomas Wentworth Higginson, ‘The American Lecture-System’, Living Age 97, no. 1244 (April 1868): 630. 11. Ray, The Lyceum and Public Culture, 2. For the distinction of civic and ethnic nationalisms, I draw on the discussion in James McPherson, ‘Was Blood Thicker Than Water? Ethnic and Civic Nationalism in the American Civil War’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 145 (1999): 102–08. 12. See Meredith McGill, American Literature and the Culture of Reprinting 1834–1853 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002). 13. Holland, ‘The Popular Lecture’, 363; Scott, ‘The Profession That Vanished’, 10–12; and Lewis Perry, Boats Against the Current: American Culture Between Revolution and Modernity 1820–1860 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 173–85. 14. Anon., ‘Lectures and Lecturers’, Putnam’s IX (March 1857): 318. 15. Scott, ‘The Popular Lecture and the Creation of a Public’, 803. For this understanding, I draw on the discussion in James McPherson, ‘Was Blood Thicker Than Water? Ethnic and Civic Nationalism in the American Civil War’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 145 (1999): 102–08. 16. For example, ‘Prof. H. D. Rogers, The Arctic Regions’ and ‘E.H. Davis, Mounds and Earthworks of the Mississippi Valley’, on the 1853–4 course. A full course list is provided in Harriet Knight Smith, History of the Lowell Institute (Boston, MA: Lamson, Wolffe & Co., 1898). 17. Kenneth Walter Cameron, ed., The Massachusetts Lyceum During the American Renaissance (Hartford, CT: Transcendental Books, 1969), 19. 18. For example, ‘Athenaeum Lecture: Valley of the Mississippi’, Cambridge Chronicle, 11 February 1854; ‘Bayard Taylor on The Arabs’, Macon Georgia Telegraph, 14 February 1854. 19. Josiah G. Holland, ‘The Popular Lecture’, The Atlantic Monthly 15, Issue 89 (March 1865). 20. For an in-depth treatment of Kane’s career see Chapin, Exploring Other Worlds, 11–112. 21. ‘The Lecture’, Rochester Union and Advertiser, 9 December 1870. 22. ‘Gen. Sherman Gives a Lecture’, Cincinnati Daily Gazette, 6 December 1872. 23. ‘Misc. Items’, Lowell Daily Citizen and News, 14 April 1859. 24. Bode, The American Lyceum, 230. 25. Oliver Wendell Holmes, The Professor at the Breakfast Table [1858] (London: Everyman’s Library, 1906), 109. 26. Josiah Holbrook, American Lyceum, or Society for the Improvement of Useful Knowledge (Boston, MA: Perkins & Marvin, 1829), 20. 27. Henry David Thoreau, 16 November 1858, The Heart of Thoreau’s Journals (New York: Courier Dover, 1961), 203. Studies in Travel Writing 131 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 28. For example, ‘Dr. Hayes Lecture at Musical Fund Hall Last Evening’, Philadelphia Press, 10 January 1862. 29. ‘England and the English’, Baltimore Sun, 26 April 1844. 30. ‘Sketches of European Society’, Cambridge Chronicle, 18 February 1854. 31. For example, ‘John B. Gough at the Academy of Music Last Evening’, Philadelphia Press, 19 February 1861; ‘General City News – Lecture by John B. Gough’, New York Times, 25 January 1867; ‘John B. Gough at the Academy of Music – The Great Metropolis’, Brooklyn Eagle, 4 April 1865. 32. ‘Mr. Paul Du Chaillu Lecturing the Young People of Boston’, Harper’s Weekly, 6 March 1869. 33. ‘The Great Lecture of the Season’, New York Tribune, 9 February 1860. 34. For example, ‘Benjamin Silliman on Paris’, 1870, Free Saturday Night Lectures Index, Cooper Union Library; ‘The Crystal Palace and Its Lessons – A Lecture by Horace Greeley’, New York Times, 1 January 1852; ‘Mr. Stansbury’s Lecture on the World’s Fair before the Maryland Institute’, Baltimore Sun, 24 January 1852. 35. ‘Campaign of the Army of the United States in Louisiana’ invitation card, Boston Tremont Temple 1863, American Antiquarian Society. 36. ‘Mr Dickinson – Modern Jerusalem’ broadside, Dutch Reformed Church, New York, 1840, American Antiquarian Society. 37. ‘Lecture: Wisconsin Territory’ broadside, 1841, American Antiquarian Society. 38. See George Copway, Life, Letters and Speeches (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1997). 39. Horace Greeley, The Crystal Palace and Its Lessons: A Lecture (New York: Dewitt and Davenport, 1851). 40. Wendell Phillips, ‘Europe’ undated scrapbook, Harvard Houghton Library. 41. ‘Great Britain’ undated scrapbook, Massachusetts Historical Society. 42. See Ray, The Lyceum and Public Culture, 157–61. 43. Charles Sumner, White Slavery in the Barbary States: A Lecture (Boston, MA: Ticknor & Fields, 1847). 44. ‘Athenaeum Lecture: Valley of the Mississippi’, Cambridge Chronicle, 11 February 1854. 45. Lawrence Levine, High Brow/Low Brow: The Emergence of Cultural Hierarchy in America (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988), 179. 46. ‘Lecture on England at the Mercantile Library by Ralph Waldo Emerson’, New York Herald, 23 January 1850. 47. ‘People’s Lectures – Great Britain. A Lecture by Horace Mann’, New York Times, 10 March 1853. 48. ‘Mr John B. Gough’s Lectures’, Philadelphia Inquirer, 18 February 1861. 49. See Merton Sealts Jr, Melville as Lecturer (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1957). 50. Chapin, Exploring Other Worlds, 8. 51. Lewis Perry, Intellectual Life in America: A History (New York: Franklin Watts, 1984), 261. 52. Mead, Yankee Eloquence, 113; ‘Bayard Taylor Remembered’, Harper’s Weekly, 11 January 1879. 53. Larzer Ziff, Return Passages: Great American Travel Writing, 1780–1914 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), 141–54. 54. ‘Bayard Taylor to James. T. Fields’, 17 February 1854, in Life and Letters of Bayard Taylor, ed. Marie Hansen-Taylor (Boston, MA, 1884), 269. 55. Isaac Edwards Clarke, A Tribute to Bayard Taylor: Read before the Literary Society of Washington, March 8, 1879 (Washington, DC: Mohun Bros., 1879). 56. See Ziff, Return Passages, 156–8. 57. Private Account Book, Bayard Taylor Collection, Houghton Library, Harvard University. See also Theresa Ellen Moran, ‘Bayard Taylor and American Orientalism: 19th Century Representations of National Character and the Other’ (PhD diss., Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy, 2005), 45. 58. For this essay, the following lecture manuscripts have been examined: ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, ‘The American People’, ‘Moscow’, ‘The Philosophy of Travel’, ‘American Life’, ‘The Animal Man’. All manuscripts held at Chester County Historical Society, Pennsylvania. 59. Robert Warnock, ‘Unpublished Lectures of Bayard Taylor’, American Literature (1933): 122–32. 60. ‘Bayard Taylor’, Putnam’s Monthly 4, no. 4 (August 1854). See also Peter G. Buckley, ‘Paratheatricals and Popular Stage Entertainment’, in The Cambridge History of American 132 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 Theatre, Vol. 1: Beginnings to 1870, ed. Don Wilmeth and Christopher Bigsby (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 475. 61. ‘Bayard Taylor’s Lecture’, New York Evening Post, 21 January 1854; ‘Bayard Taylor Lecture’, Daily Toledo Blade, 15 January 1855. 62. ‘Bayard Taylor’, Philadelphia Press, 6 November 1858. 63. Taylor, ‘Moscow’ manuscript, 5–6. 64. Taylor, ‘Moscow’, 2. 65. Taylor, ‘Japan and Loo Choo’ manuscript, 1; ‘Moscow’, 15. 66. Ray, ‘Popularizing Imperialism: Bayard Taylor and the U.S. Expedition to Japan, 1853’, in Proceedings of the 2nd Tokyo Conference on Argumentation, ed. Takeshi Suzuki et al. (Tokyo: Japan Debate Association, 2004), 208. 67. ‘Bayard Taylor’s Lecture’, Wisconsin Patriot, 6 April 1855; Springfield News, 27 November 1860 quoted in Mead, Yankee Eloquence, 123. 68. Hansen-Taylor, Life and Letters of Bayard Taylor, 523. 69. See Hans-Joachim Lang and Benjamin Lease, ‘Melville’s Cosmopolitan: Bayard Taylor in The Confidence-Man’, Amerikastudien 22 (1977): 286–9 (289). 70. Higginson, ‘The American Lecture System’, 363. 71. Richard Cary, The Genteel Circle: Bayard Taylor and His New York Friends (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1952); for recent postcolonial readings, see Ziff, Return Passages, 118–69. 72. Mead, Yankee Eloquence in the Middle-West, 118. 73. Quoted in Richmond Croom Beatty, Bayard Taylor: Laureate of the Gilded Age (Oklahoma City: University of Oklahoma Press, 1936), 153. 74. Taylor, ‘The Philosophy of Travel’ manuscript, 5. 75. Taylor, ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, 21. 76. Taylor, ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, 21. 77. Taylor, ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, 24. 78. Taylor to George H. Boker, 5 February 1854, in Life and Letters of Bayard Taylor, ed. Hansen-Taylor, 268. 79. Taylor to James T. Fields, in Life and Letters of Bayard Taylor, ed. Hansen-Taylor, 272. 80. ‘Bayard Taylor’s Lecture’, Wisconsin Patriot, 6 April 1855. 81. ‘Bayard Taylor Lecture’, Philadelphia Press, 6 November 1858. 82. ‘Philosophy of Travel’, 15. 83. ‘Philosophy of Travel’, 32. 84. See Daniel Walker Howe, The Political Culture of the American Whigs (Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 1979). 85. Wendell Phillips, ‘The Lost Arts’ manuscript, Boston Public Library, p. 2. 86. ‘Bayard Taylor on The Arabs’, Macon Georgia Telegraph, 14 February 1854; ‘Man and Climate’, Brooklyn Eagle, 19 December 1860. 87. Bayard Taylor, ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, 3. 88. See David Simpson, ‘The Limits of Cosmopolitanism and the Case for Translation’, European Romantic Review, 16, no. 2 (April 2005): 141–52 (143). 89. Taylor, ‘Moscow’, 14. 90. ‘Irving Lectures’, Cambridge Chronicle, 18 December 1858; Newark Advocate, 29 March 1854, quoted in Mead, Yankee Eloquence in the Middle West, 116. 91. See for example, Christopher Irmscher, Longfellow Redux (Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2007). 92. Taylor, ‘Philosophy of Travel’, 32. 93. ‘Mr Bayard Taylor and the Young Christians of Virginia’, New York Tribune, 9 February 1860. The cancellation and its attendant controversy attracted significant national media attention, and was treated in reprinted articles in regional papers, for example, ‘An Invitation Withdrawn’, Weekly Georgia Telegraph, 18 February 1860; ‘Bayard Taylor and Virginia’, San Francisco Bulletin, 23 March 1860. 94. Lincoln to Taylor, 25 December 1863, in Abraham Lincoln: Speeches and Writings 1859–1865, ed. Don E. Ferhenbacher (New York: Library of America, 1989), 93. 95. Taylor to Lincoln, 28 December 1863, in Abraham Lincoln: Speeches and Writings 1859– 1865, 93. 96. Ziff, Return Passages, 156. Studies in Travel Writing 133 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 97. ‘Bayard Taylor’s Lecture’, Quincy Daily Whig, 22 December 1865. 98. George Landow, Elegant Jeremiahs: The Sage from Carlyle to Mailer (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1986), 54. 99. ‘Miscellaneous Items’, Jamestown Journal, 18 February 1870. 100. Taylor, By-Ways of Europe [1858] (New York: G. Putnam’s Sons, 1883), 12. 101. See Crawford A. Peffer, Outline History of the Redpath Lyceum Bureau (MA diss., Harvard University, 1953); John R. McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand: James Redpath and the Making of Nineteenth-Century America (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008). Annual lists of lecturers and topics are contained in editions of Lyceum Magazine (1871–5), the American Antiquarian Society. 102. See discussion of Kennan’s lecture career in ‘The Forgotten George Kennan: From Cheerleader to Critic of Tsarist Russia’, World Policy Journal 19, no. 4 (Winter 2002/03): 79–84. 103. See Edward Ziter, The Orient on the Victorian Stage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 104. Consider the example of Isaac Hayes: 1850s and 1860s records of his performances (e.g. ‘Dr. Hayes Lecture at Musical Fund Hall Last Evening’, Philadelphia Press, 10 January 1862) contain no reference to illustrations, but by 1871 broadsides billed his appearances as ‘Dr. Isaac Hayes – the celebrated Arctic Explorer . . . magnificently illustrated by a GRAND STEREOPTICON’, 1873 Broadside, Exeter Lyceum, Massachusetts, American Antiquarian Society. 105. Jeffrey Ruoff, ed., Virtual Voyages: Cinema and Travel (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006); see also Robert Dixon, ‘What was Travel Writing? Frank Hurley and the Media Contexts of Early Twentieth-Century Australian Travel Writing’, Studies in Travel Writing 11, no. 1 (2007): 59–81. 106. ‘Sixty Minutes in Africa’, Cincinnati Inquirer, 5 March 1863. 107. ‘Sixty Minutes in Africa’, Cincinnati Inquirer, 5 March 1863. 108. ‘Artemus Ward in Brooklyn’, Brooklyn Eagle, 9 March 1867. 109. ‘The Sandwich Islands’, stenographed lecture report, Cooper Union Library. 110. ‘The Sandwich Islands’, San Francisco Bulletin, 1 October 1866. 111. ‘Our Fellow Savages’, Lecture Advertisement, Brooklyn Eagle, 10 February 1870. 112. ‘Mark Twain criticised – An Indignant Spectator’, Jamestown Journal, 28 January 1870. 113. ‘Criticism on Mark Twain’s Lecture for Adult Readers – Not to be read by People with weak stomachs’, Jamestown Journal, 28 January 1870. 114. See Giliana Bruno, Atlas of Emotion: Journeys in Art, Architecture, and Film (London: Verso, 2002), 117–20; and Edward Ziter, The Orient on the Victorian Stage. 115. Susan Gufstafson, Eloquence Is Power: Oratory and Performance in Early America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998), 7–11. 116. See Richard D. Brown, The Strength of a People: The Idea of an Informed Citizenry in America, 1650–1870 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1996), 119–29. For rituals of re-aggregation in classical republicanism, see for example, Plato’s formulation of these rituals in ‘Laws’ XII in Plato: Complete Works, trans. Trevor J. Saunders, ed. John M. Cooper (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 1997), 1320. 117. Judith Adler, ‘Travel as Performed Art’, American Journal of Sociology 94, no. 6 (1989): 1366–91. See also In Transit: Travel, Text, Empire, ed. Helen Gilbert and Anna Johnston (New York: Peter Lang, 2002). 134 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0
work_i5dtzd2rzzbnxmkgtpadcaqbma ---- ESA's Ecological Archives Quick links Archives Home Search for archives DRYAD Log of Corrections Copyright What is Ecological Archives? For the years 1981 through 2015, Ecological Archives published materials supplemental to articles that appeared in the ESA journals (Ecology, Ecological Applications, Ecological Monographs, Ecosphere, Ecosystem Health and Sustainability and Bulletin of the Ecological Society of America), as well as peer-reviewed Data Papers with abstracts published in the printed journals. Ecological Archives is published in digital, Internet-accessible form. Ecological Archives are also hosted on FigShare. As of 2016, supplemental material and Data Papers are hosted at https://esajournals.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/ along with the journals. Contacts for Ecological Archives Data Editor: William K. Michener <[email protected]> Associate Data Editor: Jane L. Bain <[email protected]> Ecology Editor-in-Chief: Donald R. Strong Ecological Monographs Editor-in-Chief: Aaron M. Ellison (through 2015); Aimee Classen (2016 to present) Ecological Applications Editor-in-Chief: David S. Schimel Bulletin Editor-in-Chief: Edward A. Johnson Ecosphere Editor-in-Chief: Debra Peters Ecosphere Associate Managing Editor: Ellen Cotter <[email protected]>
work_id2l55kobrdx7ogb6yjmb2ecfu ---- Making Nature Valuable, Not Profitable: Are Payments for Ecosystem Services Suitable for Degrowth? Sustainability 2015, 7, 10895-10921; doi:10.3390/su70810895 sustainability ISSN 2071-1050 www.mdpi.com/journal/sustainability Review Making Nature Valuable, Not Profitable: Are Payments for Ecosystem Services Suitable for Degrowth? Rodrigo Muniz * and Maria João Cruz Climate Change Impacts, Adaptation and Modelling (CCIAM), Centre for Ecology, Evolution and Environmental Changes (cE3c), Faculdade de Ciências, Universidade de Lisboa, Lisbon 1749-016, Portugal; E-Mail: mjcruz@fc.ul.pt * Author to whom correspondence should be addressed; E-Mail: rmusilva@fc.ul.pt; Tel.: +351-217-500-387; Fax: +351-217-500-386. Academic Editor: Marc A. Rosen Received: 20 June 2015 / Accepted: 4 August 2015 / Published: 11 August 2015 Abstract: The growth economy imposes multiple crises on humanity and the natural world. To challenge this economic growth imperative, the degrowth movement emerges as a dissident response. Although within an economic growth perspective, payments for ecosystem services (PES) have also been proposed to attenuate the negative impacts of capitalism, as a redistributive mechanism that is claimed to deliver equitable conservation and sustainability. Degrowth has notably similar concerns, although it is inclined to argue against PES traditional ideologies and practices, which lead conservation to perceive nature within economic growth and market ideologies, diminishing the relationship between humans and nature. In spite of that, PES are becoming a strong trend in environmental governance. This paper attempts to examine whether PES are, and how they could be suitable for degrowth, through the lens of its main sources. In order to integrate PES and degrowth, it could require a PES reconceptualization. Although we assert that PES are not the most appropriate instrument for conservation, we argue that maybe PES could contribute to degrowth as a transition instrument toward fostering better practices. However, it is important to elucidate how they can be used and under which circumstances they could be appropriate. Keywords: payments for ecosystem services; degrowth; biodiversity conservation; nature; valuable; commodification; neoliberal conservation; transition practices incentive OPEN ACCESS Sustainability 2015, 7 10896 1. Introduction Since the concern with global environmental changes arose within economic growth, new conservation approaches have been developed [1]. The ecosystem services (ES) approach, which is characterized as the benefits that are provided by ecosystems to humans [2–6], has become most likely the foremost trend in conservation and sustainability science, which is demonstrated by Millennium Ecosystem Assessment (MEA), The Economics of Ecosystems and Biodiversity (TEEB) and the recently established Intergovernmental science-policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (IPBES) [7]. This concept has received, over the past few years, increasing attention as a way to communicate human dependence on ecological processes, which is clearly a utilitarian reason to protect nature [8,9]. The idea of ES has opened the possibility of understanding nature within market ideologies and recognizing environmental destruction and its effects on human well-being. Following this logic, among other projects, payments for ecosystem services (PES) have emerged and have been fostered with much enthusiasm [10,11]. PES initiatives, which are characterized by rewarding environmental “resource” managers through economic benefits for their efforts in providing or maintaining ES, increasingly encourage the ecological science to measure, quantify and provide these services. Nature thus becomes transcribed into tradable goods (natural capital) and services (ecosystem services). This represents a discursive, institutional, technical and material change in conservation values [12] which has led to new ways of perceiving and relating to the natural world in a strictly economic way, restricting conservation to “[...] a nature that capital can ‘see’ [...]” [13] (p. 367) and to the “services” that nature “provides”. The reproduction of the idea of natural capital for what was once perceived as nature is part of an integrated effect of neoliberalism which has the intent of “selling nature to save it” [14], putting nature on sale through ecosystems functioning. In this sense, PES are frequently perceived as a mechanism for the neoliberalization of nature [15–17]. PES make nature economically and monetarily negotiable, which brings considerable ethical implications as well as technical difficulties [8,18–20], undermining human relationships with nature. Nevertheless, PES are becoming a sturdy trend in environmental governance and are not only shaped to work within the current economic model, but conceptually based within this model. As a counterpoint to economic growth, the degrowth perspective emerges [21]. Degrowth can be defined as an equitable and democratic transition to a moderate economy that has more contained production processes and consumption [22] and increases human wellbeing while enhancing ecological conditions in the short and long term and at both a global and local level [23]. Degrowth also addresses the concept of green economic growth, which PES integrate, challenging the notion that growth (even green growth) is a desirable path and the only path to follow [24]. Green economic growth could include efficient energy and resource uses and insinuates a socially inclusive and low-carbon society, but its main objective remains associated with growth, profit and developmentalism logic. Additionally, it has not lived up to social-ecological needs and to generating a different type of socioeconomic progress [25]. Marangon and Troiano [26] trace a parallel between degrowth and PES, arguing that they share some similarities. These authors conclude that PES can stimulate society to rethink human relations with the natural environment and could be a tool to change human patterns, aligning with degrowth Sustainability 2015, 7 10897 possibilities. Although degrowth and PES have convergence points [26], they are conceptually and ideologically far apart because degrowth is an alternative response to the economic growth model that the PES rely on. If one considers applying PES under degrowth assumptions, a substantial reconceptualization of PES would make it more suitable for degrowth. However, these adjustments could make PES hardly recognizable. Thus, we ask three main question in this paper: in spite of the differences, (1) could PES be applied under degrowth perspective? (2) would there be a need for a reconceptualization of PES? (3) if so, what type of reconceptualization would be needed? This paper analyses PES origins, definitions, objectives and main characteristics; and through the lens of the main sources of degrowth [24], examines if PES are, or how they could be, suitable for degrowth and its fundamental assumptions. It explores how PES could be reconceptualized to go beyond the traditional definitions and could contribute to degrowth as a transition instrument to foster better practices. This paper is structured as follows: Section 2 presents some fundamental ideas of degrowth as a response to the misleading way that humans perceive nature under economic growth. Section 3 notes how the idea of ES changes perceptions about the natural world. Sections 4 and 5 address the concept and origins of PES, highlighting their difficulties and contradictions. Section 6 relates PES assumptions to degrowth sources and inspirations, revealing the tensions between them. Section 7 introduces some ideas on how PES could be soluble to degrowth. The last section presents the conclusions. 2. Fundamental Assumptions of Degrowth The current political context is strongly influenced by the growth economic paradigm model. The search for profits, the high levels of consumption and production, allied with the current technologies and population growth are pushing the natural environment to its limits. The “natural resource” extraction, waste disposal, and power asymmetries are reaching the farthest places on earth. The social metabolism of advanced economics, namely the increasing flow of energy and material, have environmental and social costs, with considerable iniquities [27]. It is true that concerns about the natural environment are becoming more salient and urgent; however, these concerns have been embedded within this growth model and have been increasingly trapped in the promise of having a continuous increase and improvement in efficiency and technology [23]. The sustainable development discourse represents this contradiction very well [28–30]. Over a period of twenty years or more [31], it has failed to demonstrate the required ability to change the political environment or to change individual and collective behaviors toward mitigating social-environmental problems [22]. Societies still have a consumerist logic that exceeds their material and energy capacities, with a rooted dependency on fossil fuels [22,32]. On the other hand, the economic crisis creates opportunities to re-evaluate the way that modern human lives are shaped, the restructuring of social institutions [23,33], the reshaping of human lifestyles, repairing the loss of biodiversity, precluding social collapse and adapting to climate change [23]. To challenge this economic growth imperative, the degrowth movement emerges as a dissident response to the multiple crises [34]. Degrowth, which is a literal representation of the French word décroissance, is a voluntary process toward a transition, or even a transformation, to a social and environmental state that can be sustained [23]. Beyond the concept, degrowth is a political slogan that has significant theoretical implications [30,35], an activism that soon became a movement [24] that Sustainability 2015, 7 10898 represents an effort to re-politicize the debate around having an urgent socio-ecological transformation, and presenting an alternative proposal [24]. It is crucial to realize that the idea of degrowth is not a degrowth for degrowth’s sake, or a negative growth, and for that reason, it cannot be thought of in a symmetrical relationship with growth [30]; otherwise, the repercussions would be devastating, with significant social and environmental decadence, including economic insecurity, unemployment, tight credit, jeopardizing the health, social, educational, cultural and environment project, and even leading to a social peace collapse [21,23,30,32,34,36]. Degrowth can represent a response to the way that humans perceive nature under economic growth assumptions, avoiding the valuation of what should not have economic monetary value, such as nature, care and relations. The way that we conceive the natural world and its ecological functions can seriously reverberate in conservation policy trends. As long as we continue to understand nature as a service provider, the logic of growth will not be easily abandoned. Once degrowth emerges as a dissident process, it can require a reconsideration of pre-established concepts and values about the idea of ES and its related tools. As Cattaneo et al. [37] (p. 515) affirm, this would require “[...] avoiding the trap of getting tangled in economic proposals and an economic idiom when envisioning the transition to a degrowth society, i.e., avoiding the ‘economicism’ that characterizes industrial society and which is at the heart of the ideology of development”. 3. From Functions to Services and from Metaphor to Commoditization The idea of ES was thought to be a metaphor [38] to represent the notion that nature serves humans [19] through ecological functions. The intention of the concept was largely pedagogical, intended to draw attention to social dependence on ecological processes and justify biodiversity preservation [1,19,39]. However, what was once a metaphor became a leading conservation framework and the dominant environmental policy approach, from a local to international agenda. Still, there is an ongoing debate on how it could possibly help decision making in different policy venues [40]. Despite the popularity and apparent robustness of the concept, it is still filled with uncertainties and controversies [41]. Although the intention of ES appeared to enhance the information that is available to decision makers [3], it further provoked the utilitarian standpoint on ecosystem functions, allowing the attachment of monetary values to these services as well as their transactions through the creation of markets for them [19,42]. The “Ecosystem Marketplace”, for example, is a network made viable by ES and natural capital concepts, that clearly “seeks to become the world’s leading source of information on markets and payments schemes for ES” [43]. Thus, the market has penetrated the idea of ES. The criticism to the eruption of generalized markets [44,45] is often present in the degrowth movement [23], to the extent that markets have become the main form of human relations. This circumstance can also be extrapolated to the relationship between humans and nature, whereas human relationships with the natural world becomes mediated by economic relations of markets and commodities. Therefore, the history of ES constitutes a parallel history of commodification of ecosystem functions [1]. The idea of commodities (and its fetishism) in Marx’s theory [46] helps to explain the limitations of the ES paradigm for ecosystem functions and its associated biodiversity protection [18,47,48]. By turning ecosystem functions into services and, thus, into commodities, the biotic elements and their intrinsic relations in the ecosystems and their processes are completely ignored, leaving only what Sustainability 2015, 7 10899 interests humans: the services. ES became the commodities and not only material components, which expresses the trails of the neoliberalization over conservation [49,50]. This construction of the natural world conceptually turns the earth into a corporation that provides goods and services to be quantified, priced and traded as commodities [43,51], combining the technocratic and economic ideals in its discourse [52,53] and making a world of ES [54]. The ES approach integrates the idea of “grabbing green”, in which nature is instrumentalized and appropriated with a capital accumulation purpose [55,56], and changes the way that we perceive nature and biodiversity [53,54], also changing the entire logic of conservation. 4. Origins and Definitions of PES: from Promises to Difficulties PES have been increasingly noticeable in academia, with a substantial number of publications, as well as in political spheres worldwide, among developed and, especially, developing countries [10,11,57–60]. During its 10 years of implementation, PES have already evolved and led to the emergence of distinctive perspectives and conceptualizations [11,61–67]. The most widely used definition was proposed by Wunder [61] (p. 3), which states that PES must correspond to a “[...] (a) voluntary transaction where (b) a well-defined environmental service (or a land use likely to secure that service) (c) is being ‘bought’ by a (minimum one) service buyer (d) from a (minimum one) service provider (e) if and only if the service provider secures service provision (conditionality)”. This approach is in line with the Ronald Coase theorem. Accordingly it is an approach that favors political options that are based on markets that are characterized by the allocation of property rights to achieve optimal social levels of environmental externalities [10,11]. This perspective can be framed as an environmental economic perspective of PES, which emphasizes and prioritizes economic efficiency, and the attempt to insert and fit ES into market schemes [58,63]. The dominating bias of PES considers environmental problems to be externalities that resulted from market failures and considers that payments would be able to solve the problem of an undersupply of natural elements [10]. Because conditionality (provision of the service), additionality (to add a value in relation to the lack of action) and voluntarity (when all the parts are voluntarily involved) are not always fulfilled, in practice, a few PES schemes actually establish real markets [11,20,68]. A wide variety of PES schemes depend on other factors, such as having a strong involvement of the state and community [11,20,69]. In Latin America, Asia and Africa, most of the PES schemes are supported by a combination of funding agencies, government subsidies or donations from conservation NGOs [70], despite the strong debate on whether this support is appropriate or not. However, the more similar they are to markets, the more PES can exacerbate inequities and injustice [71], which is a clear reason to contest the PES market-based nature [69]. PES bring enthusiasm, promises, opportunities, dangers and challenges, by drawing attention to the “fatal attraction of win-win solution” [68]. One of the reasons why PES have become so popular is that they promise efficiency in natural environmental management while also contributing to poverty alleviation [10,57]. However, the main function of PES under this perspective is to improve natural resource management and economic efficiency as opposed to accomplishing poverty reduction, although the latter could be a positive effect (but a side effect) as long as it does not impair the efficiency of the scheme [11,61]. However, equity and efficiency issues are usually intertwined in PES schemes [72–74], and although (social and environmental) sustainability can be the ultimate goal, there Sustainability 2015, 7 10900 are tensions and trade-offs to be considered between these aspects (Figure 1). For example, by reaching for efficiency a large landowner could be paid to not degrade his/her land. But payments would not favor equity or poverty alleviation because payments are not targeted for small landowners who are usually in greater needs. Payments would not favor sustainability neither, since payments are usually temporary. Once payments are gone, there will be no apparent reason for the landowners to keep their land preserved. When the scheme favors equity, consequently the efficiency could also be minimized, whereas the poor that usually does not pose a threat to the natural environment receives payments to conserve. Figure 1. Typical definitions of the PES framework. PES frame their objectives within three spheres, which can have positive or1 negative interactions or trade-offs. Sustainability in this framework is generally reduced to the service level and is subjected to market-based rules. To articulate PES conceptualization with a consistent practice, Muradian et al. [11] (p. 1205) elaborated a more sensible, but broader, framework for the complexities and diversity of PES, which is defined “[...] as a transfer of resources between social actors, which aims to create incentives to align individual and/or collective land use decisions with the social interest in the management of natural resources”. This definition is more in line with ecological economics assumptions [63], in which ecological sustainability and fair distribution take precedence over market efficiency in achieving social interests. Thus, efficiency is to be considered but with no primacy given the complexities of the PES in practice [73,75]. PES are significantly dependent on political, socio-cultural and institutional contexts, reinforcing the need for a more inclusive and reflective dialogue, in order to reconcile theory and practice [11], and to increase the perception of equity in PES schemes [72,73]. This approach opens up more space for the involvement of actors that could be highly important. Nevertheless, many key actors are not considered in decisions and perceptions of natural environment management [76], and some groups can influence the PES design more than others, revealing that PES could weaken further the Sustainability 2015, 7 10901 environmental governance process [38,68], increasing inequalities and disparities in power relations, capital accumulation and the excessive power conferred to markets [68]. 5. The Case against PES 5.1. PES as Commodity Fetishism Commodities are objects and things that by their properties satisfy humans wants and desires, whatever those may be, while expressing a utility and use value. However, at the same time, commodities also have an exchange value [46]. When a commodity is produced for the markets, i.e., with the exchange-value intention, it tends to lose its relations with labor and with the previous nature of the matter of the commodity, obfuscating the social relations surrounding its production [46]. This is the commodity fetishism. Kosoy and Corbera [18] argue that PES can be characterized as commodity fetishism, while it demands to: (i) reduce ecological functions to a service level, separating these services from ecosystems as a whole; (ii) demarcate a single exchange unit for those services; and (iii) relate “providers” and “consumers” of these services in a market-based exchange. This process hides ecological complexities [8,47], an entire multiplicity of values and even some institutional asymmetries [18,20], which favor an unbalanced power relation between the people and communities that are involved as well as their relationship with nature. While few PES operate as genuine markets, the “services” are not always monetarily valued, as evidenced in some PES practices. Wunder [77] argues, as do Farley and Costanza [58], that there is not much left to characterize PES as commodity fetishism. Nevertheless, simply the idea of treating nature as an ecosystem “services” provider could lead nature to be considered as a commodity. 5.2. PES as a Neoliberalization of Nature Neoliberal capitalism is a powerful ideological and political project of global governance [78], which has been driving global political, economic and cultural pathways, providing context and addressing the way in which humans interact with one another and with nature [78,79]. The neoliberalization of nature, environments, ecologies and conservation has been approached and revisited already with some attention [50,78–87]. The ES approach reflects the capitalist paradoxical idea: to be the “[...] answer to their own ecological contradictions” [16] (p. 30). PES is a tool that is aligned to the global political economics of neoliberalism [15–17,88,89], which is built on developmentalism growth logic. Therefore, it is possible to envisage that an instrument as such can even increase the problems’ dynamics rather than mitigate them [16], further accentuating the difficulty in building more constructive and meaningful solutions to address our relationship with nature. 5.3. Natural Capital vs. Nature Nature has been, over recent decades, perceived as “natural capital” [3,90–92]. This approach is an attempt to compute nature in economic terms as well as the impacts that fall upon it. The abstraction of nature as a capital entity creates opportunities for new private rights with respect to nature, to create commodities and to establish new markets for exchange [12,51,93]. Sustainability 2015, 7 10902 It is alarming to realize that (local and global) institutional arrangements are structured to legitimize and create foundations to make real the notion of nature as capital, leading conservationist trends [93]. To this extent, humans are perceived to be an agglomerate of preferences to be satisfied and maximized from nature, which in turn is perceived as an agglomerate of resources for human satisfaction. Thereby, humans and nature are homogenized and grossly simplified [94]. The ecological crisis is not solely about a decline in natural capital but instead is mainly about the disappearance of the natural world. The current economic paradigm tends to preserve the integrity of its own entity, the capital, and when nature is conceived to be capital, it is no longer nature [94]. 5.4. Markets or Not, Is that the Question? Few PES are considered to be pure markets in practice [11,15,68,77]. The implications of PES for communities and conservation cannot be fully understood by only accounting for environmental markets and their effects and, in fact, the excessive preoccupation with PES based on markets could even prove to be not very useful in understanding the processes of PES [95]. Regardless of its direct relationship with markets, PES “masquerade as a market”, using its discourse and practices to shape human behavior and “[...] outsourcing decisions about how conservation is achieved and who benefits in the process” [95] (p. 154). Therefore, PES simulate the market metaphor, fostering the community choice to be based on market rationality, absolving conservationists from important political decisions and avoiding the complex questions that concern conservation. Instruments such as PES, even when they are not perfectly suited to market logic, tend to be seen as a new trend for conservation, intended to replace complex socio-ecological dynamics and disguise fundamental elements in environmental governance. The current economy continues to uphold its reasons by quantifying the consequences, but the changes in climate, in ecosystems and their relations with the social system dynamics augment uncertainties that are not susceptible to quantification, and humanity must be increasingly empowered to prioritize ethical issues as well as transition to an individual ethical virtue [38]. Environmental governance should consider the importance of protecting nature from human interests as well. It is important to recognize that there is a value in the natural world that exists independently of the human eye and its ability to value. 6. Relating PES to Sources of Degrowth: Highlighting the Tensions The degrowth concept has a solid basis that is rooted in philosophical, cultural, anthropological and institutional critiques of growth and development concepts [34]. Hence, degrowth is not solely related to an exclusive source and inspiration; instead, it is characterized by a variety of thoughts from social to ecological thinking [24]. These inspirational sources of degrowth were identified, systematized and developed primarily by Flipo [96,97] and should be accounted for when relating PES with degrowth. Six sources have been identified [24], and all of them are fundamental to developing a degrowth-compatible mechanism (Figure 2). Sustainability 2015, 7 10903 Figure 2. Conceptual framework of the objectives of a degrowth-compatible mechanism. The arrows represent synergies (positive feedback) instead of trade-offs between the objectives, which are essential in such a framework. The first is the Ecology source, which represents the recognition that ecosystems are worthwhile by themselves, not only by their instrumental value or their utility for humans as ES [24] but also by revealing a respect for living beings in their various dimensions [23]. This environmentalism tradition radically diverges from the domination of humans over nature and reflects some inspiration from Deep Ecology, Land Ethics and other environmental ethics movements [97,98]. PES are anchored on the concept of ES, treating nature as capital and commodity and ignoring other valuation languages, including the intrinsic value. Consequently, PES do not seem to be compatible with this source of degrowth to the extent that this source recognizes the intrinsic value in the midst of a plurality of values. The second source, Critiques of development and praise for anti-utilitarianism, comes from anthropological origins that seek to dismantle the hegemonic imaginary of development and argue for anti-utilitarianism logic [24,96]. This culturalistic critique of development pulsates in the theories of François Partant, Gilbert Rist, and Serge Latouche and also in the works of André Gorz and Jacques Grinevald, especially in relationship to environmental problems that are generated by productivism [22]. PES is an instrument that is aligned with the neoliberalization of nature, which attests to productivism and its facets. Traditionally, PES aim to make natural environment management (economically) efficient, with their main objective being the maximization of ES in a utilitarian logic, regardless of, ultimately, who pays and who gets paid. Therefore, this approach causes (or strengthens) a chain of inequities and inequalities in which nature is mislaid by being reduced to the level of services and the developmentalism utility. This second inspiration, as is well known by the culturalistic critique, unveils the economic imaginary that economic growth and development are by themselves the solution to social and environmental problems and constitute a reason of their own [30]. The concept of sustainable development strongly represents this idea, which is considered to be an oxymoron by the degrowth movement [21,24,30]. PES is one more caricature of green claims of growth that are imbued with the concept of sustainable development. Sustainability 2015, 7 10904 According to anti-utilitarian sources of degrowth, the utilitarian maximization and self-interest as driving forces of human behavior are criticized [24]. Degrowth intends to overcome the human identification as a strictly economic agent, the homo economicus, encouraging a new imagery in which human culture and identity are fostered by sharing, gifting and reciprocity, a culture where conviviality and social relations are not mediated by economic thinking [24,99]. PES are an expression of the expansion of economic mediations of human relations to environmental governance. The payment for the conservation of ecosystem functions “crowds out” the intrinsic motivation for conservation [18,20,68,100]. PES can also favor a “crowds in” scenario [77] but at the cost of corruption of the relation between humans and nature [94] because the payment breaks with a commitment (to preserve, whether by nature or human well-being) and fosters a behavior through incentives that are often monetary. This source of degrowth represents discontentment toward the role that monetary-economic transactions or market-based transactions increasingly play in human relationships and society [99,101]. Degrowth authors, in general, believe that PES could represent a threat in terms of the generalized advance of markets (even when PES do not represent pure markets), whilst the values that govern human relations eventually follow the profit and market logic [21] that could jeopardize a more robust governance. Thus, PES do not appear to be adequate for this source of degrowth. The third source arises from a search that is ever more present in modern societies for a meaningful life and well-being [24]. This inspiration is a counterpoint to the modern lifestyle, which is fundamentally based on “[...] working more, earning more, selling more and buying more” [24] (p. 197). The actors in the PES schemes (buyers, providers and “brokers”) play the role of homo economicus. The so-called ecosystem service provider intends to preserve nature only if the payments cover its opportunity costs. The PES, thereby, favor the self-interest behaviors that are fostered by economic incentives; they reinforce land tenure importance and the notion of the appropriation of nature. The importance of land tenure also creates tension between efficiency and fairness. More informed landowners and those with their land boundaries secured would be more eligible to participate in a PES scheme, while traditional and other disadvantaged people would have their chances diminished or completely ignored. Degrowth comes with some inspirations from Henry David Thoreau (Walden, Life in the Woods), Pierre Rabhi (Happy Sobriety), Serge Mongeau (Voluntary Simplicity), E.F. Schumacher (Small is Beautiful) and J.C. Kumarappa (Economy of Permanence) [24], and more recently seeking inspirations in the Buen Vivir movement in South America [102]. It does not appear that such inspirations match situations in which PES are expected to be applied. Wunder [61] (p. 12) admits that “[...] what seems certain is that neither the ‘ecologically noble savage’ who fully safeguards his or her environment, nor the impoverished farmer too poor to do significant ecological damage, will emerge on the scene as major [ES] sellers”, leaving PES to those who actually pose a threat, i.e., “[...] the ideal [ES] seller is, if not outright environmentally nasty, then at least potentially about to become so”. Thus, the implementation of PES, in many cases, accentuates inequalities. Even when PES tend to emphasise rural development by including not only efficiency but also the reduction of inequities and poverty alleviation, they rely on the same development that endangers equity and poverty reduction. The term bioeconomy, which was introduced by Nicholas Georgescu-Roegen, is the fourth source of degrowth; this concept is mainly related to ecological economics and their foundations [24,27] and to “Limits to Growth” [103,104] in current human economy, i.e., the ecosystem limits to satisfy human Sustainability 2015, 7 10905 subjectivities. The steady state economy represents a response to the current economy [105], as well as the degrowth movement. However, Jackson [32] demonstrates that even when slowing down the consumption of energy and materials, a stationary state would not be sufficient when accounting for the current state of an ecosystem, especially in rich countries, which implies that decreasing the consumption would be crucial. According to Kershner [106], degrowth could be considered to be a path for reaching the ideal stationary state. This source is, perhaps, the source of degrowth that becomes closest to PES. PES have been developed within both environmental and ecological economics [58,63], albeit there have sometimes been different discourses, concepts and applications. If degrowth claims a reduction in material and energy consumption, then PES can be a tool that makes this process more economically efficient with regard to the natural elements that are covered by human interests, i.e., the ES. Although degrowth does not intend to overlook technological improvements [21], it criticizes having blind faith in technology and the notion that modernization, efficiency and innovation will solve the problems of the ecological crisis [24,30] and it brings a word of warning to the unlimited growth that technological ability promotes or even the biophysical limits that technology tends to overcome. This consideration is thoroughly discussed by the “Jevons paradox”, or the so-called “rebound effect”, which argues that the impacts that are avoided or reduced by technology and efficiency are outsourced and reallocated elsewhere [23,107]. The more similar they are to markets, the more PES favor the rebound effect. Thus, the more the provision of services is optimized, the more the services are consumed and the more their consumption is justified. Carbon and biodiversity credits and the optimization of the so-called ES in the developing and poor countries largely favor the developed and rich countries to sustain their consumption and lifestyle. The fundamental role of democracy on degrowth assumptions makes it the fifth source of degrowth [24]. The need for a revitalization or a complete transformation of the democratic process has been discussed with respect to degrowth [37,108]. In its traditional definition, PES demand a voluntary participatory process [10], although in practice, this condition is not always fulfilled [11,58,63]. PES work very often through non-voluntary and mandatory fees or charges (especially in watershed PES cases, in which buyers pay with their water bills, sometimes without even knowing that they are involved in a PES scheme [11]). Thus, at least from the buyer’s side, it is not required, in practice, to have voluntary participation. Situations such as these, which are institutionally legitimized, undermine some of the democratic assumptions, weakening trust in democracy or simply misleading democracy perceptions. Voluntariness, however, is critical in the involvement of the providers. Many providers are “forced” to attend because of their vulnerable condition [11], which reveals ethical, justice and democratic fragilities. Economic monetary rules can affect social norms [109] and can also undermine the democratic process. The main purpose of PES is to achieve economic efficiency of environmental management, which is often skewed by market logic, surpassing the plurality of values on perceiving the natural environment as well as disregarding other conservation options. When the instrument overcomes the socio-ecological context, the technique overcomes, to some extent, human control of it [22,24,110,111]. PES relations with the democracy source of degrowth are also conditioned to the institutional design. The choice for PES is critical and it is essential that executors do not attempt to adjust the institutions Sustainability 2015, 7 10906 when applying PES but instead recognize that they should not be applied arbitrarily while denying the history of the social-ecological relationships that are at stake. Justice emerges as the sixth source of inspiration [24]. Degrowth seeks to explore ways in which sustainability and justice are compatible, assuming inequities reduction to be critical, also opting for large scale redistribution, sharing of excessive incomes and wealth and less competition [24], accordingly to the second and third source. Aristotle distinguished two main types of justice: distributive justice concern how the benefits and burdens should be distributed; and corrective justice related to punishment and compensation [112], or retributive justice. However, many contemporary theories of justice stand for a broader perspective than how things are distributed [113], or how they are compensated. Thus, beyond distributional justice, we could present procedural justice, justice as recognition [114,115], justice as capabilities [116,117], also with components of participatory justice. Justice that includes not only theories about recognition, participation and social structure, but the intuition about them [113]. Nevertheless, debates about justice (in terms of fairness and equity) and efficiency are perhaps the most pronounced issue in PES, revealing that justice is frequently undermined in general sense, especially in terms of distribution. Evidence shows that the elite (large landowners) largely profit from PES resources, while the poorest and most vulnerable are not benefited as much [118] or are even harmed. In Brazilian Amazon, for example, even when payment is universal, the largest landowners (usually those most responsible for deforestation) end up capturing most of the PES resources [67]. In addition to this relationship between efficiency and equity, there are also ethical issues, especially when a PES beneficiary choice is based on competitive criteria that are purely grounded in market logic, which in turn favors those who have better resources to ensure additionality or land tenure [11]. The opportunity cost of this type of landowner is very high and is difficult to cover. Because the poorest have a lower opportunity cost, they can be persuaded to accept a PES scheme at very low cost. The question is whether this acceptance, under such conditions, is voluntary or forced because their condition of vulnerability and poverty can hinder their capacity to refuse to participate in any scheme of PES [11]. These inequities are also extrapolated to the global level. “The Reducing Emission from Deforestation and Degradation” (REDD+) has been endorsed by the market-based model, using PES principles as models [70,71], and thus, the REDD+ can be conceptualized as the largest PES experiment on a global scale [100]. The logic of the neoliberalization of nature when applied to REDD+ and PES reinforces inequities between urban and rural, rich and poor, among generations, and between North and South countries [71]. The lower the opportunity cost is, the lower the offset costs, and in the world market, labor, land and life are cheaper in developing countries; therefore, people are willing to accept less for conservation [71], which reflects and strengthens the idea that the “poor sell cheap” [119]. In this respect, therefore, PES have not been shown to be compatible with degrowth and its relationship with justice. REDD+ and PES (and especially the integration of both) contribute to conservation in utilitarian terms, denying ethical terms and endangering socio-ecological complexities [100]. The more preserved the poorest countries are, the more reasons the wealthiest countries have to justify their lifestyles because their consumptions are compensated. PES and REDD+ could favor this indolence of the wealthiest countries, revealing an obfuscation of a serious environmental governance and political will. Although from a more deontological justice perspective, it is necessary to have degrowth in the Sustainability 2015, 7 10907 lifestyles of more affluent groups, in the countries of both the North and South. This circumstance implies cultural changes in which production and consumption are much less enticing [24]. Although the distributional issue seems to sum up in relation to PES, it is not just a matter of distributional justice, but justice as recognition and capabilities. Those that are less well-off in this schemes of distribution are surpassed in terms of recognition [113]. Young [114] (p. 34) argues that “[...] for a norm to be just, everyone who follow it must in principle have an effective voice in its consideration and be able to agree to it without coercion”. If communities are not recognized, there is a barrier to their participation. She continuous “[...] for a social condition to be just it must enable all to meet their needs and exercise their freedom; thus justice requires that all be able to express their needs”. Then, the non-recognition and also misrecognition leads to an institutionalization of social subordination [115]. PES if not thoroughly thought through can institutionalize patterns of non-recognition and misrecognition by ignoring socioecological context and local voices within their implementation [120]. The lack of recognition is a harm such as maldistribution. The argument of recognition leads us to the justice as capabilities. According to this theory the focus on distribution of goods is not sufficient, requiring to expand to how these goods can be transformed to propitiate individuals and communities to flourish [113,116,117]. Again, according to the second and third sources, the opportunity to flourish is aligned with degrowth. However, are PES able to provide the necessary capacities for individuals and communities to fully choose for what they value? In fact, there are situations where communities could manifest against the traditional PES, revaluing the rural environment [69,121]. Nevertheless, there is a variety of reasons to be caution about social justice that could stimulate an exclusionary governance. The benefits for communities and ecosystems are frequently surpassed by the profit logic of markets which seek to control who will benefit and what ecosystems receive priority [122], for example, the displacement of indigenous and traditional knowledge and values by the logic of ES and its quantification. Also, the unequal access to participate, the uneven distribution of benefits, the accumulation by dispossession are usually part of the process of PES [122], likely suffocating participation and outsourcing local decisions. Participation is crucial to define justice as capabilities, [113] and to ensure opportunities for people to develop the qualities to choose what they consider valuable [116,117], to be empowered in their decisions. This could also be considered a procedural gap, whereas procedural justice can be framed as the fairness of participation [123]. It should be noted that the Southern countries should also be dedicated to degrowth as a commitment to the planet and to the “good life”, which must be disentangled from unbridled economic growth. To some extent, reducing poverty for the poorest can only be solved by some economic growth because people who are in these conditions are not voluntarily committed to low consumption but are forced by their social realities and contexts. However, perhaps it is true that Southern developing countries must avoid falling into the same stalemate of the Northern developed countries: that economic growth will solve all of their problems [30]. The Buen Vivir movement, in Equador, is a great example. The core of the movement dismantle the material mechanistic and endless accumulation present in the ideology of progress and economic growth, reinforcing that humans realize themselves with each other but in harmony with nature [102,124,125]. Another way to understand justice in degrowth is the demand for repairing injustices of the past [24], given colonial explorations of the Northern over Southern countries, for example, which is a process Sustainability 2015, 7 10908 that hides histories and cultures. The socio-environmental justice movements demonstrate the compatibility between justice and degrowth by noting the need for rich countries to contain their ecological debts through having economic degrowth, which implies a lower social metabolism [27,119]. PES and REDD+, as designed, can be harmful instruments that can cause negative impacts to developing countries over the years [100] and still reinforce colonialism logic, i.e., when the Southern countries have their territories administered and dominated by the Northern powers, by a variation of traditional means [126,127]. PES can work in certain situations and can benefit some people and sometimes even the natural environment (especially what is conventionally called ES). Otherwise, it would not have attracted as much attention. However, PES work within the same economic growth logic that is largely denied by degrowth. The relation developed here is essentially conceptual and ideological. Nonetheless, it is a warning that although both degrowth and PES have convergence points [26], they are far apart, being almost opposite both conceptually and ideologically. The following section presents some suggestions to make PES more favorable, which implies a reconceptualization of some of their fundamental ideas. 7. Calling for a Reconceptualization? Brockington [60] (p. 368) “predicts” that “PES schemes will likely occur ever more frequently, and the vigor of its advocates is unlikely to cease. This is a force with which environmentalists and conservationists will have to contend and engage”. If Brockinton’s “prophecy” is to become true, would there be a need for an actual reconceptualization of PES? If so, what type of reconceptualization would be needed? Conservation is not only about the natural world; it is also about people, about bringing people back to nature or at least leading them to care about it. Thus, we must think of PES as not an instrument for conserving biodiversity but as a mechanism for encouraging a transition from conventional practices to better practices and “better ways” of living. That arrangement should be, perhaps, the role of PES under degrowth assumptions, to incentivize that transition and make possible a context of resilience, autonomy and self-sufficiency. However, for that goal to occur, it is important to leave behind some of PES’s ideas. First, conservation should not be thought to be mainly within the ES approach. PES must be prepared to provide biodiversity protection instead of service provision. Nature is not a service provider; a tree is not only wood nor the carbon and equivalences stored. Of course, ecosystem functioning is fundamental to us humans, but it is not for humans. The idea of ES understates the ecological complexity and human relationship with nature. Nevertheless, the message is not to “throw away” the entire concept; the metaphor can be pedagogical and useful, but we should be very careful when the metaphor becomes a framework. It is important to recognize that nature is morally considerable, by its intrinsic and inherent value. It does not mean that human interests would be denied or neglected but that they could be adjusted to nature’s interests as well. It is a call for an ethical consideration, as McCauley [128] (p. 27) argues: “[...] to make significant and long-lasting gains in conservation, we must strongly assert the primacy of ethics and aesthetics in conservation. We must act quickly to redirect much of the effort now being devoted to the commodification of nature back towards instilling a love for nature in more people”. We should complement with instilling a sense of duty, virtue, responsibility and precaution. Alternatively Sustainability 2015, 7 10909 to a utilitarian perspective, Kosoy and Corbera [18] (p. 1234) find that “[...] PES would concentrate instead on environmental ethics, [...] and discarding any attempt to price and market them [ecosystem functioning] as a way to foster conservation”. Moral and economic consideration can lead to different directions. What should be the pathway to follow? There is a plurality of values to be considered in regard to conserving nature and biodiversity, and the intrinsic value is one of them. To foster a transition and to be in line with both degrowth and conservation, PES should also be capable of recognizing the diversity of values around nature, renouncing the unifying monetary perspective that represents the single exchange-value, which is embedded in the ES approach. That would be the second step. Evidently, nature has, besides an intrinsic value, a eudaemonistic, fundamental and instrumental value [129,130]. The plurality of values around nature is essential to reaching a balance, and PES, in their actual configurations, predominantly ignore other languages of valuation. Kosoy et al. [76] (p. 2082) argue that “PES should be viewed as a window of opportunity, allowing for a coexistence of value systems rather that imposing a language of valuation”. However, it is very important to state that this should not be an opportunity for the accumulation of capital and profit, as intended by the capitalist mainstream [87,88]; instead, it should be intended for stimulating others to adopt a virtuous relationship within nature. As stated by O’Neill [131] (p. 24) “[...] care for the natural world is constitutive of a flourishing human life. The best human life is one that includes an awareness of and practical concern with the goods and entities in the non-human world”. That consideration leads us to the third aspect: PES market character must be abandoned. Although most of the PES schemes do not represent a market per se, they are purely based on market ideals. Therefore, even when PES are not actual markets, in practice, they work as masquerade markets, influencing the way that we contend with conservation: avoiding important decisions in regard to conservation, outsourcing them from where and how it should be taken, and deviating from the recognition that humans are responsible for their decisions and actions. The growth economy demands a continuous valuation of what has no monetary value and should not have (such as nature, care and relations) to integrate it in the logic of markets and profit at the cost of the degradation of its essence and their alternative value systems [21]. The answer cannot simply rely on the question “to value or not to value” nature monetarily [132], but as long as the market ideals are increasingly supported, the growth paradigm will continue to be encouraged. PES, then, should abandon the logic of “buyers, providers, intermediaries and regulators”, to reach a more holistic livelihood perspective [66] in which social equity, environmental justice, local livelihood context and local socio-ecological context must be embedded. With a holistic perspective, PES could be disentangled from their market ideology (even when they are not actual markets) and could be able to attend the plurality of values and allow other languages to be considered. To be in line with the degrowth perspective, for example, it would be desirable that PES should not be applied to those who pose a threat to the environment and instead should follow social equity matters [73]. In practice, PES favour large landowners [67,118,133], and PES can be very inclined to create a lucrative and tendentious market in which the objectives (conservation or equity distribution) could get lost. One of the presuppositions of degrowth would be to reduce these inequalities and support local communities, small landowners and collective properties. Sustainability 2015, 7 10910 We must think about the resilience of the system, integrating the ecological vulnerability and human vulnerability and attempting to answer what people need to reduce ecological vulnerabilities and at the same time improve their overall socio-ecological resilience. PES, to be suitable for degrowth, should create conditions for a retro-feeding mechanism (described in Figure 3) to reach another level; i.e., the incentives would be only an initial opportunity (as a transition instrument) to create socio-ecological resilience and autonomy. Figure 3. Conceptual trajectory from an ecosystem services approach to a Transition Framework. This spiraling trajectory represents an ever increasing awareness and improved socio-environmental quality and can be supported by incentives such as PES. It states that to obtain the best and most long-lasting social-ecological outcomes, such incentives must be integrated in a holistic perspective. To be a conservation mechanism that is compatible with degrowth, PES should create conditions to transition practices, acting as a transitory incentive to make possible the transition from a vicious to a virtuous practice. For example, PES schemes could be directed to convert conventional agriculture into agroecological systems, which avoid the use of agrochemicals, prevent soil degradation and water contamination as well as improve soil and water quality, improve productivity, and create corridors to biodiversity flux [134]. They also have beneficial social implications, in terms of improvements in livelihood, food security and sovereignty as well as technological and energetic sovereignty [134,135]. PES should favor other ideal practices and “better ways” of life (such as agroecology itself, permaculture ideologies, traditional and indigenous knowledge and communities and other neo-rural movements). That arrangement would be a way to enforce PES in which ideals, practices and movements would be incentivized to reach resilient socio-ecological outcomes. Figure 4 shows some practices that are mostly associated with agroecology and that could be fostered and result in socio-ecological outcomes that are suited to degrowth. These are practices and perceptions that can also be found in other Sustainability 2015, 7 10911 systems, such as permaculture [136], traditional indigenous knowledge and communities [134,137] and neo-rural movements [138] and can sometimes be inspired by them. Figure 4. Agroecological-related practices and their general socio-ecological outcomes. In the central ellipse, there are some general examples of agroecological practices (and related practices, which are also in line with some other systems and movements such as permaculture, traditional and indigenous knowledge, neo-rural movements and transitions networks, for example). The grey circles represent some general socio-ecological outcomes that derive from the practices in the central ellipse and, thus, make these practices suitable for degrowth sources and inspirations (Based on [134,136]). The fourth aspect is that PES should avoid monetary payment or the logic of such payments. Payments could break a commitment, and incentives could foster a commitment. For example, payments in PES are often arranged to cover opportunity costs, and if they do not fulfil that purpose, the conservation, or even the so-called “services”, could be undermined. The logic of payment crowds out the intrinsic motivation [20,100] to change; then, the willingness to accept will be more enticing than the willingness to change. An incentive, such as technical assistance, for example, does not require covering an opportunity cost but could offer an opportunity to change. If we want to change some of the practices, then incentives can be crucial. The incentive is not a payment to conserve, or even less to provide a service, but to change practices and even empower people. People are responsible for their practices. PES are conventionally built to outsource the decisions from the hands of those who work with the land, but they must, instead, be giving power to the people, placing the decision in their hands, according to their contexts, i.e., localizing decisions. Instead of taking people out of the land [43,44], under degrowth assumptions, PES should be “taking people back to nature”. Diversify (landscapes, biota and economics) Maintain undisturbed areas as buffer zones Minimize toxics Use biological, renewable, naturally-ocurring and local elements Local Currency Promote multi-directional transfer of knowledge Enhance recycling of biomass Integrated water management Ensure that local people control their development process Organic Production Perennial polycultures Bioconstruction Development of tailored technologies Adaptability to environmental heterogeneity and constraints Preservation of culture and ethnoscience Survival under conditions of economic uncertainty Improvement of local agroecosystems Localizing Decisions and economy Allows another language between humans and natureMaintenance of local and natural elements (soil, water, biodiversity) Lower dependence on external inputs Enhanced food self-sufficiency General Socio-Ecological Outcomes Agroecology and related practices Empowerment Sustainability 2015, 7 10912 In summary (Figure 3), PES must expand their horizons and be thought of beyond the ES approach and, consequently, beyond services provision. They must recognize a plurality of values around nature and biodiversity in regard to conservation. Then, PES must abandon the logic of market and buyer/provider schemes to be able to promote a holistic perspective (in which social equity, environmental justice, livelihood context and socio-ecological context must be embedded). Next, PES should avoid monetary payments and focus on (non-monetary) incentives. Thus, PES should work as a mechanism that creates opportunities to foster a practice transition, leading to self-sufficient and resilient socio-ecological outcomes. The main idea is that PES would favor a tipping point, or a transition point, thus creating a new state or improved socio-ecological condition that becomes self-sustainable instead of being only a mechanism for artificially maintaining a higher “ecosystem services” state while the incentive is present that will fall back to the previous state once the incentives are gone, as often happens. At this point, perhaps, we should leave the acronym PES and possibly call it by another name: Transition Practices Incentive (TPI), which ideally do not focus on the monetary perspective, but on a platform and a network of practices and knowledge that can support the general socio-ecological outcomes and provide conditions and opportunities for cosmovisions beyond the current economic paradigm. To be considered a suitable conservation instrument, PES should be capable of protecting biodiversity and, thus, making nature valuable, not profitable: valuable as a precious entity that deserves care-taking and as an entity for whom we ought to have moral consideration. 8. Conclusions We argued in this paper that PES are aligned with the neoliberalization of nature, which is built on the logic of economic development growth. Leaning on the ES approach, PES diminish the relationship between humans and nature, reducing it to a single exchange unity, and thus ignores the plurality of languages around this relation. PES are conceptualized as commodity fetishism and also reproduce the idea of natural capital to represent what once was perceived as nature. Whether PES are characterized as market or not, they discourage a more serious governance that is concerned with ethical and justice assumptions, for humans and the non-human world. Nature should not be perceived as capital nor ecosystem functioning as services; therefore, there should not even exist payments for ecosystem services. Based on these assumptions, PES should not be considered to be soluble to degrowth ideals. Some similarities have been raised between the two perspectives [26], but this is not sufficient to justify the application of PES, in their current configuration, under degrowth assumptions. Conceptually and ideologically, degrowth and PES are very distant, almost opposites, at least when accounting for traditional definitions of PES and the main sources and inspirations of degrowth. Nevertheless, PES have been proposed as a redistributive mechanism between social groups [139] and have been described as one of the “[...] best suited instruments to deliver equitable conservation outcomes at the heart of ecological economist’s concerns for nature, justice, and sustainability” [77] (p. 230). Additionally, PES proponents claim that implementation will stimulate society to rethink human relations with the natural environment and to be a tool for changing human patterns of consumption and production, and counteract the negative impacts of capitalism [26]. Degrowth is an emergent Sustainability 2015, 7 10913 movement that has very similar concerns; although it tends to argue against PES traditional ideologies and practices. It is important, however, to perceive that PES in practice, in their current configuration, in spite of some beneficial results, might not be the appropriate instrument to be applied to degrowth, nor to protect and conserve nature and biodiversity. On the other hand, PES might incentivize some practices, which in turn have socio-ecological outcomes that could be suited to degrowth. However, PES would have to leave behind some of their fundamental assumptions and go further. Thus, PES (i) must abandon the logic of service provision and move beyond the ES approach to (ii) recognize a plurality of values and languages around nature and biodiversity when addressing conservation while renouncing the unified monetary perspective that represents a single exchange-value. Then, PES (iii) should abandon their market ideals (the logic of payments and buyers/providers), (iv) to be able to promote a holistic perspective, recognizing that there is more to be considered (social equity; environmental justice; livelihood context; socio- ecological context and so on). Henceforth, PES (v) should avoid monetary payments. Once the logic of payments is abandoned, PES could be a mechanism of (non-monetary) incentives for creating opportunities to enable a practice transition that would finally achieve resilient socio-ecological outcomes that could be suitable to degrowth assumptions. However, there is not much in such a reconceptualization that resembles PES, which we could call Transition Practices Incentive. We are aware that such alternative requires a more careful design and in depth elaboration. How to implement such alternative perspective also needs to be advanced. Our analyses developed here are essentially conceptual and ideological. In fact, there are no well-known attempts that aimed to align both perspectives in practice; and thus there are no substantive research that shows that they could not be compatible in a practice manner. Nonetheless, there are many practices and knowledge that are built on the land and inspired by cosmovisions that foster a harmonious relationship with others and with nature. Future research could (re)explore conservation based on non-commodified values, and to “bring people back to nature”. The intention is not to completely deny the ES approach. There is no unconditional statement that ES cannot be acknowledged in a degrowth scenario. However, the concept of ES and the tools that are associated with it (as PES and markets for ES) should not be “taken for granted” and should be used with caution and awareness of its uncertainties and controversies [41] (p. 120). By employing this approach, it must be clear that the overall mission is to “[...] protect nature, not make it turn a profit” [128] (p. 28). It is important to better understand how this approach can be used, where it is or is not appropriate (or even unhelpful) [130], notwithstanding comprehending that an approach such as PES is not an inexorable pathway. Acknowledgments Rodrigo Muniz wishes to thank the “Brazilian National Counsel of Technological and Scientific Development” (CNPq—Conselho Nacional de Desenvolvimento Científico e Tecnológico) and the “Science Without Borders Programme” (Ciência sem Fronteiras,) for the financial support (PhD scholarship). The authors would also like to thank two anonymous reviewers for their comments and suggestions. Sustainability 2015, 7 10914 Author Contributions Rodrigo Muniz is responsible for designing, developing and writing the article. 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work_ifayt2ptazd75ov2hf4ogteshu ---- The Evolving Ethics of Dialysis in the United States: A Principlist Bioethics Approach Ethics Series The Evolving Ethics of Dialysis in the United States: A Principlist Bioethics Approach Catherine R. Butler,* Rajnish Mehrotra,† Mark R. Tonelli,‡ and Daniel Y. Lam§ Abstract Throughout the history of dialysis, four bioethical principles — beneficence, nonmaleficence, autonomy and justice — have been weighted differently based upon changing forces of technologic innovation, resource limitation, and societalvalues.Inthe 1960s,a committee of lay peopleinSeattle attempted tofairly distribute a limited number of maintenance hemodialysis stations guided by considerations of justice. As technology advanced and dialysis was funded under an amendment to the Social Security Act in 1972, focus shifted to providing dialysis for all in need while balancing the burdens of treatment and quality of life, supported by the concepts of beneficence and nonmaleficence. At the end of the last century, the importance of patient preferences and personal values became paramount in medical decisions, reflecting a focus on the principle of autonomy. More recently, greater recognition that health care financial resources are limited makes fair allocation more pressing, again highlighting the importance of distributive justice. The varying application and prioritization of these four principles to both policy and clinical decisions in the United States over the last 50 years makes the history of hemodialysis an instructive platform for understanding principlist bioethics. As medical technology evolves in a landscape of changing personal and societal values, a comprehensive understanding of an ethical framework for evaluating appropriate use of medical interventions enables the clinician to systematically negotiate and optimize difficult ethical situations. Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 11: 704–709, 2016. doi: 10.2215/CJN.04780515 Introduction Though hemodialysis was conceived in the 1940s, maintenance dialysis only became feasible in 1960 when the Quinton–Scribner shunt allowed repeated vascular access (1). However, the technology itself does not determine which patients are most appropri- ately treated, and the indications for dialysis initiation would be vigorously debated for decades to come. The early days of dialysis will long be tied to the controver- sial life and death decisions of the Admissions and Pol- icy Committee of the Seattle Artificial Kidney Center (2). Traditionally the protected realm of autonomous individual physicians, allocation of medical resources was for the first time in the hands of people without medical training, including philosophers, lawyers, and citizens, a transition that historian David Rothman and bioethics scholar Albert Jonsen said signaled the entrance of bioethics into medicine (3,4). The sociologist Judith Swazey noted, “Patient selection was certainly the most visible and therefore most discussed issue posed by the limited availability of chronic dialysis in the early 1960s, but it was by no means the only trou- bling matter that this procedure raised for medical tech- nologies. The Seattle group was struggling . . . with a number of issues that at once were medical, moral, social, and would become major foci of those who wan- dered in and became known as bioethicists.” (5) As Swazey alludes, appropriate use of dialysis was a har- binger for many bioethical challenges now regularly encountered during the development of new technolo- gies such as transplantation, extracorporeal membrane oxygenation, and artificial organs. Dilemmas related to ESRD feature prominently in Beauchamp and Chil- dress’ 1979 text describing principlism, one of the first and still a dominant model of biomedical ethical anal- ysis (6). Several alternative frameworks of ethical rea- soning have been developed since, including casuistry, narrative-based ethics and virtue-based ethics (7). As a seminal model of ethical analysis, principlism lays the foundation for other strategies. We will examine the history of dialysis through the lens of principlism, elu- cidating the four principles — beneficence, nonmalefi- cence, autonomy and justice — as each come into focus over this chronology (Figure 1). Justice and Scarce Resources: The “Life or Death Committee” The Seattle Admissions and Policy Committee When the Seattle Artificial Kidney Center (later renamed Northwest Kidney Centers) opened in 1961, there were an estimated 5–20 candidates for mainte- nance dialysis per million people annually (8). With an estimated cost of at least $12,000 per patient each year and only three available machines, treating even that number would overwhelm the center’s capacity (8). The physician Medical Advisory Committee re- duced the number of potential patients using medical suitability criteria including comorbidities (excluding those with long-standing hypertension, coronary artery disease, and vascular disease), ability to participate in care coordination, and age, as well as several nonmedical *Division of General Internal Medicine and §Division of Nephrology, Department of Medicine, Harborview Medical Center, University of Washington, Seattle, Washington; †Kidney Research Institute and Harborview Medical Center, Division of Nephrology, Department of Medicine, University of Washington, Seattle, Washington; and ‡Division of Pulmonary and Critical Care, Department of Medicine, University of Washington, Seattle, Washington Correspondence: Dr. Catherine R. Butler, Division of General Internal Medicine, Harborview Medical Center, 325 Ninth Avenue, Campus Box 359780, Seattle, WA, 98104. Email: cathb@ u.washington.edu www.cjasn.org Vol 11 April, 2016704 Copyright © 2016 by the American Society of Nephrology mailto:cathb@u.washington.edu mailto:cathb@u.washington.edu criteria (requiring residence in the Pacific Northwest and personal financial viability) (5). To choose among remaining medically appropriate candidates, the Admissions and Policy Committee was appointed, composed of seven citizens: a law- yer, clergyman, housewife, banker, labor leader, state official, and surgeon; chosen to represent broader societal values (8). The panel considered several methods of allocation, including random selection and “first-come, first-served,” before ultimately settling on social worth as the main criterion for selection. Social worth, in the committee’s assessment, derived from a combination of characteristics including age, sex, mar- ital status, number of dependents, income, net worth, emo- tional stability, education, occupation, and potential for future societal contributions. During meetings, the committee debated the relative merits of individuals in terms of these qualities, but without a systematic form of evaluation. An ar- ticle in Life Magazine by Shana Alexander brought this “Life or Death Committee” into the public awareness (2), where it re- ceived criticism for representing narrow, white middle class values (8). A scathing critique published in the UCLA Law Review noted, “the Pacific Northwest is no place for a Henry David Thoreau with bad kidneys.” (9) Justice and an Absolutely Limited Resource Faced with demand outstripping available dialysis ma- chines and funding, the Seattle Artificial Kidney Center was placed in the unenviable position of being unable to provide for every patient in need. In this context, the principle of justice took a primary role in defining appropriate use of dialysis. Justice relates to the fair treatment of persons or groups. More specifically, distributive justice describes how resources, such as physician time, technology, and medica- tions, are allocated to individuals and populations. The early experience of dialysis allocation raised several fundamental concerns regarding rationing of medical resources, or the withholding of a beneficial intervention from one individual or group while offering it to another. While it is tempting to simply claim that rationing dialysis or other medical resources is itself unethical, it becomes unavoidable when resources, such as a certain number of dialysis machines, cannot be subdivided and are consequently absolutely limited. If ra- tioning must occur, the salient questions focus on the criteria of distribution, including who should decide on these criteria. Although physicians traditionally serve as gatekeepers of medical resources, some are concerned that the act of rationing makes a doctor a “double agent” who compromises his duty as patient advocate when tasked with allocation of a limited resource (10). The Admissions and Policy Committee addressed this concern by taking some responsibility from the hands of physicians. Still, members of the Medical Advi- sory Committee played a large part in the initial selection process. It is not clear that physicians, who often have a unique perspective in understanding nuances of individual medical contexts, would or should totally abdicate this role (11). Criteria of distribution generally fall into two broad categories. Egalitarian criteria prioritize equal treatment (i.e., free-market, random distribution by lottery, first-come first-served) while utilitarian criteria attempt to maximize benefit (i.e., likelihood or duration of medical benefit, poten- tial or past contribution to society, merit) across a popula- tion. A precedent for using utilitarian criteria for medical decisions has been established in battlefield triage, during which prioritization is given to those most useful, for exam- ple, soldiers who would be able to return to battle (12). In the civilian context, the proper distribution criteria are less clear. In the early days of dialysis, both the physician and layperson dialysis selection panels based their allocation decisions on various utilitarian criteria, including medical suitability and social worth. Social worth criteria have been extensively criticized for what, in retrospect, are subjective and potentially unfair discriminatory distinctions. Unlike in war, when a common goal of survival or victory unites different people, civilian life is composed of individuals with different value systems working towards varying goals. This made the Seattle Artificial Kidney Center’s task of defining Figure 1. | Timeline of important events and publications related to the development of dialysis. Though there is significant overlap, the relative importance of each of the four principles varies over this course. ASN, American Society of Nephrology; IOM, Institute of Medicine; RPA, Renal Physicians Association. Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 11: 704–709, April, 2016 Dialysis and Principlism, Butler et al. 705 fair social worth criteria a difficult, if not an impossible one. Another limitation of the panel’s strategy was the lack of an explicitly stated and consistent declaration of criteria (8). The “closed door” meetings concealed the process of allocating dialysis, which might easily mask discrimination. This was especially problematic as the panel, ostensibly chosen to represent a wide scope of society, was criticized for embodying a dominant subset of it. Considerations of Beneficence and Nonmaleficence with Expansion of Dialysis The Social Security Act Amendment of 1972 As dialysis technology improved, the treatment shifted from an experimental therapy to standard of care. For those with ESRD, dialysis and transplantation are potentially life- saving and can alleviate the symptoms of advanced kidney disease. In 1972, after lobbying by health professionals, pa- tients, and families, the U.S. Congress passed Public Law 92–603, with section 299I entitling ESRD patients to receive Medicare benefits (13,14). This immediately reduced financial limitations on dialysis centers, and over the next few years, enrollment accelerated beyond anything anticipated by leg- islators. Not only did the number of patients starting dialysis exceed initial expectations, but patient demographics also changed dramatically. Earlier candidates were younger than 45 years old and screened for comorbidities. With fund- ing available through Medicare, a growing number of older patients with comorbidities began dialysis. This trend was concurrent with the rise of the antiageism movement and establishment of the National Institute on Aging, as well as the disabilities rights movement, culminating in the Ameri- cans with Disabilities Act (15,16). Within 5 years, utilization had grown to the point that Dr. Belding Scribner suggested the need for a “deselection committee” because the criteria for starting dialysis had become so liberal (8). During the 1990s and early 2000s, several studies suggested that there were limits to the utility of dialysis in the elderly and those with comorbidities, for whom potential harm might outweigh benefit (17–20). The Institute of Medicine (IOM) responded with a call for clinical practice guidelines to sug- gest treatment strategies for dialysis patients “with limited survival possibilities and relatively poor quality of life.” (21) In 1997 and 2003, the IOM published accounts of the Amer- ican experience of death, stressing the harms of focus on aggressive intervention in the last years of life, as well as encouraging further investigation into end-of-life issues (22,23). Other burdens on patients and their families were increasingly recognized, including time spent at dialysis fa- cilities, polypharmacy, cost, and risks of infection. Given the complexity of this balance as well as a subjective component of quality of life, metrics such as quality-adjusted life years (QALYs) were developed in an attempt to quantify value of treatment (24). Beneficence and Nonmaleficence: Balancing Benefit and Harm After the Social Security Act of 1972, with technical lim- itations diminished and financial pressures lightened, the need for explicit consideration of justice in appropriate dial- ysis initiation became less prominent. Medical teams moved quickly to provide treatment for thousands of patients expected to die without maintenance dialysis, only later recognizing the importance of associated risks and burdens. The principle of beneficence describes a health care prac- titioner’s obligation to actively improve the wellbeing of a patient. The concept of nonmaleficence describes the recip- rocal imperative to avoid harm. The undeniable benefit of survival offered by dialysis pro- vided a strong argument for beneficence in initiating treat- ment outweighing all other considerations, so allegiance to this principle initially dominated. In part because of a growing sense of a technologic imperative to provide all care techni- cally possible (25), dialysis became the medical default. It was thought to be “morally unjustifiable to deny dialysis to a pa- tient with ESRD.” (8) The mindset shifted as the medical community recognized that not all patients were as likely to experience a survival benefit. Though it has been decreas- ing, the annual unadjusted mortality of patients with ESRD continues to be 18% (26). An IOM report in 1991 questioned the value of dialysis in patients with limited functional status or life expectancy (27). Even among those who gain long- evity, the toll of treatment on quality of life sometimes out- weighed the benefit, highlighting a role for the concept of nonmaleficence. It is difficult to compare the relative value of outcomes such as longevity, cardiac events, and hospitalizations. Out- comes that are more subjective, although also potentially more important to patients, such as clarity of mind and energy, are even more difficult to quantify (28). QALYs and other related metrics attempt to put qualitatively different outcomes on a common scale. Although not without controversy, this anal- ysis offers a systematic comparison of benefit and burden rather than relying on an intuitive gestalt. A further challenge in applying these principles is the difficulty in defining the focus of benefit and harm. Medical knowledge and practice is increasingly based on randomized controlled trials utilizing disease-based outcomes such as cardiovascular events and decline in kidney function. The prized outcome, and one of the easiest to measure, is change in mortality. However, these targets may lead to a narrow perspective of beneficence, prioritizing longevity over other values such as comfort and independence which may be more important to individual patients (29). These complexities highlight the growing limitation of traditional concepts of beneficence and nonmaleficence as a basis for the decision to initiate dialysis. A more patient-centered approach focuses instead on the effect of treatment on an individual’s goals, values, and preferences in the context of their experience and symptoms (28,30). Technology in Service of Individual Values Shared Decision-Making for Complex Medical Choices Years after the Social Security Act amendment made dialysis universally available, there remains a cultural sense that it should also be universally applied. Well meaning physicians present dialysis as a necessary step in advanced renal failure, neglecting discussion of alternatives (30,31). However, individual patients value longevity and quality of life differently. One study of patients with advanced CKD found that the majority would not choose prolonged life if it entailed significant pain and discomfort (32). Despite these observations, most patients are not offered alternative 706 Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology treatment options (33). If there is discussion of alternative options, it is late in the disease course, with approximately 50% of patients presented treatment options less than a month before, or even after, initiation of dialysis (33). Despite known high mortality rates, most patients and physicians do not dis- cuss end-of-life care prior to initiation of dialysis, and the ma- jority of patients regret their decision to start (32). For those who choose to initiate dialysis, patient experience varies greatly by modality. Options beyond treatment at a center three times weekly, such as home peritoneal dialysis or short daily or long nocturnal hemodialysis, can now be offered to appropriate pa- tients (26). The future promises even more dramatic innovation (34). As these options differ greatly in their effect on daily life, the choice should be based largely on patient-specific values, which may include preservation of independence, amount of time spent on dialysis, need to travel, impact on family, and ability to continue important activities (35). In response to these concerns, a patient-centered approach to the treatment of ESRD is gaining traction (36). The process of shared decision-making guides clarification of what mat- ters most to patients and alignment of treatment to individ- ual preferences (37). In 1982, the President’s Commission for the Study of Ethical Problems in Medicine and Biomedical and Behavioral Research described shared decision-making as the ideal model for complex medical decisions (38,39). In 2000, and in a revision in 2010, the Renal Physicians Asso- ciation (RPA) established a clinical practice guideline for de- ciding to start or withdraw dialysis using this model (40). More recently, the American Society of Nephrology identi- fied shared decision-making for initiation of maintenance dialysis as a key recommendation for the American Board of Internal Medicine’s Choosing Wisely campaign to improve patient care and resource utilization (41). Important steps in shared decision-making include fully informing patients about diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment options and then forming decisions in the context of the patient’s prefer- ences and values. Respect for Autonomy Respect for autonomy reflects the idea that a well informed and autonomous person is in the best position to make de- cisions that support their own values and preferences. The typical burdens and benefits relevant to the majority of patients may or may not apply to a particular individual, whose decisions are dependent on their own life goals and self-image. Especially in the advanced kidney disease pop- ulation, coexisting disease and disability make medical de- cisions complex. Benefit of dialysis and particular modality depends heavily on patient values in addition to the clinical scenario. Shared decision-making is a model for individual- izing treatments by respecting autonomy. The role autonomy plays in a clinical scenario relates to how a health care team acts to uphold it, but also to whether a certain patient is capable of being autonomous. Beauchamp and Childress describe three requirements necessary for a person to have autonomy: intentionality, understanding of the situation and freedom from controlling influences (6). These criteria can be true to varying degrees, meaning a pa- tient’s autonomy is situation-dependent. The initiation of di- alysis brings a dramatic life change that is difficult to conceptualize in advance, limiting a patient’s ability to fully understand the decision. To the extent that they increase this understanding, discussion with physicians and interdisciplin- ary educational programs incorporating experienced patients, dialysis nurses, and other team members improves the ability to make informed decisions (42). A patient cannot exercise autonomy if they are not presented with the range of viable options, including medical management without dialysis and the variety of dialysis modalities. Intentionality, or the ability to recognize and act according to one’s own values, is also a key component of autonomy. Cognitive decline that may co- exist with ESRD causes capacity for autonomous choice to diminish. Autonomy can be preserved by discussion of op- tions earlier in the disease course. Advance care planning and discussion about preferences, as well as the designation of surrogate decision-makers can help promote autonomy. Given that surrogates bring their own values to a discussion, it is important to continue studying how they make decisions and strategies for encouraging substituted judgment (43). Pal- liative care is increasingly recognized as crucial in defining patient preference and identifying barriers to autonomous decision-making. Because this need is ubiquitous, all pro- viders should be proficient in primary palliative care; the basic skills all clinicians need to elicit patient values, prefer- ences, and goals and use shared decision-making to establish the appropriate treatment plan (44). Even as autonomy is emphasized, other principles are recognized. Both the President’s Commission and the RPA note that focus on patient preference does not require phy- sicians to offer dialysis if they feel that the risk outweighs the benefit, especially in cases of profound neurologic im- pairment (39,40,45). Renewed Concerns of Justice in the Context of Limited Fiscal Resources Economic Changes and ESRD Spending In the late 1960s, approximately 9000 ESRD patients were being treated with maintenance dialysis at any particular time. When the United States legislature passed the amendment to the Social Security Act in 1972 authorizing Medicare payments for ESRD treatment, annual cost per patient was estimated at $15,000–$20,000 (46). Underlying passage of the amendment was a belief that dialysis would provide rehabilitation for a small number of citizens at a relatively low cost (47). This utilitarian argument was upended by costs quickly exceeding expectations. In the first year of the program, 16,000 patients were enrolled at a cost of $229 million, rising to 90,000 patients and $1.9 billion only 10 years later (48). In 2010, 7.9% of all Medicare outlays went to ESRD patients, who composed only 1.3% of beneficiaries (26). The unanticipated cost is largely due to the expanded population of patients, including the elderly and those with comorbidities, who were previously excluded from treatment (46). These expenditures are taken in the context of Medicare’s current cost of $583 billion, represent- ing 3.5% of the gross domestic product, with a predicted in- crease to 6.9% by 2088 (49). The Affordable Care Act and new government-based insurance redirecting funds to cover millions of Americans will put new stresses on currently subsidized benefits like dialysis. Justice and a Relatively Limited Resource Change in the economic climate has led to scrutiny of health care spending, with an eye toward maximizing Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 11: 704–709, April, 2016 Dialysis and Principlism, Butler et al. 707 population health while still optimizing equitable distribu- tion. When considering the just allocation of limited Medi- care funds, the utility of dialysis for an individual is not merely compared with the utility to another patient with advanced kidney disease, but to payment for coronary stent placement, supporting cancer research, or instituting pre- ventive health programs. Some calculations using QALYs suggest that dialysis provides relatively little value as compared with other health care measures (24,50). From an egalitarian perspective, it is unclear why ESRD should be uniquely supported when we are unable or unwilling to do the same for other chronic diseases such as heart failure, lung disease, and cancer (50–52). Questions such as “On what basis should financial resources be allocated?” and “Who should decide on this foundation?” are ethically complex. The strategy of rationing medical resources has developed a negative connotation, and the Affordable Care Act explicitly rejects it (53). However, others suggest that we are already implicitly rationing by “cherry picking” patients who show up to clinic appointments or are adherent to med- ical regimens, neglecting those who may fail to do so for reasons such as limited finances, cognitive disability, or co- morbidity (54,55). As the early experience of the Seattle Ar- tificial Kidney Center demonstrates, if rationing must play a role in allocation of limited resources, criteria need to be transparent and explicit to avoid unintentional discrimina- tion. However, by denying that rationing must occur, we lose the impetus and opportunity to debate such criteria. Conclusion The history of development and dissemination of mainte- nance dialysis provides an example of how the four principles forming the basis of clinical ethics are variably emphasized as technology, resources, and societal values related to health care shift. No static hierarchy exists. Given this variability, one strategy to create more sustainable ethical solutions is to consider and address all four ethical principles as fully as possible. As an example, Medicare’s National Quality Strat- egy’s three aims of better care for the individual, better health for populations, and reduced healthcare costs (56), is a multi- pronged goal that can only be reached by addressing multi- ple, and sometimes conflicting, values. As medical technology evolves in a landscape of changing personal and societal ideals, clinicians and policymakers should be familiar with an ethical framework for evaluating appropriate initiation and allocation of medical interventions. Disclosures D.Y.L. receives some salary support from the Northwest Kidney Centers as their Palliative Care Medical Advisor. References 1. Blagg C: Belding Scribner interviewed. Nephrology 4: 295–297, 1998 2. Alexander S: They decide who lives, who dies: Medical miracle puts a moral burden on a small committee. Life. 1962, pp 102–104, 106, 108, 110, 115, 117, 118, 123, 124, 127 3. 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work_ig37qdpt25bifejd3kua3byh4u ---- religions Article John Muir and the Botanical Oversoul Russell C. Powell Princeton Theological Seminary, P.O. Box 821, 64 Mercer Street, Princeton, NJ 08542-0803, USA; russell.powell@ptsem.edu Received: 10 December 2018; Accepted: 28 January 2019; Published: 1 February 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: The relation of influence between Ralph Waldo Emerson and John Muir helps to illuminate Muir’s characteristic brand of nature religion, namely his mysticism. This relation is especially clear, I argue, in both Emerson and Muir’s writing on their mystical affinities for plant life. Applying Harold Bloom’s renowned theory of literary influence, I draw lessons from Emerson and Muir’s mystical writings to highlight the ways in which Muir acquired from Emerson the plant-related vocabularies and practices that came to mediate his nature-inspired mysticism and also how Muir can be said to have surpassed Emerson’s own mystical example, thus opening new vistas of consciousness in human–plant relations in the nineteenth-century American religious experience. Keywords: John Muir; Ralph Waldo Emerson; plants; mysticism; Harold Bloom; literary influence; nature writing Human–plant relations have played a crucial role in the historical development of Americans’ religious consciousness. I propose to examine this role for the light it sheds on an exemplar in this history, John Muir, and specifically for the ways in which Muir’s innovative perspective on human-plant relations helped chart the course for a new evolution in American nature religion. Muir, I will argue, improved upon the mystical precedent first established in the mid–nineteenth century by Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose Nature first illuminated the mystical potential inhering in humans’ awareness of and connection to the plant world. However, whereas Emerson’s mystical vision waned as he aged, Muir’s only strengthened due to the unparalleled affinity he possessed for the plant kingdom. To read Muir ’s mystical writings on plants is thus to see Emerson both reflected and outpaced in Muir ’s sensate metaphysical insights into the thoroughgoing psychosomatic interconnectedness humans and plants all share. Much scholarly attention has been given to John Muir’s intellectual connection to Ralph Waldo Emerson. Most interpreters take two particular approaches to comparing their lives and work. On the one hand, scholars examine Muir and Emerson’s connection within the frame of intellectual history, linking them as key figures in the development of Anglo-American environmental literature.1 On the other, scholars elucidate Muir ’s merits apart from Emerson’s influence.2 The former interpretations are typically attempts at excavating the origins and historical permutations of the American nature writing canon. Emerson and Muir are exemplars in a lineage that runs roughly from Jonathan Edwards to Bill McKibben. The latter conversely seek to show how Muir came to stand upon his own two feet, casting off his debt to Emerson to devise his own sui generis intellectual contributions. Hence if Muir is not an 1 A representative list of studies aligned with this first approach to the Muir-Emerson connection includes (Fleming 1972, pp. 7–91; Simonson 1978, pp. 227–41; Nash 1982; Albanese 1990; Callicott 1990, pp. 15–20; McKusick 2000; Gatta 2004; Eber 2005 and Purdy 2015). 2 For studies aligned with this second approach, see, e.g., (Fox 1981; Devall 1982, pp. 63–86; Cohen 1984; Branch 1997, pp. 127–49; Holmes 1998, pp. 1–25 and Holmes 1999). Religions 2019, 10, 92; doi:10.3390/rel10020092 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel10020092 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/2077-1444/10/2/92?type=check_update&version=2 Religions 2019, 10, 92 2 of 13 inheritor of Emersonian debts, he is a detractor. Rare are careful considerations of Emerson’s specific influence upon Muir’s thinking, so invested are interpreters in the aforementioned either-or biases. Here, I argue we need not be forced to choose between these two options—which is to say, we need not follow Muir’s past interpreters too closely in the concept of literary influence they employ. By treating the tension between artistic originality and an awareness of preceding traditions—a tension inherent to modern literature—as a zero-sum game, scholars inevitably limit their potential interpretive strategies. This will not do for interpreting Muir, and it especially will not do for interpreting Muir in light of what I take to be his robust Emersonianism. Even though Muir succeeded in distinguishing himself from Emerson, that distinction, in true Emersonian fashion, paradoxically serves to reflect Emerson’s influence all the more. Nowhere is this more evident than in Muir’s overtly mystical writings, which are coincidentally the least understood parts of his literary corpus. Muir has long been hailed a spiritual luminary, a fact supported by his recent inclusion in the Orbis Modern Spiritual Masters Series (Muir 2013), which places him in the company of Simone Weil, Mahatma Gandhi, and Thich Nhat Hanh, among many others. For all the acclaim Muir’s mysticism has received, though, questions still abound regarding his characteristic brand of nature religion. Was Muir’s mysticism a product of his influences (especially that of Emerson)? Or were his mystical experiences unique, completely lacking in spiritual antecedents? To these questions, no clear scholarly consensus has emerged. Scholars are divided, in fact, in their affirmation of one inquiry over the other. Catherine Albanese and Stephen Fox are prime examples of the split. Albanese, for her part, claims the religious continuities between Muir and Emerson are unmistakable. Emerson “provided a powerful language,” she says, by which Muir articulated his own mystical experiences (Albanese 1990, p. 103). Fox strongly disagrees, arguing, “No written authority ever influenced [Muir] as much as his own private speculations in the wilderness.” Muir was no mere disciple of Emersonian religious experience, Fox concludes: “Emerson . . . only corroborated ideas that Muir had already worked out independently” (Fox 1981, p. 82). Scholars’ outmoded ideas of literary influence are at least partly to blame for this impasse. The categories operative in their analyses—originality versus an outgrowth of tradition; uniqueness versus a reproduction, however novel, of pre-established forms, styles, and concepts—have long been antiquated. This side of Harold Bloom’s The Anxiety of Influence, few give credence to such categorical binaries.3 Bloom argues that all literary innovation emerges from the complex dynamics of psychological agon. To escape a precursor’s shadow, talented writers carve out a space for their autonomous creativity by swerving from the precursor toward their own strength of originality. Yet all the while the writer simultaneously remains intimately acquainted with the precursor’s genius—it is difficult to cut new paths, after all, without a careful knowledge of the paths one’s precursors have already blazed. Thus literary innovation comes about as much from prevailing literary tradition as from the singular writer’s very desire to be original, Bloom says. Emerson’s efforts to dissuade writers from merely imitating their precursors to finally, as he puts it, “abide by [their own] spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility” (Bloom 1983, p. 259)—to realize their own literary genius, in other words—makes him an exemplar of the interpretive method Bloom commends. My argument is that the closer we look at the relation of influence between Muir and Emerson, the sharper Muir’s mysticism comes into focus. Muir can be shown to have taken up the aims and objectives of Emerson’s mysticism put forth most clearly in Emerson’s earliest publication, Nature (1836). Chief among those aims was the task of reconciling the gulf between material and spiritual reality. Interestingly, both Emerson and Muir examine this gulf (as well as the potential for its reconciliation) specifically in terms of humans’ relationship to plant life. A better understanding of 3 While Bloom focuses his analysis upon modern poetry, especially the British Romantics and their American progeny, his approach is applicable to an analysis of modern prose writing, too. Emerson figures prominently in Bloom’s other writings on modern literary influence, including A Map of Misreading (Bloom 1975) and Agon: Towards a Theory of Revisionism (Bloom 1983), both of which expand upon the approach first developed in The Anxiety of Influence. Religions 2019, 10, 92 3 of 13 Muir’s mystically-inflected concept of human-plant relations, then, not only helps define the nature of Emerson’s influence on him, but also goes some distance in demonstrating how Muir can be said to have excelled Emerson’s own mystical example. * A close look at Emerson’s Nature helps to delineate the concepts, vocabularies, and practices which eventually came to mediate Muir’s mystical experience. At bottom, Nature is a full-throated response to the problem of skepticism, or the question of whether any “congruity” (Emerson 1983, p. 43), to use Emerson’s word, subsists between mind and world. The skeptic claims that, try as we might, any mental contact we share with the external, physical world is bound to be incomplete. No thought can bridge the mind-world gap—unity will always evade us. With Nature, Emerson hazards a strategy for dealing with the skeptic’s dilemma, effectively reimagining the terms of the debate. The success of Nature hinges on the philosophical merits of esoteric vision, a theme Emerson foregrounds in the book’s first chapter. There, he introduces a metaphor for perception as peculiar as it is profound: Standing on the bare ground, —my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space, —all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God. The name of the nearest friend sounds then foreign and accidental: to be brothers, to be acquaintances, —master or servant, is then a trifle and a disturbance. I am the lover of uncontained and immortal beauty. (ibid., p. 10) This reads more like a mystic’s recounting than a philosophical treatise. What makes the “transparent eye-ball” passage so philosophically crucial is the way it signals Emerson’s renunciation of the traditional quest for epistemic certainty that skepticism encourages. Instead, he calls his readers to a renewed awareness, one in which we are “sensible of a certain recognition and sympathy” we share with the world (ibid., p. 43).4 Vision is central to this enterprise; through it, nature is rendered into a universal whole. We no more need to mentally grasp than become, through our eyes, the world that eludes us. Doing this, Emerson says, “all thought of multitude is lost in a tranquil sense of unity”—we realize the wholeness inherent to our simple being in the world. This all becomes clear in the attention Emerson gives to the affinity he attests to having felt for various flora during the mystical episode he catalogs in Nature. Emerson describes a robust sense of connectedness to plant life so as to express the strength of his experience of mind-world unity: The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to 4 When it comes to the role that observation-based intuitions played in Muir ’s thinking, a direct line of influence can be drawn back to Emerson and the Romantic tradition that first inspired him. Emerson distinguishes between direct, experiential knowledge and rational or speculative knowledge as the difference between intuition and tuition. Emerson did not deny that there was value in knowledge gained secondhand, but he believed a higher, more perfect knowledge was available to those who would seek it out for themselves. “[T]he doors of the temple,” Emerson writes, “stand open, night and day, before every man” (Emerson 1983, p. 79). The distinction between intuition and tuition has its roots in the Romantic tradition, and specifically in Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s misinterpretation of Kant. By “pure reason” (Vernunft), Kant meant one’s a priori understanding of certain fundamental aspects of reality. Included in these are concepts like time, space, and causality. Our understanding (Verstand) of the world, which is gained through experience, is what we build on these a priori concepts; without them our comprehension of reality would simply not cohere. Coleridge’s error was to translate “pure reason” into a synonym for intuition, by which Coleridge took Kant to mean a sense of cognitive immediacy which furnishes the knower with insights into things-in-themselves, or the very nature of ultimate reality. See, e.g., (Coleridge 1872, pp. 161–83 and Coleridge 1975, pp. 91–126). Emerson did little to camouflage his dependence on Romantic epistemology, especially early in his career. In places like Nature, he wrote, “The understanding adds, divides, combines, measures, and finds nutriment and room for its activity. . . . Meanwhile, Reason transfers all these lessons into its own world of thought, by perceiving the analogy that marry Matter and Mind” (Emerson 1983, p. 26). Like both Coleridge and Wordsworth, who discerned in their intuitions a divine power which endows individuals with the means to, as Wordsworth put it, “converse with the spiritual world,” Emerson identified in his own intuitive sense the ability to perceive God’s very being in worldly phenomena. Religions 2019, 10, 92 4 of 13 me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right. (Emerson 1983, p. 11) Beyond mere psycho-physiological correspondence, what Emerson indicates in Nature is that he and the plants that become the object of his gaze are of one accord. Emerson delights in his experience of oneness with the beings subsisting beyond the province of his own mind. Acknowledging plants’ interests and agency, Emerson’s sympathy for plant life is reciprocated in a mutual, rapturous exchange. If Emerson’s goal in the first chapter of Nature is to give insight into his personal vision, his goal for the remainder of the book is to impart a semblance of that vision to his readers. The intellect may regularly “put an interval between subject and object” (Emerson 1969, p. 466), but the aim of every individual should be to overcome the myriad cognitive obstacles to mind-world unity. We do so not just by learning to see nature, but by reading it. The world is “emblematic,” says Emerson, comprised of manifold signs and symbols (Emerson 1983, p. 24).5 The deeper we begin to see and read nature, including each of its constituent parts, the closer we come to accessing its truths. The logical structure of Emerson’s argument follows a similar pattern as this, beginning with an examination of the physical world’s common uses before moving on to explore its more explicitly philosophical potential. Initial chapters like “Commodity,” wherein Emerson considers the uses of nature as raw material, give way to chapters focusing upon “Beauty,” “Idealism,” and finally, “Spirit.” As we learn to see as Emerson would have us, a symmetry between mind and world emerges. No longer a collection of objects, the world, to mind’s all-seeing eye, becomes a communion of subjects, entwined together in the same patterns of life and subsistence.6 This accounts for the reciprocity entailed in Emerson’s mystic interactions with local botanical life in Nature—a sense of fellow feeling develops from the recognition of one’s interconnectedness with other beings. Herein lies “the most basic theme of Nature as a whole,” writes Lawrence Buell: “physical nature’s potential to energize the powers of the human mind once we awaken fully to their inherent interdependence” (Buell 2003, p. 112). When we wake to mind’s intrinsic intimacy with world, the charms of an “occult relation” between human and non-human, “man and the vegetable,” become clear and tangible. It follows from this that, the more we learn to really see nature, the less alien it becomes. We begin to see our own selves reflected in the object of our gaze: “In the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature” (Emerson 1983, p. 10). This is not philosophical narcissism, wherein human being is mirrored back in all the forms of life it beholds, but rather a philosophy of reciprocal reflection. Humans, in a sense, are their vegetable neighbors by virtue of the interdependent relationality all being shares. Isolated from their philosophical context, many of the ideas contained in Nature might seem nonsensical, even fatuous. Numerous critics have reasonably conceived of a lunatic Emerson traipsing through a Massachusetts common imagining himself a life-sized eyeball, nodding inanely at moss and dirt.7 The substance of Nature’s admittedly peculiar images, however, are the very basis of its philosophical aims. Moments of visionary transformation establish the connection between outward phenomena and the inner, mental realm of self-consciousness. As such, they seek to resolve the intractable dualism bequeathed upon Western philosophy by Descartes and carried through in Kantian idealism. No longer discrete and unrelated domains, mind and world are married in Emerson’s 5 Emerson draws upon the tradition of theological typology all throughout Nature, going so far as to say, “Every natural fact is a symbol of some spiritual fact. Every appearance in nature corresponds to some state of the mind” (Emerson 1983, p. 20). For an in-depth study of Emerson’s use of typology in Nature, see (Labriola 2002, pp. 124–33). 6 The language of moving from a “collection of objects” toward a “communion of subjects” is Thomas Berry’s. See (Berry 2006, pp. 17–18). 7 This was the basis of much of the critique leveled at Emerson in the years immediately after Nature’s publication, during which the now-famous cartoon drawn by Christopher Cranch of Emerson as a spindly eyeball ambling across the New England countryside was published. Religions 2019, 10, 92 5 of 13 totalizing vision. Nature not only sacralizes the physical, vegetable world, but also insists upon a philosophically substantial concept of the cosmos and humans’ relationship with it, an idea later supported by the rise of modern evolutionary biology. Still, Emerson ultimately saw Nature as a failure—not necessarily on its philosophical merits, but because, much to Emerson’s chagrin, he himself could not maintain the very vision he endorsed. This is evident from Emerson’s journal, where he logged his frustrations mere weeks after Nature’s publication. In ways that recall the “transparent eye-ball” passage, Emerson attests there to the clarity of his connection to the physical world, especially the plant world. But Emerson’s journal also reveals a level of uncertainty that is lacking in Nature’s pages: I behold with awe & delight many illustrations of the One Universal Mind. I see my being imbedded in it. As a plant in the earth so I grow in God. I am only a form of him. He is the soul of Me. I can even with a mountainous aspiring say, I am God, by transferring my Me out of the flimsy & unclean precincts of my body, my fortunes, my private will, & meekly retiring upon the holy austerities of the Just & the Loving—upon the secret fountains of Nature. That thin & difficult ether, I also can breathe. . . . Yet why not always so? How came the Individual thus armed & impassioned to parricide, thus murderously inclined ever to traverse & kill the divine life? Ah wicked Manichee! Into that dim problem I cannot enter. A believer in Unity, a seer of Unity, I yet behold two. (Emerson 1965, pp. 336–37) In July of 1836, weeks before Nature went to print, Emerson wrote to his brother William with a similar complaint: “the book of Nature still lies on the table,” he says, “there is, as always, one crack in it, not easy to be soldered or welded” (Emerson 1939, p. 32). In spite of his flights of perceptual fancy, mind and world remained unreconciled to Emerson’s eye. No conventional belief, idea, or vision could sustain for him what he knew to be true during moments of mystical ecstasy (cf. Harvey 2013, Chp. 7). The crack between self and world, mind and matter, did more than convince Emerson of Nature’s ontological shortcomings. It rendered him distinct from the landscape, alienated from materiality and thus from the reality of his own physical existence. “I cannot tell why I should feel myself such a stranger in nature” (Emerson 1965, p. 74), Emerson confessed in his journal in 1838, more grieving the impermanence of his bond with the world than acknowledging a state of confusion. Emerson’s later writing on plant life proclaims his sense of alienation from the world. In “Nature,” published in Essays: Second Series (1844), Emerson betrays a sense of his estranged relations with the nonhuman biome that was noticeably absent in 1837’s Nature. “Plants are the young of the world, vessels of health and vigor,” Emerson writes, “but they grope ever upward towards consciousness; the trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment, rooted in the ground” (Emerson 1983, p. 547). In “Nature,” gone is the seamless correspondence between mind and world that Emerson posited earlier in his career. No longer do the grass and trees bow to Emerson, nor he to them. In place of an “occult relation” abiding between Emerson and the plant world, Emerson rather acknowledges a hierarchy—humans reign supreme while plants “grope ever upward,” conceding both their diminutive status on the register of value as well as humanity’s planetary ascendance. Despite all this, Emerson’s career-long engagement with the question of humanity’s relationship to nature was enormously influential. No American before him had taken up this question with such philosophical intensity, the effect of which was to authorize and energize the natural world as a live topic in nineteenth-century American literature and beyond. Emerson inspired his readers to see nature anew. One such reader was John Muir. * It is difficult to say precisely when Muir came under Emerson’s influence. During his days as a student at the fledgling University of Wisconsin, Muir was surrounded by such New Englanders as James Davie Butler and Ezra Carr, two of his professors, as well as the latter’s wife, Jeanne. All were Emerson devotees. Judging from this, Linnie Marsh Wolfe asserts Muir “was led” to read Emerson’s Religions 2019, 10, 92 6 of 13 essays as early as 1862 (Wolfe 1945, pp. 79–80). Yet there is no way to tell exactly what of Emerson’s Muir encountered at Madison, no less how much. As Stephen Holmes writes, “Although it is often presumed that Butler and the Carrs introduced Muir to the writings of Emerson, there is no evidence that they did so, and in fact he seems not to have read [Emerson] until the early 1870s” (Holmes 1998, p. 7). It was April of 1871, when Emerson mailed Muir two leather-bound volumes of his essays, that Muir began to read Emerson in earnest. We know this from the heavy pencil markings and indexing both volumes received.8 So, too, does evidence from Muir’s journal bear this out, where his writing from around the same time is clearly reliant upon patented Emersonian ideas. In September of 1871, for instance, Muir wrote, The life of a mountaineer seems to be particularly favorable to the development of soul-life, as well as limb-life, each receiving abundance of exercise and abundance of food. . . . My legs sometimes transport me to camp, in the darkness, over cliffs and through bogs and forests that seem inaccessible to civilized legs in the daylight. In like manner the soul sets forth at times upon rambles of its own. Our bodies, though meanwhile out of sight and forgotten, blend into the rest of nature, blind to the boundaries of individuals. (Muir 1979, p. 78) The blending Muir describes here mirrors the sensate metaphysics Emerson styled in such places as Nature. Just as “all mean egotism” vanished for Emerson as he crossed a bare New England common, Muir likewise becomes “blind to the boundaries of individuals,” losing all particularity in his own moment of mystic kenosis. “In Nature,” John Gatta writes, “[Emerson] discovers the world’s transparency as well as his own, and thereby dissolves the cognitive distance between personal subjectivity and material objectivity” (Gatta 2004, p. 89). For Muir the result was the same. Muir’s mystic episodes bear marks of his inclination to seek communion with the world’s cosmic life force, or what Emerson called the “Over-soul,” that which “every man’s particular being is contained and made one with all other” (Emerson 1983, p. 386). Muir’s addition to this feature of Transcendentalist philosophy was to explicate its distinctive ecological proportions while describing the American West. Writing about an experience hiking through Yellowstone, for instance, Muir remarks on the ecology of the place, how the rhythms pulsing through the mountains and geysers, springs and tree groves dissolve the seeming chaos of difference into a grand and symphonic harmony. This, Muir says, is the “ordinary work of the world” (Muir 1997, p. 749), the oversoul writ large. Muir’s idea that all beings play constitutive roles in the various ecosystems in which they participate is also demonstrated by the “people” language he used to describe various flora and fauna. It was not unusual for Muir to refer to flowers as “plant people” (see, e.g., Muir 1997, p. 231; Muir 1979, p. 354) so as to indicate the basic integrity of even those life forms too many contemporary observers might be tempted to consider nonessential to the biome. Despite the similarities in Muir and Emerson’s writings on mystical experience and plants’ role in impelling it, Muir also could be said to have disputed Emerson as much as he drew water from his well. More often than not, Muir’s scribbles in his personal copies of Emerson’s works register a spirit of dissent. Consider a sample of his marginalia, some of which deal directly with passages that evince Emerson’s later estrangement from the plant world, as follows: Emerson: Not in nature but in man is all the beauty and worth he sees. The world is very empty, and is indebted to this gilding, exalting soul for all its pride. . . . There are as good earth and water in a thousand places, yet how unaffecting! Muir: They are not unaffecting 8 Muir’s personal copy of The Prose Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, vol. 1 (1870) is housed at Yale University’s Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library. I consulted this volume at the Beinecke Library on April 18, 2016. Religions 2019, 10, 92 7 of 13 Emerson: But the soul that ascends to worship the great God is plain and true; has no rose-color, no fine friends, no chivalry, no adventures; does not want admiration; dwells in the hour that now is, in the earnest experience of the common day . . . Muir: Why not? God’s sky has rose color and so has his flower Emerson: Flowers so strictly belong to youth, that we adult men soon come to feel, that their beautiful generations concern not us . . . Muir: No! Emerson: There is in woods and waters a certain enticement and flattery, together with a failure to yield a present satisfaction. This disappointment is felt in every landscape. Muir: No—always we find more than we expect As noted above, scholars typically count Muir as either a dyed-in-the-wool Emersonian or otherwise an original to the core—a “belated Transcendentalist,” as James McKusick calls him (McKusick 2000, p. 173), or a fiercely independent thinker who believed Emerson’s philosophy to be, in Bill Devall’s words, a “dead end street” (Devall 1982, p. 68). Neither of these sides is correct in its assessments, but neither are they entirely wrong. This is the assumption of Harold Bloom, whose concept of literary influence lights a way past the scholarly standstill in Muir scholarship. Bloom’s focus is Western poetry since Milton, though Emerson, known more for his prose, plays a prominent role in Bloom’s analysis all the same. The substance of Bloom’s argument is that all great poetry (and by extension, literature) emerges from the struggle between writers and their precursors. Precursors, Bloom says, are an obstacle to their inheritors’ own creative expression. Having legislated the world as they have, precursor poets effectively clap their successors into a prison of self-consciousness, forcing those who inherit their work to forever wonder, Are my thoughts and voice my own? Does the fruit of my labor grow from another’s tree? This, Bloom says, is the anxiety of influence, a “mode of melancholy” every poet necessarily feels (Bloom 1997, p. 25). Literary influence concerns literary freedom. Enslaved by the impulse toward constant comparison, the belated poet feels his autonomy compromised. The precursor threatens to drown his voice and vision. And while “every good reader desires to drown” in the strength of visionary literature, Bloom says, “if the poet drowns, he will become only a reader” (ibid., p. 57; original emphasis). Thus rather than imitate the precursor and remain enslaved, poets of renown—“strong” poets, Bloom calls them—instead “swerve” toward their own strength of originality (ibid., p. 14), opting for freedom by achieving an expression of their unique will to power.9 Put differently, poets do not read their influences, but misread them. They open creative spaces for the revision of, and differentiation from, poetic precursors; so much so, in fact, that “the true history of modern poetry would be the accurate recording of . . . revisionary swerves,” according to Bloom. This misreading is the most basic indication of agon between writers. “Without Tennyson’s reading of Keats,” Bloom’s logic goes, “we would have almost no Tennyson” (ibid., p. 44). A similar dynamic can be interpreted of Emerson and Muir. I am far from the first to note the apparent agonism in Muir and Emerson’s relationship. Most point it up not in Muir’s writing but in the actual friendship the two men shared. Emerson’s choice to decline Muir’s invitation to camp outdoors during the elder’s sole trip to Yosemite dimmed Muir’s thoughts of him considerably, or so some have argued. According to Michael Branch, Muir’s disappointment at Emerson’s decision to sleep indoors and not under Yosemite’s sequoias may have spurred Muir to “protect his own developing identity as a wilderness philosopher by maintaining and perhaps exaggerating a distinction between himself and the man who, by the 1870s, had become 9 Bloom takes the word for “swerve,” or clinamen, from Lucretius, who used it in reference to changes that occur on a molecular level, specifically atoms that move and swerve to make change possible in the universe. “A poet swerves away from his precursor,” Bloom writes, “by so reading his precursor’s poem as to execute a clinamen in relation to it” (ibid.; original emphasis). Religions 2019, 10, 92 8 of 13 American culture’s literary voice of nature” (Branch 1997, pp. 132–33). Michael Cohen goes further than Branch, claiming that, after their fateful Yosemite meeting, Muir realized he needed a clean break altogether from Emerson’s influence. So while Emerson could be said to have “provided a ladder” to Muir’s mature voice, after Emerson’s trip out West Muir essentially “kicked the ladder away” (Cohen 1984, p. 52). There is something of Bloom’s thinking in accounts like these. If we are to believe that every literary talent unfolds through rivalry and creative rebellion, as Bloom argues, then Branch and Cohen ostensibly demonstrate the integrity of Muir’s thought. But Branch and Cohen err in claiming Muir casted off Emerson’s influence once and for all. For one, these accounts make the mistake of assuming literary influence is a skin to be shed. While belated writers may swerve from their precursors, it does not follow that, in so doing, the belated does not remain proximal to the original source of his inspiration. It is in this way that neither of the two opposing factions of Muir scholars can be said to be entirely right or wrong in their judgment of Emerson’s influence. Muir no more dispensed with Emerson than any other writer dispenses with their influential predecessors. And yet, like all talented writers, Muir swerved. * Additional evidence of Muir’s swerving is strewn throughout other of his writings. In a July 1890 journal entry, Muir wrote, It has been said that trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment rooted in the ground. But they never seem so to me. I never saw a discontented tree. They grip the ground as though they liked it, and though fast rooted they travel about as far as we do. (Muir 1979, p. 313) This passage is not so different from others in Muir’s journal. He was inclined toward rhapsodizing about nature, especially trees, and did so often. What makes this passage noteworthy is its tacit reference to Emerson’s “Nature,” the above-mentioned piece from Essays: Second Series. Recall Emerson’s original remarks from that essay: “the trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment, rooted in the ground” (Emerson 1983, p. 547).10 Citing Emerson some twenty years after he first read “Nature,” Muir clearly took umbrage at his precursor ’s claim. Most noteworthy about the above passage, however, is the way swerves like this and others in Muir’s writing confirm his participation in the larger Emersonian literary tradition. It was indeed Emerson’s intention not for others to duplicate his individual efforts. Rather, he hoped his voice would inspire his readers to find their own. So while Muir’s swerve away from Emerson distinguished Muir from his greatest influence, it nevertheless also corroborated what I take to be the substance of his Emersonianism. Provocation and awakening are crucial themes for what I am calling Emersonianism. Emerson sought to provoke with his essays and lectures the desire to think one’s own thoughts, to believe one’s convictions to be true. Some of Emerson’s most memorable lines concern the task to throw off one’s conformist slumber to become whomever one truly is, a task he saw as being akin to waking up to greet the day. In his address to Harvard Divinity School’s 1838 graduating class, for example, Emerson famously admonished his listeners, saying, “The imitator dooms himself to hopeless mediocrity . . . he bereaves himself of his own beauty, to come short of another man’s” (Emerson 1983, p. 89). Less than two years before, in Nature, Emerson reproached his age for being too “retrospective,” beholding the world through the eyes of “foregoing generations” (ibid., p. 7). And in “Self-Reliance,” Emerson’s most famous essay, he asserts, “Imitation is suicide . . . Trust thyself” (ibid., pp. 259–60). Such proclamations are warnings against intellectual idleness, a dormancy of the mind. We are too often given to depending upon others’ thinking than we are inclined to trust in our own. Emerson included himself in this, 10 Muir scrawled “No!” in the margin adjacent to this line in his personal copy of Emerson’s book. Religions 2019, 10, 92 9 of 13 too. His readers, he thought, should no more ground their thoughts in his ideas than anyone else’s. Hence one becomes Emersonian by virtue of abandoning Emerson—no longer relying upon he who first made you aware of your many reliances. It was for this reason that Walt Whitman judged the chief value of Emerson’s intellectual contributions to be the desire he instilled to distinguish oneself from one’s precursors, not merely to imitate them.11 The same judgment compelled Bloom to consider Emerson a model of modern literature (Bloom 1997, p. 50). The tradition of striving to improve upon inherited forms, so linked with Emerson in modern American literature—a tradition in which Muir participated, as I am claiming—goes further back than Emerson in historical precedent, further than even Milton (as Bloom asserts). The fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Dutch Renaissance humanist Erasmus of Rotterdam distinguished between following a literary exemplar, imitating it, and emulating it.12 Emerson, in his own writing on literary influence, has something similar to Erasmus’s thinking in mind. According to Erasmus, we should strive to emulate rather than follow, to “desire more truly to rival than to be alike” (Erasmus of Rotterdam 1908, p. 87). Erasmus makes these claims in a work on rhetoric, Ciceronianus, which focuses on the rhetorical excellence of Cicero. Orators should imitate Cicero, Erasmus argues, for there is no better rhetorical example. Yet none should imitate Cicero indifferently, he says. Doing so, one runs the risk of mindlessly repeating Cicero’s own vices. It is instead better to emulate Cicero, by which Erasmus means not merely copying, but excelling Cicero’s example. Emerson strikes the same tone in his calls for individual exemplarity in works like “Self-Reliance.” Imitation, he contends, is a kind of double bind: it considers conformity to one’s models a virtue (and, as Erasmus adds, affirms the model’s vices) while also silencing the unique thought and voice the model’s work originally roused. This is why both Whitman and Bloom believe the most Emersonian individuals are in fact the least like Emerson; or as Erasmus says, “he is most a Ciceronian who is most unlike Cicero” (ibid., p. 78). Slavish imitation “scatters your force,” says Emerson. “Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world” (Emerson 1983, pp. 261, 263). If I am right that Muir inherited and assumed the rhetorical tradition in which Emerson and Erasmus were exemplars, then we need not locate the specific points where Muir may have swerved from Emerson to determine the quality of Muir’s own voice. We rather need examine more closely Muir’s particular emulations of Emerson so to apprehend the ways Muir sought to improve upon and exceed the very forms he originally found in his most crucial precursor. As Erasmus says, “If you put before you Cicero, entire and alone, with the view not only of copying him but of excelling him, you must not merely overtake him but you must outstrip him” (Erasmus of Rotterdam 1908, p. 58). How might Muir, in his emulation, have overtaken and outstripped Emerson? Time and again Muir hems close to Emerson in his accounts of mystical experience. Of an adventure climbing an ice crevasse in the Alaskan wilderness during a thunderstorm, Muir writes, the most trying part of the adventure, after working my way across inch by inch and chipping another small platform, was to rise from the safe position astride and cut a step-ladder in the nearly vertical face of the wall, —chipping, climbing, holding on with feet and fingers in mere notches. At such times, one’s whole body is eye, and common skill and fortitude are replaced by power beyond our call or knowledge. (Muir 1997, p. 566) Not all of Muir’s mystical accounts are so dramatic. Other moments of mystic oneness are wrought by experiences of nature’s lavishness, like an occasion Muir relaxed in the glacier meadows of Tuolumne Soda Springs: 11 Whitman writes, “The best part of Emersonianism is, it breeds the giant that destroys itself. Who wants to be any man’s mere follower? lurks behind every page. No teacher ever taught, that has so provided for his pupil’s setting up independently—no truer evolutionist” (Whitman 1964, pp. 517–18). 12 I am grateful to Jeffrey Stout for pointing out the example of Erasmus to me, including Erasmus’s considerations of the dynamics of rhetorical imitation. Religions 2019, 10, 92 10 of 13 With inexpressible delight you wade out into the grassy sun-lake, feeling yourself contained in one of Nature’s most sacred chambers, withdrawn from the sterner influences of the mountains, secure from all intrusion, secure from yourself, free in the universal beauty. And notwithstanding the scene is so impressively spiritual, and you seem dissolved in it, yet everything about you is beating with warm, terrestrial, human love and life delightfully substantial and familiar. [ . . . ] You are all eye, sifted through and through with light and beauty. (ibid., p. 395; my emphasis) These depictions are expressly Emersonian—ecstasy is realized through ocular absorption; vision is the avenue to discerning spiritual union. Like Emerson, Muir also witnesses to a special kind of worldly intimacy. “The whole landscape glows like a human face in a glory of enthusiasm” (ibid., p. 224), he writes, echoing Emerson’s claim that nature “is so pervaded with human life, that there is something of humanity in all” (Emerson 1983, p. 41). Also like Emerson, Muir depicts the fellow feeling he has for nature—wrought, as we have seen, by his mystical experience—through his writing on plants. Indeed, a place like Yosemite’s “plant-wealth” could easily send Muir into the heights of ecstatic rapture, so evident in his descriptions of the “flowery plains,” “loose dipping willows,” and “broad green oaks” of the Merced meadows (Muir 1997, p. 587). The Sierra’s many forests were the places Muir especially felt at one with the ecological oversoul. Drawing on the Romantic trope of the Aeolian harp, Muir gloried in nature’s symphonic harmony.13 Of an experience seeing the Sierra’s trees made to dance by an afternoon storm, Muir wrote, “A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship” (Muir 1997, p. 237). To the uninitiated, such trees are inanimate and inert—“imperfect men” in Emerson’s post-Nature words. Yet to ears able to hear their rhapsodic tune, “Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life,” Muir writes, “every fibre [sic] trilling like harp strings.” “No wonder,” then, Muir reasons, “the hills and groves were God’s first temples, and the more they are cut down and hewn into cathedrals and churches, the farther off and dimmer seems the Lord himself” (ibid.). Much more than in the built environment, God, through the lives of plants and their many relations, is revealed. All it takes is our possessing what Emerson, in “The Over-Soul,” calls “the power to see” (Emerson 1983, p. 392). Muir did not stop with the ocular, however, the power to see. His principal innovation of Emerson’s mystical method was to convey his own mystical experience through a much wider sensory range.14 For Emerson, the eye was all. “[N]othing can befall me in life, —no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair” (ibid., p. 10). Muir, we have seen, appreciated the importance of sight for mystic euphoria (this appreciation was especially urgent due to an experience Muir had of nearly losing his sight after being injured while working in a carriage parts manufacturing shop in 1867), but his mysticism also went beyond an exclusive focus on his eyes. In what have become his most famous pieces of nature writing, Muir gives more attention to sound, scent, and bodily touch than he does his vision. He also attends to the emotional resonance emanating from his experience of plant life, namely trees. Recounting a time he spent being tossed by a windstorm in the boughs of a 100-foot-tall Douglas Spruce, he describes “taking the wind into [his] pulses” (Muir 1997, p. 470), as if he and the tree delighted as one organism enjoying a windswept dance. Exaltation, fear, pleasure—all this was mediated through the multidimensionality of Muir’s senses. He was keen on the interconnectedness all being shares: “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe,” Muir wrote in My First Summer in the Sierra (ibid., p. 245). Something similar could be said of Muir’s mysticism, for when he tried to locate the source of his tree-induced ecstasy, he found each of his senses hitched to all the rest, no one more productive of the bliss he felt in nature than the others. 13 On the Aeolian harp’s place and significance in romantic literature, see (McKusick 2000), Chps. 5 and 7. 14 I am thankful to the guest editors for their encouragement to further highlight this dimension of Muir’s mysticism. Religions 2019, 10, 92 11 of 13 It is not an overstatement to say Muir fawned over Emerson at their brief 1871 meeting. Muir himself attests to being “excited as [he] had never been excited before” in the moments leading up to when he finally made Emerson’s acquaintance—“my heart throbbed as if an angel direct from heaven had alighted on the Sierran rocks,” he gushes (Muir 1996, p. 132). Yet Emerson, over his five-day Yosemite jaunt, became just as taken with Muir. A year after returning to Concord, he wrote Muir, saying, “I have everywhere testified to my friends who should also be yours, my happiness in finding you.” Emerson also made plain his hopes that Muir would soon come east to Massachusetts: “you must find your way to this village, and my house” (Muir 1986, 2:675).15 Muir never did make it to Concord while Emerson was still alive, but that did not stop Emerson from counting Muir among his “men,” a list of twenty favored epochal figures from Emerson’s life, noted in the final volume of his personal journal (Devall 1982, p. 188). By the time of Muir’s addition, the list already included the likes of Thomas Carlyle, Henry David Thoreau, and Bronson Alcott. Emerson was preternaturally drawn to individuals whose mysticism knew fewer limits than his own. This helps explain his fondness for Muir. It certainly explains Emerson’s fondness for figures like Jones Very, who, from the young age of twenty-five, proclaimed himself the “newborn bard of the Holy Ghost” that Emerson had called for in his graduation address to the Harvard Divinity School (Emerson 1983, p. 89). While others questioned Very’s wits, Emerson considered him both “profoundly sane” and a “treasure of a companion” (Emerson 1939, p. 173). Very’s charisma was unflagging—he was known for publicly baptizing unwitting participants with the Holy Spirit. Instead of being unnerved by this behavior, Emerson was profoundly moved by the force of Very’s presence and drawn to his genius. There was none of the mystic ephemerality or alienation in Very that Emerson had so struggled with himself. Muir ’s strength of connection to nature rivaled Very’s spiritualist ardor. Emerson’s desire to learn more of that connection was the prime reason he wished for Muir to join him on the “Atlantic Coast,” where Emerson hoped Muir would “bring his ripe fruits so rare and precious into waiting society” (Muir 1986, 2:675). Emerson, as we have seen, was frustrated by the fleeting nature of his mysticism. Despite his best efforts, a thoroughgoing crack persisted in his mystic alliance with the world. In Muir, though, Emerson found unbroken mystical absorption; someone whose being was disposed toward experiencing in mind and body the essential unity constitutive of all the world’s relations. The irony, of course, is that it was Emerson who furnished Muir with the language and metaphors for articulating the details of the most remarkable of his experiences. So while Emerson, by his own account, had the weaker mystical genius between them, Muir, who availed himself throughout his writing life of ocular metaphors, was nevertheless deeply indebted to the language Emerson used to relay his mystical experience. From 1836 onward (i.e., after Nature), the failure to achieve an enduring ocular union with the world became a guiding theme in Emerson’s work. In essays like “The Poet” (1844), Emerson calls upon individuals of genius who can achieve intellectual feats not unlike that which he endeavored to maintain in his mystic experiences: to marry the sensual with the ethereal, the material with the spiritual. He who can solder the crack between nature and mind, Emerson believes, is worthy of highest repute; worthy, that is, of being called a “poet,” Emerson’s name for great seers of cosmic unity. “I look in vain for the poet whom I describe,” he writes (Emerson 1983, p. 465), no doubt including himself in the assessment. Shakespeare is an example of a figure that does not fit the bill. Despite Shakespeare’s excellence, Emerson thinks his writing is far too imbued with material worldliness. As Robert Falk says, “Emerson is never wholly convinced that Shakespeare, with all his poetic beauty, overcomes the natural taint of the playhouse” (Falk 1941, p. 540). Yet figures of apparent spiritual genius Emerson also found wanting. Emmanuel Swedenborg, the eighteenth-century Swedish mystic, 15 I cite here the John Muir Papers, a 51-reel, 53-fiche microfilm edition containing all the collected papers of John Muir, housed at the library of University of the Pacific. I refer to this collection by making reference to reel and frame number (e.g., “2:675” refers to reel 2, frame 675). Religions 2019, 10, 92 12 of 13 employed a faulty concept of nature in his correspondential mysticism, so never truly reconciled materiality with spiritual truth. The degree to which Muir’s mysticism realizes Emerson’s call for poetic genius, articulated in places like “The Poet,” is striking. Emerson’s clearest description of the poet’s vocation could well suffice as an account of Muir’s mysticism: [T]he great majority of men seem to be minors, who have not yet come into possession of their own, or mutes, who cannot report the conversation they have had with nature. There is no man who does not anticipate a supersensual unity in the sun, and stars, earth, and water. These stand and wait to render him a peculiar service. But there is some obstruction, or some excess of phlegm in our constitution, which does not suffer them to yield the due effect. Too feeble fall the impressions of nature on us to make us artists. Every touch should thrill. Every man should be so much an artist, that he could report in conversation what had befallen him . . . The poet is the person in whom these powers are in balance. (Emerson 1983, p. 448) Muir’s awareness of nature’s “supersensual unity” was absolute; he had no “obstruction” or “phlegm” to speak of. World and self, matter and spirit, real and ideal were, for Muir, integrated in a stable, uninterrupted whole. Every touch he had of nature thrilled. As a result of this, he could not help but report what mystic reveries had befallen him in the woods. He wanted all the world not just to hear, but to come, to see, to experience untainted nature for themselves. Muir, by this account, was the artist of Emerson’s reckoning, the poet personified. Despite Muir’s mysticism being a semblance of Emerson’s, Muir can be said to have realized Emerson’s original mystical vision in a way that exceeded his precursor. He added elements of depth and consistency Emerson himself could not attain, an idea made especially clear by both Emerson and Muir’s writing on their mystical connection to plants. Muir’s mysticism was not the result of his somehow stepping out from under Emerson’s influence (as if this were even possible, as Bloom demonstrates), but the result of his response to Emerson’s influence. Emerson, issuing a call for self-reliant individuals, hoped more individuals would stand at the enigmatic junction of self and world, mind and nature, to report upon their experience of ecstatic unity not as their models might, but as only they themselves could. Such was the basis of Emerson’s provocation, his summons for mystical awakening. Muir’s response to that provocation can thus be said to be the product of his Emersonianism, or the way in which his being influenced by Emerson was not reducible to imitation. “Be not content to follow,” Erasmus writes, but “improve upon others . . . in such a way as to surpass if possible” (Erasmus of Rotterdam 1908, p. 79). So it is how Muir, by emulating his precursor, came to surpass him. Funding: This research received no external funding. 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work_ihjwogpjcbcl7bdvj73jre4ema ---- From Floral Aesthetics to Flor-aesthesis in the Southwest of Western Australia This is the post-peer reviewed version of the following article: Ryan, J. (2013). Botanical memory: Exploring emotional recollections of native flora in the Southwest of Western Australia. Emotion, Space And Society, 8, 27-38. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.emospa.2012.09.001 © 2013. This manuscript version is made available under the CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0 license http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Downloaded from e-publications@UNE the institutional research repository of the University of New England at Armidale, NSW Australia. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.emospa.2012.09.001 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ https://e-publications.une.edu.au/ Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 1 Red gum everywhere! Fringed leaves dappling, the glowing new sun coming through, the large, feathery, honey-sweet blossoms flowering in clumps, the hard, rough-marked, red-bronze trunks rising like pillars of burnt copper, or lying sadly felled, giving up the ghost. Everywhere scattered the red gum, making leaves and herbage underneath seem bestrewed with blood. -The Boy in the Bush, D.H. Lawrence and Mollie Skinner (1924/2002, 92-93) 1. Remembering Plants In the biogeographically diverse terrain of Southwestern Australia, this article theorizes botanical memory through the exploration of environmental memory, multisensoriality, and human emotion. Infused with emotional responses to the conservation and extinction of plant species, botanical memory traces broader memories of nature and environmental change. Encompassing an area from Shark Bay in the upper northwest corner to Israelite Bay east of Esperance in the southeast corner, “the Southwest,” as the region will be referred to hereafter, is the only internationally recognized Australian biodiversity hotspot. The Southwest is a “botanical province” and one of the most floristically varied places on the globe with close to forty percent of its species occurring naturally nowhere else (Hopper 1998, 2004; Paczkowska and Chapman 2000; Corrick and Fuhrer 2002; Conservation International 2007; Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 2 Breeden and Breeden 2010) (Fig. 1). Since the establishment of the Swan River Colony in the 1800s, the Southwest has been a popular wildflower tourism destination during the spring months of September and October in particular when iconic species, such as kangaroo paws, wreath flowers, and everlastings, blossom (Ryan 2011; Summers 2011). Despite relatively recent recognition of the global importance of its biodiversity, the Southwest has been dramatically altered through modern agricultural expansion, urban development, and anthropogenic plant diseases (Beresford et al. 2001). Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 3 Fig. 1. Places of Botanical Diversity in the Southwest of Western Australia. The Southwest comprises a diversity of places of botanical significance including Lesueur, Fitzgerald River and Stirling Range national parks as well as metropolitan Perth locales such as Anstey-Keane Damplands. (Image adapted from Figure 1, Western Australian Biogeographic Regions and Botanical Provinces, after Thackway and Cresswell, 1995 in Paczkowska & Chapman, 2000, inside cover; Inset image from Conservation International 2007) Connecting individual remembrance to collective remembering about thriving or declining plant environments, botanical memory entails bodily and cultural memory. The fragrances, sounds, tastes, and tactile sensations of plants summon this form of environmental memory that may be both shared amongst individuals and invoked through physical interaction with flora. Characterized by these collective and bodily traces, botanical memory broadens the study of individual sense-based recollection of flora to the human communities living in proximity to native plants. Memories may be of individual plants or wildflowers (e.g. wreath flowers shown in Fig. 3); communities of plants (e.g. an everlasting field shown in Fig. 2); or a landscape, region, or broader botanical scale (e.g. the Wheatbelt or the Southwest region itself). This paper will refer to all three scales. Recollections of flora are infused with sensory overtones, and are created by bodies and emotions. Such memories are derived not solely from inner imagery but from the sensuousness of plants and places. For example, in a study of the nexus between olfaction and memory, Waskul, Vannini and Wilson (2009) observe the capacity of odors to catalyze memories through Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 4 nostalgic feelings. One respondent notes that wild roses remind her of childhood visits to her grandmother’s house in Alberta, Canada, while another interviewee relates the smell of lavender to the comfort of “family, home, and safety” experienced as a child (Waskul, Vannini, and Wilson 2009, 11). These statements suggest that botanical memory may be defined as remembrance of plants though which a web of sensory, cultural, environmental, and familial memories is enlivened. As propounded here, botanical memory derives a theoretical framework from related precedents in environmental memory (Chawla 1994); sensory memory (Seremetakis 1994); sensory ethnography (Stoller 1989, 1997; Howes 2003; Pink 2009); bodily memory (Connerton 1989; Casey 2000); community and collective memory (Boyer and Wertsch 2009; Hua 2009); and emotional geography (Bondi, Davidson, and Smith 2005; Jones 2005). This genre of environmental memory involves sensory and emotional interactions with plants. Yet, whereas allusions to memories of plants appear in ethnobotanical literature, they are nearly unheard of in emotional geography, community memory research, or ecocultural studies where, for example, research into the plants-people nexus is governed by the present tense of the ethnographic encounter (for example, Hitchings 2003; Martin 2004; Hitchings and Jones 2004; Hoffman and Gallaher 2007). Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 5 Despite the underemphasis, memories of plants strongly inform human emotional and collective cultural bonds with environments. For early travellers in Western Australia like May Vivienne (1901) or contemporary wildflower tourists to the Southwest, the memory of a place may be indistinguishable from the memory of its plants. Amateur botanist Ayleen Sands (2009) expresses the intertwining of memory and flora as she recalls her first encounter with native orchids early in her proprietorship of Stirling Range Retreat, near the Stirling Range National Park: So we came in February, and in April one of our first orchids comes out. It’s a little orchid which doesn’t have a basal leaf. Someone came to the office and said to me, ‘Oh, your orchids are out, did you know?’ and they took me down to show me and I was absolutely rapt. Sketched as emotion-rich memories, Ayleen’s rapture exemplifies the felt engagements between people and flora. Initially, her arrival in the mountainous and biodiverse Stirling Range area from urban and suburban Perth, four hundred kilometres away, entailed anxiety about displacement: “I have to confess that I was really unhappy about coming this far away from Perth initially.” Ayleen’s statements recall the colonial botanist Georgiana Molloy’s experience of living in the isolated settlement of Augusta, Western Australia, in the nineteenth century. For both women, wildflowers attain emblematic Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 6 significance as consolations for displacement, distance, and loss (Lines 1994). Like Molloy, through the flowering of the orchids timed to her arrival, Ayleen has developed an emotional bond and a sense of place, gestated in part by the local flora of her immediate surrounds. With relief, she describes herself now as “very comfortable with the bush. I just absolutely love it. I love the way everything is interrelated.” 2. A Method of Researching Memories of Plants This conversation with Ayleen in the field emerges from an ethnographic approach to the study of memories of Southwest Australian plants (see Ryan 2010a). Ethnography is a qualitative method used in cultural studies and the social sciences to research lived experiences and elucidate the meanings of cultural practices (for example, see Brewer 2000; Hammersley and Atkinson 2007). In particular, I employed the technique of semi-structured interviewing to bring forth and understand memories of flora in combination with my participation in wildflower tourism and botanical conservation activities to meet and establish trust with potential interviewees. My conceptualization of botanical memory—as sensory, bodily, and emotional—will be developed in this article through the analysis of seven interviews conducted during the spring wildflower seasons of 2009 and 2010 in the Southwest Australian region. Memories of plants surface extensively in these seven interviews, and are representative of the varieties of botanical mnemonics encountered during my Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 7 research: from embodied and sensory to scientific and visual. As part of a broader project on wildflower tourism and aesthetic appreciation of Southwest flora, I interviewed twelve individuals, nine of whom I met on bus tours, wildflower walks on foot—leading to interviews based on walking in the field— or by car, and wildflower shows or celebrations at community centres. I contacted three other interviewees—whom I did not meet on tours—by phone or email to set up interviews with them because of their known expertises in Southwest flora (for example, Hopper 2009). The five interviewees not referenced in this paper are excluded because they did not discuss their botanical memories in detail but focused more on local conservation efforts or regional ecotourism realities (see Ryan 2011). Semi-structured interviewing of all individuals was based on the following questions: How familiar are you with these wildflowers? Are they completely new to you? Do you know the names for these plants? Do you use their scientific, common, colloquial or Aboriginal names? Have you had opportunities to smell, taste, touch and listen to the plants today? What do you remember most about these sensory experiences? Would you describe any of the plants or places as weird, grotesque, bizarre, strange, beautiful or picturesque? Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 8 To what extent do the plants figure into your memories of Southwest Australia? Are there any old or new memories of flora you’d be willing to share? Interviews occurred, when possible, as “mobile interviews” conducted while walking with people amongst the wildflowers of interest or significance to them (Hitchings and Jones 2004, 8). Other interviews took place under less mobile conditions: in offices and cafes or over the phone. The semi-structured format deviated from the suite of questions above, and was normally tailored to the respondent’s expertise, interests, time, and the setting of the interview. I used a small, hand-held digital recorder to record the conversations, which were later transcribed. Each interviewee signed a letter—approved in 2009 by the Edith Cowan University Ethics Committee—granting me permission to discuss parts of the transcripts in academic publications and to name the people interviewed. Expecting varying levels of familiarity and involvement with the flora amongst participants, I sought out individuals from five broad, overlapping categories: scientific botanists, amateur botanists, eclectic botanists, Aboriginal botanists, and wildflower tourists. Scientific botanists have had formal university training and professional experience in plant conservation (Collins 2009; Hopper 2009). Amateur botanists are self-trained experts in field botany or plant propagation who have strong site-specific, local, or subregional understandings of plant life (Collins 2009; James 2009; Nannup 2010; Sands 2009; Williams 2009). Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 9 Whereas scientific botanists tend to be specialized and more technically concise about regional scientific issues and trends, amateur botanists tend to be locally focused generalists who are attached to and well-acquainted with a particular locale or, in the case of Kevin Collins (2009), a particular genus, the banksia. Eclectic botanists, who will not feature in this paper, draw variously from scientific, humanities-based, and experiential knowledges; they are often writers or artists with a keen interest in nature. Aboriginal botanists invoke indigenous worldviews and storytelling in which sensory experience of plants mingles with spiritual and ecological meanings (Nannup 2010). Due to the sensitivity of Aboriginal knowledges of plants, I interviewed only one member of the Southwest Aboriginal community, Noel Nannup, an elder and spokesperson for the Nyoongar people. Wildflower tourists are international, national, or local visitors who may have complex understandings of plants based on the flowering times of the desirable species they endeavour to see (Alcock 2009; Sands 2009). It is important to consider that these distinctions, though useful to some extent, blur in actual practice. For example, an amateur botanist, such as Lyn Alcock, may participate in wildflower tourism when visiting a new locale or a scientific botanist, such as Kevin Collins, may have strong local affinities and be a long-term resident. As indicated above, my conceptualization of botanical memory will draw primarily from interviews with amateur botanists and wildflower tourists. The Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 10 interviews suggest the dialectics between mourning and celebration, as well as the role of sensory memory of plants. Some conversations show significant emotional and embodied affinities, including mourning the loss of species and the homogenization of biodiverse habitats through suburban overdevelopment or invasive exotic plants. Whereas wildflower tourists tend to emphasize the beauty of flowers, local residents—who can be scientific, amateur, eclectic, and Aboriginal botanists—tend to convey a sense of despair over imperiled plant species and diminishing habitats. This is particularly the case for land owners and others who are materially attached to a specific property (e.g. James 2009). The emotion of grieving surfaces more for interviewees, such as David James (2009), Noel Nannup (2010), and Don Williams (2009), who have lived for an extended time at a locale, property, or multiple places in the Southwest region. These individuals exhibit a well-developed sense of place and have endured more long-term changes and floristic extinctions than seasonal tourists have. Indeed, interviewees do tend to construct and communicate memories differently depending on the longevity of their emotional bonds to the changing landscapes of which the plants they know are part. As a caveat, however, the firm distinction between mourning and celebration—and between residents and tourists—is fuzzy at best and emotional complexities are to be expected. For instance, long-term visitors—such as Jack and Lena discussed in the context of the Stirling Range National Park and tourism proprietor Ayleen Sands—may express emotions of loss over changes in the landscape tinged with feelings of Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 11 appreciation for the rare orchids that remain in remnant parcels of bush. Thus, for the sake of structuring the analysis of interviews, I deploy the categories of mourning, celebration, and embodiment to emphasize the themes stressed by the speakers, although these categories are not mutually exclusive. Interviewees who are not included were perhaps less inclined to broach emotional or experiential matters when the interview format appeared formal, where trust was not developed fully, or where the paradigm of scientific objectivity—the pre-eminent discourse of botany—held back the expression of emotional bonds to flora. Such concerns should be scrutinized in further studies of ethnography as a method for researching botanical memory. 3. The Physiology of Human Memory What is the physiology of botanical memory in the context of contemporary research into memory studies, some of which emphasizes sensory or bodily memory? Memory has been well explored in literature, philosophy, and art, but some accounts of memory are acutely visualistic. Gaston Bachelard’s (1971, 101) notion of “reverie,” for example, entails an involuntary plummet to “the beauty of the first images,” rendering the immediate world “completely colourless.” Similarly, for John Dewey (1967, 154), the mind produces memory as “knowledge of particular things or events once present, but no longer so.” Cognitively created, memory is an “active construction by the mind of certain data” (Dewey 1967, 157). However, rather than localized in the brain and Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 12 visually assembled, as Dewey and Bachelard’s assert, memory is the somatic extension of feeling into the world (Connerton 1989; Casey 2000). We recollect plants through corporeal sensations as smells, tastes, textures, sights or sounds, as well as the rhythm of walking in botanical sanctuaries (Hitchings and Jones 2004; Ryan 2010b). Thus, bodies are physiological and emotional, as well as natural and cultural, sites of memory expression. Research of the last twenty years in the field of memory studies argues similarly that memory is not purely a cognitive construct of psychology or history, but a multisensorial faculty of the body, environment, and culture (Connerton 1989; Chawla 1994; Seremetakis 1994; Stratford 1997; Casey 2000; Jones 2005; Boyer and Wertsch 2009; Hua 2009; Waskul, Vannini, and Wilson 2009; Hamilakis 2010). The embodied aspects of memory are particularly important to the term “memory work,” introduced in the 1980s by the Frauenformen, a group of West German feminists interested in how various forms of femininity are imposed on female bodies (Stratford 1997, 207). Memory work links bodily experience to memory research as a method for examining “how we are socialised [sic] in and through our bodies — complex sites that are ‘natural’, ‘cultural’, and intimately connected to how we experience and construct our worlds” (Stratford 1997, 214). As an interrogation of knowledge production derived through privileged scientific and social discourses, memory work entails the exploration of embodied subjectivity. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 13 Thought to “elicit ‘only’ the anecdotal and folkloric,” place memory in this context instead provides “richly heterogeneous stories” that attain their own validity and importance (Stratford 1997, 214). Botanical memory may also comprise bodily memories. Casey (2000, 147) defines bodily memory as “memory that is intrinsic to the body, to its own ways of remembering: how we remember in and by and through the body.” While bodily memory is based in the senses, memories of the body can often be visual because sight “subtends most acts of recollection” and “has the effect of blurring the distinction between body memory and memory of the body” (Casey 2000, 147). In How Societies Remember, Paul Connerton (1989, 72-73) distinguishes between “incorporating” and “inscribing” practices of memory. Incorporating practices involve transmissions between bodies—for example, smiles, handshakes, or words spoken in conversation—that occur when bodies are co-present. These practices produce “a mnemonics of the body” (Connerton 1989, 74). Thus, for example, the memorization of the correct posture for a ceremony and the subsequent transmission of a cultural practice involving that posture occur through words or gestures between people present to one another. In contrast, inscribing practices require memory storage technologies, such as books, photographs, and computers, that “do something that traps and holds information, long after the human organism has stopped informing” (Connerton 1989, 73). Yannis Hamilakis (2010, 191-192) problematizes Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 14 Connerton’s categories, arguing instead for incorporating practices of memory that necessitate material culture. She cites eating and drinking as examples of mnemonic behaviors involving habits and gestures transmissible between individuals as well as the inscriptive materials of memory (i.e. the table, utensils, food, etc.). Hamilakis (2010, 192) argues that it is “time to collapse his binarism, which will also mean the collapse of his implied distinction between habitual, ‘internal’ memory which supposedly leaves no traces, and ‘external’ material memory with its associated recording devices.” The dynamics between visual and bodily memory are further taken up by some cultural scholars. The anthropologist Nadia Seremetakis (1994, 9) in The Senses Stilled argues that memory is not constrained to ocularcentric cognition, but is rather mediated by ongoing cultural and bodily (re)enactments: Memory cannot be confined to a purely mentalist or subjective sphere. It is a culturally mediated material practice that is activated by embodied acts and semantically dense objects. This material approach to memory places the senses in time and speaks to memory as both meta-sensory capacity and as a sense organ in-it-self. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 15 A material practice of memory through “semantically dense objects” reflects the notion of the indivisibility of “objects, settings, and moods” as integral to the formation of environmental memory (Chawla 1994, 1). Seremetakis’ notion of “sensory memory” augments environmental memory by emphasizing its embodied nestings. Seremetakis (1994, 9) explains that the senses and memory are coterminous and “co-mingled.” The senses coalesce to produce botanical memory, which is not purely a recitation of aestheticized plant images, constituting what Connerton (1989, 73) refers to as an “inscribing practice” of memory. Along with pictorializations, the smells, tastes, tactile sensations, and sounds of plants impart corporeal qualities to the act of remembrance (for example, Lawrence and Skinner 1924, 92-93). Paul Stoller (1997, 85) also suggests that “the human body [and non-human bodies, I would add] is not principally a text; rather, it is consumed by a world filled with smells, textures, sights, sounds and tastes, all of which trigger cultural memories.” Sensory research into cultural practices, for Stoller (1989, 8), entails a post-Kantian critique of the alignment between vision and reason characteristic of much ethnographic writing. Research into human sensory experience in its fullness attends to “the sensual aspects of the field,” making us “more critically aware of our sensual biases and [forcing] us to write ethnographies that combine the strengths of science with the rewards of the humanities” (Stoller 1989, 9). Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 16 Memory furthermore engages collective abilities to interpret embodied events and experiences. Hence, memory is not only the experience of a body in a place but of bodies in places; the content of memory varies with collective cultural meanings and values. Whereas individual memory is accepted in psychology and physiology, collective memory has been introduced relatively recently into human geography, cultural studies, sociology, and anthropology to describe memories held in common by a community or social group (Boyer and Wertsch 2009; Hua 2009). Collective memory “requires a public re-interpretation of personal memories that are placed at the service of the collectivity” (Hua 2009, 137). Boyer and Wertsch (2009) observe that collective memory’s primary shortcoming is its assumption of monolithic collectivity in the form of homogenized countries, communities or social groups. Collective memory raises the question of “whose voice, experiences, histories and personal memories are being forgotten” by the community, institution or nation (Hua 2009, 137). Memory may be bodily and collective as well as emotional and topographic. Collective memory, in particular, offers interesting intersections with emotional geography, a field which attempts to understand the spatial aspects of memory and its associations with environments (Bondi, Davidson, and Smith 2005). The emotional content of memory suggests that “memories always will have a spatial frame (even if it is unremembered or latent) and they will be always Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 17 emotionally coloured in hues ranging from pale to vivid” (Jones 2005, 210). Emotions construct how people make sense of the natural world through memory. Jones (2005, 207) argues that the call towards emotion in landscape research is part of the movement away from the claim that knowledge is, and should be, an abstract, disembodied, purely rational and objective construct. It recognises [sic] the role of emotions in the construction of the world, and in interpretations of the world [italics in original]. Emotional geography responds to the objective imperatives of empirical research by expressing “something that is ineffable in such objectifying languages, namely a sense of emotional involvement with people and places, rather than emotional detachment from them” (Bondi, Davidson, and Smith 2005, 2). Urry (2005) further argues that the emotions of place have been given visual form through modern ocular technologies. In the middle nineteenth century the language of the Claude glass, sketching, and photography spurred a “particular visual structure to the emotional experience of place” (Urry 2005, 78). Indeed, when conceptualized as landscape, place and its associated emotional hues assume a visual structure. Stephen Daniels and Denis Cosgrove (1988, 1) define the term “landscape” as “a cultural image, a pictorial way of representing, structuring or symbolising surroundings.” An Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 18 iconographic orientation toward landscape values images of places and historically conceived such “pictures as encoded texts to be deciphered by those cognisant of the culture as a whole in which they were produced” (Daniels and Cosgrove 1998, 2). Yet, not solely a space or landscape demarcated by sight, place is a sensory and corporeal topography. Sensory scholarship of the last twenty years in the anthropology of the senses recognizes this complexity and responds to the historical hegemony of vision in structuring sense of place and human perception (Stoller 1989, 1997; Synnott 1991; Classen 1997; Howes 2003; Hamilakis 2010). This scholarship acknowledges the importance of the senses to human experience and stresses that cultural research should acknowledge the body as a sensorium in which sensory interplay molds cultural values and practices. Sensory experience, as such, is “the basis for bodily experience. We experience our bodies—and the world—through our senses [italics in original]” (Classen 1997, 402). In Sensual Relations, David Howes (2003, xi) argues that sensation is a cultural milieu and that, in preferencing vision, Western anthropologists of the twentieth century also tended to study each of the five senses in isolation “as though sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch each constituted a completely independent domain of experience.” Howes (2003, xi) suggests that dynamics between the senses create culturally important “combinations and hierarchies” of sensory experience and expression. In Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 19 contrast, ocularcentric research obscures “sensory meaning—the associations between touch and taste, or hearing and smell—and all the ways in which sensory relations express social relations” (Howes 2003, 17). 4. Botanical Memory at the Intersection of Embodiment, Environment, Emotions, and Ethnography When from a long distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but enduring, more substantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection. Marcel Proust (1913/2008, 30) Proust argues that smell and taste affect memory with particular poignancy and primeval endurance. As such, memory not only comprises a visual theatre, but a sensory interweaving of tastes, smells, tactile sensations, sounds, and visible features. Jonah Lehrer (2007, 80) argues that “one of Proust’s deep insights was that our senses of smell and taste bear a unique burden of memory.” The potent connection between smell and memory, exemplified by Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 20 Proust, has a physiological basis and has often been labelled the “Proustian hypothesis of odor memory” (Engen 1982, 98). Receiving brain stimuli in the form of odors, the olfactory system of mammals regulates and integrates emotional responses, social behaviors and bodily memories (for example, Engen 1982, 25-29, 97-112; Engen 1991; Herz and Cupchik 1995; Lledo, Gheusi, and Vincent 2005). In this passage from Swann’s Way, Proust articulates the phenomenon of odor recognition or “knowing that an odor being experienced is one that was experienced on a earlier occasion” and, importantly, he intimates the possibility of odor recall, debated amongst physiologists and defined as the bringing back of “odor sensations from memory storage without any external aids” (Engen 1982, 14-15). Extending Proust’s metavisual mnemonics and the strong association between smell and memory he describes in particular, botanical memory can be said to comprise sensory, bodily, and emotional modes of remembering. Botanical memory goes beyond the individual psyche and the imagistic proclivity of the aesthetic imagination. Anh Hua (2009, 137) characterizes memory as “a construction or reconstruction of what actually happened in the past,” but memory in practice is a composite of bodily experiences and sensations, mental images, cultural values, and environmental stimuli in addition to a chronology of occurrences. Indeed, memory is beyond individual capacities and faculties. It invokes collectively all mnemonic modes to produce “tangled memory” in which Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 21 collective desires and needs are expressed (Hua 2009, 139). Hence, memory is a nexus of environmental, social, and personal factors, rather than purely a mental function of recall. Chawla (1994, 1) defines environmental memory as the convergence of the natural world, poetic deliberation, and childhood memory, including: all the fittings of the physical world that surround us: the natural world of animal, vegetable, and mineral, and the built world of human artifice. Its scope covers three dimensions of perception: individual objects; settings such as home, city, and region; and global moods or feelings for the world. These three dimensions—objects, settings, and moods—may be isolated for study, but in lived experience they are inseparable. Emotional responses to a landscape constitute environmental memories of particular natural and cultural phenomena. Memory and emotions, or moods, are inseparable; environmental memory develops from a stratum of feelings held in the body. So, in addition to temporal, spatial, and material memories aligned to the processes of thinking, the content of memory is a sensory and emotive scape, or an “emotional geography.” Liz Bondi, Joyce Davidson, and Mick Smith (2005, 3) further characterize the central aim of emotional geography as endeavoring “to understand emotion – experientially and Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 22 conceptually – in terms of its socio-spatial mediation and articulation rather than as entirely interiorized subjective mental states.” Transcending individual cognition and the construction of memory as the outcome of the rote processes of the brain, memory is influenced by society and space, culture and landscape, collective and personal proclivities. Reflecting Chawla’s claim for the indivisibility of “objects, settings, and moods” as unified lived experience, memory is an anatomical topography, orchestrated by cultural and natural cues. As the interview process reveals, memory may be said to live, particularly when spoken and when embodied. Research into the embodied, emotional, and environmental aspects of memory is well-suited to the narratives that come out of interviews. Memory narratives may emerge from the process of ethnography when interviewees are given space to reconstruct their sensory or emotional memories through a semi- structured or open-ended format (Brewer 2000, 63-66; Hammersley and Atkinson 2007, 97-120). Indeed, the exploration of memory is amenable to inscriptive forms, including interview transcripts, that record memory (Jones 2005), but the movement between the incorporating practice of the interview, especially one in the field with the interviewee, and the inscribing practice of the transcripts exemplifies Hamilakis’ (2010, 192) call to “collapse” Connerton’s binarism between the two. Working with interviews and transcripts prompts reflexivity between incorporating and inscriptive practices of memory. The Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 23 connection between memory and ethnography is emphasized by anthropologist Johannes Fabian (2007, 132) who observes that ethnographic investigation inherently probes human memory: “cultural knowledge, once articulated, is memory-mediated.” In other words, the process of speaking during an interview is naturally an invocation of remembering. Fabian (2007, 132) asserts that “memory makes articulation possible whilst also coming between the person and the statement.” Memory is often an unavoidable mediating formation in ethnobotanical interviewing in which usage or significance of plants is compiled from the recollections of the interviewee (for example, Martin 2004). During an ethnobotanical interview, plant specimens, images or other cues can be used to “jog interviewee memory” about actual plants in the field and to access information about the cultural uses of flora (Hoffman and Gallaher 2007, 203). An interface with memory through the interview process prompts questions of how memories are expressed and what values inform their communication. The accounts of botanical memory produced during an interview could entail a series of visual images, a recounting of bodily sensations, or a chronological recitation of events devoid of emotional context. But how does the interviewee feel about an experience of plants? Is there an emotional or sensory narrative behind the facts or the timeline of experiences? For the purpose of sensory plurality in the interview process, anthropologist Sarah Pink (2009, 2) points to the growing literature of multisensorial ethnography. The term “sensory Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 24 ethnography” is defined as “a process of doing ethnography that accounts for how this multisensoriality is integral…to the lives of people who participate in our research.” Reflecting Seremetakis’ (1994) conceptualization of memory, multisensorial ethnography assists researchers in understanding “the meanings and natures of the memories that research participants recount, enact, define or reflect on to researchers” (Pink 2009, 38). The research discussed thus far collectively suggests that memory is more than a series of images recalled cognitively. Due to the heterogeneous ways in which human memory can be approached, botanical memory considers these multiple aspects. Crossing into embodiment, environment, and emotions, botanical memory encompasses feelings and facts about plants, particularly with the use of ethnography to bring forth accounts of engagements. 5. Botanical Memories Of Mourning: Biodiversity, Beauty, and Grieving As both collective remembrance and embodied subjectivity, memory intersects with emotions and place (Jones 2005). Mourning in particular may form an emotional node between people and places in response to what Porteous (1989) terms “topocide” or the annihilation of place, and what Giblett (1996) calls “aquaterracide,” or the killing of wetlands. Glenn Albrecht (2010, 227) defines solastalgia as “the pain or sickness caused by the ongoing loss of solace and the sense of desolation connected to the present state of one’s home and territory.” While emotional in quality and tone, the statements of loss conveyed Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 25 in interviews are not necessarily embodied evocations that point to a visceral absence in the felt worlds of the interviewees. Multisensoriality may be evident, but respondents also tend towards chronologies of despair or narratives of loss: a sequence of events set in temporal, rather than in embodied, space. Themes of loss are evident in an interview with David James (2009) of Forrestdale, Western Australia. Born in the early 1950s, a passionate activist and self-trained botanist, David has lived near Forrestdale Lake all his life. Forrestdale Lake is located on the Swan Coastal Plain, shared by Perth, and protects numerous indigenous animals and plants (Giblett 2006). Nearby Anstey-Keane Damplands is one of the most botanically significant places on the Swan Coastal Plain and more diverse than the popular Kings Park, adjacent to Perth Central Business District (Giblett and James 2009) (Fig. 1). It lies at the northern tip of the Pinjarra Plains, a system of flat damplands— moist, shallow sinks—including the most suitable soil on the Swan Coastal Plain for pasture and devlopment (Beard 1979, 27). A member of multiple local conservation organizations, David expresses exasperation over the seemingly insurmountable pressures on the bush exerted by development in his area. Forrestdale Lake Nature Reserve and Anstey-Keane Damplands constitute “emotional geographies” for him, linked to conservation agendas in the rapidly suburbanized southern areas of Perth. When asked about his local efforts, David responds that he spends “more time trying to protect wildflowers than Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 26 actually going out trying to enjoy them for what they are.” His involvement with different organizations dedicated to preserving native habitats is “a period of— shall we say—activism [with] organisations that are actually trying to preserve the environment.” Activists, such as David, exemplify commitment to preserving a sense of place connected to the protection of floristic character. During David’s childhood in the 1950s, the bush seemed limitless and immune to modern suburban expansion: “we’d walk through bush to catch the school bus.” His memories convey a perception of the flora as all-encompassing. The abundance of the bush intermingles with recollections of the encroachment of development and attendant emotion of powerlessness: In those days, the bush was everywhere. Nowadays, you realize how threatened it is, but in those days, it was common. We’d walk through bush to catch the school bus. We took it all for granted. Even in those days, people were destroying bushland but, because there was so much, as a kid, you just accepted it. David’s recollections reveal how botanical memory marks the gradual transformation of the land by the juggernaut of modern progress. His childhood reverie has been displaced by an anxiety over the manifold threats to the local landscape, compelling him to align with conservation initiatives: Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 27 What we took for granted is now threatened by housing, expansion of agriculture and roads. The piece of bush that we took for granted as kids is now being threatened and it’s a bitter shame because now I spend more time trying to protect wildflowers than actually going out trying to enjoy them for what they are. David’s interview exemplifies botanical memory as a reservoir of emotions about nature. Moreover, the memory narratives of amateur botanists and local conservationists like David can impart a sense for the scale of change. For example, the proliferation of exotic species on road verges is a distinct difference: “Years ago roads were narrow and roads with vegetation in good condition was quite normal.” His recollections evidence the progressive incursion of exotic plants on the west side of Forrestdale Lake and the gradual disappearance of certain orchid species. These distinctive intrusions to the composition of the landscape near his home have occurred during his lifetime: Nowadays this side of the lake’s pretty much weed infested but in those days the weeds weren’t quite so bad. We used to get orchids growing alongside the road here, spider orchids and different species growing amongst the weeds. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 28 Slow-growing plants, such as banksias and the zamia palms, have been severely affected by development of bushland areas like Anstey-Keane Damplands and Forrestdale Lake (Giblett 2006). According to his direct observation, the climax character of the bush has been permanently altered, despite claims about the regeneration of the bushland by replanting: After thirty or forty years, it looks quite natural, but believe me, if you went back before that, there was a lot of big stuff in there. But that won’t be seen again in our lifetime because you need five-hundred years to grow big zamia palms or big banksias. Here, David evokes one of the distinguishing qualities of the Southwest flora: its ancientness and slow-growing tendencies (for example, Breeden and Breeden 2010). Certain plants require hundreds of years to reach a mature state, posing an amplified sense of loss comparable to the emotional debates surrounding the clearing of old-growth forests (for example, Humphries 1998). The emotions surrounding mourning are further elicited in an interview with Nyoongar elder Noel Nannup (2010). From 1978 to 1989, Noel served as a National Parks ranger and became the first Aboriginal head ranger in Australia. Noel recalls the destruction of native vegetation near Geraldton that he witnessed as a child. He expresses a “mixed” emotional state of despair over Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 29 the clearing of a million acres a year and affection for the botanical heritage of his birth region: When I say mixed, I mean loving it and watching it get smashed to smithereens as they cleared a million acres a year during the 60s and the 70s. That’s heartbreaking. And the old man says, “This is Australia’s greatest asset, its natural vegetation and look what we’re doing to it” as we followed the bulldozers along around places like Dalwallinu, Wongan Hills, Ballidu, Talingeri, to ‘round that country there. We were sad to watch it. The loss of native plants is more than an ecological abstraction, but has cultural and spiritual ramifications. Noel expresses being torn between affinity for the plants that are his totems and dismay over the onslaught against native bushland, and hence against Aboriginal spirituality, as the two are consanguineous (for a discussion of Australian Aboriginal relationships to land, see Rose 1992; Graham 2008). He says: But I've always had that, you know, tried to balance that. How do you cope, when your dad’s telling you that these things are our totems and yet we’re watching them get smashed to bits. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 30 As with David James, Noel’s memories track changes in the character of the Southwest landscape. Near Geraldton, plant biodiversity occurred along railway lines and road verges before the introduction of herbicides and developments in motorized technologies that impacted species such as the more prominent everlastings: I used to ride a pushbike from Geraldton out along the railway lines towards Mullewa. In those days they didn't use a lot of herbicides and sprays, and all the wildflowers were still there, including big pink everlastings. You’d watch them from little plants that come up, grow, and flower in the railway line. They started to bring out an X-class diesel which didn't have spark arresters on it. The railways had to burn. You’d watch the burning and you’d know that the seeds of the everlastings were all getting burnt. And because they burnt them all the time, some of them coped and some didn't. This statement points to the heterogeneous quality of botanical memory, comprising emotional impressions of plants linked to memories of childhood, communities, and changes to each. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 31 For Noel, everlastings also prompt associations with family and place. Memories of pom-poms (Fig. 2) call to mind his father who taught Noel to snip the stems and preserve the flowers in hot wax: There used to be pom-poms, little round ones, just north of Three Springs, near Arrino, and also in Coalseam [Conservation Park] at Mingenew. There’s still a lot of them there but they’re little ones. I’d always cut them into bunches and put rubber bands on them. Dad always said, ‘if you want them to last a long time, snip them off and dip them in hot wax’. That seals it. Then your flowers stay colourful for a long time. Noel’s recollection of flowers near Mullewa affirms the mixed quality of the botanical memory of someone with a lifelong history in a place. Memories of plants can be concurrently of wonderment and loss over the destruction of a place. Whereas the colours of the pom-poms would last indefinitely, the wreath flower was notably evanescent and delicate. Noel associates the rarity of the wreath flower with the mining of Tallering Peak where he recalls that the flower grew: They were rare. I remember if you picked those, by the time you stood up after you picked one, it started to wilt. Talk about an amazing flower. Just pick it up and it’s gone, it’s finished. But they were up around Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 32 Mullewa, north of Mullewa and Bullardoo Station. There's a big hill there. It was iron ore, sadly, and they loaded it onto trucks and railway lines and carted it away. Tallering Peak was a really important place. Memory itself is ecosystemic. Southwest plants instigate recollections of birds and the broader landscape, reflecting the concept of environmental memory posited by Chawla (1994, 1) as encompassing natural “objects,” landscape “settings” and emotional “moods.” The notion of ecosystemic connectivity as integral to botanical memory and mourning is referenced by conservationist and proprietor of Hi-Vallee Farm in Badgingarra, Western Australia, Don Williams (2009). He implies ecologically integrated mourning, in which the loss of one species has larger consequences for the biotic system of which it is part, including other animals, insects and plants: No one can put a value on individual species. Some people will say if we lose it, it doesn’t matter, more will evolve. It would appear that they won’t evolve as quickly as we can wipe them out. What a lot of people forget is that if you lose a plant species, you could lose an animal or insect species. And a lot of the orchids have evolved around one individual insect which pollinates them. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 33 The exploration of memories of plants unavoidably confronts mourning the loss biodiverse habitats. All three interviewees have been life-long residents of the Southwest, and have thereby engendered emotional attachments to plants through regular exposure to the land and immersion in the depths of the botanical integrities of their respective places. All have been involved in conservation efforts. Although their responses shift between lament and celebration, their long-term perspectives on the Southwest express a startling sense of the bush in transformation by social and environmental pressures of suburban development, pesticides, technology, and mining. Fig. 2. Pink Everlastings in the Eneabba Region of Western Australia. The common name “everlasting” denotes various species of the cosmopolitan Asteraceae family, such as the pom- pom head (Cephalipterum drummondii). (Photo by the author) Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 34 Fig. 3. Wreath Flowers in the Northern Wheatbelt Region of Western Australia. With a genus name celebrating the French botanist Jean Baptiste Leschenault de la Tour and a species name derived from Greek for “large flower,” wreath flowers (Leschenaultia macrantha) are prostrate-growing plants endemic to the northern Wheatbelt areas near Mullewa and Perenjori. (Photo by the author) 6. Botanical Memories Of Celebration: Orchids, Love, and Rapture Whereas botanical memory may be characterized by mourning, it may also express the emotions of celebrating flowering beauty. Wildflower tourists such as Lyn Alcock (2009), originally from the Eastern States of Australia, emphasize the beauty and awe-inspiring qualities of native Western Australian plants. They do recognize the threats to botanical diversity, but more tangentially than David James, Noel Nannup, and Don Williams. Of all the Southwest plant species, Lyn is passionate about orchids and dryandras. When Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 35 I asked her about the attractiveness of orchids, she relays her first memory of encountering wild-growing orchids in the Murchison River area after having first grown them in her home: I think I had been given some Cymbidium bulbs at home and started growing orchids. Then, ten years ago on our first trip, [my husband and I] were travelling up north around the Murchison River area. I came across all these tiny little orchids about ten centimetres high. They were in a mass like the little snail orchids we saw this morning. For some reason they just grabbed me and I said ‘Wow, these are amazing!’ For some flora enthusiasts, the promise of spotting rare or elusive iconic species can invigorate botanical passions. When I asked about which orchids she feels particularly drawn to, Lyn reflected on the characteristics of rarity and visual strikingness. A beautiful and hard-to-find localized plant, such as the Queen of Sheba (Thelymitra variegata) or the winter spider orchid (Caladenia drummondii), is a peak moment for an ardent wildflower aficionado: Obviously the Queen of Sheba because it’s such a spectacular orchid. Just recently, we were up at Kalbarri and I saw a little orchid I thought I would never get to see. It’s called the Winter Spider Orchid. It’s a very tiny orchid, which only occurs mid-winter. And because it’s not very Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 36 common I never thought I’d see it, but I was walking through the bush and there it was. Similarly, the uncommonness of the Western underground orchid (Rhizanthella gardneri), with only two hundred and twenty recorded sightings, impacts the intensity of her recollection. As an orchid enthusiast, the underground orchid holds a prominent position in Lyn’s memory, as well as the botanical imagination of the Southwest region. First identified by its sweet smell in 1928 by John Trott on his farm near Corrigin, Western Australia, the white leafless orchid is perhaps the rarest endemic plant species in the state and is known to occur in only two locations in the Southwest. Lyn relates the delicate tactile memory of digging through the soil to unearth the extremely unusual, and very easily disturbed, subterranean species. The orchid requires a mutualistic relationship with the broom honey-myrtle or broom bush (Melaleuca uncinata) to survive. Lyn summarizes: My most amazing sight has been the underground orchid. Because it only ever grows underground, you have to have sand for it to grow. You have to have a particular type of broom bush that it seems to grow with, and you of course have to have the fungus that stimulates this orchid. So you have to have all these three things. It grows very near the roots of the broom bush, but you could look under the roots of a thousand broom Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 37 bushes and you won’t find one. It won’t be the thousandth that it’s under. Yes, I was taken, there were three of them all growing in a similar spot. And for me that was absolutely spectacular. It grows under leaf litter, and so you need to pull the leaf litter apart very, very carefully and then the flower is just sitting below the leaf litter, and then slowly excavate it, very carefully, very, very carefully. Digging through the leaf litter and slowly excavating the flower of the underground orchid are “sense making rituals” (Waskul, Vannini, and Wilson 2009) that invoke incorporating practices of memory—here between plants and people—and sensory recollection. The memory of the orchid is intrinsically bound up with the tactile and olfactory practice of exhuming it in order to momentarily see it. As collective or cultural memory (Hua 2009; Boyer and Wertsch 2009), the unearthing of the flower is practiced by anyone who wants to claim the experience or participate in exposing it. Other than digging through the leaf debris, there is no way to perceive the orchid. The action of pulling the leaf matter apart very carefully becomes part of a practice shared collectively by orchid enthusiasts, as part of the cultural network of memory surrounding the plant. Orchids furthermore play a significant role in the formation of sense of place for Ayleen Sands (2009) of the Stirling Range Retreat who recounts her first Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 38 spring in the area through her experiences of learning the orchid species of her property. The mountainous Stirling Range National Park consists of about one- thousand and five hundred plant species, or about one-third of the flora in the Southwest, including eighty-seven endemic species dispersed throughout five main botanical communities (Keighery and Beard 1993). Her sense of place has developed through the progression of time synchronized to the flowering of orchids: In May someone came to the office and asked me, ‘did you know your Hare Orchids were out’? I said, ‘ooh, Hare Orchids, have we got Hare Orchids here’? Off they took me. They showed me hundreds of orchid bed basal leaves of the little Hare Orchid, so I began to think, ‘oh, this is quite an important place’. Like other self-trained botanists, Ayleen learned through the tutelage of more experienced local orchidologists. The local transmission of botanical knowledge may occur as a type of informal apprenticeship based on experiential and verbal guidance by mentors: In August, a lovely couple named Jack and Lena came. They were both in their late seventies. We introduced ourselves. ‘My name’s Lena, and my Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 39 husband’s name is Jack, and we’ve been coming here for thirty years’. And I said, ‘you must love it’. ‘It’s the orchids we love’, she said. As mentioned also by Lyn Alcock, the Queen of Sheba is a sought after orchid for its iridescent visual wonder. Ayleen recalls her ecstatic first encounter with “the Queen” as a ceremonious baptism into the natural world of the Stirling Range: A day or two later they both bounded in with big smiles on their faces and said ‘The Queen’s out. You’ll have to come and see the Queen’. And I asked, ‘what’s the Queen?’ And they both were stunned. So off I went with them and I found the Queen. Ayleen’s memories of the Queen of Sheba orchid are highly associated with interpersonal memories of Jack and Lena, demonstrating that botanical memory crosses into the natural and cultural worlds and that memories of plants are not merely of plants alone. A larger narrative of cultural memory contextualizes the orchid flower in a network of social relations. For Lyn Alcock and Ayleen Sands, the celebration of the Southwest flora emanates from appreciation of visual beauty embedded in personal accounts of acquainting themselves with their places, as well as collective memories that Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 40 are shared by a community of wildflower enthusiasts. Revealing human topographies of the plant world, botanical memory may consist of such storied engagements with plants. The interviewing of people in communities, therefore, is an integral approach for eliciting the emotional and multisensorial content of human memories, for tracing the landscapes of emotions and remembrance in the Southwest. However, in my sample of interviewees, memories of celebrating wildflowers tend to characterize the experiences of itinerant interviewees whose sense of place is nascent and for whom the notion of topocide (Porteous 1989) may go unregistered because of affinity with legally protected reserves where pressures are diminished. For Ayleen and Lyn, orchid flowers are cause for celebration because of their rarity, colour, and delicate structure, as well as community knowledge of orchids provided by senior figures like Jack and Lena. Botanical memories may consist of storied engagements based in emotional absorption or corporeal involvement, but may also be distanced from concerns of habitat destruction or, in the case of the Stirling Range, alarming rates of plant disease. Further studies of botanical memory should focus on the dynamics between the closely related emotions of mourning and celebration environments. 7. Botanical Memories of Embodiment: Sucking Banksia Nectar Botanical memory influences how people construct a sense of place through multisensorial interactions with the living landscape. However, sense Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 41 experience may be rendered non-corporeal through the construction of remembrance as a procession of images rather than bodily and sensory memory (Connerton 1989; Casey 2000). Although vision is integral to the process of recollection, memories of plants may be rich with sensation. In practice, Kevin Collins (2009) of Banksia Farm in Mount Barker, Western Australia, exemplifies the conceptual frameworks of sensory ethnography (Stoller 1989, 1997; Pink 2009), sensory memory (Seremetakis 1994), and bodily memory (Connerton 1989) as constitutive of botanical memory. His embodied approach to educating the public about the flora of the region uses incorporating practice as one strategy for engendering appreciation of plants. This section details an autoethnographic approach to botanical memory, tracing my generation of bodily memory through multisensorial interaction with native Southwest flora on Kevin’s farm. Kevin and his family bought the property that is now Banksia Farm in 1984 and began planting banksias a year later. By 1987, thirty species had been planted. In ensuing years, the family completed a collection of all seventy-six species while developing overnight facilities for visitors. His interest is a long- term passion for propagating and cultivating banksia: We thought to ourselves, well we’ve got thirty species and there’s only seventy-six, so let’s keep going. It became an obsession and drove the Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 42 kids barmy, driving up and down looking for banksia seeds. In fact we flew to Cairns [in Queensland] to get the last species which grows on Hinchinbrook Island. Kevin draws from botanical science, Aboriginal bushtucker knowledges, and actual bodily contact with seeds, flowers, and leaves to foster appreciation not solely hinging on detached perception of flowers as aesthetic objects. For instance, the checkerboard symmetry of the banksia flower head consists of thousands of tiny flowers, which he encourages me to experience through touch: “So there’s thousands of flowers in there and they’re always in that pattern. Touch some of the little buds, run your fingers up the flower stalk and go down.” Kevin’s approach to the wildflower tourism public is the interactive and corporeal generation of botanical memory. Half of my interview with Kevin occurred as a “mobile interview” (Hitchings and Jones 2004, 8) as we walked amongst his collection of plantings (Fig. 4). Participation in the learning act involved tasting the nectar of the banksia flower and eating its nutty seeds. The ritualistic aspects of plant encounters recur as Kevin advised me to pluck the nectareous flower bunches and suck out the sweet liquid, then put a flame to the seeds to roast them before eating: Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 43 There are plenty of flowers. Get one on a bending stem at the base and pull out the recently opened ones. Pull out a handful while you have them, chew them and you will have sucked the nectar like Aboriginal people did. You can eat the seeds. They are delicious. Usually we put a flame on them just to take the kernel off but just try chewing. They are a little bit like a peanut and quite nutty. This passage expresses physical encounter involving gestural language; pull, chew, suck and eat are actions necessitating the closing of distance and the removal of the sensory distance associated with taxonomic knowledge. Kevin interfaces with plants with sensorial openness and abandonment. Although scientifically competent, his knowledge is partly imbued with the sensation of contact: This one smells quite sweet. You have to put your nose right into it. As kids we would part the flowers, poke our tongue in there and suck the delicious nectar from the flower. Recollections may be sense-rich, expressing the assertion by Seremetakis (1994, 9) that memory is a “culturally mediated material practice that is activated by embodied acts.” Memory of sweetness crosses into smell and taste actively constituted by the diction “poking” and “sucking,” implying an Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 44 intimacy with his plantings. He further encourages me to “squeeze,” “chew” and “suck” the flowers to draw out the sweet nectar: Sometimes you can just squeeze them and see little balls of nectar come up. There’s one in the middle there that’s showing. But just chew the yellow bits, suck it and you should get a little bit of nectar. Odors also shape a visitor’s experience when, for instance, Kevin points out the smell of boronia, one of the characteristic fragrances of the native Southwest vegetation: “This is boronia. One of the highly aromatic plants. Just have a smell of that.” References to modern taxonomic nomenclature commingle with his treatment of ancient aromatic qualities of the cosmopolitan Rosaceae family of which boronia is part: Boronias are in the Rosaceae family and all Rosaceae have highly aromatic foliage. Not only aromatic flowers but aromatic leaves. This is another Rosaceae. And this will be a little bit different. But they’re all very aromatic plants. Kevin bridges seamlessly the technical language of scientific botany and the sensuous language of bodily experience in a manner similar to nineteenth century American writer and naturalist Henry David Thoreau (1993, 2000) and Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 45 Australian place writers such as Edmund Banfield (1968). Sensory practice subtends his understandings of plant ecology: Feel how soft they are and put your head near one of these flowers. Very few banksias are aromatic. And these are pollinated by moths. See those tiny little pollen presenters. They’re very close together. They’re very thin and the little moths push in to suck the nectar to pollinate this one. He hybridizes scientific facts with embodied experience, emphasizing material human and non-human interdependencies. Also featured at Banksia Farm, dryandras offer possibilities for multisensorial involvement with visitors, affirmed by the appellation “honey pot flowers:” Most of the dryandras that have their flower seeds just coming into bud have what we call ‘honey pot flowers’. And when those little loops come out you can put your finger in there and just lick the nectar off. This mobile interview with Kevin Collins occurred at the crossroads of botanical science and human corporeality. As sites of memory expression, bodies mediate the natural and cultural worlds (Giblett 2008). Smells, tastes, and textures undergird abstract scientific explanations that may seem meaningless Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 46 or irrelevant to wildflower tourists. Incubated in the fibres of the body, memories of plants gestate ongoing re-enactments of sensoriality. Fig. 4. Menzies’ Banksia (Banksia menziesii). With common names such as firewood banksia and flame banksia, Menzies’ banksia is known for its quick-burning timber. (Photo by the author) 8. Conclusion I have advocated in this paper a sensory and emotional approach to the study of botanical memory, just as Classen (1997, 410) outlines the timeliness of “a sensory approach to culture” through an anthropology of the senses. Memories of plants are inextricably tied to the complexities of the human faculty of remembrance and its sensory and emotional aspects. As an area of potential Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 47 research into human-plant interactions, botanical memory represents a poignant component of environmental memory that is intimately related to the flora of diverse scales of place, from locales to regions. The beginning of this paper outlined various memory frameworks including sensory memory (Seremetakis 1994), body memory (Connerton 1989; Boyer and Wertsch 2009), collective memory (Hua 2009), emotional geography (Bondi, Davidson, and Smith 2005), and environmental memory (Chawla 1994) to show potential directions for botanical memory research and to establish the modes through which plant enthusiasts wend during the act of recollection. Through readings of excerpts from interview transcripts organized under the overlapping categories mourning, celebration, and embodiment, I have argued that botanical memory may be multisensorial, emotional, and place-specific, but more typically alternates between these various mnemonic modes. Indeed, it is more germane to consider a plurality of botanical memories reflecting cultural and place values, rather than to conceptualize memory as a homogeneous discourse shared by people who interact with flora in a particular locale or region. Botanical memories reflect personal and collective proclivities, values, and dispositions towards plants and places. Different kinds of interviewees have been presented: wildflower tourists and proprietors involved in the consumption of wildflower tourism or the provision of tourism services (Alcock 2009; Sands 2009); scientific botanists and Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 48 horticulturalists who can control, within limits, the health and longevity of their plant collections (Collins 2009); and long-term Southwest residents turned conservationists who have witnessed the destruction of plant biodiversity first-hand (James 2009; Nannup 2009; Williams 2009). As an educator, Kevin Collins could be considered a facilitator of botanical memory involving the senses. The experience he allows for visitors galvanizes the multivalent capacity of memory for sensorial content, but his interview largely excludes feelings or “moods” that foster emotional attachments to flora. Lyn Alcock and Ayleen Sands, on the one hand, express celebratory emotions of flowers fixed firmly in their personal stories but missing the technical specialization of Kevin Collins or the comfort he displays with sensory immersion in the botanical world. David James, Noel Nannup, and Don Williams, on the other hand, refer to attachments to place through memories of flora reflecting a sense of mourning as plant populations vanish. In a rapidly changing place such as the Southwest of Western Australia, the study of human and plant interactions is a much-needed complement to botanical conservation research. Increasingly, the region’s native flora exists as remnant pockets within agricultural, pastoral, industrial, or suburban places. As actual plants become less common, so do memories of those plants; memories which contain rich emotional and sensory narratives with the power to instill in others the emotions of appreciation, wonder, and dismay. The Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 49 botanist Stephen Hopper (2009) affirms this in saying “When I grew up, having a patch of bush in the backyard or close enough within walking distance to the city was normal. Increasingly, as areas of bushland diminish and the city expands, that experience is on-offer less and less. So, I think this is where we have to be vigilant and continue to celebrate Western Australia, what’s special about it.” An integral part of celebration and its obverse, mourning, is the faculty of memory in all its diversity. References Albrecht, Glenn. 2010. Solastalgia and the creation of new ways of living. In Nature and culture: Rebuilding lost connections. Eds. Sarah Pilgrim and Jules Pretty. 217-234. London and Washington, D.C.: Earthscan. Alcock, Lyn. Interview by John Ryan. Digital recording. 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Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 51 Fabian, Johannes. 2007. Memory against culture: Arguments and reminders. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Giblett, Rod. 1996. Postmodern wetlands: Culture, history, ecology. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. ———. 2006. Forrestdale: People and place. Bassendean, WA: Access Press. ———. 2008. The body of nature and culture. Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Giblett, Rod, and David James. 2009. Anstey-Keane Botanical Jewel. Landscope 24(4): 42-44. Graham, Mary. 2008. Some thoughts about the philosophical underpinnings of Aboriginal worldviews. Australian Humanities Review. 45: unpaginated. Available at www.australianhumanitiesreview.org/archive/Issue- November-2008/graham.html Hamilakis, Yannis. 2010. Re-collecting the fragments: Archaeology as mnemonic practice. Material mnemonics: Everyday memory in prehistoric Europe. Eds. Katina Lillios and Vasileios Tsamis. 188-199. Oxford, UK: Oxbow Books. Hammersley, Martin, and Paul Atkinson. 2007. Ethnography: Principles in practice. Third ed. New York, NY: Routledge. Herz, Rachel, and Gerald Cupchik. 1995. The emotional distinctiveness of odor-evoked memories. Chemical Senses 20(5): 517-528. doi: 10.1093/chemse/20.5.517 Hitchings, Russell. 2003. People, plants and performance: On actor network theory and the material pleasures of the private garden. Social & Cultural Geography 4(1): 99-113. Hitchings, Russell, and Verity Jones. 2004. Living with plants and the exploration of botanical encounter within human geographic research practice. Ethics, Place & Environment 7 (1 & 2): 3-18. Hoffman, Bruce, and Timothy Gallaher. 2007. Importance indices in ethnobotany. Ethnobotany Research & Applications 5:201-218. Hopper, Stephen. 1998. An Australian perspective on plant conservation biology practice. Conservation biology for the coming decade. Eds. Peggy Fiedler and Peter Kareiva. 255-278. New York: Chapman Hall. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 52 ———.2004. Southwestern Australia, Cinderella of the world’s temperate floristic regions. Curtis's Botanical Magazine 21(2): 132-80. ———.2009 September 9. Interview by John Ryan. Digital recording. Phone interview. Howes, David. 2003. Sensual relations: Engaging the senses in culture and social theory. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Hua, Anh. 2009. 'What we all long for': Memory, trauma and emotional geographies. Emotion, place, and culture. Eds. Mick Smith, Joyce Davidson, Laura Cameron and Liz Bondi. 135-148. Farnham, UK: Ashgate. Humphries, Cliff. 1998. Nyoongar creation - tall trees and king parrot dreaming. Nyoongar views on logging old growth forests. Ed. Tim McCabe. 10-11. West Perth, W.A.: The Wilderness Society. James, David. Interview by John Ryan. Digital recording. Forrestdale, Western Australia, 23 September 2009. Jones, Owain. 2005. An ecology of emotion, memory, self and landscape. Emotional geographies. Eds. Joyce Davidson, Liz Bondi and Mick Smith. 205-218. Aldershot: Ashgate. Keighery, Greg, and John Beard. 1993. Plant communities. Mountains of mystery: A natural history of the Stirling Range. Eds. Carolyn Thomson, Graham Hall, and Gordon Friend. 43-54. Como, WA: Department of Conservation and Land Management. Lawrence, D.H., and Mollie Skinner. 1924/2002. The boy in the bush. Ed. Paul Eggert. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Lehrer, Jonah. 2007. Proust was a neuroscientist. New York: Houghton Mifflinn Company. Lines, William. 1994. An all consuming passion: Origins, modernity, and the Australian life of Georgiana Molloy. St. Leonards, N.S.W.: Allen & Unwin. Lledo, Pierre-Marie, Gilles Gheusi, and Jean-Didier Vincent. 2005. Information processing in the mammalian olfactory system. Physiological Reviews 85: 281-317. doi: 10.1152/physrev.00008.2004. Martin, Gary. 2004. Ethnobotany: A methods manual. London: Earthscan. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 53 Nannup, Noel. Interview by John Ryan. Digital recording. Mount Lawley, Western Australia, 21 July 2010. Paczkowska, Grazyna, and Alex Chapman. 2000. The Western Australian flora: A descriptive catalogue. Perth, WA: Wildflower Society of Western Australia (Inc.), the Western Australian Herbarium, CALM and the Botanic Gardens & Parks Authority. Pink, Sarah. 2009. Doing sensory ethnography. London: Sage. Porteous, John Douglas. 1989. Planned to death: The annihilation of a place called Howdendyke. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press. Proust, Marcel. 2008. Swann's way. Trans. C.K. Scott Moncrieff. Boston: MobileReference.com. Rose, Deborah Bird. 1992. Dingo makes us human: Life and land in an Aboriginal Australian culture. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Ryan, John. 2010a. Towards a corporeal aesthetics of plants: Ethnographies of embodied appreciation along the wildflower trail. Continuum. 24(4): 543- 557. ———. 2010b. Not a bush flâneur? The convergent topographies of recreational bushwalking, floristic appreciation and human embodiment in the Southwest of Western Australia. Colloquy 20: 5-32. Available at http://www.colloquy.monash.edu.au/issue020/ryan.pdf ———. 2011. Anthoethnography: Emerging research into the culture of flora, aesthetic experience of plants, and the wildflower tourism of the future. New Scholar 1: 28-40. Available at http://www.newscholar.org.au/index.php/ns/issue/current/showToc Sands, Ayleen. Interview by John Ryan. Digital recording. Stirling Range Retreat, Borden, Western Australia, 8 September 2009. Seremetakis, C. Nadia. 1994. The memory of the senses, Part I: Marks of the transitory. The senses stilled: Perception and memory as material culture in modernity. Ed. C. Nadia Seremetakis. 1-18. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Stoller, Paul. 1989. The taste of ethnographic things: The senses in anthropology. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 54 ———. 1997. Sensuous scholarship. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Stratford, Elaine. 1997. Memory work, geography and environmental studies: Some suggestions for teaching and research. Australian Geographical Studies 35 (2): 206-219. Summers, Lise. 2011. Wildflower season: The development of native flora protection legislation in Western Australia, 1911-1975. Studies in Western Australian History. Eds. Andrea Gaynor and Jane Davis. 27: 31- 44. Synnott, Anthony. 1991. Puzzling over the senses: From Plato to Marx. The varieties of sensory experience: A sourcebook in the anthropology of the senses. Ed. David Howes. 61-76. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Thoreau, Henry. 1993. Faith in a seed: The dispersion of seeds and other late natural history writings. Washington, DC: Island Press. ———. 2000. Wild fruits: Thoreau's rediscovered last manuscript. Ed. Bradley Dean. New York and London: W.W. Norton & Company. Urry, John. 2005. The place of emotions within place. Emotional geographies. Eds. Joyce Davidson, Mick Smith and Liz Bondi. 77-86. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Vivienne, May. 1901. Travels in Western Australia: Being a description of the various cities and towns, goldfields, and agricultural districts of that state. London: William Heinemann. Waskul, Dennis, Phillip Vannini, and Janelle Wilson. 2009. The aroma of recollection: Olfaction, nostalgia, and the shaping of the sensuous self. Senses & Society 4 (1): 5-22. Williams, Don. Interview by John Ryan. Digital recording. Badgingarra, Western Australia, 28 August 2009.
work_ihv5x4igszaubcelo4vmqd75t4 ---- O'Neill Famine(1) UC Santa Barbara Journal of Transnational American Studies Title Excerpt from Famine Irish and the American Racial State Permalink https://escholarship.org/uc/item/0bb4r3ws Journal Journal of Transnational American Studies, 8(1) Author O'Neill, Peter Publication Date 2017 License https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 4.0 eScholarship.org Powered by the California Digital Library University of California https://escholarship.org/uc/item/0bb4r3ws https://creativecommons.org/licenses/https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0//4.0 https://escholarship.org http://www.cdlib.org/ On a mid-August night in 1841, a thousand persons or so crowded into the Big Shop, a square building on the Massachusetts island of Nantucket, to hear a man, six foot tall with a stern gaze and a thick shock of hair, deliver his first-ever public speech. “It was with the utmost difficulty that I could stand erect, or that I could command and articulate two words without hes- itation and stammering,” the man, then twenty-three years old, later would recall. “I trembled in every limb.” Eventually he would warm to his task so well that his audience—advocates for the abolition of Southern slavery, most of them Northern Protestant intellectuals—“became as much excited as myself.” 1 This novice speaker was Frederick Douglass, who not long before had escaped from slavery and who soon would grow into an unequaled orator, writer, and activist. Contributing to his metamorphosis was a voyage from America to Ireland that Douglass undertook in 1845, the same year that Famine refugees began to sail from Ireland to America. Douglass’s was a “Black Atlantic” crossing, to use Paul Gilroy’s term—“an intercultural and transnational formation” (ix) that emerged out of a sojourn of ideational hybridization and exchange. Venturing eastward, Douglass reclaimed the humanity that had been denied to him and other Americans born into slavery—and to his Africa-born ancestors who, centuries before, had made the very different, Middle Passage journey of enslavement. Just as traveling on the Black Atlantic transformed Douglass, a “Green Atlantic” journey likewise transformed the Irish Famine emigrant—indeed, as this book illustrates, that westward journey often augured an Irish per- son’s crossing from green to white. In examining the interrelation of these Black and Green Atlantic crossings, it is worthwhile first to compare Dou- glass’s tongue-tied oratorical début—the 1841 speech in Nantucket—to the near-voicelessness of the Irish in flight. Near Silence of Famine-Ship Sorrows Appropriating from Antonio Gramsci a term denoting the economically dispossessed and historically muted subject, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak’s foundational postcolonial studies essay poses a question: “Can the Subaltern 1 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 33 Speak?” With regard to the nearly 2 million Irish who sailed to North Amer- ica in the Famine years, 2 many of whom were from the subaltern class, the answer is a resounding “no.” Only two “eyewitness” accounts of such crossings appear to exist, both of highly questionable origins. Moreover, the supposed authors of both were Irish men far different from the peasants who endured arduous journeys in the steerage sections of what are known to this day as “coffin ships.” 3 Between 1846 and 1851, an estimated 5,000 ships filled with Irish men, women, and children journeyed westward across the Atlantic (Laxton 7). Some Irish sailed directly to America from Ireland; many others left from Liverpool and other ports on the British mainland. This Liverpool leg indi- cates an intercrossing of the Black and Green Atlantics: Liverpool once was a premier center for slave trafficking. After Britain abolished slavery in its colonies in 1833, shipowners, crews, and agents who had profited from the Middle Passage suffered financially. According to Edward Laxton, Ireland’s 1840s misfortune proved the old slavers’ stroke of good luck. British ships again made westward journeys with human cargo—this time, Famine Irish in flight—and returned eastward laden with timber from Canada (8). Of the Irish who fled, Kenny states, 1.5 million went to the United States and another 300,000 elsewhere in North America 4 ( American Irish 89–90). Months in transit, in squalid quarters, took a heavy toll. The rate of deaths in the Famine’s worst year was 20 percent out of 214,000 Irish emigrants; that exceeds the estimated loss rate of 14.5 percent out of 12.4 million enslaved persons transported to America during the Middle Passage (Kenny, 103; K. Miller, 292; Rediker 5). To state this is by no means to diminish the ghastly criminality of the Atlantic slave trade; rather, the comparison is offered to explain how the vessels on which many Irish fled came to be called coffin ships. The Irish casualty rate, coupled with the abject poverty of many of the Irish who were emigrating, also helps to explain the virtual absence of coffin ship memoirs. One of the two published memoirs—said to be the diary of Gerard Kee- gan, a County Sligo schoolteacher and 1847 emigrant—has been proven to be a fraud. It first appeared in Quebec in 1895 under the title Summer of Sorrow , a work of historical fiction by Scottish-born Canadian Orangeman Robert Sellars. Despite this, a century later in Quebec, James J. Mangan, a teacher and member of the Christian Brothers religious order, published The Voyage of the Naparima (1982), claiming it to be an edited version based on a photostatic copy of Keegan’s manuscript. Republished in Dublin as Gerard Keegan’s Famine Diary: Journey to the New World (1991), Mangan’s work juxtaposes pages of printed prose with assertedly original journal entries, presenting the latter in cursive script. Whereas some Irish historians, in knee- jerk fashion, have seized upon the publication of the “diary” as proof of the fallacious nature of Irish nationalist received wisdom, without attempt- ing further investigation, Jason King has taken a more academically sound approach. Through meticulous archival research in Quebec, and elsewhere, 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 34 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era King contends that whereas both Keegan’s Famine Diary and Sellars’s Sum- mer of Sorrow are indeed works of historical fiction, they are based on actual eyewitness accounts and utilize other factual sources of famine migra- tion (“Genealogy” 47). King’s research has revealed, for example, that the two principal eyewitnesses upon which these publications were based were figures who ministered to the sick and dying Famine Irish in the fever sheds of Grosse Île, Quebec, Anglo-Irish landlord, Stephen De Vere, and Fr. Ber- nard O’Reilly 5 (48). Given King’s conclusion that Famine Diary “provides a discernable trajectory to contemporary first-person accounts of the fam- ine that are preeminent within a hierarchy of genres” (65), the harrowing entries of the Diary aboard the coffin ship, Naparima are worthy of our consideration. One such—an undated entry just above another dated May 1—states: While I was coming from the galley this afternoon, with a pan of sti- rabout for some sick children, a man suddenly sprang upwards from the hatchway, rushed to the bulwark, his white hair streaming in the wind, and without a moment’s hesitation leaped into the seething waters. He disappeared beneath them at once. His daughter soon came hurrying up the ladder to look for him. She said he had escaped from his bunk during her momentary absence, that he was mad with the fever. When I told her gently as I could that she would never see him again, she could not believe me, thinking he was hiding. Oh the piercing cry that came from her lips when she leaned where he had gone; the rush to the vessel’s side, and the eager look as she scanned the foaming billows. (79) Confabulation undercuts the force of this tale of the diseases and cruel- ties that more than 500 Canada-bound Irish migrants suffered aboard the Naparima , “an ancient tub of a vessel” (64). That said, Mangan’s effort to keep memories of the Famine alive stands in admirable contrast to those who would prefer to downplay the brutal treatment of the Famine Irish. Mangan’s perseverance, moreover, led to his rediscovery of another some- what more authentic coffin ship journal. Thus in 1994, Mangan published Robert Whyte’s 1847 Famine Diary: The Journey of an Irish Coffin Ship , a lightly edited version of The Ocean Plague: The Diary of a Cabin Passenger (1848), ostensibly written by one Robert Whyte. Whereas the authenticity of Ocean Plague has been called into question also, nevertheless, as Mark McGowan’s extensive research has revealed, 6 it contains fragments of eye- witness accounts that appear plausible, thus making it worthy of our con- sideration here. Little is known of Whyte––quite likely a pen name––except that he was an educated Irishman, possibly a professional writer, who on May 30, 1847, boarded the Ajax at a Dublin quay to begin a fateful Atlantic crossing. He and about a hundred other passengers were afloat for more than forty days before catching a glimpse of land. The Ajax did not make 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 35 port until almost sixty days had lapsed, and even then, the journey was not over. Whyte stayed a week at Grosse Île, a quarantine station in the middle of the St. Lawrence River; ailing passengers who had not perished at sea would stay much longer, and some would die at Grosse Île without ever setting foot in the Port of Quebec. Debility had been evident even as the passengers mustered on deck at the start of the journey. “[A] more motley crowd I never beheld; of all ages, from the infant to the feeble grandsire and withered crone,” Whyte writes (18). “Many of them,” he adds, “appeared to me to be quite unfit to undergo the hardship of a long voyage. . . . One old man was so infirm that he seemed to me to be in the last stage of consumption” (18). Not only illness, but also ignorance of what lay ahead, plagued these passengers. “They were chiefly from County Meath, and sent out at the expense of their landlord without any knowledge of the country to which they were going, or means of liveli- hood except the labour of the father of each family” (21). Conditions aboard made matters worse. Migrants were supposed to have brought their own food; there was not nearly enough, and the drinking water, stored in contaminated barrels, soon turned toxic. The inevitable results were fever, dysentery—the symptoms of which Whyte describes in graphic detail—and death. About a month into the journey, Whyte writes: “The moaning and raving of the patients kept me awake nearly all the night. . . . It made my heart bleed to listen to the cries for ‘Water, for God’s sake some water!’ ” (35). “[T]he effluvium of the hold,” he adds, “was shock- ing” (36). Having witnessed the “convulsive agony” of a child (34–35), and the “unnatural” deformity in a sick woman’s “swollen” head (36–37), Whyte learns from priests at Grosse Île that such scenes were not the exception, but rather the norm, on the coffin ships then anchored in the St. Lawrence River. “In the holds of some of them they said they were up to their ankles in filth. The wretched emigrants crowded together like cattle and corpses remaining long unburied—the sailors being ill and the passengers unwilling to touch them” (66). No doubt traumatized by the experience, Whyte crossed the bor- der to the United States, published his diary, then vanished into anonymity. To date no published, firsthand Irish diaries of the Famine voyage have surfaced besides these two. Yet even they do little to give voice to the sea- bounded experiences of the Famine Irish. Neither the putative author(s) of Keegan’s Famine Diary nor the pseudonymous author of Whyte’s 1847 Famine Ship Diary shared much in common with the illiterate, often Gaelic-speaking, spud growers and tenant farmers who suffered between decks (see Figure 1.1 ) Although Keegan’s Diary was based on secondhand sources, Whyte, sup- posedly a professional writer, traveled not in steerage with the subalterns below deck but was a cabin passenger who enjoyed meals with the captain and the captain’s wife. Thus these heart-wrenching sagas came from wit- nesses at some remove—at far less remove, however, than what may be the best-known account of death on a coffin ship. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 36 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era Figure 1.1 “Emigration Vessel.—Between Decks,” Illustrated London News, 10 May 1851: 387. Courtesy of the University of Georgia Libraries. A Coffin Ship Shattered at Cohasset “The brig St. John , from Galway, Ireland, laden with emigrants, was wrecked on Sunday morning.” 7 So writes Henry David Thoreau in “The Shipwreck,” an essay about his American encounter with the Irish Famine. It takes place in 1849 in Cohasset, eight years after and eighty miles away from Frederick Douglass’s début speech. By this time Thoreau was thirty-two years old and a writer of some note. He belonged to a circle of New Englanders, including the celebrated poet Ralph Waldo Emerson, who espoused transcendental- ism. Theirs was a “return to nature” movement, as a Thoreau biographer puts it, a movement that prized individualism and sought “to revert, as much as possible, from an artificial to a simple mode of living” (Salt 36). Thoreau had gone so far as to live alone in a hut beside Walden Pond from 1845 to 1847; by 1849, he was residing near Emerson in Concord, outside of Boston, and endeavoring to edit his Walden diary into a book (37–52, 67). 8 Thoreau begins “The Shipwreck” by explaining that a storm has thwarted his plans to travel via steamship from Boston to Cape Cod. He decides to take a train to see what the tempest has done to a coffin ship and its 145 pas- sengers. On arrival, the essayist accompanies “several hundred” distraught Irish Bostonians to the shore, passing a freshly dug mass grave. He relates: I saw many marble feet and matted heads . . . and one, livid, swollen and mangled body of a drowned girl,––who probably had intended to go out to service in some America family,––to which some rags still adhered, with a string, half concealed by the flesh, about its swollen neck; the coiled up wreck of a human hulk, gashed by the rocks or fishes, so that 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 37 the bone and the muscle were exposed, but quite bloodless,––merely red and white,––with wide-open and staring eyes, yet lusterless, deadlights: or like cabin windows of a stranded vessel filled with sand. (7) The sight doubtless brought to the minds of the Irish grisly Famine scenes, some of which they had lived through, some still occurring across the Atlan- tic. Thoreau misses the connection, finding the scene “bloodless.” Cohasset locals, Thoreau reports, go about their business of collecting seaweed: “Drown who might, they did not forget that this weed was a valuable manure. This shipwreck had not produced a visible vibration in the fabric of society” (9). One local speaks of the wreck “as if he had a bet depending on it, but had no humane interest in the matter” (11). Thoreau is with him: On the whole, it was not so impressive a scene as I might have expected. If I had found one body cast upon the beach in some lonely place, it would have affected me more. I sympathized rather with the winds and waves, as if to toss and mangle those poor human bodies was the order of the day. If this was the law of Nature, why waste any time in awe and pity? . . . It is the individual and private that demands our sympathy. (12-13) Later, he asks: “Why care for these dead bodies?” (14). Seeing so many victims seems to leave Thoreau with what today would be called compassion fatigue, not unlike the “Famine fatigue” that developed in mid-nineteenth-century Britain. 9 With his admission that only “the individual and private . . . demands our sympathy” (13), and his later reference to himself as “a lonely walker there” (13), Thoreau maintains distance between himself and the Irish vic- tims. His worldview is at odds with any public, communitarian, or corporate worldview—including Catholicism, 10 the religion of those who drowned at Cohasset. The most destitute of these Irish refugees had subsisted on the margins of a British colonial state that afforded them little to no relief when the Famine struck. These Irish arrived in America in bulk and, as Thoreau sees it, “really have no friends but the worms and the fishes” (14). This premise permits Thoreau to discuss the dead with remarkable detachment. He ticks off bodies on the shore. “Sometimes there were two or more children, or a parent and child, in the same box, and on the lid would perhaps be written with red chalk, ‘Bridget such-a-one, and sister’s child’ ” (7). The name he recites is the cultural imaginary’s stock label for the Irish woman—“Bridget,” partner of “Paddy.” Thoreau suggests that given their intended future of domestic “service in some America family” these drowned Bridgets may be better off dead: “No doubt we have reason to thank God that they have not been ‘shipwrecked in life again’ ” (7; 14). The 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 38 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era claim adumbrates the class dimension of this tragedy. The author’s Ameri- can, individualist, middle-class readers deserve to live, perhaps not the sub- servient, feminized Irish victims. Feminization is indeed at play. 11 In addition to the “body of a drowned girl . . . to which some rags still adhered” (7), the essay describes a woman’s body, “risen in an upright position,” a corpse “whose white cap is blown back with the wind” (13). Dwelling on these particular shipwreck victims, Thoreau indulges in what Jack Morgan calls the “female embodiment of catastrophe.” 12 Morgan shows how “The Shipwreck,” written by an Amer- ican man, charts a feminizing course similar to Famine journals written by British men. In so doing, Morgan draws on Margaret Kelleher’s identifi- cation of a transgressive voyeurism: These men’s Famine accounts, Kelle- her observes, stress the “nakedness or quasi-nakedness” of women victims ( Feminization 24). “The female figure, as scene of hunger and ‘bearer of meaning’, receives a detailed physical inspection, never matched in charac- terizations of male famine victims” ( Feminization 24). 13 If Thoreau shares this transgressive voyeurism with British male observers of the Famine, he shares it also with someone far closer to home. Deborah McDowell’s insightful critique of Douglass’s writing comes to mind here. McDowell observes that in the Narrative , as well as in his other autobiographies, the repeated accounts of whippings of Black women by white men are clearly sexualized. This repetition, she maintains, “projects him [Douglass] into a voyeuristic relation to the violence against slave women, which he watches, and thus enters into a symbolic complicity with the sexual crime he wit- nesses” (203). Douglass’s frequent association of freedom from bondage with manhood, most famously, in his account of his fight with Covey the slave breaker, 14 his constant emphasis on Black male power often at the expense of the female slave, aligns him with contemporaries such as Tho- reau. Both men reproduce a gendered division of power in their writing–– in the Narrative , it is reproduced through the elision of the female slave, whereas in “The Shipwreck” it is the male Famine victim who is elided. Indeed, of all the Paddies aboard the St. John , Thoreau gives not a men- tion. 15 And what little Thoreau said of such men in other contexts revealed an anti-Irish bias. One reference, to an Irish neighbor at Walden Pond, employs words evocative of the potato debate that roiled Britain in the early 1800s: 16 “With his horizon all his own, yet he a poor man, born to be poor, with his inherited Irish poverty or poor life, his Adam’s grandmother and boggy ways, not to rise in this world, he nor his posterity, till their wading webbed bog-trotting feet get talaria to their heels” ( Walden 156). Helen Lojek notes that Thoreau’s prejudicial “attitude towards the Irish is revealed not in a developed essay nor even in any extended analysis in the pages of his journal; rather it comes in bits and pieces; in casual references, in narra- tives included in longer works, in incidental descriptions” (280). 17 Like other aspects of his writings, these references situate Thoreau in the mainstream of nineteenth-century Protestant elite thinking. Douglass’s anti-Irish bias will be discussed shortly. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 39 Protestant Intellectuals and the Irish Peasant Thoreau’s dispassionate meditation on the St. John tragedy is in keeping with the Emersonian tradition that John Carlos Rowe calls “aesthetic dissent”; that is, “the romantic idealist assumption that rigorous reflection on the pro- cesses of thought and representation constitutes in itself a critique of social reality and effects a transformation of the naïve realism that confuses truth with social convention” ( Emerson’s Tomb 1). As Rowe shows, American transcendentalists privileged “rigorous reflection” over political engagement. Thoreau’s reflection leads him to view the St. John disaster as part of “the law of Nature,” not worth one’s “wast[ing] any time in awe and pity” (13). 18 He naturalizes the shipwreck—in effect, he removes human agency from the human carnage—and so senses no need to interrogate the human-made social and political events that drove these Irish Famine escapees to the rocks of Cohasset. The feint nicely illustrates how transcendentalism leant itself to the emergence of a US exceptionalist ideology disinterested in the ugliness of primitive accumulation lurking at the state’s foundations. The ugliness extended to the annihilation of indigenous Americans, to the subjection of women, and to the mistreatment of persons whose ancestors arrived from continents other than Europe. The ugliness also extended, of course, to slav- ery. As an emergent sovereign power, the United States included slaves only so that they could be excluded from its legal framework; that is, US laws regarded African American slaves not as people but as property subject to the laws of commerce. Slaves were “two persons in one,” Stephen Best main- tains (9). “Rights” were attached to the slave’s labor but not to the slave’s body; moreover, any such rights were held not by the slave but by the “free white person” adjudged the slave’s owner. Best points to the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850, which treated the slave both as bare life devoid of legal stand- ing as a human being and also as an article of property that may be bought, sold, or hunted down (9). These gritty complexities escaped the transcenden- talists’ regard. As Rowe maintains, the great emancipatory movements of the American nineteenth century–– women’s rights and the abolition of slavery––were unquestionably subordinated by this aesthetic ideology to the ‘higher laws’ of an Ameri- can Romanticism established firmly by Emerson, Thoreau, and Whitman and institutionalized by several generations of professional interpreters. (5) This Protestant intellectual establishment likewise enabled prejudice more virulent than the casual form that Thoreau practiced. An example may be found in an 1837 sermon in which Emerson offered this assessment of minority groups then called “races”: 19 I think it cannot be maintained by any candid person that the African race have ever occupied or do promise ever to occupy any very high 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 40 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era place in the human family. The Irish cannot; the American Indian can- not; the Chinese cannot. Before the energy of the Caucasian race all the other races have quailed and done obeisance. (Emerson, Journals 152) 20 Emerson would elaborate on these ideas in English Traits , his 1856 trans- atlantic bestseller. From its inception, as evidenced by the Naturalization Act of 1790, the American state classified the Irish as “whites” eligible for citi- zenship. 21 Yet for decades thereafter, Emerson and his like distinguished the Irish from the Anglo-Saxon 22 and considered the latter the one true Amer- ican stock. Even as America’s dominant culture came to accept the Irish, 23 moreover, it continued to consign the other groups named by Emerson to racial otherness. Erasure/Excavation of Irish Identities Curiously, Thoreau’s essay “The Shipwreck” eventually contradicts its initial assertion of the Cohasset locals’ numbness. “They would watch there for many days and nights for the sea to give up its dead,” he writes, “and their imaginations and sympathies would supply the place of mourners far away, who as yet knew not of the wreck” (13). Yet even as he commends these locals’ vigilance, Thoreau—again, perhaps, revealing his own classism— insists that they lack his depth. Unlike them, he sees an aesthetic in the sea’s coughing up of the upright corpse of a woman, her white cap blowing in the wind: “I saw,” he says, “that the beauty of the shore itself was wrecked for many a lonely walker there, until he could perceive at last, how its beauty was enhanced by wrecks like this, and it acquired thus a rarer and sub- limer beauty still” (13–14). By this telling the drowned woman is reified, an unnamed figure put on the landscape just so that the “lonely walker” may contemplate her. Thoreau’s erasure of Irish identities contrasts with the unearthing of those same identities in a recent book on this same calamity. Writing in 2009, William Henry, author of Coffin Ship: The Wreck of the Brig St. John , has no circa-1849 quotations at his disposal. Nevertheless, by consulting community historians on both sides of the Atlantic, Henry pieces together details about the people doomed to travel on the St. John ’s final voyage. His book identifies the captain as Martin Oliver, a Galway resident like all his crew. Also reproduced are the names and homelands of passengers—most hailed from Clare or Connemara, and some had walked for days to reach the Galway port. With precision, Henry recounts that 109 passengers and seven crew members drowned at Cohasset; only seventeen passengers and nine of the crew—among them, Captain Oliver—survived. Henry’s prose is not polished. Yet by reviving facts in the lives of these shipwrecked, he succeeds where Thoreau, deadened to all feeling, cannot. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 41 Figure 1.2 “Frederick Douglass.” 1845. Courtesy of the Hargrett Rare Book & Manuscript Library at the University of Georgia. Thoreau’s “drowned girl” is not a human but rather “the coiled up wreck of a human hulk” (7)—the cast off of a transcendent “Spirit” (15). Perhaps unwittingly, by use of the term “hulk,” Thoreau conjures not only a ruin from which the Spirit has fled, a husk without its kernel, but also the “hulks” to which many Famine Irish were condemned for the crime of stealing food. In this respect, “hulk” is both a metaphor for expendable life and a metonym for the Famine victims who began fleeing from Ireland’s horrors the same year that Thoreau retreated to Walden’s splendors: 1845. Douglass Flees to an Ireland Itself in Flight In 1845, four years after his Nantucket speech, Frederick Douglass also put to flight. His first book had just been published, titled Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass , an American Slave, Written by Himself ; it begins with his life as a slave in Maryland, tells of his escape to the North, and ends with his speech at the abolitionist rally in Nantucket. Today, on account of that book and two other autobiographies, My Bondage and My Freedom (1855) and Life and Times of Frederick Douglass (1893), he is regarded among the most remarkable figures in the history of American letters. “In his writing,” William S. McFeely writes, “Douglass outran being a runaway” (115). Even as early as 1845, Douglass was much in demand as a public speaker. But he was a wanted man in another sense, too, his risk of forced return to slavery growing along with his fame. Thus in late August 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 42 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era of that year, Douglass accepted abolitionists’ invitation to visit Britain and Ireland. Douglass’s voyage to Liverpool aboard the Cunard liner Cambria was a transformative journey second only to his escape from Maryland. 24 It is true that he was forced to travel in steerage, for the reason that, as he writes in My Bondage, My Freedom , “American prejudice against color triumphed over British liberality and civilization, and erected a color test and condition for crossing the sea in the cabin of a British vessel” ( Autobiographies 370). Douglass was not unduly perturbed, however. Soon he began receiving pas- sengers from first class who began calling on him in his second-class quar- ters. He seemed to enjoy himself for the most part and was quite the center of attraction during the voyage. Perhaps responding to requests, Cambria ’s Captain Judkins invited Dou- glass to lecture on slavery (371). According to McFeely, “Douglass delivered a fiery oration denouncing the merchants who had used ships, like the one he was on, to haul human cargo from Africa” (120). Some inebriated South- ern slaveholders in the audience made to throw Douglass overboard. They were subdued by Judkins, who in a wonderfully ironic gesture, threatened “to put the salt water mobocrats in irons” ( Autobiographies 371). For the first time in Douglass’s life, authority had come to his rescue. As Alan J. Rice and Martin Crawford write in the introductory chapter to their collection of essays on Douglass’s visit to Ireland and Britain, Liberating Sojourn , “On the Cambria , the racial world is turned upside down in a carnivalesque picture of enchained slaveholders and free-speaking African Americans that only becomes possible away from American mores in the liminal zone of the sea” (3). Douglass often recalled this incident, expressing his gratitude that the slaveholders had unwittingly done him a huge favor. “Men, in their senses,” he wrote, “do not take bowie knives to kill mosquitoes, nor pistols to shoot flies; and the American passengers on board the Cambria took the most effec- tive method of telling the British public that I had something to say” (381). In no small part due to the publicity surrounding the incident, in Britain and Ireland Douglass’s appearances attracted large and enthusiastic crowds. But the incident had a much deeper significance, according to Rice and Crawford: What Douglass achieved through the recounting of his triumph aboard the Cambria was a refiguring of the Atlantic crossing from a histori- cally enslaving experience into a literally liberating one. The old Atlantic triangular trade had taken slaves to the Americas and brought back cotton and other raw materials that were turned into finished goods to be traded for slaves in Africa. Douglass’s trip could be seen symbolically to mirror aspects of this trade. He came to Britain as raw material of a great black figure; he would leave in April 1847 the finished indepen- dent man, cut from a whole cloth and able to make his own decisions about the strategies and ideologies of the abolitionist movement. (3) 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 43 Douglass stayed only a few days in England before he sailed back west to Ireland. There he was to spend almost six months before journeying onward to Scotland and England. It was in Ireland, not England, that Douglass first noticed a change within. “I can truly say,” he wrote in one of several public letters he sent New England abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison from Ire- land, “I have spent some of the happiest moments of my life in this country. I seemed to have undergone a transformation, I live a new life” ( Autobiog- raphies 373). Douglass Finds His Voice Ireland From Belfast on New Year’s Day in 1846, Douglass wrote Garrison: Instead of the bright blue sky of America, I am covered with the soft grey fog of the Emerald Isle. I breathe and lo! the chattel becomes a man. I gaze around in vain for one who will question my equal humanity, claim me as a slave, or offer me an insult. I employ a cab—I am seated beside white people—I reach the hotel—I enter the same door—I am shown into the same parlor—I dine at the same table—and no one is offended. No delicate nose deforms in my presence. (P. Foner 1:127–28) In the same letter, Douglass adds, “My opportunities for learning the char- acter and condition of the people of this land have been very great” (1:126). He had traveled all over Ireland, and whereas he undoubtedly learned a lot about the Irish people, he learned perhaps even more about himself. His observations in Ireland stand in marked contrast to some he made about England. Later in his tour, for example, Douglass would comment, “I find I am hardly Black enough for British taste” (qtd in Jenkins 27). “If Victorian Britain found in Douglass an answer to its need for an exotic Other,” Lee Jenkins has observed, “Douglass himself seems to have found the full com- plement of his selfhood—in Victorian Ireland” (27). Douglass’s Irish sojourn began in Dublin, in the home of Quaker Richard Webb, publisher of the Irish edition of The Narrative . Webb and Douglass argued over many aspects of publication. One row concerned the inclusion of articles by two Belfast clergymen in the Dublin edition. Webb did not want to include them, but Douglass insisted and, in the end, prevailed. In contrast to many American abolitionists “Webb was, in the main, an honor- able foe,” according to McFeely. “He was one of the few of Douglass’ anti- slavery antagonists who did not prefer to smile benignly and then do their undercutting offstage. Webb was brave enough to disagree with Douglass to his face” (122). This crucial difference between Webb and the New England abolitionists did not go unnoticed by Douglass. The Irish edition of The Narrative contains a new preface and other emendations. Until fairly recently, scholars for the most part ignored the 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 44 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era changes that Douglass made in Ireland; most considered the first Ameri- can printing of The Narrative to be the authoritative version. But then in 2001, Fionnghuala Sweeney and Patricia Ferreira published separate jour- nal articles, each of which highlighted the personal and literary opportu- nities of which Douglass had availed himself while in Ireland. 25 Sweeney contended that the reprinting of the Narrative in Ireland marks the beginning of a stage in Douglass’s career that has profound implications for contemporary reading of his life and work . . . the Irish Narratives mark a transitional phase in Douglass’ emergence as a modern subject and in his negotiation of nineteenth-century models of socio-cultural identity. (“Republic” 47) Ferreira in turn pointed out that Douglass’s use in the Irish edition of spe- cific, discursive methodologies marked a profound change: it “demonstrates his assertion of command over his own destiny” (60). Part of his new pref- ace and the entire appendix are devoted to an exchange between Douglass and a supporter of slavery, A.C.C. Thompson. Originally a set of letters in newspapers, Douglass crafted them into a dialog “that speaks to his desire to seize and manage his own affairs” (Ferreira 60). Douglass’s dialogic use of Thompson skillfully subverts nineteenth-century Americans’ refusal to deem a slave narrative authentic unless it granted discursive authority to white people of a certain social standing. The Narrative ’s Dublin version mocks this practice of privileging one writer’s words over another on account of social standing and race. The Dublin edition thus marks a turning point in Douglass’s literary and political life, a time when he took self-confident steps to get out from under the suffocating, paternalistic attempts of the New England antislavery establishment to control him. In Ireland, Douglass was becoming his own man. “In literary terms this involved the recreation of Ireland as a space of social mobility that allowed the crystallization of modern subjectivity that Douglass was so painstakingly constructing,” Sweeney writes. “Ireland, a liminal and empowering space—like Douglass himself, on the margin of modernity—provided the context of his political and literary evolution” (“Republic” 56). Ireland’s “Liberator” Besides his literary endeavors in Ireland, Douglass met with people who would inspire him for a lifetime, and no one inspired him more than Daniel O’Connell. Douglass so revered the man, known in Ireland as the Liberator, that he visited Dublin’s Kilmainham Jail just to see the cell where his hero once had been held (Rolston 78). 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 45 In his Life and Times , Douglass writes of the great Irish Nationalist leader and gifted orator O’Connell: Until I heard this man I had thought that the story of his oratory was greatly exaggerated. . . . His eloquence came down upon the vast assem- bly like a summer thunder-shower upon a dusty road. He could at will stir the multitude to a tempest of wrath or reduce it to the silence with which a mother leaves the cradle-side of her sleeping babe. Such ten- derness, such pathos, such world-embracing love!—and, on the other hand, such indignation, such fiery and thunderous denunciation, such wit and humor, I never heard surpassed, if equaled at home or abroad. He held Ireland within the grasp of his strong hand, and could lead it whithersoever he would, for Ireland believed in him and loved him as she loved and believed in no leader since. ( Autobiographies 682) O’Connell’s renown centers primarily on his political agitation around two main issues: first, repeal of the 1801 Act of Union that purported to join Ireland with Britain, and second, status for Irish Catholics whom Brit- ish Penal Laws denied even the most basic legal standing (Nowlan 10). The first effort failed. But O’Connell won partial success in the latter in 1829, when Parliament passed the Catholic Emancipation Act, which accorded Irish Catholics limited voting and property rights. Notable from Douglass’s perspective was O’Connell’s stance on slavery. At Westminster, O’Connell gave eloquent speeches advocating the abolition of slavery. O’Connell refused money offered him by Southern slaveholders, 26 moreover, and he enforced an oft-quoted test: “That one should ascertain where an Englishman or Irishman stood on slavery before shaking his hand” (Rolston 78–79). In her excellent biography of the Liberator, Christine Kinealy argues: “His unwavering commitment to the cause of abolition, and to human rights generally, marked him out as one of the truly great statesmen of the nineteenth century” (9). O’Connell’s exploits endeared him to Douglass, to Garrison, and to other abolitionists active on both sides of the Atlantic. Douglass would maintain a national and transnational presence after his return in 1847. The very next year, he was the only African American person to attend and speak at the first women’s rights conference in Seneca Falls, New York. Thereafter, he championed feminism as well as the abolition of slavery and the institution of home rule in Ireland. In 1872, he became the first African American to win nomination for vice president of the United States, on an Equal Rights Party ticket headed by the first woman presi- dential nominee, Victoria Woodhull. Over the decades, he traveled widely, was a frequent guest at the White House, and served as US envoy to the Dominican Republic and, from 1889 to 1891 as US minister resident and consul to Haiti. Moreover, Douglass’s publication of successive biographies 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 46 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era secured him a place among the greats of American letters. 27 This pivotal nineteenth-century figure died on February 20, 1895, and was buried in Mount Hope Cemetery in Rochester, New York. 28 Douglass Encounters the Famine Irish Douglass’s first transatlantic sojourn coincided with the single most destruc- tive event of nineteenth-century Europe. The Great Irish Famine had begun in 1845 with the partial failing of the year’s crop of potatoes, Irish peasants’ staple food. Repeated crop failures would hasten the spread of disease and destitution and lead, over the course of the decade, to the deaths of well over a million Irish children, women, and men. The sorrows surrounding him in Ireland were not lost on Douglass. In an extraordinary letter dated February 26, 1846, he described to Garrison a harrowing tableaux. In Dublin, “the scenes I there witnessed were such to make me ‘blush and hang my head to think myself a man’ ” (P. Foner 1:139). Douglass wrote of his visit to a windowless, mud-walled hut, filthy and scum covered, a place where men, women and children “lie down together, in much the same degradation as the American slaves. I see much here to remind me of my former condition, and I confess I should be ashamed to lift up my voice against American slavery, but that I know the cause of human- ity is one the world over” (1:141). Douglass echoes these thoughts in My Bondage and My Freedom , published nearly a decade later. Recalling songs that slaves were made to sing on American plantations, he writes: “I have never heard any songs like those anywhere since I left slavery, except when in Ireland. There I heard the same wailing notes, and was much affected by them. It was during the famine of 1845–6” ( Autobiographies 184). Like- wise, during an 1854 lecture, 29 Douglass describes “a large meeting of the common people” he attended nine years before in Dublin: “More than five thousand were assembled; and I say, with no wish to wound the feelings of any Irishman, that these people lacked only a black skin and wooly hair, to complete their likeness to the plantation negro.” He explains to his Cleve- land audience that the claim applies not to educated and well-to-do Irish but rather to the peasantry that suffered most during the Famine: “[T]he Irishman ignorant and degraded, compares in form and feature, with the Negro” (P. Foner 2: 305). Through comments like these, Douglass repeat- edly connects his bare life existence in America—that is, the experiences of himself and others who had been reduced to slavery in the early American Republic—with contemporaneous Irish subaltern poverty and deprivation under British colonial rule. Douglass’s perception of the underbellies of two Atlantic racial states distinguishes him from most Famine Irish emigrants, as we soon shall see. It likewise distinguished him from white Protestant elites who professed to draw inspiration from Douglass’s example. Among these latter was Thoreau. Born within months of one another, 30 Tho- reau and Douglass appear never to have met in person. Douglass frequently 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 47 traveled abroad and absorbed what he learned there; Thoreau never made an Atlantic voyage. 31 And yet the lives of the two men sometimes entwined. Thoreau’s Walden , published in 1854, following years of editing, has been compared to Douglass’s Narrative : both works involve the repudiation of and escape from a corrupt society; both record a tale of growing self-reliance and self-confidence. McFeely writes that “Thoreau heard a Wendell Phillips lecture describing Douglass’s exodus––and reporting that a written account was on its way––in the spring of 1845 as he was planning his sojourn outside Concord” (115). According to Thoreau biographer Robert Richardson, Jr., it is not “an accident that the earliest stages of Thoreau’s move to Walden coincide with . . . the publication of Douglass’s narrative of how he gained his freedom. Walden is about self-emancipation” (qtd in McFeely 115). Although they came to the position by profoundly different paths, both Thoreau and Douglass advocated the abolition of Southern slavery. Once, in 1859, when Douglass became unable to fulfill a speaking engagement, Thoreau served as his replacement. “The stand-in did well,” writes McFeely, adding that “Henry David Thoreau’s ‘A Plea for John Brown’ was the most powerful address of his life” (202). But intellectuals such as Thoreau did not link slavery in America to bare life existences elsewhere; rather, they expressed outrage at slavery’s denial of individual human liberty. Indeed, the detachment that Thoreau put forward in his “Shipwreck” essay matched that of many of Douglass’s sponsors in Ireland, most of whom were middle- to upper-class Protestants. They seemed not particularly concerned by the suffering all around them. McFeely writes, “Douglass did not entirely miss this tragic irony . . .” (126). To the contrary, Douglass’s February 1846 letter to Garrison demonstrates his grasp of connections among underclasses in Ireland and America; in McFeely’s words, “how real for him was the chain that linked all suffering people” (126). But although Douglass comprehended the irony, “he never brought it up in public addresses,” perhaps not wishing to offend his hosts (126). Douglass refrained from offering solutions to the problems that he saw in Ireland. “In lieu of explanation,” McFeely con- cludes, “he resorted to the familiar dodge of blaming drunkenness” (126). It was a dodge—a scapegoat stereotype of which Protestant elites in particular were fond 32 —that Douglass invoked when convenience warranted. As Swee- ney shows in her book Frederick Douglass and the Atlantic World , at times during his journey abroad, Douglass posited the starving Irish peasant as a symbol of social difference; in so doing, he enhanced the portrayal of himself as an enlightened expatriate American. Famine Irish Wash Ashore in America The ways that Atlantic crossings affected Irish refugees were no less com- plex. The surge of Irish sojourns had begun out of desperation; as despera- tion mounted, the number of crossings increased. In all, upwards of 2 million persons were forced to emigrate in less than a decade (Kenny, American Irish 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 48 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 89–90). They fled in one-time slave ships and even less seaworthy vessels, enduring conditions that might be called unspeakable had not Keegan’s and Whyte’s coffin ship memoirs given voice to those conditions. Transatlantic voy- ages once undertaken only in spring or summer, for safety’s sake, continued year-round. Emigrants were thrown to the mercy of the elements. As Thoreau’s and Henry’s accounts of the St. John make clear, not all of them survived. Exacerbating matters, English and Anglo-Irish landlords eager to shed the burden of Ireland’s impoverished surplus population offered their Famine-struck tenants free passage to America. Some landowners endeav- ored to assure that their tenants’ journey would be humane; many did not. In the latter category was John Henry Temple, known as Lord Palmerston—in Trollope’s telling, “he was dear old Pam to the normal Englishman” (185). 33 A cabinet member and future British prime minister, “Pam” spent most of his time in London and so never witnessed firsthand the suffering of his Irish tenantry; he did, however, take note of the Famine’s drain on his profit margin. In Black ’47, the worst year of the disaster, he dispatched 2,000 of his poorest tenants to North America by the cheapest means available. On arrival of the first of the nine Palmerston coffin ships, authorities in Saint John, New Brunswick, were enraged: most persons on board were too old, too young, or too sick to work. Worse was to come. On the next ship, 107 had died of fever, and sixty were seriously ill. Of a third ship, the chief sur- geon at the Canadian quarantine station reported: “[M]any are almost in a state of nudity; 99 percent of the passengers on this ship must become a public charge immediately” (qtd in Laxton 77). The story of the Famine Irish in the United States began much the same way. Their demographic impact was considerable: of all immigrants to the United States in the 1840s nearly half, and in the 1850s more than a third, were Irish. 34 They had left Ireland as a matter of survival rather than choice and so were vastly unprepared for the transition. As Kenny notes, “[T]he immigrants of the famine generation were close to the bottom of the Amer- ican social scale. There were many individual exceptions, of course, but American Irish in the period 1845 to 1870 were clearly the least successful of all European Americans” (109). The American Protestant elites were appalled, and as in Britain, simi- anized images of “Paddy” (sometimes, “Mick,” or “Mike”) and “Bridget” (“Norah”) became commonplace in American cultural production. These derogations were indicative of other discrimination the Irish endured on arrival in America, as will be detailed in succeeding chapters. Of special note in the context of this chapter is how fluctuations in the position of this gen- eration, as it voyaged out of one state and sought to anchor itself in another, affected the generation’s attitudes and actions toward others. The fact is that by the late nineteenth century, the transatlantic Irish had been liberated from their barely human status assigned them by the sovereign power of the British colonial state in Ireland. Undoubtedly, dis- criminatory practices due to their status as “white-if-not-quite” 35 in the 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 49 American cultural imaginary caused considerable hardship for the newly arrived, subaltern Irish. Many families struggled for generations to escape the inequitable, often brutal American class system. Even among the more well-to-do Irish Catholic immigrants, these quotidian struggles piqued Irish American anxiety with respect to race. These Irish were far less enamored than Douglass, for instance, with O’Connell’s assertions of common cause between Irish liberation and the liberation of enslaved African Americans. 36 Once in America, Famine refugees and their families deigned not to connect their own barely human status in Ireland with the bare life status of any group that America had relegated to the underclass on grounds of “race.” Irish America bristled at American nativist depictions that equated it with other groups. An 1876 cover of Harper’s Weekly , a “most important” US periodical, 37 exemplified such depictions (see Figure 1.3 ). Sitting in perfect balance in opposite pans of a scale, two men—a barefoot African Ameri- can designated “Black” and a simianized, leprechaun-garbed Irish American designated “White”—glare at each other. “The Ignorant Vote—Honors Are Figure 1.3 “The Ignorant Vote—Honors Are Easy.” Cover of Harper’s Weekly, December 9, 1876. Courtesy of the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 50 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era Easy,” reads the caption. As the next chapter details, ordinary Irish shared the anxiety such depictions caused with an ideological apparatus that was central to their new lives, the American Catholic Church. Irish American anxiety about race surfaced in more sinister ways as well. During the 1863 Draft Riots, Irish mobs burned down New York’s Colored Orphan Asylum and murdered and mutilated scores of African Americans (Kenny 124–25). In California in the 1870s and 1880s, the Irish led the often-violent anti-Chinese movement. 38 Examples of inspiring solidarity between the Irish and other ethnicities exist—the San Patricio Battalion is one 39 —but examples like these are the exception rather than the rule. As we shall see in subsequent chapters, the American racial state welcomed the Irish as “free white labor,” and many Irish responded by enforcing stereotypes that enabled the exclusion, or policing, of groups deemed “non-white.” 40 Entering a new calculus of race, they played a key role in defining the Amer- ican racial state. And one of most importance apparatuses that enabled that role was the Irish-controlled American Roman Catholic Church, to which we turn in the following chapter. Notes 1. The quoted recollection is from Douglass’s memoir titled My Bondage, My Freedom (1855), reprinted in Autobiographies 364. For an account of the speech, see McFeely 88–90. On Douglass’s age and height, see “Death of Fred Douglass,” New York Times , Feb. 21, 1895, available at http://www.nytimes.com/learning/ general/onthisday/bday/0207.html. Accessed 09/13/14. On Douglass’s appear- ance in this period, see Figure 1.2, reproduced later in this chapter. 2. See Kenny, American Irish 89–90 (writing that 1.8 million Irish went to North America between 1846 and 1855). 3. Statistics regarding these ships are set forth later in the chapter. See also O’Neill, “Frederick Douglass and the Irish.” 4. Because the US racial state is the focus of this book, Famine Irish migration to Canada will not be given a thorough investigation here. Fortunately there is some excellent scholarship on the subject. See King; McGowan. 5. Bernard O’Reilly’s writings on the family are analyzed in Chapter 4. 6. See McGowan, “Fame, Facts, and Fabrication.” 7. Thoreau, “Shipwreck,” 6. 8. Salt reports that immediately after leaving his hut at Walden—located on property owned by Emerson—Thoreau lived at the Emerson’s house in Concord, about twenty miles northwest of Boston, while the poet was away in Europe (40, 66). “After Emerson’s return to Concord in 1849 Thoreau lived at his father’s house in the village, and this continued to be his home for the rest of his life” ( ibid. 66). 9. For more on “Famine fatigue,” see Donnelly. 10. On Catholicism and corporatism, see the introduction. 11. On the gendering of Irish women and Chinese men in the nineteenth-century US cultural imaginary, see Ch. 5. 12. See Jack Morgan’s “Thoreau’s ‘The Shipwreck’ (1855): Famine Narratives and the Female Embodiment of Catastrophe.” 13. On Kelleher’s The Feminization of the Famine (1997). 14. For an illuminating examination of the psychoanalytical aspects of Douglass’s fight with Covey, see JanMohamed, Ch. 8. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 51 15. The evidence suggests that a total of 98 passengers and 16 crew members were aboard the St. John when it sailed from Galway. Roughly ninety people were lost, of whom about one-third were men. Nineteen of victims were classified as children. For further information see Wreck of the St. John , http://www.clareli brary.ie/eolas/coclare/history/passlist_stjohn.htm. 16. See Introduction. 17. For a sympathetic treatment of Thoreau’s “The Shipwreck” as it relates to the Irish, see Jack Morgan. 18. Thoreau’s philosophy naturalizes the gross destruction of human life, a view entirely consistent with the basic tenets of the Manifest Destiny. 19. Today, they more likely would be referred to as “ethnic groups.” See Ch. 1. For an excellent account of Emerson’s racism, see Nell Irvin Painter’s History of White People. 20. I first found this quote in Luke Gibbon’s Transformations of Irish Culture (176). 21. See Introduction. 22. The term “Anglo-Saxon” became somewhat of a joke by the dawn of the twen- tieth century. Irish American journalist Peter Finley Dunne lampooned the label in his popular syndicated newspaper column, “Mr. Dooley.” Writing at the con- clusion of the Spanish-American War in 1898, Mr. Dooley pontificates: Mack is an Anglo-Saxon. His folks come fr’m th’ County Armagh, an’ their naytional Anglo-Saxon hymn is ‘O’Donnell Aboo.’ Teddy Rosenfelt is another Anglo-Saxon. An’ I’m an Anglo-Saxon. I’m wan iv th’ hottest Anglo-Saxons that iver come out iv Anglo-Saxony. Th’ name iv Dooley has been th’ proudest Anglo-Saxon name in th’ County Roscommon f’r many years. Mr. Dooley in Peace and War (54–55). 23. As the needs of the US racial state took precedence over WASP cultural objec- tions, the term “Anglo-Saxon” faded from American nationalist rhetoric. By then, its meaning had expanded to incorporate certain ethnic groups, including the Irish, into a larger European framework. 24. The voyage is the subject of a brilliant play, The Cambria: Frederick Douglass’s Voyage to Ireland 1845 , by the Irish actor and playwright Donal O’Kelly. 25. Three excellent and more detailed accounts of Douglass’s Irish visit have since been published––Sweeney’s Frederick Douglass (2007), Tom Chaffin’s Giant’s Causeway (2014), and Lawrence Fenton’s Frederick Douglass in Ireland . 26. Angela Murphy’s scholarship shows that O’Connell refused money from New Orleans-based repealers because of the violent anti-British language of the accom- panying letter and not, as has been claimed, because of the group’s pro-slavery views. See Murphy’s American Slavery, Irish Freedom . On O’Connell’s relation- ship with a pivotal Irish American, New York Archbishop John Hughes, see Ch. 2 of this volume. 27. As indicated earlier in this chapter, these were My Bondage, My Freedom (1855)—an updated and revised version of A Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave. Written by Himself (1847)—along with The Life and Times of Frederick Douglass (1881, revised 1892). The women’s rights movement of the era is further discussed in Ch. 4. 28. For a complete biography of Douglass, see McFeely. See also “Death of Fred Douglass,” New York Times , Feb. 21, 1895, available at http://www.nytimes. com/learning/general/onthisday/bday/0207.html. 29. Titled “The Claims of the Negro Ethnologically Considered,” the lecture was delivered on July 12, 1854, at Western Reserve College. 30. Thoreau was born July 12, 1817, in Concord, Massachusetts, and died there, at age forty-four, on May 6, 1862 (Salt 2, 98). Douglass’s New York Times 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 52 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era obituary states that he was born in 1817 on a plantation in Maryland and died in Washington, D.C., on February 20, 1895, in his seventy-eighth year of life. See “Death of Fred Douglass,” New York Times , Feb. 21, 1895, available at http:// www.nytimes.com/learning/general/onthisday/bday/0207.html. Other sources place Douglass’s birthdate in February 1818. 31. On Douglass, see Sweeney’s Frederick Douglass and the Atlantic World. Thoreau’s only journey outside the United States was to Quebec; his farthest journey from Massachusetts was to Minnesota (Christie 3–8). 32. Douglass praised Father Theobald Mathew, the Irish friar who founded a tem- perance movement in 1838 and subsequently endeavored to establish it in the United States. See Ch. 4 of this volume. 33. Palmerston’s support of Malthusian ideas is treated in this book’s introduction. 34. To be precise, Irish made up 45.6 percent of all immigrants to the United States in the 1840s and 35.2 percent in the 1850s (Kenny, American Irish 97–98, 104, 121). 35. See Eagan, “ ‘White,’ If ‘Not Quite.’ ” 36. An extreme example may be found in the life story of the Ulster-born Protestant John Mitchel, who immigrated to the United States by way of an 1848 convic- tion and transportation to what is now Tasmania. I have written about Mitchel’s pro-slavery writings and activities in O’Neill, “Memory.” 37. Mott (40): in full, this passage of Mott’s history of late nineteenth-century US magazines states: Perhaps the most important American weekly in existence at the begin- ning of 1865 was the one for which the Harpers furnished the manage- ment, George William Curtis most of the editorials, and Thomas Nast many of the news pictures and cartoons. These three elements, with serial fiction and news articles, combined to make Harper’s Weekly popular and powerful. (ibid.) 38. See Ch. 6 of this volume. 39. The San Patricio, or St. Patrick, Battalion was composed of Irish immigrants who deserted the Union Army to fight for the Mexicans during the Mexican- American War. For more, see Peter Stevens’ Rogue’s March . 40. Aoki, for instance, writes of the “ ‘Yellow Peril’ stereotype,” which “embodied Asians as a threat to Western civilization in general, and to the U.S. specifically” then notes that such stereotypes operated in part to “polic[e] Asians within the U.S.” (908 n.34). Works Cited Aoki, Keith. “The Yellow Pacific: Transnational Identities, Diasporic Racialization, and Myth(s) of the ‘Asian Century’.” University of California, Davis, Law Review 44 (2011): 897–952. Best, Stephen M. The Fugitive’s Properties: Law and the Poetics of Possession . Chi- cago: U of Chicago P, 2004. Chaffin, Tom. Giant’s Causeway: Frederick Douglass’s Irish Odyssey and the Mak- ing of an American Visionary . Charlottesville: U of Virginia P, 2014. Christie, John Aldrich. Thoreau as World Traveler . New York: Columbia UP, 1965. Donnelly, James. The Irish Potato Famine . London: Sutton Publishing, 2000. Douglass, Frederick. Life and Times of Frederick Douglass, Written by Himself . (1893). ———. My Bondage and My Freedom . (1855). 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 53 ———. Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written by Himself . (1845). (All the above contained in Autobiographies . New York: Library of America Col- lege Ed., 1996.) Dunne, Finley Peter. Mr. Dooley in Peace and War . Urbana: U of Illinois P, 2001. Eagan, Catherine M. “ ‘White’ If ‘Not Quite’: Irish Whiteness in the Nineteenth Cen- tury Irish-American Novel,” in Kevin Kenny, ed., New Directions in Irish-American History . Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 2003, 140–55. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “English Traits” (1856), in Edward Waldo Emerson, ed., The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Vol. 5 . Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1903. Google Books . Accessed 09/03/10. ———. The Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Vol. 12, 1835–1862 . Ed. Linda Allhardt. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1977. Fenton, Laurence. Frederick Douglass in Ireland: “The Black O’Connell . ” Cork: Collins P, 2014. Ferreira, Patricia J. “Frederick Douglass in Ireland: The Dublin Edition of His Nar- rative.” New Hibernia Review 5.1 (2001): 53–67. Foner, Philip S. The Life and Writings of Frederick Douglass . (4 vols.) New York: International Publishers, 1975. Gibbons, Luke. Transformations in Irish Culture . Cork: Cork UP, 1996. Gilroy, Paul. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness . Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1993. Henry, William. The Wreck of the Brig St. John . Cork: Mercier, 2009. JanMohamed, Abdul R. The Death-Bound-Subject: Richard Wright’s Archaeology of Death . Durham: Duke UP, 2005. Jenkins, Lee. “ ‘The Black O’Connell’: Frederick Douglass and Ireland.” Nineteenth Century Studies 13 (1999): 22–46. Keegan, Gerard. Gerard Keegan’s Famine Diary: Journey to the New World . Edit. & intro. James J. Mangan. Dublin: Wolfhound, 1991. Kelleher, Margaret. The Feminization of the Famine: Expressions of the Inexpress- ible? Durham: Duke UP, 1997. Kenny, Kevin. The American Irish: A History . New York: Pearson, 2000. Kinealy, Christine. Daniel O’Connell and the Anti-Slavery Movement: “The Saddest People The Sun Sees . ” London: Pickering & Chatto, 2012. King, Jason. “The Genealogy of Famine Diary in Ireland and Quebec: Ireland’s Fam- ine Migration in Historical Fiction, Historiography, and Memory.” Éire-Ireland 47.1–2 (Spring–Summer 2012): 45–69. ———. “Remembering and Forgetting the Famine Irish in Quebec: Genuine and False Memoirs, Communal Memory, and Migration.” Irish Review 44 (Spring 2012): 20–41. Laxton, Edward. The Famine Ships: The Irish Exodus to America . New York: Henry Holt, 1998. Lojek, Helen. “Thoreau’s Bog People.” The New England Quarterly 67.2 (Jun., 1994): 279–97. JSTOR . Accessed 07/11/10. McDowell, Deborah E. “In the First Place: Making Frederick Douglass and the Afro-American Narrative Tradition,” in William L. Andrews, ed., Critical Essays on Frederick Douglass . Boston: G.K. Hall & Co., 1991, 192–214. McFeely, William S. Frederick Douglass . New York: Norton, 1991. McGowan, Mark E. Creating Canadian Historical Memory: The Case of the Famine Migration of 1847 . Ottawa: Canadian Historical Association, Canadian Ethnic Group Series, 30, 2006. ———. “Famine, Facts and Fabrication: An Examination of Diaries from the Irish Famine Migration to Canada.” The Canadian Journal of Irish Studies 33.2 (Fall 2007): 48–54. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 54 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era Miller, Kerby A. Emigrants and Exiles: Ireland and the Irish Exodus to North Amer- ica . New York: Oxford UP, 1988. Morgan, Jack. “Thoreau’s ‘The Shipwreck’ (1855): Famine Narratives and the Female Embodiment of Catastrophe.” New Hibernia Review 8.3 (Autumn 2004): 47–57. Project Muse . Accessed 07/01/10. Mott, Frank Luther. A History of American Magazines, 1865–1885, Vol. 3 . (1938) Cambridge: Harvard UP, 4th printing, 1970. Google Books . Accessed 01/02/15. Murphy, Angela. American Slavery, Irish Freedom: Abolition, Immigrant Citizen- ship, and the Transatlantic Movement for Irish Repeal . Baton Rouge: Louisiana State UP, 2010. Nowlan, Kevin B. “O’Connell and Irish Nationalism,” in Kevin B. Nowlan and Mau- rice R. O’Connell, eds., Daniel O’Connell: Portrait of a Radical . New York: Ford- ham UP, 1985, 9–18. O’Kelly, Donal. The Cambria: Frederick Douglass’s Voyage to Ireland 1845 . (2005). http://www.donalokellyproductions.com. O’Neill, Peter D. “Frederick Douglass and the Irish.” Foilsiú 5.1 (Spring 2006): 57–81. ———. “Memory and John Mitchel’s Appropriation of the Slave Narrative.” Atlan- tic Studies: Global Currents 11.3 (Fall 2014): 321–43. Painter, Nell Irvin. The History of White People . New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 2010. Rediker, Marcus. The Slave Ship: A Human History . New York: Viking, 2007. Rice, Alan J., and Martin Crawford, eds. Liberating Sojourn: Frederick Douglass & Transatlantic Reform . Athens: U of Georgia P, 1999. Rolston, Bill, and Michael Shannon. Encounters: How Racism Came to Ireland . Bel- fast: BTP Publications, 2002. Rowe, John Carlos. At Emerson’s Tomb: The Politics of Classical American Litera- ture . New York: Columbia UP, 1997. Salt, Henry S. Life of Henry David Thoreau . (1890) Ed. George Hendrick, Willene Hendrick, and Fritz Oehlschlaerger. Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1993. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. “Can the Subaltern Speak?” in Cary Nelson and Law- rence Grossberg, eds., Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture . Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1988, 271–313. Stevens, Peter F. The Rogue’s March: John Riley and the St. Patrick’s Battalion . Wash- ington, DC: Potomac Books, 1999. Sweeney, Fionnghuala. Frederick Douglass and the Atlantic World . Liverpool: Liv- erpool UP, 2007. ———. “ ‘The Republic of Letters’: Frederick Douglass, Ireland, and the Irish Narra- tives.” Eire-Ireland 36.1–2 (Spring–Summer 2001): 47–65. Thoreau, Henry David. “The Shipwreck,” in Cape Cod . New York: Thomas Y. Crow- ell Co., 1961, 3–20. ———. Walden: Or Life in the Woods and On the Duty of Civil Disobedience . New York: Harper Classics, 1965. Trollope, Anthony. Lord Palmerston . London: Wm. Ibster, Ltd., 1882. Google Books . Accessed 12/16/14. Whyte, Robert. 1847 Famine Ship Diary: The Journey of an Irish Coffin Ship . Ed. James J. Mangan. Dublin: Mercier, 1994. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS)
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work_inij7gumxbckjjaxsaxtpaiwsi ---- Life quality index for the estimation of societal willingness-to-pay for safety Life quality index for the estimation of societal willingness-to-pay for safety M.D. Pandeya,*, J.S. Nathwanib,1 aDepartment of Civil Engineering, Institute for Risk Research, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada bDepartment of Management Studies, Institute for Risk Research, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada Abstract The engineering and management of human safety is an important societal objective that includes extensive efforts by governments, both legislative and administrative, to enhance the health and safety of the public. Although the achievement of safety goals depend primarily on individuals and organizations responsible for safety, much support is drawn from expertise in diverse scientific and engineering dis- ciplines. The activities range from structural safety (dams, tunnels, bridges to tall buildings) to safe oper- ation of hazardous industrial installations (energy generation facilities, LNG terminals, petrochemical plants) to transportation systems (airline, rail, car safety) to technologies designed to minimize adverse impacts on the environment. All these activities are crucially concerned with risk: with the likelihood and the probable effects of various measures on life and health. We have developed a unified rationale and a clear basis for effective strategic management of risk across diverse sectors. Safety is an important objective in society but it is not the only one. The allocation of society’s resources devoted to safety must be con- tinually appraised in light of competing needs, because there is a limit on the resources that can be expen- ded to extend life. The paper presents the Life Quality Index (LQI) as a tool for the assessment of risk reduction initiatives that would support the public interest and enhance safety and quality of life. The paper provides an intuitive reformulation of the LQI as equivalent to a valid utility function that is con- sistent with the principles of rational decision analysis. The LQI is further refined to consider the issues of discounting of life years, competing background risks, and population age and mortality distribution. The LQI is applied to quantify the societal willingness-to-pay, which is an acceptable level of public expenditure in exchange for a reduction in the risk of death that results in improved life-quality. # 2003 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. Keywords: Life quality index; Risk; Utility function; Willingness-to-pay; Discounting; Value of statistical life; Cost-benefit analysis; Life table 0167-4730/$ - see front matter # 2003 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.strusafe.2003.05.001 Structural Safety 26 (2004) 181–199 www.elsevier.com/locate/strusafe * Corresponding author. Tel.: +1-519-888-4567-5858; fax: +1-519-888-6197. E-mail address: mdpandey@uwaterloo.ca (M.D. Pandey). 1 Manager, Strategic Planning, Hydro One Inc, 483 Bay Street, Toronto, ON, Canada. http://www.elsevier.com/locate/strusafe/a4.3d mailto:mdpandey@uwaterloo.ca 1. Introduction Risks can always be reduced but at some cost. However, demands for absolute safety, implying zero risk, can do more harm than good. If the costs of risk reduction are disproportionate to the benefits derived, then it diverts societal resources away from critical areas such as health care, education and social services that also enhance the quality of life. As aptly noted by Henry David Thoreau (1852): the cost of a thing is the amount of what I will call life which is required to be exchanged for it, immediately or in the long run. The need to strike a balance between the benefits of improved safety (i.e. life extension), risk (potential for loss of life) and cost of risk reduction (i.e. enhancement of quality of life) is com- pelling. The balancing of impacts on the quality of life and health against economic costs of risk reduction, although controversial, is an essential professional obligation. Our ability to ‘‘save lives’’ is finite and limited by our capacity to create wealth. Thus, the central problem in mana- ging risk, in effect, translates into our ability to allocate a scarce resource wisely. Our work has been partly motivated by developments in Canada in the early 1990s and, in particular, the recommendation of the Government of Canada’s Regulatory Policy which requires comprehensive social and economic impact analysis for setting regulatory standards [1]. The goals of the policy are to ensure that the benefits of regulatory interventions must clearly outweigh the costs to Canadians. This is as true for policies that relate to safety and risk reduc- tion initiatives as they do for other areas of concern. When faced with risk, we are attempting to answer, intuitively, three related questions: (i) Is it safe? (ii) Is it a big and important risk? and if so, (iii) At what cost and level of effort would a life- saving proposition be worthwhile to reduce risk? In this context, we have proposed the use of the LifeQuality Index (LQI), described elsewhere [2], as a tool for assessing the rationale andeffective- nessofdecisionsaffecting themanagementof risk to life, healthandsafety.Goodriskmanagement not only requires a strategy for selecting risks (separating the important and consequential from the trivial risks), but also a consistent framework of reasoning as described below. The Life Quality Index is a social indicator derived to reflect the expected length of life in good health and the quality of life enhanced by wealth. It rests on the premise that helping individuals achieve a long life in good health is a fundamental value and therefore, it is ethical and reasonable to pursue this as a primary objective for risk management. The Life Quality Index gives an account of how well that objective is being met. Risk control and mitigation initiatives that do not increase the chance of longer life in good health detract from that objective and their justification remains tenuous. The LQI can help us choose appro- priate strategies for managing risk. Applications of LQI to safety of structures and other techni- cal facilities have been illustrated in [3–5]. The LQI combines societal wealth and longevity in the following function form: LQI=Gwe1�w, where G is the real gross domestic product ($/year/person), e is the life expectancy at birth, and w is a constant that reflects the proportion of time spent in producing G. In the original deriva- tion, LQI was presented as a mathematical construct [2], which requires additional explanation and justification. It has been observed by researchers and critiques that there is no clear expla- 182 M.D. Pandey, J.S. Nathwani/Structural Safety 26 (2004) 181–199 https://isiarticles.com/article/6835
work_injdcanqrbh43noxvjak4cmomi ---- WestminsterResearch http://www.westminster.ac.uk/westminsterresearch ‘In the eyeblink of a planet you were born, died, and your bones disintegrated’: scales of mourning and velocities of memory in Philipp Meyer’s American Rust Bond, L. This is an Accepted Manuscript of an article published by Taylor & Francis in Textual Practice, DOI: 10.1080/0950236X.2017.1323494. The final definitive version is available online: https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0950236X.2017.1323494 © 2017 Taylor & Francis The WestminsterResearch online digital archive at the University of Westminster aims to make the research output of the University available to a wider audience. Copyright and Moral Rights remain with the authors and/or copyright owners. Whilst further distribution of specific materials from within this archive is forbidden, you may freely distribute the URL of WestminsterResearch: ((http://westminsterresearch.wmin.ac.uk/). In case of abuse or copyright appearing without permission e-mail repository@westminster.ac.uk https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0950236X.2017.1323494 http://westminsterresearch.wmin.ac.uk/ repository@westminster.ac.uk 1 Lucy Bond ‘In the eyeblink of a planet you were born, died, and your bones disintegrated’: scales of mourning and velocities of memory in Philipp Meyer’s American Rust Abstract As Dipesh Chakrabarty (2009) has famously argued, the advent of climate change requires us to think questions of capital alongside ideas of species. However, Tom Cohen (2012) contends, critical accounts of climate change have exhibited a tendency to collapse the ecological into the economic, reinscribing the privileged epistemological and ideological homelands of liquid modernity (Bauman). Such slippages underscore the manifold conceptual insecurities inherent in imagining the era of the Anthropocene, which unsettle the fundamental categories of historical experience. As Robert Markley (2012) asserts, the Anthropocene “poses questions about […] different registers of time”, most specifically, how to negotiate the complex interrelation – and simultaneous irreconcilability – of embodied time, historical time, and climatological time. Timothy Clark (2012), meanwhile, foregrounds the seismic “derangements of scale” engendered by the continuous shifts between local, national, and global spaces that are required by any attempt to examine the causes and consequences of climate change. Finally, Ursula Heise (2004 and 2008), among others, contends that the imbrications of the Anthropocene pose a challenge to established modes of narrative and cognition. Bearing these observations in mind, this article examines the ways in which Philipp Meyer’s (2009) American Rust attempts to reckon with the shifting dynamics of the Anthropocene without abandoning the ecological to the economic or collapsing disparate temporal and 2 spatial scales of historical and geological change. Exploring the social and environmental degradation of the American Rustbelt that accompanied the deregulation of the market in the late 1970s, Meyer posits the post-industrial era as a period of conjoined economic and ecological precarity. Continually shifting beyond its apparent historical and geographical roots in late-twentieth-century America, the narrative veers restlessly across diverse temporal and spatial scales, linking the casualties of the Rust Belt to other stories of dispossession and dislocation. Ultimately, I argue, Meyer’s novel suggests that the study of literary planetary memory must examine not just the scales, but the speeds that inform cultural and critical practices of remembrance, analysing the uneven memorative velocities that shape the imagination and thought of diverse forms of suffering and loss across human and more-than-human milieux. Keywords: memory; mourning; scale; speed; myth; nation; wilderness narrative; American pastoral In his seminal work on climate change, Timothy Clark argues that ‘the Anthropocene enacts the demand to think of human life at much broader scales of space and time, something which alters significantly the way that many once familiar issues appear’.1 Such ‘scale effects’ register the manner in which ‘at a certain, indeterminate threshold, numerous human actions, insignificant in themselves […] come together to form a new, imponderable physical event, altering the basic ecological cycles of the planet’.2 For Clark, the latency and invisibility of many of these phenomena act as a barrier to thought and action because they ‘resist representation at the kinds of scale on which most thinking, culture, art and politics operate’.3 Tom Cohen similarly 3 contends that the belated recognition of the manifold ecological crises that threaten the foundations of human and more-than-human life on this planet has been perpetuated by a cultural amnesia towards the destructive industrial legacies of modernity, and a concomitant critical nostalgia for intellectual ‘systems of security’ that previously promised ‘a properly political world of genuine praxis or feeling’.4 For Cohen, such discourses have continued to prolong ‘the construct of ‘homeland security’ (both in its political sense, and in the epistemological sense of being secure in our modes of cognition)’ in ways that have simultaneously ‘accelerated the vortices of ecocatastrophic imaginaries’5 and ‘anaesthetized’ the public to the dangers of climate change by allowing attention to the ‘supposed urgencies of threatened economic and ‘monetary’ collapse’ to ‘occlude and defer any attention to the imperatives of the biosphere’.6 This ‘collective blind or psychotic foreclosure’7 arguably reinscribes an illusory separation of human and ‘natural’ history, which has, in turn, led to a widespread disavowal of the innate connection between socioeconomic insecurity and ecological vulnerability (and the elevation of the former over the latter as a category of cultural and critical concern). Together, Clark and Cohen conceive of the failure to adequately recalibrate culture and criticism to address the manifold crises of the Anthropocene as a disorder of memory, arising, on the one hand, from an unwillingness to relinquish outmoded regimes of imagination and thought, even in the face of their scalar derangement, and, on the other, from a refusal to remark or remember the myriad forms of social and environmental exploitation that attended the advent of industrial modernity. Bearing such issues in mind, this article will examine the ways in which Phillip Meyer’s (2009) novel, American Rust, foregrounds the 4 connection between socioeconomic and ecological precarity in order to expose the fallacious blindspots highlighted by Clark and Cohen. Meyer’s novel forms part of a growing corpus of American fiction that aims to problematise older conceptions of human/more-than-human relations, refusing the elevation of anthropogenic suffering above environmental catastrophe, and destabilising the institutional and epistemological biases that sustain the problematic modes of imaginary outlined above.8 Unlike more prominent modes of ‘cli-fi’, many of these texts do not explicitly explore the topic of climate change, or its incumbent phenomena, rather, these issues are registered, tangentially, in the cracks and elisions of the narratives. Although they share many differences, each of these novels position the manifold (conceptual, ontological, ideological, and ecological) challenges of the Anthropocene as a crisis of memory, and, more specifically, of mourning, manifested in the failure to attune individual and collective losses to the scales of planetary destruction and the inability to relinquish anachronistic narratives that serve to mask the historical connection between socioeconomic and ecological violence. Exemplifying such gestures, Meyer’s novel explores the slow decline of the American rust-belt in the late-twentieth and early-twenty-first centuries. The text traces a complex topography of loss, in which personal catastrophes (a death in the family, redundancy, homelessness, imprisonment) foreshadow and intersect with communal disasters (the closure of a steel mill, infrastructural collapse, racism, societal unrest), whilst the spectre of larger, human and more-than-human, calamities (terrorism, war, climate change) haunt the margins of the novel. Although it is rarely overtly addressed, the reality of ecological destruction hovers constantly in the background of the narrative, gestured towards in passing references to polluted rivers, climate change, the disrupted migration patterns of local birds, and the degraded 5 landscape of post-industrial Buell, the fictional setting of the text. The bucolic portrait of the Mon Valley is repeatedly unsettled by transient allusions to the invisible toxins by which it is pervaded. As Isaac, one of the protagonists, notes near the opening of the novel: the water was slow and muddy and the forests ran down to the edge and it could have been anywhere, the Amazon, a picture from National Geographic. A bluegill jumped in the shallows – you weren’t supposed to eat the fish but everyone did. Mercury and PCB. He couldn't remember what the letters stood for but it was poison.9 Isaac’s romanticized natural imagery (peculiarly deterritorialised) is here abruptly disrupted by the implicit acknowledgment that this ecosystem has been poisoned by the region’s industrial history. Such toxins trace chains of ‘transcorporeal’ relations that have the potential to reveal, in Stacey Alaimo’s terms, ‘the often unpredictable and always interconnected actions of environmental systems, toxic substances, and biological bodies’, and, of course, the essential entanglement of human and more- than-human pasts, presents, and futures.10 However, such links are never made overtly by the protagonists, eliding the fact that the socioeconomic and ecological crises facing present day Buell have their roots in the same historical processes. The novel’s polyvocal narratives draft the landscape of Buell into a nexus of historical violence in which personal, collective, and ecological crises are collapsed into an undifferentiated culture of mourning, in which the heat death of the universe comes to provide a screen memory for the loss of a parent, whilst the environmental damage wrought by Buell’s industrial past is masked by a misplaced nostalgia for a timeless and redemptive natural order. Meyer thus problematises the act of remembrance, foregrounding numerous examples of faulty, absent, or fictional 6 memory, in order to highlight the ways in which recuperated forms of national imagining (notably, the romanticised ideals of the American pastoral and the mythological struggles of the wilderness narrative) have been conscripted into flawed ‘memory regimes’ (to use Cohen’s evocative phrase) that foreclose any recognition of the imbrication of disparate modes of historical and environmental violence across variegated reaches of space and time. Attendant to such slippages, I suggest that the study of literary planetary memory must examine not just the scales, but the speeds that inform cultural and critical practices of remembrance, analysing the uneven memorative velocities that shape the imagination and thought of diverse forms of suffering and loss across human and more-than-human milieux. A. Rescaling literature and memory Such contentions have significant implications for the ways in which we think about the role that both literature and memory play in formulating a planetary imaginary. As Ursula Heise asserts, ‘climate change poses a challenge for narrative and lyrical forms that have conventionally focused above all on individuals, families, or nations, since it requires the articulation of connection between events at vastly differing scales’.11 Sebastian Groes, in turn, argues that ‘[m]emory has been rethought […]; much more central now are climatological and geological memory, and perhaps cosmological memory which dwarfs the individual, embodied memory that is part of anthropogenic thinking’.12 Such ‘derangements of scale’ (to borrow Clark’s phrase) challenge orthodox frames of literature and memory, which have often been regarded as central to the creation of a national imaginary. 7 Benedict Anderson famously connects the birth of the modern nation-state to changes in print technology that led to the emergence of new forms of literature: the novel and the newspaper. He contends that ‘each of these forms provided the technical means for ‘re-presenting’ the kind of imagined community that is the nation’,13 enabling geographically dispersed individuals and groups to picture themselves as part of a larger collective. Similarly, Pierre Nora’s seminal study of ‘lieux de memoire’ examines the ways in which official forms of commemoration aim to bind individuals into a ‘temporally-extended narrative’14 by constructing a ‘geography of belonging’,15 which positions national borders as containers of shared historical experience. However, the recent transnational (or transcultural) turn in literary and memory studies challenges such geographically delimiting approaches to imagination and history, highlighting the myriad ways in which past, present, and future experiences may be represented and remembered across local, national, and global scales.16 Wai Chee Dimock asserts that, as an imaginative framework, ‘the nation tends to work as a pair of evidentiary shutters, blocking out all those phenomena that do not fit into its intervals, reducing to nonevents all those processes either too large or too small to show up on its watch’.17 Accordingly, Dimock argues, literary studies must open this bounded imaginary to ‘the abiding traces of the planet’s multitudinous life’,18 adopting a ‘set of multitudinous frames, at once projective and recessional, with input going both ways, and binding continents and millennia into […] a densely interactive fabric’.19 Positioning the work of mourning as an ethical foundation for interpersonal relations, meanwhile, Judith Butler argues that memory regimes should not be determined by exclusionary nationalist politics, but facilitate the expansion of the cultural, political, and juridical frames through which human life is acknowledged 8 as grievable so that ‘an inevitable interdependency becomes acknowledged as the basis for global political community’.20 Although such appeals to the unboundedness of literature and memory have been highly influential, certain aspects of these discourses are not without problem. Whilst giving Dimock ‘considerable credit for broaching the issue of scale in literary studies’,21 Mark McGurl questions whether her apparent desire to ‘acquit culture of its complicity in historical violence’ by ‘dissolving it in a ‘deep time’ now recognisable as aestheticised time’ risks reducing the expanded scales and complicated causalities of the Anthropocene to ‘a remarkably frictionless conduit of transnational sympathy and identification’.22 In his critique of Butler’s work, moreover, Cohen contends that, in the face of a ‘suddenly reset referential horizon’,23 Precarious Life engenders a ‘negotiated back-loop to a more humane order’, ‘a residual humanism [that] cannot stop re-inscribing itself in familial oikos or boundedness’.24 Thus, whilst McGurl indicts Dimock for too easily eliding culture’s role in facilitating or forgetting historical violence, Cohen criticizes Butler for too readily recuperating the anthropocentric frames of memory he considers to be complicit in upholding ideologically and ethically suspect regimes of thought and action. In both of these instances, then, there is a sense that the ‘premise of mourning [is] itself the problem’ with these expanded literary and memorative imaginaries.25 Such contentions have been echoed in other critical readings that posit the conceptual and imaginative challenges posed by the Anthropocene as a consequence of failed or misappropriated mourning. Stephanie LeMenager examines the ‘conditions of grief’ that have defined a ‘petro-melancholia’, which accompanies the dwindling of global oil resources.26 For LeMenager, the failure to ‘acknowledge that conventional oil is running out’ has led to an ‘unresolvable grieving of modernity 9 itself’.27 Whilst LeMenager highlights a refusal to relinquish the exploitative approaches to human/more-than-human relations that structured historical modernity, and led to the emergence of the Anthropocene as a geological epoch, Claire Colebrook critiques an oppositional tendency to seek solace in dreams of a pure and redeemed nature. In such scenarios, she comments, ‘we mourn what we will have done to the planet’, on the grounds that it ‘implies an impossible counter-scenario where we might have lived in perfect harmony with a nature that might have been ours’.28 Ultimately, Colebrook contends, ‘rather than find recompense in mourning, we [should] look to […] an evolution that was not one in which ‘man’ emerges from a background of life, but where humans and earth are both historical’.29 Collectively, then, McGurl, Cohen, LeMenager, and Colebrook suggest that unreflexive attempts to embrace the expanded spatial and temporal frames of the Anthropocene risk reproducing a misplaced nostalgia for, and rehabilitation of, outmoded imaginaries that reinscribe the very modes of denial that have facilitated the problematic separation of human and more-than-human life worlds (and the enduring exploitation of the latter by the former). Such anxieties are mirrored in American Rust, as Meyer examines the ways in which the impulse to open the frontiers of contemporary American experience beyond the geographical or historical frameworks of the United States repeatedly results in a romanticised recuperation of established national narratives that threaten, on the one hand, to reinscribe naive illusions of withdrawing from the complexities of social life into a timeless natural world, and, on the other, to remediate anthropocentric fantasies of taming the ‘natural’ wilderness. Each of these approaches manifests, in different ways, a failure of mourning, and a disavowal of the scalar, systemic, and cognitive complexities of the 10 Anthropocene and the disparate, yet interconnected, modes of precarity engendered by humanity’s historical emergence as a geological force. B. Derangements of scale: space and time in American Rust Whilst Clark’s call to expand the geographical and historical scales through which the Anthropocene is considered amounts to an exhortation to enlarge both the spatial and temporal frames of cognition through which climate change is understood, one of the peculiarities of Meyer’s novel is that the protagonists are only able to make an imaginative leap across one of these axis at a time: they attempt, respectively, to confront the various socioeconomic dynamics that shape local, national, and transnational relations across the ‘now’ of the global present, or to acknowledge the complex processes of evolution and entropy that inform the ‘here’ of the geological past, but they cannot find a way of holding ‘then’ and ‘there’, globe and planet, together. This inability to think the history of economic and ecological change simultaneously across space and time replicates certain intellectual biases that have informed the spatial and temporal turns of critical theory over the past thirty years. In her seminal account of the ‘spatial turn’ that preoccupied a number of theorists working across the social sciences and humanities in the late twentieth- century, Doreen Massey contends that space ‘is the subordinated category, almost the residual category […] within modernity, having suffered depriorisation in relation to time’.30 Drawing upon the work of critics such as Edward Soja, Massey argues for a reconsideration of the political dimensions of space in order to challenge its naturalisation as a static or homogenous dimension of history, and expose the heterogeneous imbrication of local, national and global concerns. In so doing, she lays 11 out three principles that she believes should undergird a reconceptualisation of spatial dynamics in the early twenty-first century: ‘that we recognize space as the product of interrelations; as constituted through interactions, from the immensity of the global to the intimately tiny’; ‘that we understand space as the sphere of the possibility of the existence of multiplicity in the sense of contemporaneous plurality’; ‘that we recognize space as always under construction’.31 Charting the myriad ways in which the landscape of Buell, Pennsylvania, has altered in the post-industrial period, Meyer’s American Rust goes some way towards foregrounding the interrelation of spatial scales in the era of globalisation. The narrative constantly evokes the connectedness of different places and regions – as Poe, one of the protagonists remarks, ‘they could hear a stream running down to the ravine where it met the other stream and then the river. […] From there it met the Ohio and the Ohio met the Mississippi and then down to the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic. It was all connected’.32 However, whilst this sense of interconnection can be contemplated harmoniously whilst framed in natural terms, when reconceptualised in the historical context of globalisation, the recognition of Buell’s essential imbrication with other spaces is perceived as inherently negative. The inhabitants of the Mon Valley see themselves as having been abandoned by the federal institutions that ought to have protected them, falling victim to cheaper labour overseas and foreign governments more willing to invest in industrial infrastructure than the United States. As Poe’s mother, Grace, notes, ‘most ships and barges were now made in Korea, where the government owned all the industry’,33 meanwhile her son remarks that, whilst he ‘wanted to believe in America’, ‘anyone could tell you that the Germans and the Japs made the same amount of steel America did these days […] glory days are over’.34 Believing themselves to have been 12 disenfranchised by processes of globalisation that saw ‘American’ industry exported abroad, Meyer’s protagonists seek to escape their disintegrating lives by heading ‘[b]ack to nature’,35 figured as the timeless and stabilising antidote to an entropic socioeconomic order. Massey describes such impulses as embodying a ‘retreat to place’, a ‘protective pulling-up of drawbridges and a building of walls against the new invasions’ engendered by globalisation. She continues ‘[p]lace, in this reading, is the locus of denial, of attempted withdrawal’.36 Heise similarly critiques the elevation of a sense of place above a sense of planet that she sees at work in contemporary American environmentalism, contending that, whilst the late-twentieth and early- twenty-first centuries might be regarded as ‘a cultural moment in which the entire planet becomes graspable as one’s own local backyard’,37 this exposure to global forces has impelled the resurgence of a nostalgic strand of ‘ecolocalism’,38 which functions as a ‘principal didactic means of guiding individuals and communities back to nature’.39 Like Massey, Heise indicts this phenomenon as a ‘visionary dead end’,40 comprised of ‘pastoral residues’, which ‘manifest themselves variously in longings for a return to premodern ways of life, “detoxified” bodies, and holistic, small-scale communities’.41 Such tendencies have considerable precedent in American cultural history. Leo Marx argues that the ‘pastoral ideal has been used to define the meaning of America ever since the age of discovery’.42 This narrative presents the United States as ‘an unspoiled hemisphere’, providing settlers with the opportunity to ‘withdraw from the great world and begin a new life in a fresh, green landscape’ (3).43 From its earliest manifestations, the imaginary of the American pastoral has provided an important conduit for conceptualising human/more-than-human relations, and 13 thinking through – or paradoxically, eliding – the connection between land and nation, history and environment.44 As Marx contends, successive incarnations of the pastoral imagination have evidenced a ‘powerful metaphor of contradiction’,45 coupling the ‘urge to withdraw from civilization’s growing power and complexity’46 with a ‘simple-minded wishfulness, a romantic perversion of thought and feeling’ that negates, even as it responds to, the intimate imbrication of nature and culture.47 This contradiction reached its zenith in the nineteenth century, as a new strain of the pastoral, ‘formed in reaction against industrialisation’,48 intensified ‘the instantaneous clash of opposed states of mind: a strong urge to believe in the rural myth along with an awareness of industrialisation as counterforce to this myth’.49 Marx perceives this ‘clash of opposed states’ in the work of the Transcendentalists, most notably the seminal writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. As has been widely remarked, there are numerous tensions in Emerson’s work that mirror the paradoxes of the American pastoral more generally. Whilst Emerson, on the one hand, positions nature as a place of solitude where man might ‘retire […] from society’,50 on the other, he collapses the distinction between these realms, arguing that ‘[n]ature is so pervaded with human life, that there is something of humanity in all, and in every particular’.51 Emerson’s nature is simultaneously ‘inviolable by us’,52 and endlessly exploitable ‘in its ministry to man’.53 Perhaps, most importantly, however, nature is figured as both amnesiac and renewing – the sphere in which Emerson seeks ‘an original relation to the universe’ as a corrective to ‘the dry bones of the past’, to ‘the sepulchers of the father […] biographies, histories, and criticism’.54 American Rust is replete with traces of resurgent Transcendentalism. Recalling the cabin to which Thoreau withdrew to practice his dreams of self- 14 sufficiency, Harris, Buell’s chief-of-police, describes his homestead as his own ‘Walden’. Such pastoral residues, to echo Heise’s term, recur frequently throughout the text and primarily function to reinforce a romantic conceptualisation of nature, figured as the redemptive outside of human history. As Harris remarks at one point: There was a mountain of paperwork as always, but he decided to let himself watch the river for a while, twenty minutes to sit and watch the sky change, the river just flowing, it had been there before man laid eyes on it and would be there long after everyone was gone. […] Nothing mankind was capable of, the worst of human nature, it would never linger long enough to matter, any river or mountain could show you that – filthy them up, cut down all the trees, they still healed themselves, even trees outlived us, stones would survive the end of the earth. You forgot that sometimes, you begin to take the human ugliness personally. But it was as temporary as anything else.55 For Harris, the retreat to natural space can be perceived as an attempt to erase the violence of historical time, eliding the worst excesses of socioeconomic decline through the regenerative cycles of nature. However, throughout American Rust, this impulse to withdraw from history coexists with a contrasting imperative to escape the degraded spaces of post-industrial Buell through an invocation of immemorial cosmological time – a fantasy once again mediated through the framework of a foundational national narrative. In response to earlier attempts to catalyse a critical reconceptualisation of space, in recent years an emerging body of scholarship has sought to reprioritise the theorisation of time. Such accounts typically contend that orthodox theories of globalisation have devalued attention to temporal experience in favour of examining its spatial dynamics. Sarah Sharma argues, for example, that, in a spatially biased 15 culture, ‘the very fact that shared space, social space, or the public sphere is the privileged ground of political life is symptomatic of the negation of the temporal’.56 Accordingly, Sharma asserts, whilst it may be true that ‘space continues to be the valorised site of political life at the expense of time’, it is important to recognize the temporal as constituting ‘a site of material struggle and social difference’ in order to ‘balance the spatial imaginary with a temporal imaginary’.57 For Sharma, as for other exponents of the temporal turn, the alleged spatial bias of globalisation theory has led to a homogenisation of time, which masks the fact that the global present is comprised of multiple temporalities, all constructs of power relations. As Jeremy Rifkin asserts, the essential diversity of temporal experience has, since the industrial revolution, been negated by ‘artificial time worlds’, structured around the parameters of the working day, which have ‘increase[d] our separation from the rhythms of nature’.58 This separation from natural time is, of course, the very problem that Emerson and Harris seek to counter, hoping that the cyclical rhythms of nature will respectively renew or erase the quantified linearity of historical time. However, as Barbara Adam contends, rather than enacting a strict separation of two distinct temporalities, modernity engenders an ‘economic commodification of time’ through which the ‘time of ecological give-and-take becomes subsumed under the time logic of economic exchange, consumption and globalised market forces’.59 Paradoxically, this appropriation of ‘natural time’ at once subordinates the differential periodicities of the more-than-human world beneath the homogenising time frames of industry, and facilitates the nostalgic recreation of nature as a timeless, alternative realm outside of commodification and consumption. Whilst Adam, Rifkin, and Sharma argue that the impact of industrialisation historically facilitated the imposition of a normative chronopolitics that masked the 16 differential temporalities at work in both social and ecological life (or indeed, socioecological life), Robert Markley suggests that the consequent environmental legacies of industrial modernity have led to a reconfiguration of temporal dynamics. For Markley: Climate change invariably poses questions about time or, more precisely, different registers of time: experiential or embodied time, historical time, and climatological time. Each of these registers resists hard and fast definition, in part because climatological time – accessible through and mediated by a range of complex technologies – complicates and disrupts the connections among personal identity, history and narrative that Paul Ricoeur, for one, identifies as constituting the phenomenological and historical perceptions of time.60 Attendant to these complexities, Markley argues for a ‘critical archaeology of time’ able to acknowledge the variegated temporal relations engendered by the emerging phenomena of climate change.61 Throughout American Rust, Meyer’s protagonists struggle to navigate relations between embodied, historical, climatological, and even cosmological time. Although the narrative present remains embedded in early-twenty-first-century America, the characters reflect, nostalgically, upon the industrial heyday of the twentieth-century, conjuring heroic fantasies of reclaiming America’s settler past, seeking imaginative retreat to earlier geological epochs, and projecting themselves into the immemorial vastness of the universe. In each case, however, the scaling up of time can be construed as an attempt to escape the more localised problems of their present environment. For twenty-year-old Isaac, the landscape of the Mon Valley is a hopelessly haunted terrain. Whilst Harris sees his surroundings as a redemptive retreat from the violence of history, for Isaac, the natural world is a landscape of suffering 17 and pain: from the woods in which he inadvertently murders a ‘transient’ known as ‘the Swede’, to the river that is the site of his mother’s suicide, Buell is a topography of painful memory, from which Isaac attempts to flee, both geographically and imaginatively. Hoping to start a new life in California, Isaac retraces the steps of the original pioneers, casting himself as the protagonist in his own wilderness narrative, and investing heavily in the idea that the past can be redeemed and the world made anew. Much like the American pastoral, the wilderness narrative is one of the foundational mythologies of the New World. As Ruland and Bradbury contend, ‘the essential Puritan myth’ was that of ‘a chosen people crossing the sea to enter a wilderness peopled with devils, suffering, trial and captivity’.62 As seen in the writings of settlers such as William Bradford, and later commentators such as Cotton Mather, the wilderness narrative depicts the struggle to tame the landscape of the New World and conquer its native people. Like the American pastoral, the wilderness narrative has had an enduring (and varied) impact upon American literary culture,63 and it, too, has been remediated in the face of the encroaching developments of industrial modernity and its afterlives.64 In the nineteenth-century, the wilderness narrative served as the model for the critical writings of Frederick Jackson Turner, who, in 1893, published his seminal work, ‘On the Significance of the Frontier in American History’. Turner’s essay is essentially a eulogy to the settlement of the New World (and the related ideology of manifest destiny, which underscored the ethos of national expansion throughout the late eighteenth and nineteenth-centuries). He frames the period of industrialisation (and the closure of the frontier) as a time of historical transition, which poses a threat to the essential fluidity of pioneer life. ‘The peculiarity of American institutions’, 18 Turner proclaims ‘is, the fact that they have been compelled to adapt themselves to the changes of an expanding people—to the changes involved in crossing a continent, in winning a wilderness, and in developing at each area of this progress out of the primitive economic and political conditions of the frontier into the complexity of city life.’65 Turner perceives the frontier as the regenerative force in American culture - a shifting terrain, at once constitutive of and unburdened by historical forces. He argues: American social development has been continually beginning over again on the frontier. This perennial rebirth, this fluidity of American life, this expansion westward with its new opportunities, its continuous touch with the simplicity of primitive society, furnish the forces dominating American character. 66 Turner’s quintessential American is the frontiersman – a rugged and courageous individual, half outcast, half hero. Meyer’s Isaac possesses few of these characteristics, however, as he journeys across the United States, he reimagines himself as ‘the kid’ – a symbol of resourceful youth, afraid of nothing and noone. Over the course of Isaac’s travels, the kid assumes transhistorical dimensions. He becomes a roving figure, ‘[c]omrade to Arab traders and astronauts. All wanderers’,67 a timeless hero ‘beyond the places he knows anyone. His material comforts falling away, no place will be foreign. The world is his home’.68 Unmoored in space, the kid roams wide in time, however, for all the symbolic freedom promised by his alter ego, Isaac is plagued by recollections of his mother, and his own violent actions back in Buell. 19 Desperate to drive such thoughts away, Isaac immerses himself in fantasies of cosmic oblivion. Surveying the night’s sky, he ruminates: Closest star is twenty-five million miles. Proxima something. Burning before the dinosaurs. Burning still when there isn’t any human left on earth. Different galaxies, a trillion stars. However small you feel you’re nowhere close to the truth, atoms and dust specks.69 The exhaustion of a single life pales into insignificance when confronted with the vastness of the universe, and Isaac seeks solace in the erasures of cosmological time.70 He comments, ‘the stars stretched down to the horizon. Billions of them out there, all around us […]. Come from and go back. Star becomes earth becomes man becomes God. Your mother becomes river becomes ocean. Becomes rain. You can forgive someone who is dead’.71 However, whilst this vision of cosmic harmony may seem to offer a tentative mode of closure, Isaac is forced to concede that it is really a form of ‘weak thinking’ – another mode of denial in which the vastness of cosmological time is conscripted as a screen memory to displace troubling thoughts of more immediate loss and violence.72 C. Rethinking space-time relations: the question of speed Harris and Isaac thus construe contrasting scalar trajectories in their attempts to evade the memory of historical loss: whilst Harris hopes to dehistoricise space by seeking refuge in the amnesiac regenerations of localised place; so Isaac hopes to despatialise time, by evoking the immemorial cosmos in order to evade the unwelcome memories he associates with Buell and its environs. In so doing, both Meyer’s protagonists evoke universalising cycles of decay and regeneration to negate the historical and 20 geographical complexities of their present, collapsing different scales of space and time into one another.73 Moreover, each of these impulses implicitly evades the connection between historical and environmental violence: whilst Harris laments the social unrest generated by the closure of the mills, he does not acknowledge the ecological effects of this industrial heritage, unable to see the Mon Valley as anything other than a pure and unspoiled terrain; by contrast, Isaac characterises this landscape as a haunted place, bespoiled by remnants of unburied pasts, but cannot comprehend that these toxic traces, material and psychological, are also legacies of the region’s industrial decline, which acted as a catalyst for both the suicide of his mother and the dispossession of the Swede and the other ‘transients’ that populate the text.74 The problem, then, is twofold: firstly, an inability to think spatio-temporal relationality in a nuanced or meaningful manner without dehistoricising space or despatialising time; secondly, a refusal to acknowledge the imbrication of socioeconomic and ecological precarity, without purifying nature or naturalising social violence. Clark suggests that such forms of denial are intrinsic to the ‘Anthropocene disorder’, which he describes as ‘the emotional correlate of trying to think trivial actions in scale effects that make everyday life part of a mocking and incalculable enormity’.75 Such reactions commonly attest to the difficulty of thinking beyond the quotidian ‘terrestrial’ framework of imagination and experience and the incapacity to escape that ‘prereflective sense of scale inherent to embodied human life on the Earth’s surface’.76 In the case of Meyer’s novel, these ‘scale effects’ catalyse a mode of disavowed mourning, which sees the recuperation of normative narratives – characterised by foundational national mythologies – through which the protagonists attempt to stabilise the uncertain present and redeem the unwelcome past. 21 Throughout the novel, Meyer implicitly connects these characters’ individual modes of denial to a wider culture of forgetting. Despite the contrasting attitudes they appear to impel to human/more-than-human relations (the American pastoral constructing a harmonious vision of nature as the nurturing ground of human society and morality, the wilderness narrative documenting attitudes of domination and submission), both the American pastoral and the wilderness narrative have historically served to mask the imbrication of socioeconomic and ecological precarity. American Rust contains countless instances of the ways such imaginaries have naturalised manifold connections between the exploitation of people and landscapes. Looking out across the Mon Valley, Poe comments ‘Christ it was a nice day. It could have been back in Indian times’.77 This harnessing of the present into a premodern pastoral narrative occludes the fact that the displacement and genocide of Native American peoples, central to the establishment of the modern United States, was concomitant with the attempt to settle and ‘tame’ the American wilderness. Similarly neutralised is Isaac’s romanticised allusion to slavery: ‘looking out over the rolling hills, forest interspersed with pastures, the deep brown of the just-tilled fields, the wandering treelines marking distant streams’, he caught sight of his father, sleeping. ‘It was a peaceful scene […] Like an old planter looking over his plantation’.78 Cleansing American history of its troubling elements, these lingering national imaginaries resemble the emotional and ideological homelands that Cohen holds responsible for upholding faulty memory regimes. Given the ways in which certain derangements of scale can be so easily elided, even appropriated, by problematic frames of memory, it thus appears as though a reflexive engagement with historical loss (human and more-than-human) might require a different mode of attention to both spatiotemporal and socioecological relationality. Accordingly, it seems 22 instructive to note that, in recent years, a growing body of work has begun to redress the unhelpful binary between space and time by calling for a critical reconsideration of speed. As Sharma contends, whilst globalisation theory has often privileged ‘a set of questions that focused on the impact of technologies built for acceleration and faster-moving capital on the democratic fate of a sped-up globe’,79 ‘the complexity of lived time is absent’ from such accounts,80 which fail to acknowledge the differentiated temporalities of contemporary life alongside their dispersed spatial relations. Critiquing the tendency to view the period of liquid modernity (Bauman) as an undifferentiated era of acceleration (which she identifies in the work of Paul Virilio, among others), Sharma calls for ‘a balanced space-time approach to understanding differential temporalities under global capitalism’.81 Also positioning speed as a key power dynamic in contemporary life, Lauren Berlant has argued for closer attention to the various modes of ‘slow death’ that escape dominant cultural and critical imaginaries, calling for greater awareness of ‘the temporalities of the endemic’82 that accompany ‘the physical wearing out of a population and the deterioration of people in that population that is very nearly a defining condition of their experience and historical existence’, exposing ‘the phenomenon of mass physical attenuation under global/national regimes of capitalist structural subordination and governmentality’. 83 Berlant’s conception of slow death resonates strongly with Meyer’s portrayal of Buell as a town in which ‘half the people went on welfare and the other half went back to hunter-gathering’.84 As the title of the novel makes clear, this is a region in slow decline: once the prosperous heart of America’s steel industry, Buell is ‘rust[ing] away to nothing’, ‘return[ing] to a primitive state’, populated by ‘the last living souls’.85 The town has become ‘[t]he 23 ugly reverse of the American dream’ where hard work will bring no reward, monetary or spiritual.86 Dispossessed by institutions of the American public sphere, the inhabitants of Buell ruminate on their status as second-class citizens. As Grace comments: The mill had stayed closed, and then it had stayed closed longer, and eventually most of it was demolished. She remembered when everyone came out to watch the two-hundred-foot-tall and almost brand-new blast furnaces called Dorothy Five and Six get toppled with dynamite charges. It was not long after that that terrorists blew up the World Trade Center. It wasn’t logical, but the one reminded her of the other. There were certain places and people who mattered a lot more than others. Not a single dime was being spent to rebuild Buell.87 Highlighting the disjunction between the attention garnered by the spectacular attacks on the Twin Towers and the gradual collapse of the American rust-belt, Grace’s comments recall Rob Nixon’s recent work on ‘slow violence’, which provides a useful correlate to Berlant’s discussion of slow death. Noting that ‘[p]olitically and emotionally, different kinds of disaster possess unequal heft’, Nixon argues that, in contrast to’[f]alling bodies, burning towers, exploding heads, avalanches, volcanoes and tsunamis [which] have a visceral, eye- catching and page-turning power’,88 ‘slow violence’ manifests ‘a violence that occurs gradually and out of sight, a violence of delayed destruction that is dispersed across time and space’.89 Crucially, Nixon asserts, slow violence affects ‘the staggered and staggeringly discounted causalities, both human and ecological’,90 that arise ‘in situations where the conditions for sustaining life become increasingly but gradually degraded’ – in places such as Buell, for example.91 In drawing attention to the 24 imbrication of human and more-than-human vulnerability, Nixon’s notion of slow violence thus underscores the need to think economic and ecological precarity together, whilst acknowledging differentiated speeds at which loss occurs across diverse scales of space and time. Crucially, Berlant and Nixon posit the problems of slow death and slow violence as disorders of memory. Berlant argues that slow death construes ‘a zone of temporality […] where the structural inequalities are dispersed, the pacing of their experience intermittent, often in phenomena not prone to capture by consciousness organized by archives of memorable impact’.92 Nixon similarly contends that ‘[t]he long dyings – the staggered and staggeringly discounted casualties, both human and ecological’93 that arise from slow violence ‘are underrepresented in strategic planning as well as in human memory’.94 Thus it seems that, in order to engage with the ‘representational, narrative, and strategic challenges posed by the relative invisibility’ of slow death and slow violence,95 to make visible the imbrication of diverse forms of economic and ecological precarity, to counter the denials of the Anthropocene disorder identified by Clark, and to destabilise the imaginative and conceptual homelands critiqued by Cohen, it is necessary to rethink the relationship between different scales of mourning in order to attend to the diverse speeds (as well as the disparate subjects, both human and more-than-human) of historical violence. D. Memorative velocities and the planetary imaginary This endeavour should not only take into account the uneven speeds at which death and violence occur, as Berlant and Nixon suggest, but also attend to the immediacy or belatedness with which processes of loss are recognised and remembered. These 25 contentions seem particularly important in relation to the unfolding crises of industrial modernity and its afterlives. As has been suggested throughout this article, in many ways, the Anthropocene might be considered to invoke a crisis of mourning, not only because (as Cohen and McGurl suggest) of the challenge it poses to established regimes of thought and action, but also (as LeMenager and Colebrook contend) because the object of mourning is fundamentally opaque. The catastrophes of the Anthropocene are so widespread, engendering so many kinds of violence, across such large scales of space and time, that there is no clear focus of loss. This situation inevitably poses a change to orthodox psychoanalytic (Freudian) paradigms of grieving, which propose the act of mourning as a process through which, in Dominick LaCapra’s terms, the mourner gradually relinquishes their attachment to the lost object ‘in ways that permit a reengagement with ongoing concerns and future possibilities’.96 The ambiguous causalities and uneven scales of the Anthropocene disrupt such neat formulations of individual or collective ‘working through’, as the object of loss is neither discrete nor fixed, but continually emerging and evolving. In this sense, it seems imperative to regard Anthropocenic history as an ongoing process of mourning, continually frustrated and ultimately incomplete, in which disparate forms of slow and fast violence, entropic or sudden death, affecting myriad forms of human and more-than-human life, emerge, immediately or belatedly, into cultural and critical visibility. Accordingly, I suggest that it is important to attend to the differential memorative velocities at work in contemporary memorial culture. The concept of memorative velocities foregrounds the relationship between the scale and speed at which an event or experience takes place (its reach, duration, etc) and the scale and speed at which it is registered in cultural and critical discourse (the immediacy and breadth of its acknowledgement, its impact on thought and 26 imagination, etc). Highlighting tensions and intersections between the representation of disparate phenomena across embodied, historical, and climatological time and local, national, and global space, this approach aims to provide a way of thinking critically about diverse forms of historical violence without eliding attention to either macro or micro scales of loss. In so doing, it demands that we acknowledge all forms of imagination and thought as contingent and open to revision, as new images of disaster become, or are made, visible at unequal speeds, challenging existing conceptions of the world we inhabit, and the historical and geological processes that have shaped, and continue to shape, human and more-than-human existence on this planet. Opening the past and its texts to revision in this way offers the possibility that renewed attention to the uneven and unequal trajectories of different memorative velocities might facilitate, in turn, the emergence of a literary counter-memory of modernity. Whilst Cohen, Berlant, and Nixon rightly suggest that cultural and critical discourses have been slow to register the extended violence (and prolonged dyings) of industrial modernity, the recent work of Clark and McGurl argues that the emergent literature of planetary memory requires a planetary recalibration of literary memory itself. Clark contends that the Anthropocene’s challenge to normative models of interpretation engenders a ‘breakdown of inherited traditions of thought’,97 which impels a reconsideration of established literary texts ‘in relation to a newly recognized planetary context whose breadth and nature would not have been known to their writers at the time’.98 McGurl argues that this process forms part of a ‘new cultural geology’, comprising ‘a range of theoretical and other initiatives that position culture in a time-frame large enough to crack open the carapace of human self-concern, exposing it to the idea, and maybe even the fact, of its external preconditions’.99 This 27 recalibration of literary memory reveals the ways in which challenges to the ‘residual humanism’ of contemporary writing and criticism are:100 already as it were there as a latency in the postmodern, in fact already there in the discourse of the ‘modern’, whose narrative of the progressive domination of nature by science has long been ironized by the discovery, in that very process, of the bizarrely humiliating length of geologic time, the staggering vastness and complexity of the known universe, the relative puniness of the human in the play of fundamental and evolutionary forces.101 American Rust does something interesting to the forms of retrospective reading outlined by Clark and McGurl. In their nostalgic appeal to older imaginaries, characters like Harris and Isaac reveal the continuing pull of established national fantasies – testifying, in Cohen’s terms, to the ongoing forms of security provided by these ideological homelands. However, throughout the novel, Meyer makes it clear that these discourses are inadequate to the task of framing, or containing, historical experience. As much as Harris tries to conjure a vision of an uncorrupted nature able to provide a panacea to historical violence, the narrative continually slides from pastoral to the social, gesturing towards the intimate imbrication of these two realms, and the inability to separate ‘timeless’ nature from the history of industrial modernity. Similarly, whilst Isaac tries to escape his own traumas through imaginative immersion in the amnesiac cosmos, the ghosts of his past cannot be tamed by his ineffective dreams of extinction, or his desperate desire to ‘scale-up’ embodied experience. The idealised imaginaries to which Harris and Isaac turn in an attempt to disavow the destabilising effects of the present are thus exposed as nostalgic romances. Even more importantly, however, in gesturing to the traces of their earlier 28 iterations, Meyer also underscores the fact that such mythologies have always served a compensatory function: evoked to legitimise and stabilise an uncertain present; to impel a false sense of continuity over time; and to negate the violence that so often accompanies periods of historical transition. In foregrounding the flimsiness of these fantasies, American Rust suggests that, from the earliest settlement of the New World, to the remediation of these forms during the rapid industrialisation of the nineteenth- century, and onto the present day, the appeal to national mythologies such as the American pastoral and the frontier narrative is always already too late, invoked in a last-ditch-attempt to stave off processes of change (not necessarily of progress) that are irrevocably in force. In their heroic recreation of American history, such imaginaries thus seek to conceal the fact that they are essentially paradigms of mourning, evoked as elegies to a romanticised past that is perceived to be slipping away. Thus, whilst the recuperation of these imaginative homelands may, as Cohen suggests, superficially seem to buttress historical and cognitive blindspots, it seems important to acknowledge, as Clark and McGurl might argue and as Meyer demonstrates in American Rust, that a critical rereading of such texts has the potential to expose the essential emptiness of their promises, opening these frames of memory up for revision, and revealing the occlusions and biases naturalised by their tropes. University of Westminster 1 Timothy Clark, Ecocriticism on the Edge: The Anthropocene as a Threshold Concept (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), p.13. 2 Ibid. p.72. 3 Ibid. p.x. 4 Tom Cohen, ‘Introduction’, in Tom Cohen (ed.) Telemorphosis: Theory in the Era of Climate Change (Ann Arbor: Open Humanities Press, 2012), p.15. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. p.14. 29 7 Ibid. p.15. 8 For other novels in this corpus, see Blake Butler, Scorch Atlas (Chicago: Featherproof, 2009); Joshua Ferris, The Unnamed (London: Viking, 2010); Jonathan Lethem, Chronic City (London: Faber, 2010); Cormac McCarthy, The Road (London: Picador, 2007). 9 Philipp Meyer, American Rust (London: Pocket Books, 2009), p.4. 10 Stacy Alaimo, Bodily Natures: Science, Environment, and the Material Self (Bloomington: Indiana UP, 2010), p.3. 11 Ursula K. Heise, Sense of Place and Sense of Planet: The Environmental Imagination of the Global (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2008), p.205. 12 Sebastian Groes, ‘Introduction to Part III: Ecologies of Memory’, in Sebastian Groes (ed.), Memory in the Twenty-First Century (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2016), pp.140-146. 13 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London: Verso, 2006), p.25. 14 Duncan A. Bell, ‘Mythscapes: Memory, mythology, and national identity’, British Journal of Sociology 54.1 (2003), p.69. 15 Katherine Hodgkin and Susannah Radstone, ‘Patterning the National Past’, in Katherine Hodgkin and Susannah Radstone (eds), Memory, History, Nation: Contested Pasts (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2007), p.169. 16 For examples of the transnational turn in literary studies, see: Geoffrey V. Davis, Peter H. Marsden, Bénédicte Ledent, and Marc Delrez (eds), Towards a Transcultural Future: Literature and Society in a ‘Post’-Colonial World (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2005); Winfried Fluck, Donald E. Pease, and John Carlos Rowe, Re- Framing the Transnational Turn in American Studies (Dartmouth: Dartmouth CP, 2011); Franke Schulze-Engler and Sissy Helff (eds), Transcultural English Studies: Theories, Fictions, Realities (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2009). For a discussion of the transcultural turn in memory studies, see: Aleida Assmann, Aleida and Sebastian Conrad (eds), Memory in a Global Age: Discourses, Practices and Trajectories (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2010); Lucy Bond and Jessica Rapson (eds), The Transcultural Turn: Interrogating Memory Between and Beyond Borders (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014); Rick Crownshaw (ed.), Transcultural Memory. (London: Routledge, 2014); Chiara de Cesari and Ann Rigney (eds), Transnational Memory: Circulation, Articulation, Scales (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014); Daniel Levy and Natan Sznaider, The Holocaust and Memory in the Global Age, trans. Assenka Oksiloff (Philadelphia: Temple UP, 2006); Michael Rothberg, Multidirectional Memory: Remembering the Holocaust in the Age of Decolonization (Stanford: Stanford UP, 2009). 15 Susan Gillman (eds), States of Emergency: The Object of American Studies (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2009), p.145. 18 Wai Chee Dimock, Through Other Continents: American Literature Across Deep Time (Princeton: Princeton UP, 2009), p.3. 19 Ibid. pp.3-4. 20 Judith Butler, Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence (London: Verso, 2004), pp.xii-iii. 21 Mark McGurl, ‘The Posthuman Comedy’, Critical Inquiry 38.3 (2012), p.536. 22 Ibid. p.534. 23 Cohen, ‘Introduction’, p.21. 24 Ibid. p.22. 25 Ibid. 26 Stephanie LeMenager, Living Oil: Petroleum Culture in the American Century (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2014), p.102. 27 Ibid., p.104. 28 Claire Colebrook, ‘Time that is Intolerant’, Sebastian Groes (ed.), Memory in the Twenty-First Century: Critical Perspectives from Sciences and Arts and Humanities (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2016), p.151. 30 29 Ibid. p.157. 30 Doreen Massey, For Space (London: Sage, 2005), p.29. 31 Ibid. p.9. 32 Meyer, American Rust, p.71. 33 Ibid. p.44. 34 Ibid. p.94. 35 Ibid. p.11. 36 Massey, For Space, pp.4-5. 37 Heise, Sense of Place and Sense of Planet, p.4. 38 Ibid. p.9. 39 Ibid. p.21. 40 Ibid. 41 Ibid. p.122. 42 Leo Marx, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000), p.3. 43 Ibid. 44 As evidenced in the writings of John Winthrop, the New World is perceived as a ‘city upon a hill’, a divine nation, whose providential history is preordained by ‘covenant’ with God, and whose exceptional destiny is inscribed upon its very landscape. As Malcolm Bradbury and Richard Ruland contend, in the eighteenth century, this typological mode of the American pastoral shifts into a more secular register, as ‘the American metaphysic that would merge man and terrain’ into an ever-closer relationship emerges in the work of writers such as Thomas Jefferson and J. Hector St John de Crevecoeur, whose thought, in their terms, ‘provides a powerful demonstration of how a new nature and a new social order might generate a new kind of man and close the great circle of civilization on American soil’. See Malcom Bradbury and Richard Ruland, From Puritanism to Postmodernism: a History of American Literature (London: Penguin, 1993), p.37. 45 Ibid. p.4. 46 Ibid. p.9. 47 Ibid. p.10. 48 Ibid. p.201. 49 Ibid. p.229. 50 Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature (Marston Gate: Amazon Publishing, no date), p.6. 51 Ibid. p.46. 52 Ibid. p.47. 53 Ibid. p.10. 54 Ibid. p.4. 55 Meyer, American Rust, pp.122-3. 56 Sarah Sharma, In the Meantime: Temporality and Cultural Politics (Durham: Duke UP, 2014), p.12. 57 Ibid. p.10. 58 Jeremy Rifkin, Time Wars: The Primary Conflict in Human History (New York: Touchstone, 1987), p.12. 59 Barbara Adam, Timescapes of Modernity: The Environment and Invisible Hazards (London: Routledge, 1998), p.14. 60 Robert Markley, ‘Time’, in Tom Cohen (ed.), Telemorphosis: Theory in the Era of Climate Change (Ann Arbor: Open Humanities Press, 2012), p.43. 61 Ibid. p.45. 62 Bradbury and Ruland, From Puritanism to Postmodernism, p.27. 63 The influence of this form can be clearly seen in the eighteenth century gothic novels of Charles Brockendon Brown, as well as the nineteenth century romances of Edgar Allen Poe and Nathaniel Hawthorne. 31 64 In terms that resonate strongly with the tropes of American Rust, for example, Raymond Malewitz notes that the cultural imaginary of the twenty-first century U.S. has been characterized by the return to ‘nostalgic notions of rugged individualism ‘that ‘mediate between the mythic modes of self-sufficiency required by [America’s] older, frontier culture and the empty and rusty realities that characterize its transition to a postindustrial economy’. See Raymond Malewitz, “Regeneration Through Misuse: Rugged Consumerism in Contemporary American Culture”, PMLA 127.3 (2012), p.527. 65 Frederick Jackson Turner, ‘The Significance of the Frontier in American History’. (1893). http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/turner/chapter1.html [Date accessed: 17 March 2016]. 66 Ibid. 67 Meyer, American Rust, p.101. 68 Ibid. p.103. 69 Ibid. pp.105-6. 70 Throughout the novel, a scaled-up sense of time is repeatedly used to occlude the fear of death and loss. Confronting his own mortality, Henry, Isaac’s father, remarks, ‘Earth is made of bones. From wood and back to wood and you never know what came before you’ (286). Fearing that he will die in his prison cell, Poe similarly asserts ,’[t]he truth was people died every minute […], really, when you were born, you were the same as a name on a gravestone. A gravestone of the future. A born destiny’ (320). Whilst Harris asserts, ‘[a]ll the dead men of the world – they had once been alive. That was what people forgot’ (327). 71 Ibid. pp.342-3. 72 Ibid. p.105. 73 These impulses expose the ways in which our approach to the more-than-human – whether regenerative nature or the inhuman cosmos – is always already framed by anthropocentric perspectives. As Colebrook argues, we do not ‘exist as historical agents against a stable and timeless nature, for nature is part of an overall milieu of composition in which we are affected as respondents to a world that is always unfolded from our practices’. Similarly, Mark Currie contends, it is a ‘mistake to align phenomenological [or embodied] time with the life of the mind and cosmological time with the outside world’ for, ultimately, ‘we are left with a kind of cosmological time conceived and perceived from within human experience and the mind’. See: Colebrook, ‘Time that is Intolerant’, P.147; Mark Currie, About Time: Narrative, Fiction and the Philosophy of Time (Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 2006), p.77. 74 In this sense, it seems instructive that the woods in which Isaac murders the Swede contain the ruins of Buell’s industrial infrastructure, whilst the river in which he mother committed suicide historically powered the steel industry. However, the recognition of this essential interconnection of social and natural history is further elided by the protagonists’ repeated naturalization of industrial ruins throughout the novel. As Isaac remarks, in tellingly evocative terms, of the former steel mill, ‘its buildings [were] grown over with bittersweet vine, devil’s tear thumb, and tree of heaven. The footprints of deer and coyotes criss-crossed the grounds: there was only the occasional human squatter’ (8). In Harris’s words, this process manifests ‘[n]ature assimiliating man’s work’ (53), as both the material remnants of the mill, and its invisible ecological afterlife, are dehistoricised. 75 Clark, Ecocriticism on the Edge, p.140. 76 Ibid. p.34. 77 Meyer, American Rust, p.97. 78 Ibid., p.35. 79 Sharma, In the Meantime, p.5. 80 Ibid. p.6. 81 Ibid. p.14. http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/turner/chapter1.html 32 82 Lauren Berlant, ‘Slow Death (Sovereignty, Obesity, Lateral Agency)’, Critical Inquiry 33.4 (2007), p.756. 83 Ibid. p.754. 84 Meyer, American Rust, p.120. 85 Ibid. p.8. 86 Ibid. p.230. 87 Ibid. p.45. 88 Rob Nixon, Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard UP, 2011), p.3 89 Ibid. p.2. 90 Ibid. 91 Ibid. p.3. 92 Berlant, ‘Slow Death (Sovereignty, Obesity, Lateral Agency)’, p.759. 93 Nixon, Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor, p.2. 94 Ibid. p.3. 95 Ibid. p.2. 96 Dominick LaCapra, History in Transit: Experience, Identity, Critical Theory (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2004), p.45. 97 Clark, Ecocriticism on the Edge, p.xi. 98 Ibid. p.52. 99 Mark McGurl, ‘The New Cultural Geology’, Twentieth-Century Literature 57.3-4 (2011), p.168. 100 Cohen, ‘Introduction’, p.22. 101 McGurl, ‘The New Cultural Geology’, pp.380-1.
work_iobpmesteza6xfembmvyyrvkvy ---- BioOne sees sustainable scholarly publishing as an inherently collaborative enterprise connecting authors, nonprofit publishers, academic institutions, research libraries, and research funders in the common goal of maximizing access to critical research. Phenology and Citizen Science Author(s) :Amy Mayer Source: BioScience, 60(3):172-175. 2010. Published By: American Institute of Biological Sciences URL: http://www.bioone.org/doi/full/10.1525/bio.2010.60.3.3 BioOne (www.bioone.org) is a a nonprofit, online aggregation of core research in the biological, ecological, and environmental sciences. BioOne provides a sustainable online platform for over 170 journals and books published by nonprofit societies, associations, museums, institutions, and presses. Your use of this PDF, the BioOne Web site, and all posted and associated content indicates your acceptance of BioOne’s Terms of Use, available at www.bioone.org/page/terms_of_use. Usage of BioOne content is strictly limited to personal, educational, and non-commercial use. Commercial inquiries or rights and permissions requests should be directed to the individual publisher as copyright holder. http://www.bioone.org/doi/full/10.1525/bio.2010.60.3.3 http://www.bioone.org http://www.bioone.org/page/terms_of_use 172 March 2010 / Vol. 60 No. 3 www.biosciencemag.org Feature The first lilac bloom is considered a harbinger of spring. One person’s observation of a backyard f lower may be lovely, but thousands of people’s observations in myriad locations, re- corded in the same way and taken over the course of many years, become a data set that can be used to model po- tential changes in the arrival of spring and what those changes imply. Because these observations can be fairly simple to make, and because large data sets are necessary to design meaningful scientific studies, phenology—the re- lationship between annual events such as f lowering, breeding, and migration and climatic or seasonal changes— lends itself to the participation of citi- zen scientists. “That’s the cool thing about phenol- ogy,” says Jake Weltzin, executive direc- tor of the USA National Phenology Network (NPN). “We can work with the lay public. With only minor train- ing, they can help us collect quality data through space and time in ways we cannot get [ourselves].” Weltzin says the training strives to ensure everyone is using the same methods, because without consistency so many streams of data would be useless. “But once you get the standardization down, a scientist or a homemaker can con- tribute equally.” Along the way, people who aren’t professional scientists learn Phenology and Citizen Science AMY MAYER Volunteers have documented seasonal events for more than a century, and scientific studies are benefiting from the data. beginning with his dissertation in the 1980s. The US Department of Agri- culture (USDA) had funded field sta- tions to provide a network of observers with cloned lilacs and instructions for about field research and feel connected with the scientific process. Legacy data sets The modern term “citizen science” most likely dates back to the 1970s, says David Bonter, project leader for Project FeederWatch at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and assistant director for citizen science there. Current tech- nology makes participation faster and easier and has also greatly improved the process of converting citizen ob- servations into usable data. But lay in- volvement in data gathering dates back at least to the late 19th century. Simple Web sites make it relatively easy to ag- gregate data, mine it for improbable or impossible anomalies, and collate it into raw data sets. And the data can come from new observations made in real time or from the transcription of so-called legacy data sets, such as the North American Bird Phenology Program’s handwritten bird migra- tion cards that document observations made from 1890 to 1970. While the Cornell Lab has a long history of citizen science, it and other organizations that have sponsored phenological observations largely func- tioned as separate and unconnected data gatherers. That’s just the sort of isolation Mark Schwartz tired of as he conducted phenological research, BioScience 60: 172–175. © Amy Mayer. ISSN 0006-3568, electronic ISSN 1525-3244. All rights reserved. doi:10.1525/bio.2010.60.3.3 North American Bird Phenology Pro- gram volunteer transcriber Ken Pauley, shown here birding at Kikoti Rocks in Tarangire National Park, Tanzania, says entering data from the historical observation records gives him a con- nection to birders from a different era. Photograph: Courtesy of Ken Pauley. www.biosciencemag.org March 2010 / Vol. 60 No. 3 173 Feature documenting their seasonal changes, in some cases going back to 1950. Schwartz, now a professor of geogra- phy at the University of Wisconsin– Milwaukee, used this data on spring lilac blooms to develop a model that could simulate plant phenology over a continental scale based on climate data. When the USDA funding dried up, Schwartz personally maintained con- tact with about 50 observers because he appreciated the potential value of keep- ing the network functioning. By keeping the lilac study going, Schwartz has been able to refine his model over several iterations, and now, factoring in daily maximum and mini- mum temperatures, he has simulated lilac phenological responses for sites where there aren’t any historical data. He can also make projections into the future. The rescuing of the lilac pro- gram helped make it clear to Schwartz that a systematic and central way of archiving phenological data sets, espe- cially those from citizen scientists that might not have permanent institu- tional homes, would be critical to en- suring that these valuable observations got into the hands of researchers. and much of the more formal observ- ing is being done by undergraduates, field assistants, or technicians. “I don’t think that there’s any reason to believe that their information is of any higher quality than somebody who’s been watching what’s happening in their own back yard for the past 25 years.” Historically, even without formal standards and protocols, amateurs were considered fairly reliable. Jes- sica Zelt, coordinator of the North American Bird Phenology Program, is overseeing the transcription of 6 million data cards. They came from a network of naturalists, ornithologists, and backyard birders that peaked at 3000 participants. Ken Pauley, a vol- unteer, has found that transcribing the handwriting is often the biggest chal- lenge. He’s a retired educator from the Museum of Science in Boston and an avid birder. He’s been transcribing the historical cards for a year and enjoys the fact that he’s helping make those old observations useful today. The Bird Phenology Program, which is making its database available through the NPN Web site, built into its By August 2004, Schwartz was talking with colleagues about what ultimately became the NPN. It’s both an umbrella organization for infor- mation on phenological research and, increasingly, a clearinghouse for historical data sets. The NPN also administers a plant observation project of its own and plans to add an animal phenology citizen science project this year. Do citizen scientists gather good data? This is the question that invariably arises. To address it, the NPN, jointly sponsored by the US Geological Sur- vey and the University of Arizona, has developed standard protocols for gath- ering observations. It also uses some back-end strategies to ensure that the data it stores will be up to the quality standards researchers require. Schwartz, who also chairs the NPN’s board of directors, says while quality is obviously important, it’s not hard to come by. “What we have discovered is that most of these people can do a very good job of collecting data if they’re given clear instructions.” They tend to be highly motivated to do the job well because the only reward they seek is the knowledge that their data are being used. That said, Weltzin says both preventative and corrective measures are being built into NPN’s data reporting system. People won’t be able to enter a date in the future or select a plant species not found in their area. Anomalous data will be f lagged, and the person who entered it may be asked to verify it with a photograph. Bonter says Project FeederWatch, too, f lags questionable data. The pro- gram also increasingly relies on digi- tal photos. When someone reports an unexpected species at a feeder, Bonter or a colleague in the FeederWatch office gets a note to check out the re- port. Bonter finds people are generally receptive when asked for confirma- tion, and many volunteers have been credited with the first sighting of a species in an unexpected or new terri- tory. “There’s an awful lot of research that goes on out there,” Bonter says, Spring lilac blooming data became the basis for the climate models Mark Schwartz developed. He poses here with lilacs in bloom on the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee campus, where he is a professor of geography. Photograph: Alan Magayne-Roshak, University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee. The Eurasian collared dove is an in- vasive bird species whose colonization of North America has been docu- mented in part thanks to observations by participants in the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s Project FeederWatch. Photograph: Patricia Jones-Mestas, Project FeederWatch volunteer. 174 March 2010 / Vol. 60 No. 3 www.biosciencemag.org Feature transcription software a requirement for each card to be entered twice, by dif- ferent transcribers, so inconsistencies can be weeded out. If the two entries don’t match, the card is sent back into the pool to be transcribed again. Zelt says efforts are under way to collect similar data through contemporary observations, thereby strengthening the value of the historical information. Budding bud watchers Another citizen science program that has achieved a level of comfort with the quality of data it receives is Proj- ect Budburst. Like the lilac program, Budburst grew from the idea that continental-scale plant phenology ob- servations were needed, would require widespread participation, and could engage a broad public. “We are first and foremost an edu- cation and outreach project,” says Budburst director Sandra Hender- son, “but at the same time we want with successive groups of kids. Hen- derson says the data, when aggregated with observations from many sources, will help contribute to climate change studies. Weltzin, NPN’s director, says giving the public positive ways to contribute to the science of climate change helps broaden their understanding and di- minish what he calls the “doom and gloom” around the subject. “We can then empower the public to engage in global change activities,” he says. Project Budburst, though a partner of the NPN, differs from the citizen science plant project NPN sponsors: Registration is not a requirement for submitting data. That means the data won’t be incorporated into NPN’s own databases because, Weltzin says, regis- tration is something the NPN requires to help preserve the integrity of its data. The managers of both Project Budburst and the NPN are watching as another potential boon for citizen sci- ence emerges: the National Ecologi- cal Observatory Network, or NEON. Pending final congressional approval, it will begin construction this year. When it’s all up and running, NEON will have 60 sites—3 locations at each of 20 domains. Becky Kao, manager of NEON’s fundamental sentinel unit, says phenological observations of birds, mosquitoes, and plants will be collected and might answer questions such as whether plant phenology can be used as an indicator of community- and population-level changes in an ecosystem, or how the timing of birds and mosquitoes might alter disease modeling. Most NEON work will be done by staff, but the project includes a citi- zen science component. Wendy Gram, chief of public education and engage- ment, says phenology is a natural fit. She is looking at Project Budburst as a model. Although NEON’s citizen science component is still evolving, she anticipates that technology such as cell phones with cameras and GPS (global positioning systems) will help confirm people are correctly identify- ing specimens. to provide information that’s useful for science.” Sponsored by the Uni- versity Corporation for Atmospheric Research, the University of Montana, and the Chicago Botanic Garden, Project Budburst encourages partici- pation “from school kids to backyard naturalists to day hikers,” she says. Budburst participants choose a plant and then use the instructions pro- vided in a two-page document to get started. Mary Anstey, a fifth-grade teacher at Riverside Elementary School in Greenwich, Connecticut, has divided her 20 students into five groups. Each group monitors one tree on the school property. During the fall, they made observations of the foliage and fruit. That information drives the research they then do in the win- ter, while they wait to document the spring blooming. The project is ex- panding the way that students view their surroundings. “What they have started doing is to be more precise observers of nature,” Anstey says. The project has sparked interest in all of her students, not just those who were already excited about science or are outdoorsy. In addi- tion to honing the scientific skills of observation and data gathering, the students are using Project Budburst as a launch pad for exercises in ex- pository writing (they write about their trees and their observations), reading (they research the tree spe- cies, the seasonal cycles, and climate change), and technology (as a team they visit the Project Budburst Web site and enter their data). Anstey calls this approach “transdisciplinary,” and says her school district has been very supportive of her use of Budburst in the classroom. Henderson says plants are great for phenology volunteers, including young students, because they’re stationary. You can return to the same one again and again. For Anstey, the trees be- come a stable part of her curriculum, and although the students will change year to year, she can continue to con- tribute the same types of data about the same trees to Project Budburst Government biologist Wells Cooke launched a program to document bird migration habits that eventually swelled to 3000 volunteers across North America. The program ran from 1890 to 1970, and now efforts are under way to transcribe all of the handwrit- ten records. Photograph: Courtesy of the North American Bird Phenology Program. www.biosciencemag.org March 2010 / Vol. 60 No. 3 175 Feature accessible to the public, and advocates hope they will help researchers design studies that incorporate historical and contemporary observations. The nagging question, to which FeederWatch and NEON have found different answers, is how to sustain ongoing citizen observations for phe- nological research. To be useful, phe- nological data sets must be collected over long periods of time, and tradi- tional funding sources, such as grants from the NSF or other government agencies and foundations, are given typically for no more than fi ve years. NEON is designed to be gathering data for the next three decades and its infrastructure will be in place, so Gram and others there plan to develop and maintain projects that continue to at- tract citizen participants. FeederWatch, on the other hand, enjoys such a dedi- cated following that people who par- ticipate must pay $15. “They’re paying us to work for us,” Bonter says. “It’s really a challenge to build an endow- ment or come up with novel ways to fund long-term research.” Perhaps as researchers use con- temporary and legacy data sets to fi nd answers to vexing questions, the importance of ongoing observations will become self-evident. But that, of course, will depend in large part on exactly what it is scientists fi nd when they dig into the data. Amy Mayer (amy@amymayerwrites.com) is a freelance writer based in Greenfi eld, Massachusetts. become part of the scientific literature. But, Bonter says, “we publish scien- tific papers from FeederWatch and our other projects here all the time.” Recent papers emerging from largely citizen- collected data include one about the invasive Eurasian collared dove’s rapid colonization of North America, and another on the decline of the evening grosbeak, once one of the most com- mon feeder birds. Schwartz has been able to track seasonal changes from blooming data. “Over the last 30 years, the onset of spring as measured by the lilacs is earlier by about a week on average,” he says, a fact that has been documented by the citizen lilac observations. It’s a conclusion researchers couldn’t have drawn on their own, and it’s some- thing volunteers actually experience, which underscores their connection to the science. Weltzin lists papers about the phys- iological patterns of invasive species, the relationship between phenology and population abundance, and the relationship between phenology and species distribution all as relying on data collected by citizen volunteers. Some have even contributed unknow- ingly, such as Henry David Thoreau, an amateur naturalist whose legacy data from Walden Pond has been used by modern researchers. When NPN has its legacy clear- inghouse fully functional, data such as Thoreau’s and the Bird Phenology Program’s—and even phenological observations recorded by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark during their 1803–1806 expedition—will be Gram says another goal is to de- velop NEON’s citizen science proj- ects in such a way that scientists an- ticipate the data and are ready to use them when they’re available. “Every- one, including NSF [National Science Foundation] and research scientists and educators and this whole broader community, recognizes that it’s great to collect all this data, but if the data themselves aren’t usable and accessible and actually being valued by a variety of communities…that is going to be a disservice to all of the effort and funds that are being put into it.” The long haul Ultimately the dual goals of citizen science are to educate the public and generate data that can be used in research. Some of the younger pro- grams, like Project Budburst, haven’t been around long enough to have data Researchers confi rmed the decline of the evening grosbeak population, once one of the most common feeder birds, after analyzing data submit- ted by Project FeederWatch observers. Photograph: Tammie Hache, Project FeederWatch volunteer.
work_ipbdcfdcxnaotnm2elycpx7j6u ---- 03S - Hourigan FN POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE Law, Anarchy and Psychoanalytic Philosophy Daniel Hourigan* In many a romantic vision of the state dominating the aggressive nature of human beings, the yolk of anarchy stirs. But in our postmodern era, such a vision commits itself to a fundamental legal-epistemological dilemma: once you know the law, you cannot go back to a ʻno lawʼ space. This has led some theorists to follow Robert Nozick in seeking the meagre assurances of private property and open markets to regulate in the absence of a state apparatus that is too conflict-ridden, too corrupt to be remedied. However, it is the view of this discussion that such a theoretical purview misses several crucial features of the psyche of the contemporary Australian law revealed by Lacanian psychoanalysis. The purpose of this discussion is to draw on the recent High Court of Australia appeal Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 and related materials to the end of proposing a commentary on a philosophico-psychoanalytic theory of lawʼs relation to anarchy. The spectre of anarchy as crisis or boon is a properly structural phenomenon of modern legal systems. And in the contemporary Australian legal context, anarchy has a hidden place in the efforts of the High Court to effect legislative harmony.1 The discussion in this article proposes a speculative critique of law to the end of unearthing a philosophico-psychoanalytic theory of the dialectic of law and anarchy. The discussion opens with a brief outline of the contemporary framing of anarchy in current scholarship before moving to an elaboration of the key concepts of Lacanian psychoanalytic methodology that will be applied in the further analysis. The analysis proper begins with an overview of statutory interpretation in an Australian legal context to lay the groundwork for the subsequent discussion of the recent case of Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland.2 Lacey will then be examined at length to the end of unearthing the rich analytic material to be critiqued subsequently through analytic interrogation, interruption and elaboration. The final substantive section then takes the reader through a dialectical reappraisal of the law and anarchy in light of the conclusions drawn from the discussion of Lacey as an example of postmodern jurisprudence. Finally, the conclusion draws together the threads * Adjunct Research Fellow, Socio-Legal Research Centre, Griffith University. 1 Project Blue Sky Inc v Australian Broadcasting Authority (1998) 194 CLR 335. 2 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 331 of discussion with an elaboration of the juridico-epistemological problem for thinking anarchy today in the postmodern Australian legal context. Traditionally, views on the law and anarchy are split across the general political spectrum from right to left and back again. To the right we find thinkers such as Robert Nozick proposing a type of private property anarchism where property is stripped of government regulation and becomes its own mechanism of social and legal validation. To enforce such a rule of property, one needs a private force at one’s disposal. Such a mercenary attitude to law enforcement seems contrary to the utopic liberalism that is the thrust of Nozick’s arguments.3 Yet, logically played out, this libertarian scenario commits itself to a collapse of jurisdiction and provisional power. Coincidentally, such a collapse of jurisdiction and power was a feature of the decision of the majority in Lacey. As will be discussed, Lacey presents some interesting problems for such a libertarian position that treats the literal law as what is to be enforced. The views of the libertarian right can be juxtaposed to the arguments for a return to the commons by the new left. Following Hardt and Negri’s Empire (2001) and Multitude (2005), and works by other Italian political philosophers such as Roberto Esposito and to a lesser extent Giorgio Agamben, this return to the commons portents to provide a new socio-legal link on the basis of shared power in the space of a common municipality or new communism.4 Where the libertarian vision collapses jurisdiction and power by confusing the form of property as its substantial content, the new left’s new communism repeats and reinvents the very political apparatus that it critiques. In the new commons, we do not escape law; rather, law once again becomes a fiction of the shared social world: in no one person do we find the seat of law’s power, but projected as a totality together, in their being-with-one-another-in-common, the subjects of the commons function as if the law-in-common exists.5 In critical terms, the new left’s vision of a new communism of the commons highlights an all too familiar deadlock between the shared common experience and the difference between this experience and the subjective perspective upon the rule of law that insists on such egalitarian sharing, rendering the latter a legal fiction that legitimates social order.6 Such fictions are today the hallmark of any society claiming legal authority, and how a population behaves in accordance with the law or not is perhaps a sign of the psychic problem of believing in or distancing oneself from these fictions.7 3 Nozick (2007), pp 193-217. 4 I rely here on discussions with Professor Timothy C Campbell (Cornell University) after his keynote at the 2009 Trans(l)egalité conference hosted by the Law and Literature Association of Australia and the Law and Society Association of Australia and New Zealand, and also on transcripts from the Commonalities: Theorizing the Common in Contemporary Italian Thought conference hosted by Cornell University in 2010. 5 Dubreuil (2006), p 94; Esposito (2010), pp 14–16. 6 Žižek (2008), pp 337–38. 7 Salecl (2010), pp 22–28. 332 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 What neither the libertarian view nor the new left vision provides, however, is a method to analyse the garden of manias, fantasies and other structural psychic phenomena created by the psycho-social relation founding both property and the commons. This is not to propose yet another psychology of the law. Rather, the critical point here is to examine how anarchy is a phenomenon of the structure of the law as an aberration, an artificial but nonetheless objective order. To engage this maddening terrain of the law and anarchy, we shall now turn to psychoanalysis. Psychoanalysis – particularly of the post-Freudian or Lacanian variety – is becoming a more common sight in the contemporary study of law and culture, legal history and legal theory. Unlike philosophies of law, psychoanalysis resists inventing a grand metaphysical totality that secures law’s conservatism.8 Instead, psychoanalysis is a technique for reading, analysing and interrupting the all too smooth and arbitrary operation of the law.9 Because of its fascination with the order of the signifier, Lacanian psychoanalysis is particularly pertinent to this discussion.10 According to Jacques Lacan, the fundamental point about any law – whether civil or common, express or construed – is that it is composed of signifiers.11 At its base, the law is a signifier. But what does this mean? Here it is instructive to recall that Lacan’s return to the work of Sigmund Freud heralded not only a reinvigoration of psychoanalysis but also a response to deconstruction and what the Anglophony dubbed ‘post-structuralism’, a vague amalgam of many different continental European schools of thought from the 1960s to the 1990s that includes, among others, the work of Roland Barthes (semiotics), Jean-François Lyotard (aesthetic postmodernism), Gilles Deleuze (immanent postmodernism), Jacques Derrida (deconstruction), Edward Said (postcolonial studies), Michel Foucault (historical genealogy) and Julia Kristeva (semiotics and psychoanalysis).12 This philological point is significant because it provides a context for the way Lacan emphasises the signifier as shifting, fragmented, metaphoric, metonymic and chained. For Lacan, signifiers exist in a chain of signification wherein a given signifier refers to the other signifiers in the chain to generate its meaning.13 This network of signification, or ‘symbolic order’, operates through endless differentiation.14 In this space, a name or symbolic title is alienated through the misrecognition of the symbolic order: it never says what something is, only what it is not. What is meaningful is 8 Goodrich (1995), pp 240–47. 9 MacNeil (2007), p 10. 10 Goodrich and Carlson (1998), p 6; Lysy-Stevens (2009), p 79; Miller (2003), pp 88–89. 11 Lacan (2006), p 240. 12 This arbitrary amalgamating of thinkers and methods is epitomised by Yale French Studies (1975). 13 Lacan (1998), pp 210–12. 14 Lacan (2006), pp 682–83. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 333 thus always shifting, always a point of difference, always portended by the signifier but never equivalent to the signifier.15 This symbolic game of difference signifies the meaning of a signifier. For example, the context of other signifiers generates signified meaning through difference – for example, 1, 2, 3, 4, etc – but as this symbolic context does not exist in a particular signifier, it must always be inferred ‘as if’ it is present through association. For this game of difference to succeed, the subject of language must submit to a symbolic belief in metaphor whereupon something is something else: Signifier1 is Signifier2.16 For example, the law is just, the act is illegal, the sky is blue and so on; what makes the meaning coherent is the logic of symbolic differences as each signifier is associated with another. The belief in these symbolic fictions infers a ‘body of meaning’ or symbolic Other to whom these beliefs are addressed in language.17 The grammar of signifiers thus rests not in the subject’s consensual hallucination, but in the submission to a symbolic order that counters subjective needs with symbolic demands.18 Signification is thus not a matter of wild fantasising or solipsistic reasoning, but instead a negotiated interplay with a shared field of meanings that is always ‘other’ than the subject enunciating a language. From the Lacanian position, the subject is in some relation to that which is meaningful or desirable.19 Such desire is symbolic rather than a natural basis of the human animal. The Other of this symbolic order thus appears to ‘know’ what the subject wants, irrespective of what the subject intends. This has its echo in the trial process, where the sentencing judge signifies the meaning of the charges brought before the court in the sentence. The judge functions as not only an audience that hears the charges but also as an arbiter or Other who brings the charges into a new symbolic arrangement and fundamentally alters their meaning by associating them with a sentence, another signifier, that refers back to the ‘symbolic content’ of the charges to manifest a decision in a juridico-legal context. The judge is dehumanised through their symbolic place in the court as the arbiter who decides what the charges-qua-signifiers mean and where this decision is believed to be what it is by the legal profession and broader community. The important point is that without this game of symbolic fictions – that is, if the judge simply espoused random decisions that did not inhere to the contextual rules of legal context – the judge would be unbelievable; law would be unbelievable.20 Hence the letters of the law, its messages composed of signifiers, ‘always’ arrive at their destination – their legal sense.21 If they do not, then the 15 Zupancic (2006), pp 160–61. 16 Miller (2007), p 7. 17 Dolar (2006), pp. 16–17. 18 Chiesa (2007), p 48. 19 Lacan (1998), p 108. 20 Žižek (1999), p 219. 21 Žižek (2001), p 12. 334 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 symbolic misrecognition fails and the court ceases to retain its juridico-legal meaning as accepted by those who are subject to, for and by the court.22 Yet is this collapse of symbolic misrecognition an avenue to think anarchy in psychoanalytic terms? Or, to rephrase, can the subject desire anarchy? To answer this question, we must turn to the delimiting question of desire: ‘What do you want?’ (Che vuoi?). The form of this question iterates upon the metaphoric structure of meaning wherein sign1 is sign2. But to whom is ‘Che vuoi?’ addressed? It is to the big Other of the symbolic order, a symbolic apparition of the order of differences between signifiers who proffers commands and prohibitions? In the symbolic form of the signifier, such questions of desire take aim at the Other’s satisfaction to the extent that they are reliant upon the belief in the symbolic order and what it renders meaningful.23 Because the order of the symbolic is one of difference, all further differences offered in reply to ‘Che vuoi?’ amount to the same symbolic lack touched upon by the question of desire. The Other’s answer is thus restricted to the identical inverse form of the subject’s own question of desire, ‘What do you want?’24 This point is a further renovation of the concept that for a signifier or part of law to become meaningful, it must draw the subject into a symbolic space that then reflects meaning – vis-à-vis the subject’s message – back to the subject.25 Yet the meaningfulness of this reply requires a minimal difference be established between the subject and the Other. The repetition of the question’s symbolic form suggests that the question of desire must rest on something extra, beyond the substantial content of the message. This something extra in the question of desire (objet petit a) can be observed in the basic question that underlies discussions of law and anarchy: addressing the law, the subject asks ‘Do you want anarchy?’ and the law responds, ‘Do you want anarchy?’ The minimal difference here flags the fantasy coordinates that are involved and yet are not part of the empirical symbolic content of the message. Reading the question positively, the question of anarchy propounds the overthrow of law, as though in its reply the law flays itself, sunders its own condition by tempting the subject with its dissolution. In the negative, the question of anarchy is much more orthodox and familiar: the subject admonishes the law and the law tyrannises the subject’s questioning. Both thinly fantastic readings demonstrate how a simple adjustment in the fantasmatic coordinates of the message drastically alters the status of law as such and always imputes an intention to it.26 22 Žižek (2001), pp 16–17. 23 Lacan (1993), p 48. 24 Žižek (2008a), p 74. 25 Lacan (2006), pp 228–29. 26 This discussion targets the speculative construction of anarchy by the law’s own operations in Lacey. Unfortunately, space is too limited here to trace a comparative account of the philosophy of anarchy of Victor Yarros, Henry David Thoreau, David Miller and others, and how it inflects this question of desire. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 335 A further point here is that, to unreflective reasoning, the equating of law with anarchy is impossible or ‘mad’ unless one is willing to suggest a pre-legal space by retroactively establishing a minimal difference between the legal order of today and a past to which we only have fantasmatic access.27 The view that repealing legal order invites anarchy establishes the fiction that anarchy is always lying in wait. More strongly, if repealing the law is said to lead us to back to a non-legal space, we again commit to a fiction that we can somehow escape the law’s conditioning of our view of ‘not law’.28 The Lacanian formula for the arrival of the letter in its inverted form thus demonstrates the always-already symbolic nature of anarchy if it is taken in a non-legal sense – that is, anarchy is always part of the law. This symbolic interplay of anarchy’s meaningfulness recently manifested in the Australian legal context with the appeal case of Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland.29 In this appeal, the High Court of Australia repealed a decision by the Queensland Court of Appeal that decided that the provision in section 669A(1) of the Criminal Code (Qld), which allowed the Attorney-General to appeal sentences, provided some general power to vary sentences simply because the Attorney-General chose to appeal. Both the decision of the majority French CJ, Gummow J, Hayne J, Crennan J, Kiefel J and Bell J and the dissenting opinion of Heydon J focus on the interpretation of section 669A(1), but do so in divergent ways that elaborate differing operations of belief in the law and the place of anarchy in legislative harmony. Lacey provided the High Court with an opportunity to once again observe the presumptions of statutory interpretation in the Australian legal context.30 Moreover, the interpretation of statute functioned to maintain a 27 Lacan (2011), p 70. 28 Hourigan (2011), pp 10–12. 29 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573; hereafter Lacey in the text. 30 As summarised by Pearce and Geddes (2011), the presumptions of statutory interpretation in Australia include: • the presumption against surplusage • the presumption against retrospectivity • the presumption against the interfering with fundamental rights • the presumption against the abrogation of the privilege against self-incrimination • the presumption against the denial of access to the courts • the presumption that the re-enactment of previous legislation constitutes an approval of previous interpretations of this legislation • the presumption that legislation does not bind the Crown • the presumption that property rights cannot be taken away without compensation • the presumption that all law has territorial effect • the presumption that Australian law will conform to international law. It is useful to note that the fortunes of these presumptions vary, and some become of greater value or relevance than others, depending on the makeup of the court, the nature of the matter before the court and the social, political and historical context of the court. 336 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 symbolic economy of the law. The presumptions that structure statutory interpretation provide a set of fantasmatic coordinates through which statutes can be interpreted desirably in light of the matter before the court. They also form an unwritten code that quilts together the fragments of discretionary power of construction in matters of statutory interpretation, as exercised by the High Court of Australia in particular. These presumptions are fantasmatic in the psychoanalytic sense that they make the law believable and simultaneously coordinate the desire of the legal subjects recognised by the court’s symbolic regime – that is, the judges, council, appellant and so on. Without these presumptions, statutory interpretation would appear to lack the necessary distance from the wild fantasising of judges’ subjectivity and create a psychotic order that is without law.31 Yet, as we shall see, there is a particular type of psychoanalytic construction that fits well with the purposive construal of statutes now favoured by the High Court. While these presumptions may provide the fantasmatic background for statutory interpretation, the process of interpretation itself has undergone notable shifts across legal history. In the modern Australian legal context, what are known as the literal and purposive approaches stand as different polarities across the spectrum of judicial interpretation and decision-making. Put simply, the literal rule emphasises the meaning of the words used in legislation and may only vary its course to avoid absurdity, a tactic elsewhere phrased as the golden rule of statutory interpretation.32 On the other hand, the purposive rule looks to the context of the legislation and the mischief that the legislation is intended to remedy.33 However, while the purposive rule can only expand its domain in the absence of clear and precise wording in the Acts of Parliament, the literal rule treats all law as expressly meaningful and unambiguous although capable of absurdity. For a literal repose, such absurdities are not the fault of law but of the shifting social context in which the ‘true’ law finds itself. While the literal rule was the traditional method used to interpret statutes, today the purposive rule is de rigueur and has express mention in section 15AA of the Acts Interpretation Act 1901 (Cth) and the Fair Trading Act 1999 (Vic), for example, and – more pertinently to our discussion – in the majority decision in Lacey. At a glance, anarchy seems far from the presumptions and interpretative methods of the law. But even a mild questioning of why these presumptions can operate to provide the law with some measure of coherency reveals the orderlessness of a certain type of fantasmatic anarchy lying in wait, and hints at the forced choice to view anarchy as being outside the order of law when it is These presumptions are not hard law but their importance should not be underestimated. As highlighted by the psychoanalytic approach, it is the fantasmatic status of these presumptions that grants the interpretation of legislation some measure of coherency by giving them a fantasmatic frame the coordinates the desire for law to ‘happen’. 31 Lacan (1993), pp 53–56. 32 Adler v George (1964) 2 QB 7. 33 Heydon’s case (1584) 3 Co Rep 7a. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 337 given this purposive coherency. What the orderlessness of such anarchy indicates is not only an absence of order but also an absence of legal purpose.34 It is this loss of purpose that so threatens law with the decay of its fantasmatically sustained reality. The path to anarchy in this theoretical problem is through subjecting law to a premodern legal science that seeks the rational truth of law as the only valid criteria of judicial decision-making. This truth is rejected for its irrational and arbitrary enforcement, and thus we arrive at what the definition thinks as anarchy per se. However, such a legal science overlooks that when the fantasmatic coordinates of the law are suspended, the reality of law is suspended as well. The result is not the truth of law but rather nothing at all – ‘no law’ rather than ‘not law’. The fantasmatic content of the law grants legal context/symbolic sense to Lacey. But further than this, such legal fictions prompt the question of where to position the possibility for anarchy in the frame of a desire for law. The majority’s decision in Lacey shows a concern with different forms of legal anarchy that may ensue from the appeal process.35 Lacey is uniquely positioned, as it brings to light the polymorphous tension that exists between the symbolic differences of statutes, their fantasmatic construal and the fantasmatically sustained reality of the common law. This tripartite tension creates a point of difference between the opinion of the majority of French CJ, Gummow J, Hayne J, Crennan J, Kiefel J and Bell J and the dissenting opinion of Heydon J. This difference centres not only on points of law but also on the principles of statutory interpretation as they were applied by the majority in Lacey in direct response to the jurisdiction of the appellate court and the powers of the Attorney-General of Queensland. This pivoting point also raises the spectre of anarchy on several connected fronts: the reconstruction of history by the majority when they examine what the law was before the statutory remedy of the Court of Appeal was invented in English law; what dangers lie in wait for the Attorney-General’s collapsed jurisdiction and powers as perceived by the High Court; the tension between the fantasmatic support of the presumptions of statutory interpretation by the majority and Heydon J’s dissenting judgment; and the elision of the question of anarchy by the evaporation of jurisdiction and power from the vantage of Heydon J. The artifice of legal fictions that sustain the reality of law, even in its history, are present in the decision of the majority in Lacey: ‘an appeal is not a common law remedy. It requires the creation by statute of an appellate jurisdiction and the powers necessary for its exercise.’36 The historical narrative delivered by the majority of the High Court expounds the development of the English Court of Appeal at some length at the outset of their judgment. This recounting of the legal history of the Court of Appeal reconstructs the law to emphasise not only Australia’s legal inheritance but 34 Laurent (2007), pp 42-43. 35 What is ‘legal’ here is defined by its fantasmatic content, its symbolic difference. 36 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 577. 338 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 also the inheritance of a legal purpose, and therein signals not only an imparting of signifiers of the law but also their signified meaning: There was, at common law, no jurisdiction to entertain appeals by convicted persons or by the Crown against conviction or sentence. In 1892, the Council of Judges of the Supreme Court of England and Wales recommended to the Lord Chancellor that a Court of Criminal Appeal be established with jurisdiction to entertain appeals against sentence and to assist the Home Secretary, at his request, in reconsidering sentences or convictions … The legislature did not act on that proposal … It was not until 1988 that the Attorney-General was empowered to apply to the Court of Appeal (Criminal Division) for leave to refer a case to it for undue leniency in sentencing.37 The retelling of the historical manifestation of the Court of Appeal provides a basis for the majority’s subsequent rendering of a verdict in Lacey. That is to say, the way in which the purpose of the Court of Appeal is signified in the chain of signification creates a view of legal temporality, a past that is not anarchic but instead is undergoing constant ordering. The original intention of the Council of Judges thus becomes the measure for the contemporary state of affairs in the High Court of Australia and the Court of Appeal in the Supreme Court of Queensland, where it is possible for both the convicted felon and the Crown to appeal. In critical terms, the reconstruction or retelling of the legal history of the Court of Appeal shows the majority installing the order of law through a retroactive logic that consequently posits the contemporary appeal process through its deferral to an earlier purpose. It is a critical issue that once we are within law, such a reconstruction of legal history operates to identify a gap in the law where the history of law stands outside the law but simultaneously works to associate this historical moment with the politic of the law in the present. This reinforces the previous point that once we are within the chain of signification, within the law, we cannot commit a transcendental suspension of the law to get to some hypothetical beyond of law. Rather, because a subject is constituted in the symbolic space of signification, they will always-already be entwined with this existing symbolic framework. The reasoning of the High Court envelops the legal history being recounted within the present arrangement of law precisely because not to do so would make the law incoherent and expose the law to a kind of non-sense that is intrinsically ‘legal’ because it is only concerned with the decay of the fantasmatic associations that give law meaning. This concern with the decay of fantasy in its psychoanalytic sense as the artifice of the symbolic order is a central concern of the outcome of Lacey. The problem that is decided in Lacey is the legality of the Attorney- General’s appeal to enliven a sentence in the absence of an error by the sentencing judge. Allowing the Attorney-General to alter sentencing because of a desire to exercise the provisional right to appeal mistakes the signifiers 37 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 577–78. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 339 of the law for the symbolic differences that maintain the ordering of the law’s symbolic universe. Put simply, the majority note how the legislation securing the Attorney-General’s provision to appeal is couched in a legal historical narrative that establishes a minimal difference between the writ of statute and the interpretation of the provision. This suggests that, rather than favouring the signifiers in their barest, technical form, the majority in Lacey prefer maintaining fantasy in parallel with reality rather than in a hierarchical orientation of dominance. This lateral parallel of statutory fantasy and legal reality is further queried by the unfettering of discretion expressly demanded by section 669A of the Criminal Code (Qld) that provides the Attorney-General with the provision to appeal a sentence. The majority argue that this provision is a matter of discretionary power arising from a procedure that is seen to be in tension with the stated purpose of the Court of Appeal and the Attorney- General’s express statutory power to launch an appeal in the Court. Here, the signifiers of legislation appear to be at odds with the desire that is expressly stated in by the Minister for Justice’s Second Reading Speech: The Bill is being amended to make it clear that the Court of Criminal Appeal has an unfettered discretion to determine the proper sentence to impose when the Attorney-General has appealed against the inadequacy of the sentence.38 While the minister’s speech identifies the intention of Parliament, it also elides the necessity of an erroneous construction or improper deployment of principle by a sentencing judge to give grounds for appeal as distinct from the express function of appeals by the Crown: The Attorney-General may appeal to the Court against any sentence pronounced by: (a) the court of trial; (b) a court of summary jurisdiction in a case where an indictable offence is dealt with summarily by that court, and the Court may in its unfettered discretion vary the sentence and impose such sentence as to the Court seems proper.39 The majority herein identify an oblique figuring of section 669A(1), where the wording of the statute is too restricted to oblige the Attorney- General of the power to enliven a sentence – or, more strongly, to even entertain the possibility of enlivening a sentence a priori to the appeal process because the conditions of the jurisdiction forbid it in their express statutory construction. What is rejected by the majority here is the decay of the fantasy sustaining symbolic reality. Specifically, the majority reject what 38 Queensland, Parliamentary Debates Legislative Assembly, 23 April 1975 at 993. 39 Criminal Code (Q) s 669A(1). 340 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 they view as a collapse of the jurisdiction of the Court of Appeal and the powers of the Attorney-General.40 The decision of the Court of Appeal to enliven Mr Lacey’s sentence at the suggestion of the Attorney-General thus opens up a problem of how to approach the meaningfulness of the signifiers of legislation. This problem centres on how one is to construe the express wording of section 669A(1). Responding to this dispute, the majority turn to the Acts Interpretation Act 1954 (Qld) – apparently neglected by the Court of Appeal – and how the Act ought expressly to have guided its construal of section 669A(1). It is curious that this forms a bone of contention between the dissenting Heydon J and the majority as the majority favour extrinsic materials to resolve any possible ambiguity41 and provide a consistent construction, whereas Heydon J, as we shall see, is disenchanted with the way that the purposive inclusion of such extrinsic material leads away from the clear and precise language of the statutes, both the Criminal Code (Qld) and the Acts Interpretation Act 1954. The purposive approach of the majority in Lacey reads a unifying thread through the legal history of the Court of Appeal and the facility of the Attorney-General, as a representative of the Crown, to appeal a sentence and the legislative history of section 669A. This purposive approach to statutory interpretation invites and deploys cognate legislation throughout the decision, namely the Acts Interpretation Act 1954, which is buttressed by the legal history of the Court of Appeal offered at the outset of the majority’s decision. The legislative history of section 669A is used to define, limit and construe a purpose upon the Court of Appeal, the Criminal Code (Qld) and the powers of the Attorney-General. Yet the legal and legislative histories and the ratio decidendi indicate certain assumptions regarding the intended audience of the statutory enactment of the Court of Appeal, section 669A and the Attorney- General: the audience is the judiciary rather than the executive or the legislature, distancing the majority’s construal from political readings. The purposive construction of the majority shows a tendency to read down the ‘unfettered discretion’ conferred upon the Court of Appeal by the statute. This reading down operates by linking the relevance of section 669A to the jurisdiction that gives the Attorney-General the power to appeal, rather than placing section 669A ahead of the statutory origin of the Court of Appeal. In a general non-legal sense, the majority here construes the decision of the Court of Appeal as always being fettered by the constraints of the law. But within the juridico-legal framework within which the court operates, this fettering specifically pertains to judicial discretion rather than the possibility of ratio decidendi made in a preceding judgment somehow conditioning the final decision of a case at hand a priori. The majority elaborate the view that possible ratio decidendi made in a preceding judgment to an appeal case ought to be seen as part of the act of judicial discretion, or even after the fact of the judicial discretion as such, a posteriori.42 40 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 588. 41 The problem of construal is manifest due to the inclusion of the Minister’s speech. 42 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 601-602. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 341 The collapse of jurisdiction and power in Lacey is born of the Attorney- General’s insistence on a construction of section 669A that, in the view of the majority, gives no ‘jurisdictional content to the term “appeal”’.43 But what are the dangers that lie in wait for such a collapse of jurisdiction and power as perceived by the High Court majority? Here it may be instructive to understanding the dilemma counter-intuitively. Naïvely, we can assume that all law that exists has some substantial content to it, a legal meaning or purpose and so forth. As noted early on in this discussion, such meanings are sustained by symbolic differences: the law as it is composed by different elements that are all unlike each other but that seem to circulate and function according to an order that no one element of law can be unto itself. These associations are fictions in the strict psychoanalytic sense that they stage an objective fantasy that operates independently of the human subjects who encounter the law but can only be accessed through the imaginative symbolic capacity of legal subjects. The law is thus not humanistic but rather radically anti-humanitistic: it does not negate the humanity of legal subjects so much as such humanity will only matter to the law if it can be ‘named’ by a signifier common to its signification as law. This naming does not describe anything, but instead delineates what is named from other elements in the symbolic network of legal meanings and legal fictions. The concern of the High Court is that this symbolic difference that separates jurisdiction from power is lost. In an appeal process, this is intensely problematic as it voids the different interpretative capacities and purposes of Courts of Appeal and the High Court. Here, the principles binding the sentencing judge become the only constraints upon the courts, inviting a type of anarchy insofar as it removes the distinction between the original and appellate jurisdictions where the subject matter of a jurisdiction ‘must be discernible from some source’.44 The key point of difference for dissenting Justice Heydon is how to approach statutory interpretation in its fantasmatic entanglement. Heydon J’s more literalist and traditional approach to the writ of statute highlights the problematic judicial creativity that underlies the elegant reasoning of the majority.45 Heydon J’s critical reproach to the decision of the majority gives grounds for His Honour to claim that the appellant’s appeal is artificial.46 But what can this dissenting (symbolic) difference also tell us about anarchy and the desire for law? The juxtaposition of law and anarchy as ‘no law’ rests on Heydon J’s insistence on the ‘natural construction’47 of terms supposed to be ambiguous by both the appellant and the majority, such as unfettered discretion. Natural construction is, however, problematic for a view of law as an artifice. For Heydon J’s jurisprudence, natural construction supposedly overcomes the 43 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 588. 44 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 588. 45 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 595. 46 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 596. 47 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 596. 342 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 symbolic differences that enable legal language. Yet such supposedly natural constructions are a literalist, Ursprung approach to the logic of the provision of section 669A, yet at the same time avowedly appeal to the symbolic differences maintained by the commons, whom such plain language is supposed to also benefit. Heydon J’s vantage from within the law, with knowledge of the law, clearly delineates the possibilities present in his interpretation as against those who have no specialist legal knowledge or training, the commons. The salient psychoanalytic point at play here is an epistemological one: once you know the law, you cannot go back to a time ‘before’ law – that is, natural language devoid of any reframing by legal discourses – because the perspective one has on the law is part of the law itself. This emphasises the technical nature of legal discourse, its emphasis on mastering the legal craft that seems to be lost on the all too technical approach of the literalist Heydon J. The judicial process under appeal comes in two parts vis-à-vis the possibility of fettering judicial discretion for Heydon J. The first part, says Heydon J, ‘is to decide whether it is open to the Court to consider varying the sentence at all’.48 Heydon J states that if an error of judgement is found at this stage, then the matter proceeds to the second part: ‘to what extent should the sentence be varied?’49 Heydon J surmises that the discretions of each stage are connected, and therefore discretions that exist in the later stage and not at the first are not unfettered.50 It may be suggested that Heydon J dismisses the appeal because the appellant’s case erroneously excludes the expression of the Criminal Code (Qld) as part of a legal discourse, emphasising a purposive construal that is favoured by the majority rather than dealing with what is literally worded in the Act itself. This is a curious, critical point for Lacey because it highlights the difficult position of the dissenter as at once between both the matter before the court and the remainder of the court itself. But more than this, the division between Heydon J and the majority reveals a tension between the fantasmatic support of the presumptions of statutory interpretation by the majority and Heydon J’s dissenting judgment. The tension between the majority and Heydon J is a symbolic one. Restricted merely to the technicalities of jurisprudence and statutory construction, we might suggest that the difference is merely one of purposive against literalist construal. But let us ask a naïve question here: in what element or part of purposive or literalist statutory interpretation and construction do I find this purpose or literature? The answer is clearly the law itself. Yet this law appears to be separate from the judge’s consciousness and judicial discretion, and therein beyond the rationality and reasoning that we may call purposive or literal. While the presumptions of statutory interpretation may come to bear on all the judges presiding in the High Court during Lacey, the critical matter of 48 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 592. 49 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 592–93. 50 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 596. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 343 note is that the access to the law itself is barred or veiled by these presumptions: statute operates as the object-cause of the desire for statutory interpretation. The elaboration of Heydon J and the majority’s differing approaches to statutory interpretation highlights different entry points into the chain of the law’s signification. If the presumptions of statutory interpretation were suspended somehow, their fantasmatic coordination of reality for the subject of law would crumble. The point is that both the purposive and literal approaches commit to a certain objective existence of the law in its fantasmatic – that is, interpretable or symbolic – aspect. The tension between the majority and Heydon J is thus a difference of how to approach fantasy. In a literal way, Heydon J constructs a clinical and technical analysis of the law that plays the game of the signifier by staging the desire for the law. This staging of desire is the desire for law, but it is fantasmatically elaborated by the legal fictions of natural language, as if the law is talking to us and it is our choice whether or not to listen. In the purposive way, the majority’s construction devolves the law from the status of an Other that has unknowable desires to that of a small ‘o’ other, an alter-ego that has purposes and desires that can be assumed.51 While the literal position may function as a formalist interpretation of law to the letter, it remains unable to answer the question of what the law wants. Hence the law itself is fantasmatic, objectively capable of taking care of itself. The purposive approach compositely veers instead towards treating the law as though it knows what this other wants. Where Heydon J stages the desire for law, the purposive majority know the desire of law, but at the price of law becoming a diffuse symbolic socio-political mass. The majority are thus more ‘postmodern’52: the Other is shot through with enjoyment, the law is an all- too-human, almost fleshy mass of real people, real bodies and real things.53 To rephrase this difference in the terms of some psychoanalytic tropes: Heydon J’s construction figures as that of an obsessive neurotic who enjoys in the structure of the law, but only insofar as it is an artifice or structure rather than a living thing. Conversely, the majority’s construction figures as that of the paranoid psychotic who knows the Other knows too that the law enjoys a life beyond what it says in its writ – that is, the intention of parliament, mischief that the statute is intended to remedy, and so on; it is an alter-ego or small ‘o’ other to compete with rather than a symbolic fiction to interpret.54 While the above offers some insights into the desire for law and interpreting statutes, what might this tell us of law’s relationship to anarchy? 51 Žižek (2008), p 35. 52 Emphasis is here used to highlight that these bodies are the other side of the ‘official’ language of postmodern jurisprudence’s emphasis on plural representation and interpretation as discussed by Murphy (1991). These bodies are closer to the emphasis of psychoanalysis and postmodern feminisms discussed by Patterson (1992). 53 Žižek (1999), p 219 54 Goodrich and Carlson (1998), p 6. 344 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 In the case of Lacey, this relation is figured in a very particular way. The demands of statutory interpretation and judicial construction play out in two apparent ways for anarchy’s relation to law in Lacey: either we may follow Heydon J and productively obsess over the technical expression of the law, ideologically coded as ‘natural language’ as though what is ‘natural’ is eternal and unchanging – thus anarchy is what is persistently deferred through a constant return of law’s signifiers; or we may follow the hermeneutic reasoning of the majority that is potentially endless and visceral insofar as the dead letter of the law comes alive with purpose and therein desires something from us all. In the latter, anarchy is not outside the law as it is in Heydon J’s construction. Instead, anarchy is constitutive of the legal order itself; the law is ‘mad’, more than the law alone or in itself, out of its ‘legal’ mind and instead in a plurality of para-legal or extra-legal voices. Here what the law frames as ‘order’ is in fact yet another species of ‘disorder’ claiming to be the Order. These approaches to anarchy are not extraneous to the previous discussion, but instead are part of the elaboration of their approaches to the law. Yet are the majority and dissenting judgments in Lacey so different? Can we view them instead as two sides of the same fantasmatic legal coin since they both clearly emphasise the law as a thesis, a starting point that installs an order of meaning. If the law is a thesis, from what is it differentiated? How might anarchy function as its antithesis? Given the arguments elaborated above, it may appear that anarchy returns to the law not as an organised movement but rather as an indivisible remainder that lingers on in the wake of synthesis of the purpose of law and the structure of law. Anarchy is an interminable symptom of the legal frame in Lacey. The case of Lacey is instructive in showing that the position of the law is not merely expressed across statute, case law and common law stare decisis, but is also posited as thinkable in very particular ways. The majority and the dissenter in Lacey highlight two possible approaches to law’s thetic positing. The first is the construal of the majority wherein law is a quilting of substantial legal and para-legal fragments that function as a type of normalised disorder or anarchy that is given normative value by the quilting of purpose that is, in strict clinical terms, a ‘delusional metaphor’ for what the law is and does.55 The second view of law is that of the dissenter, Heydon J, whose judgment differs in terms of its basis, outcome and approach to law as such. In what we might term a kind of jurisprudential modernism, Heydon J’s literalist approach to law in Lacey rejects para-legal materials or metaphors of purpose in favour of what is literally ‘there’ in the formal writ of the law itself. Heydon J’s fidelity to the law as signifier maintains the Otherness of the law that prohibits disorder or anarchy entirely; anarchy is out of the question, unthinkable – there is only the law and what the law says. In both instances, what can be ascertained is a certain psychic economy of access to the law. 55 Fink (1997), p 107. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 345 If the law is thus posited as either normalised anarchy or the symbolic order, what does this tell us about its relation to anarchy? In its vulgar definition as the absence of order or a type of mayhem, anarchy stands out as an antithetical negation of both positions discussed thus far. For the purposive construal of the majority, anarchic mayhem is a mischief against which the law protects by incarnating powers, jurisdictions and the difference between the two: power comes from jurisdictions; jurisdictions come from the purpose of having law. Anarchy is everything that does not inhere to this delusional order. Conversely, for the more literal reasoning of the dissenter, anarchic mayhem is a diffuse phenomenon among many phenomena that occur outside the law. The law operates to protect us from this dark continent of grotesque things that obey no law. In its stronger definition, anarchy is the rejection of law. This emphasises the thrust of anarchy as the antithesis of law, it is law’s negation but it is also ultimately without substance in the absence of a legal order to reject. Thus the law must always tarry with its negation by anarchy insofar as it is a remainder of law that stands for what law is not. The constant mediation and negotiation of anarchy by the law is perhaps only possible insofar as the law exhibits a reflective dimension that makes it aware of its conditions and limits. What is curious is how the postmodern logic of purposive construal such as that of the majority in Lacey elaborates a synthesis of anarchy. Synthetically, the law is generated by its negation of anarchy through attending to some purpose. Here, the law retroactively posits anarchy as some mischief to be remedied by something that is avowedly part of this anarchic pre-legal space. The law is thus to be read as a normalised disorder, a type of ‘pre-order’ that attempts to regulate all other disorders; a radical anarchy as the rule. Yet if we take the argument that anarchy is precisely what the law is not, even in its radical anarchic mode, where does this leave the distinction between what is legal and para-legal? The dialectic of law and anarchy elaborated above appears to be deployed by the majority’s construction in Lacey. It does not, however, assist the literalist reasoning of Heydon J that is instead mired in the elaboration of endless differentiation, endless negations of what is and is not in the law. What changes between the vantage of Heydon J and the majority is not the law but rather the perspective on the law – how the law is apprehended by and involves the nomological psyche of the judge or other legal subject. For law to function as a synthetic construct, the anarchy that is normalised as legal order must lose its anarchic tinge. It does this through the well-known arbitrary gesture of enforcing its order with negotiations that will always have an end-point. Arbitration and construction offer an important glimpse of the negation of anarchy by law disappearing from view: we all know there is law and that which is not law, but the point is that when we talk about the law, this mediation between the legal and the para-legal vanishes. This vanishing is not an elision in the same way that Heydon J’s reasoning portrays the law as endless negations of the anarchic thing-without-law to be 346 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 constantly arranged and specified; rather, the reasoning of the majority in Lacey presents an extremely different view of the law with a purpose. In proper dialectical fashion, then, it must be asked what negates this new thesis of law as construed by the majority in Lacey? Where exactly is anarchy in this arrangement, and what are the negations that operate as invitations to anarchy therein? The first point to which to return is that the law here is a normalised anarchy. This effectively means that any approach to anarchy in other than its normalised form as the law is not beyond the borders of the law but at its very core. If anarchy is not the law, incomprehensible to the law, but is at the same time part of the law, it is otherwise to be known as a symptom of the law. As verified by the majority’s purposive construal in Lacey, anarchy today is a symptom of the law. The task of law is thus to enjoy in this symptom in a legal way, to give it legal meaning and legal definition, to make socio-legal sense of it. Demands for anarchy as no law are thus thoroughly legal demands insofar as they reinstate the order of law by inviting its negation. Calls for anarchy in this way are not absolutely free in the sense of philosophical idealism, but are instead tyrannies to yet another universal legal ordering. This is the modern twist to the dialectic of the law: once you know the dialectical form of law, you cannot go back. From the above, it is supposed that anarchy today must handle a fundamental epistemological problem: once you know the law, you cannot erase it. There is no meta-language for anarchy theorists to rely upon in the postmodern jurisprudence of the Australian High Court majority in Lacey. The species of anarchy that is ruled by the market is of a species of anarchist thought that fits with a modern rather than postmodern frame. The useful psychoanalytic insight here is that the law is all too capable of disrupting itself as though its order is in fact a disorder. In the important precedent set by Project Blue Sky,56 the High Court identified that the legal subject must work towards establishing legislative harmony. The same can be said of the finding in Lacey insofar as what the majority’s judicial reasoning is really chasing down is the purpose or desire for law. This is an admittedly speculative critique of the law, but it is at the same time an important avenue to explore because it renders visible a range of complex structural issues for modern legal knowledge. Anarchy in the present is not outside the law. Radically normalised, anarchy is ‘the law’ and the repression that forgets this in Heydon J’s modern literalist construal in Lacey risks repressing this traumatic encounter with disorder at the heart of the modern Australian legal system. 56 Project Blue Sky Inc v Australian Broadcasting Authority (1998) 194 CLR 335. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 347 References Secondary Sources Timothy C Campbell (ed) (2010) Commonalities: Theorizing the Common in Contemporary Italian Thought, http://commonconf.wordpress.com. Lorenzo Chiesa (2007) Subjectivity and Otherness: A Philosophical Reading of Lacan, MIT Press. Catriona Cook et al (2012) Laying Down the Law, 8th ed, LexisNexis Butterworths. Mladen Dolar (2006) A Voice and Nothing More, MIT Press. Roberto Esposito (2010) Communitas, Stanford University Press. Bruce Fink (1997) A Clinical Introduction to Lacanian Psychoanalysis, Harvard University Press. Peter Goodrich (1995) Oedipus Lex: Psychoanalysis, History, Law, University of California Press. Peter Goodrich and David Gray Carlson (1998) ‘Introduction’ in Peter Goodrich and David Gray Carlson (eds), Law and the Postmodern Mind, University of Michigan Press. Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri (2001) Empire, Harvard University Press. Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri (2005) Multitude: War and Democracy in the Age of Empire, Penguin. Daniel Hourigan (2013) ‘Breach! The Law’s Jouissance in Miéville’s The City & The City’ 19 Law, Culture and the Humanities forthcoming. Jacques Lacan (1993) The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book III: The Psychoses, Routledge. Jacques Lacan (1998) The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book XI: The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis, WW Norton. Jacques Lacan (2006) Écrits, WW Norton. Jacques Lacan (2011) Le Séminaire, livre XIX: … ou pire, Seuil. Eric Laurent (2007) ‘The Purloined Letter and the Tao of the Psychoanalyst’, in Véronique Voruz and Bogdan Wolf (eds), The Later Lacan: An Introduction, State University of New York Press. Anne Lysy-Stevens (2009) ‘Unconscious and Interpretation’ 1 Hurly-Burly 75. William P MacNeil (2007) Lex Populi: The Jurisprudence of Popular Culture, Stanford University Press. Jacques-Alain Miller (2007) ‘Interpretation in Reverse’, in Véronique Voruz and Bogdan Wolf (eds), The Later Lacan: An Introduction, State University of New York Press. Steven Miller (2003) ‘Lacan at the Limits of Legal Theory: Law, Desire, and Sovereign Violence’ 1 UMBR(a): Ignorance of the Law 81. Peter Murphy (1991) ‘Postmodern Perspectives and Justice’ 30 Thesis Eleven 117. Robert Nozick (2007) ‘The State’, in Edward Stringham (ed), Anarchy and the Law, The Independent Institute. Dennis Patterson (1992) ‘Postmodernism/Feminism/Law’ 77 Cornell Law Review 254. Queensland Parliament 1975, Parliamentary Debates Legislative Assembly, 23 April. DC Pearce and RS Geddes (2011) Statutory Interpretation in Australia, 7th ed, LexisNexis Butterworths. Wayne Rumbles (2011) ‘Spectre of Jurisdiction: Supreme Court of New South Wales and the British Subject in Aotearoa/New Zealand 1823–1841’ 15 Law Text Culture 209. Renata Salecl (2010) Choice, Profile Books. Yale French Studies 1975, Graphesis: Perspectives in Literature and Philosophy, Yale University Press. 348 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 Slavoj Žižek (1999) ‘Death and the Maiden’, in Elizabeth Wright and Edmond Wright (eds), The Žižek Reader, Blackwell. Slavoj Žižek (2001) Enjoy Your Symptom! Jacques Lacan in Hollywood and Out, rev ed, Routledge. Slavoj Žižek (2008) In Defense of Lost Causes, Verso. Slavoj Žižek (2008a) Violence, Profile Books. Alenka Zupancic (2006) ‘When Surplus Enjoyment Meets Surplus Value’, in Justin Clemens and Russell Grigg (eds), Jacques Lacan and the Other Side of Psycho-Analysis, Duke University Press. Cases Adler v George (1964) 2 QB 7 Heydon’s case (1584) 3 Co Rep 7a Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 Project Blue Sky Inc v Australian Broadcasting Authority (1998) 194 CLR 335 Legislation Acts Interpretation Act 1901 (Cth) Acts Interpretation Act 1954 (Qld) Criminal Code (Qld) Fair Trading Act 1999 (Vic)
work_ipcuo6tmnje6nf7vbp5xruoypi ---- John Brown’s “Madness” John Brown’s “Madness” Charles J. G. Griffin Rhetoric & Public Affairs, Volume 12, Number 3, Fall 2009, pp. 369-388 (Article) Published by Michigan State University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/rap.0.0109 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/363156 https://doi.org/10.1353/rap.0.0109 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/363156 Charles J. G. Griffi n is Associate Professor of Communication Studies at Kansas State University in Manhattan. © 2009 Michigan State University Board of Trustees. All rights reserved. Rhetoric & Public Affairs Vol. 12, No. 3, 2009, pp. 369–388 ISSN 1094-8392 JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” CHARLES J. G. GRIFFIN This essay explores how divergent interpretations of John Brown’s alleged “madness” in the aftermath of the Harper’s Ferry Raid defi ned the meaning and import of his actions for the Republic’s increasingly unstable social and political order. It argues that popular characterizations of Brown illustrate that “madness” can serve a num- ber of rhetorical functions in the civic sphere. The essay fi rst explores the popular etiology of insanity in antebellum America. It then argues that prevailing views of insanity in the mid-nineteenth century invited three metonymic interpreta- tions of the origins of Brown’s “madness”—and hence of the larger signifi cance of his actions: Brown as pariah, Brown as pawn, and Brown as prophet. A conclud- ing section discloses how these competing views may enrich our understanding of “madness” as a recurrent trope in American political and social controversy. How admirable is the symmetry of the heavens; how grand and beautiful. Everything moves in sublime harmony in the government of God. Not so with us poor creatures. If one star is more brilliant than others, it is continually shooting in some erratic way into space. —John Brown, 1856 J ohn Brown’s revelation to an eastern reporter as the two studied the night sky from a Kansas fi eld one summer evening in 1856 proved uncannily prophetic.1 Three years later, the scourge of Bloody Kansas and a small group of followers briefl y seized the Federal Arsenal at Harper’s Ferry, Virginia. The raiders hoped to rally slaves from nearby plantations and lead them on a cam- paign of liberation throughout the South. Brown’s audacious movement and its repercussions for a nation already teetering on the edge of civil war have been the subject of endless speculation and debate ever since.2 For many observ- ers, the Harper’s Ferry Raid has come to symbolize the peril that fanatical 02_12 3Griffin.indd 36902_12 3Griffin.indd 369 7/1/09 9:31:21 AM7/1/09 9:31:21 AM 370 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS devotion to a cause, however noble, can pose to civil society. Others have seen it as a shining, principled moment in the nation’s history, a hammer blow that shattered the brittle veneer of civility and compromise that safeguarded slavery. In the storm of popular commentary that surrounded the event itself, everyone, it seemed, had an opinion about the strange, charismatic fi gure who, Samson- like, set out to pull down the Republic on his own head. But on one point, at least, a great many of Brown’s contemporaries were agreed: Brown himself was almost certainly “mad.” In pulpits, public meetings, and a signifi cant number of the nation’s 4,000 newspapers, North and South, Brown was routinely judged to be “deluded,” “fanatical,” “maniacal,” or “crazed.” The indefatigable diarist George Templeton Strong confi ded to himself that Brown’s foray was an “insane transaction” and feared it might lead to “grave results” if prominent northern abolitionists were found to be involved. Even abolitionist editor William Lloyd Garrison wondered at Brown’s “misguided, wild, and apparently insane” adventure.3 But although the fact of Brown’s “madness” was ceded by most contemporaries, its meaning was sharply dis- puted. Some pointed to heredity or personal tragedy as the source of Brown’s derangement, dismissing Harper’s Ferry as a frightening but isolated incident. Others saw Brown as a man driven to insanity by the words or deeds of others, arguing that the raid was representative of the increasingly chaotic and irratio- nal state of the Union itself. And still others believed that Brown’s mania was divinely inspired, his raid a providential intervention into the nation’s affairs. This essay explores how divergent interpretations of John Brown’s alleged “madness” in the aftermath of the Harper’s Ferry Raid defi ned the meaning and import of his actions for the Republic’s increasingly unstable social and political order. It argues that popular characterizations of Brown illustrate that political insanity can serve a number of rhetorical functions in relation to the civic sphere. The essay fi rst explores the popular etiology of insanity in Antebellum America. It then argues that prevailing views of insanity in the mid-nineteenth century invited three metonymical interpretations of the ori- gins of Brown’s “madness”—and hence of the larger signifi cance of his actions: Brown as pariah, Brown as pawn, and Brown as prophet. A concluding section discloses how these competing views may enrich our understanding of madness as a recurrent trope in American public controversy. A POPULAR ETIOLOGY OF MADNESS IN ANTEBELLUM AMERICA The debate over Brown’s “madness” must be understood within the context of the popular etiology of insanity in the mid-nineteenth century. Then, as now, the average American’s understanding of insanity was an amalgam of received wisdom, scientifi c study, and personal prejudice.4 As a result, public 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37002_12 3Griffin.indd 370 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 371 attitudes toward the insane were confused and often ambivalent. They were frequently shunned, mocked, and persecuted as unwelcome object lessons in the perils of private or public sin. But they could be regarded with an almost superstitious veneration as well. After all, Western tradition has long associated madness with the genius of the poet and the foresight of the prophet.5 Whether they were kept at home, confi ned in institutions, or simply left to wander the streets, the “mad” maintained a tenuous relationship to civil society, at least as it was envisioned in Republican theory: they were agents of disruption in an ordered world, shooting stars within the symmetry of the heavens. The late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries witnessed the fi rst scientifi c efforts to study and treat insanity in Western Europe and the United States. Following the pioneering work of Philippe Pinel and William Tuke, and reformers such as Dorothea Dix, efforts to treat the insane on a more sys- tematic and humane basis took hold in Western Europe and the United States by mid-century.6 Along with the penitentiary, public school, and temperance meeting, the insane asylum took its place at the vanguard of a new age of social reform.7 The origins, nature, and treatment of madness were fashionable topics in scholarly and popular journals of the period. In general, insanity was thought to result when severe stress was placed on a “constitutionally weak nervous system.”8 The stress itself could originate internally—the result of hereditary disposition, illness, injury, alcoholism—or externally from a sudden reversal in business, grief over the loss of a loved one, or religious agitation. By mid- century some observers found inducements to insanity just about everywhere, and especially in “the exceptionally open and fl uid quality of American society” itself.9 To be sure, the era’s rough-and-tumble economic conditions, religious excitements, and political and social upheavals played havoc with long-estab- lished patterns of life. Sudden fortune and sudden fi nancial ruin seemed ever-present possibilities and with them came constant pressure to get—and stay—ahead. As Toqueville, writing in the 1830s, had foreseen, if industrialized democracy opened new vistas for those with ambition, it also introduced new ways those ambitions could be frustrated. When all of the privileges of birth and fortune are abolished, when all professions are accessible to all, and a man’s own energies may place him at the top of any of them, an easy and unbounded career seems open to his ambition. . . . But this is an erroneous notion, which is corrected by daily experience. The same equality which allows every citizen to conceive these lofty hopes, renders all the citizens less able to realise them: it circumscribes their powers on every side, while it gives freer scope to their desires. . . . [T]his constant strife between the propensities springing from the equality of conditions and the means it supplies to satisfy them harasses and wearies the mind.10 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37102_12 3Griffin.indd 371 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM 372 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS Mounting sectional tensions over slavery in the 1840s and 1850s only intensi- fi ed the emotional turmoil and sense of crisis that were thought to foster insan- ity in the vulnerable. As David J. Rothman notes, “The style of life in the new republic seemed willfully designed to produce mental illness. Everywhere they looked, they found chaos and disorder, a lack of fi xity and stability.”11 Medical authorities of the period held that insanity could manifest itself in a number of ways: melancholia, mania, monomania, dementia, and idiocy.12 Of these, the species of insanity most often associated with Brown by observers at the time was monomania. Monomaniacs were characterized by the ability to reason and behave normally in most situations accompanied by a tendency to “become irrational and obsessive on specifi c subjects.”13 The monomaniac was thus only “partially insane,” though perhaps all the more dangerous for this, because much of the time, he or she seemed an intelligent, reasonable person. But in pursuit of his or her obsession, the monomaniac could become implacable and ruthless, forsaking friends, family, even life itself in the head- long pursuit of a desired (and usually unrealistic) goal. One of the most compelling portraits of monomania produced during this period was that of Captain Ahab in Herman Melville’s 1851 novel, Moby Dick. Although the novel was not a commercial success, it vividly captures ideas popu- lar at the time about the nature of monomania and its potential dangers to soci- ety. Melville’s antagonist, Ahab, is a competent and successful mariner, a man who has risen to the top of his profession. But he also bears grievous physical and psychological wounds, the legacies of an earlier encounter with the malevo- lent white whale, “Moby Dick.” After a tortuous convalescence, Ahab gradually regains his physical strength. He is fi tted with a new leg and given command of the whaler Pequod. But, as Melville cautions readers, “Ahab, in his hidden self, raved on,” tormented by a compulsion to wreak vengeance on the white whale.14 At sea, Ahab’s behavior grows increasingly erratic. He broods alone in his cabin by day and paces the deck fi tfully by night. “If such a furious trope may stand,” Melville writes of his tragic antagonist, “his special lunacy stormed his general sanity, and turned all its concentrated cannon upon its own mad mark; so that, far from having lost his strength, Ahab, to that one end, did now pos- sess a thousandfold more potency than he ever had sanely brought to bear upon any one reasonable object.”15 Magnifi ed by madness, Ahab’s virulent compul- sion quickly infects the Pequod’s crew until they, too, are won over to his single- minded quest. It is, as every reader of the novel learns, the death of them all. MADNESS AND THE CIVIC SPHERE Melville could hardly have drawn a starker portrait of the monomaniacal leader willing to wreak havoc in pursuit of his mark. As Leland M. Griffi n conjectured 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37202_12 3Griffin.indd 372 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 373 of President Kennedy’s alleged assassin Lee Harvey Oswald, the turn to violence is all too seductive when ambition and heroic vision are unbridled from some internal “principle of self-restraint.” “The problem seems to be that the dreamer of Utopia—of all beings truly ‘rotten with perfection’—once convinced by an internal rhetoric of the virtue of his New Order, is tempted to bring it to power, to ‘round things out,’ by any means possible”16 But Ahab, at least, was a fi c- tional character in a not very successful novel. On the other hand, John Brown, obsessed with slavery and willing to wreck the Union to secure its demise, was a fi gure all too real. What was the meaning of his “special lunacy” and what did it portend for the country? To appreciate the range of responses to Brown’s alleged monomania, it is important to understand late antebellum views of the nature and vulnerabili- ties of the civic sphere. Although Jürgen Habermas initially conceived of the “public sphere” as a space for enlightened debate and discussion, I use a vari- ant of the term here to denote instead the collective norms operating at any one time to circumscribe the legitimate modes of civic expression. In American political culture, the civic sphere is both dynamic and contested; it can and does transform itself over time, conferring respectability on previously unknown or proscribed forms of expression while casting aside others that have become outmoded. Moreover, as James Darsey has argued persuasively, there is a long and honorable “prophetic tradition” in American culture that frequently tests the limits of civility and decorum in civic discourse.17 But the fundamental tendency of the civic sphere over time is toward coherence and stasis of some kind. Thus, although it can accommodate new forms of dissent, the civic sphere is also stable enough to enable parties that strongly disagree on the issues to concur nonetheless that certain types of (usu- ally violent) protest behavior, such as assassination, kidnapping, insurrection, and mob actions, lie squarely outside its boundaries. For instance, historian Kimberly Smith argues that in the post-Revolutionary period, public rioting by aggrieved groups was a relatively common and legitimate vehicle of social and political protest, at least in certain circumstances. However, as less vola- tile avenues of civic expression opened up to a greater number of citizens in the early nineteenth century, mob action became less acceptable as a form of civic expression.18 When they do occur, breaches of something so essential to a democratic polity as the norms of public controversy are apt to occasion soul-searching concerning the integrity and resiliency of the civic sphere itself. An assassination or insurrection may in this way come to be viewed as a metonymic indicator of some disorder affl icting society-at-large.19 For example, in the aftermath of the Kennedy assassination, commentators anguished over the “climate of extrem- ism” said to have been responsible for the president’s death. President Lyndon 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37302_12 3Griffin.indd 373 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM 374 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS Johnson’s frequent evocation of Isaiah 1:18 (“Come let us reason together.”) over the following months may be understood in this respect as a kind of “sec- ular prayer” (“the coaching of an attitude”) aimed at restoring calm to the civic sphere.20 Three decades later, after Timothy McVeigh and an accomplice blew up the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in 1995, President Clinton voiced the concerns of many when he recognized the need to “purge ourselves of the dark forces which gave rise to this evil. They are forces that threaten our common peace, our freedom, our way of life.”21 In her recent study of political engagement during the antebellum period, The Dominion of Voice, Smith argues that the boundaries of appropriate public discourse remained unusually fl uid in the half century following the American Revolution. Having rejected a traditional society in which the norms of public expression were clear, if highly deferential and restrictive, Americans adopted competing ideas about how they should participate in democratic society. Similarly, John M. Murphy asserts that the founders anticipated the diffi culty of establishing a stable public sphere in a nation of competing interests and loyalties. In response, he urges, they sought to inculcate through precept and example a model of citizenship that was “cool, prudent, disciplined and defer- ential,” and willing to sacrifi ce self-interest to the public good. And historian Peter Knupfer contends that, ever-conscious of the potential for single interest factions to tear apart the Union, the post-Revolutionary generation consciously instantiated “compromise” as a civic value. Even Darsey allows that “dread of chaos was epidemic in early-nineteenth-century America.”22 Within this logic, Brown’s violent challenge to the dominion of reasoned deliberation was ipso facto “irrational” and possibly indicative of a much larger threat to the civic sphere. But from whence that threat came and with what measures it should be met was less clear. Answers to these questions depended largely upon whether one believed that the civic sphere, as then constituted, was capable of coping with the passions aroused by slavery. For Americans who felt that the civic sphere could weather this storm, as it had so many before, the maintenance of stability and order remained the paramount consideration. Some of these dismissed Brown as a deluded, self-aggrandizing fanatic—a pariah whose protest should be ignored. Others agreed that Brown was a dangerous monomaniac, but believed that he had been driven to this state by the rancorous controversy surrounding slavery. For these observers, Brown was merely the pawn of malignant political factions whose extremism, if unchecked, threatened to destroy the civic sphere. For a third group of con- temporary observers, Brown’s “madness” signifi ed something altogether dif- ferent: paradoxical proof that the civic sphere itself had grown dangerously disordered. To these observers, Brown was a prophet, whose defense of the innocent could only be viewed as “mad” within a civic sphere that had itself 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37402_12 3Griffin.indd 374 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 375 become morally compromised through its complicity with the abomination of slavery. It is important to note that all three of these views were articulated from both sincere and cynical motives (and sometimes both at the same time). One might, for example, hold that Brown truly was insane, a tragic fi gure, and still appreciate the political capital to be gained by blaming his “madness” on one’s political foes. Similarly, one might believe that Brown was quite sane, yet recog- nize that he could be discredited by being labeled mad. It is doubtless impos- sible to know with any certainty whether individual users of the three tropes of “madness” were in earnest or merely exploiting an opportunity to promote (or discredit) an ideology. What is clear is that all three views were voiced in the aftermath of Brown’s raid and that each invited a differing interpretation of its meaning. BROWN AS PARIAH Popular opinion in Antebellum America held that “madness” typically orig- inated when some inherent fl aw or weakness within an individual’s mental character was subjected to severe stress. Everything from a physical injury to the brain, to the effects of alcoholism, to traumatic experiences, to an over-stim- ulated imagination might trigger insanity in a weak constitution. Grounding insanity in an “imbalance” between a weak-minded individual and a stressful or turbulent environment invited speculation as to whether the behavior of the “mad” had any real social signifi cance. Charles E. Morris notes that “madness” could be a politically expedient diagnosis as well, because “the cultural dis- course of madness . . . serves readily and effi ciently as a rhetorical mechanism with which the rebellious might be disciplined or silenced.” Indeed, Morris has argued that nineteenth-century concepts of gender, power, and madness con- spired to silence abolitionist agitator Abigail Folsom in just such a fashion.23 Morris demonstrates how an accusation of “madness” can insulate a move- ment’s leadership from the unruly behavior of one of its own members, even as movement leaders profess sympathy for his or her motives. In a similar vein, M. Jimmie Killingsworth and Jacqueline S. Palmer have shown how some early environmentalists were dismissed as “hysterical” by their foes in the agribusiness and chemical industries.24 More recently, politically embarrass- ing revelations concerning allegedly corrupt actions by Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich that threatened to refl ect badly upon the incoming Obama admin- istration were arguably minimized by attributing the governor’s behavior to “madness.”25 While the use of invective to silence one’s opponents is hardly new, a charge of “madness” has distinct advantages when applied to individu- als or groups whose actions directly challenge the legitimacy of the civic sphere 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37502_12 3Griffin.indd 375 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM 376 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS itself. First, it renders problematic any critique of the civic sphere raised by the actions of the accused. One can, after all, negotiate with a rational adversary, but there is no negotiating with a monomaniac who, by defi nition, compro- mises with no one. Second, by isolating and diminishing the credibility of the accused, it underscores the apparent rationality of the public sphere as it is. For the unreasonableness of one’s opponents doubtless bolsters one’s own claims to reasonableness.26 But although Brown was neither the fi rst nor the last social activist to be labeled “mad,” he was in some respects unique in earning that appellation from his friends as well as his enemies. In this regard, Abolitionists and Fireaters, Unionists and Disunionists, Republicans and Democrats—parties that could agree on almost nothing else—found some common ground, however tem- porary. It is true that the fear and outrage inspired by Brown’s raid were more pronounced in the South. Even so, the widespread consensus that Brown’s behavior had been irrational offered some reassurance to those worried about the possibility of a violent sectional confl ict that the norms of republican civil- ity were still in force. Hence, by labeling Brown “mad,” opinion leaders in the press and politics could effectively contain the damage caused by Harper’s Ferry and even, in a sense, convert it to their own advantage. Brown-as-pariah provided a kind of scapegoat whose exclusion from the public sphere might cleanse and heal a divided nation. It is not surprising, therefore, that many public commentaries in the raid’s aftermath discounted it as the product of one man’s fevered imagination. Brown, it was argued, was a pathetic fi gure, a victim of heredity, perhaps, and certainly of his own delusions of grandeur. He represented no one except him- self. The most ardent champions of the Brown-as-pariah trope may have been Republican politicians and editors. Their reasoning is understandable, given that secessionists and Democratic leaders, North and South, were eager to tie Brown to the new party. Brown’s actions seemingly placed Republican lead- ers on the horns of a dilemma. Republicans could not pretend to be a truly national party unless they condemned Brown’s “assault” on the South. At the same time, they could not affi rm their antislavery credentials unless they defended Brown, or at least expressed sympathy with his ends. In the end, they chose to split the difference, by condemning his actions as an “irrational” response to an honorable cause. For example, the Republican-leaning Chicago Press and Tribune professed sympathy with Brown’s desire to help the slaves, but lamented the “fanaticism which led him to his present strait.” In Pittsburgh, the Gazette editorialized: We cannot but disapprove his mad and folly-stricken act, but the unselfi shness of his deed; his moderation, when victorious, over the town which he captured; his 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37602_12 3Griffin.indd 376 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 377 spartan courage in defending himself and his fellows, and his sublime contempt of death while overborne and made the manacled tenant of a prison; his stern integrity in scorning the technicalities of the law, and his manliness in all things, will not be quickly forgotten.27 Abraham Lincoln, testing the presidential waters out in the Kansas territory, lamented: “Old John Brown has just been executed for treason against a state. We cannot object, even though he agreed with us in thinking slavery wrong. That cannot excuse violence, bloodshed, and treason.” In nearby Lawrence, Kansas, a local paper summed up the affair: “Poor silly fellows! A straightjacket should be their reward, for they lack moral responsibility because of lunacy.”28 Brown’s legal team did attempt to mount an insanity defense for their cli- ent. Working feverishly, they collected more than two dozen affi davits from friends and relatives of their client in an effort to establish that he was now and had been insane for years. Had the effort succeeded, Brown might have been spared the gallows, but the signifi cance of his acts would surely have been severely diminished. Brown must have realized this, for he strenuously objected to every suggestion that he was not of sound mind.29 One contem- porary historian has argued that Brown and Virginia Governor Henry Wise (under whose jurisdiction Brown was tried) shared a tacit understanding that precluded an acquittal on the grounds of insanity. Wise needed Brown to be seen as sane by the public because only then did his actions provide tangible proof of Northern designs on the interests of the South. Wise’s political ambi- tions demanded that he slay a formidable dragon, not a deluded loner. For his part, Brown needed above all to be taken seriously. In any event, the effort to have Brown acquitted at trial on grounds of insanity came to nothing. And Brown was duly convicted on charges of murder and treason against the state of Virginia. Appeals for clemency on the grounds that Brown was insane came from many quarters, right up to the day of the hanging. But Wise refused to stay the execution.30 BROWN AS PAWN The ambiguity inherent in the popular notion that insanity arose from an imbalance between a subject’s weakened mental constitution and a stressful environment opened the possibility for multiple interpretations of the cause and signifi cance of Brown’s alleged derangement. Emphasizing the former could support the conclusion that Brown alone was responsible for his actions and that they signifi ed little about the state of overall health of the Republic’s civic sphere. Emphasizing the latter produced an entirely different set of con- clusions about the meaning of his actions. 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37702_12 3Griffin.indd 377 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM 378 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS Opinions varied among those who saw Brown as a product or extension of larger forces operating within (or upon) the civic sphere. Southern editorial- ists, defenders of slavery, and Democratic leaders tended to blame Northerners, opponents of slavery, and Republicans, for Brown’s antisocial behavior. Northerners blamed slaveholders and Democrats. But regardless of their view- points on the origins of Brown’s insanity, proponents of the Brown-as-pawn trope tended to embrace one of two views about its signifi cance. One view held that Brown had been driven to “madness” by the bitterly partisan rhetoric in which both sides of the slavery debate increasingly indulged. His “madness” was but a harbinger of some darker and far greater rhetorical disorder that threat- ened to destroy the equilibrium of the civic sphere. The other held that Brown’s insanity resulted not from words, but from deeds of violence committed against him or his sons during his Kansas sojourn earlier in the decade. In both views, Brown was depicted as a fairly normal citizen whose capacity to function ratio- nally within the civic sphere had been subverted by the slavery controversy. Those inclined to attribute Brown’s fanaticism to the prevailing rhetorical climate in the late 1850s differed, of course, over just whose “violent speech” had incited Brown.31 Foes of slavery offered a range of possibilities. For exam- ple, the Chicago Press and Tribune put the blame on Congress: “As respects the attempt of an insane old man and his handful of confederates to excite a negro insurrection in Virginia and Maryland, it is easy to determine where the responsibility really belongs. The act is but a part of the legitimate fruit of the repeal of the Missouri Compromise.” Lyman Trumbull (R-IL), on the other hand, argued on the Senate fl oor that the Democratic Party was to blame for Harper’s Ferry, because it had failed to repudiate a similar raid by proslavery forces on the Federal Arsenal at Liberty, Missouri, in 1855. Yet another opin- ion was voiced by Thurlow Weed’s Albany Journal, which blamed the incident on slave holders who planted the idea of insurrection in the minds of slaves by continually fussing about abolitionists’ plans to free them. Had not such agita- tion incited Brown’s mad movement?32 On the other hand, the raid unleashed a storm of invective from critics who saw Brown as the product of virulent antislavery discourse. Memphis Appeal, for example, insisted that if indeed Brown was crazy, he had been made so “by the teachings of abolitionists” and that the “only tendency of abolition theo- ries is anarchy, bloodshed and confusion.” The Nashville Union and American asserted a commonly held view in the South that “Abolitionism is working out its legitimate results in encouraging fanatics to riot and revolution. . . . For the fanatics engaged there would never have dared the attempt at insurrection but for the infl ammatory speeches and writings of Seward, Greeley, and the other Republican leaders.” The Richmond Enquirer sounded an equally com- mon theme, asserting that the Republican Party had “impelled [Brown and his 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37802_12 3Griffin.indd 378 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 379 followers] forward in their mad career of treason and bloodshed.” Some com- mentators laid the blame for Brown’s actions on the words of specifi c individ- uals. The Republican Banner and Nashville Whig editorialized, “The effect of the speeches of [Senator William] Seward, [Representative Joshua] Giddings, and other prominent leaders of the Republican Party is to infl ame the minds of such fanatics as Ossawatomie Brown and his confederates, and incite them to deeds of blood upon the holders of slaves,” a view seconded by newspapers such as the Raleigh, North Carolina, Register, which concluded that “fanaticism at the North is rampant, and overrides every thing.”33 Nor were such opinions confi ned to Southern editorialists. James Gordon Bennett’s New York Herald asserted that Brown’s sympathies had been infl amed and exploited by the “Black Republicanism” of men such as William Seward and Charles Sumner: “They—not the crazy fanatic John Brown—are the real culprits; and it is they, not he, who, if justice were fairly meted out would have to grace the gallows.” The newspaper called him “a victim of the mad fanati- cism which would plunge the country into bloodshed for its own gratifi cation.” Another newspaper in Concord, New Hampshire, decried Brown and the insti- gators of “these fools and madmen.” And in his annual message to Congress in 1859, President Buchanan denounced Brown’s raid and worried that it was a symptom of “an incurable disease in the public mind, which may break out in still more outrages.”34 Another body of opinion attributed Brown’s madness to his searing experi- ences in “Bloody Kansas” three years earlier. There, Brown had lost one son to Border Ruffi ans. Another had been beaten nearly to death and scarred for life. Brown himself was suspected in the murder of fi ve proslavery settlers. The abo- litionist orator Wendell Phillips, speaking at Henry Ward Beecher’s Plymouth Church in Brooklyn, argued that “the South planted the seeds of violence in Kansas and taught peaceful Northern men familiarity with the bowie-knife and the revolver. They planted nine hundred ninety-nine seeds, and this is the fi rst one that has fl owered.”35 In the Senate, Ben Wade of Ohio alleged that the vio- lence done to Brown’s sons had maddened him: “Undoubtedly, sir, that raid was the parent of this. . . . I believe that he was maddened by the scenes through which he passed in Kansas, because I do not believe that any sane man on earth would have undertaken the enterprise that he undertook at Harper’s Ferry.”36 The Albany Evening Journal similarly theorized that in Kansas, Brown was robbed of his property, maltreated, his house was burned, and three of his sons murdered in cold blood. It is not strange that these wrongs kindled in him a thirst for revenge amounting to monomania. Brooding over them, he has con- ceived the wildest plans for repaying them, not only upon the guilty authors of his own misery, but upon all Slaveholders. The whole transaction at Harper’s 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37902_12 3Griffin.indd 379 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM 380 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS Ferry evinces this. None but a madman could seriously expect that twenty men could make head against the whole Union, and none but those whose sense of Justice was blunted by deep passion could fail to see that they were committing a crime against Innocent men, women, and children, which would inevitably meet, and justly deserve, universal condemnation. The next day, the Journal expanded its indictment: “But who made Brown a madman by murdering his sons? Who taught that crazy crew to band together with arms in their hands, as the most effective way to accomplish political pur- poses? The Border Ruffi ans of Kansas and the Democratic Administration at Washington!”37 Later on the Senate fl oor, Republican James Doolittle of Wisconsin wondered rhetorically, “Where did Brown get his education? Who taught him to draw blood on this question, and to open up the sluices of civil discord and civil war?” To which Tennessee’s Andrew Johnson countered that Brown’s raid was the “legitimate result” of antislavery agitation, declaring that “John Brown did not go to Kansas to go to school. He went there as a teacher.”38 BROWN AS PROPHET Portrayals of Brown as pariah and as pawn presuppose that, in a democracy, ideological fervor taken to the point of infl icting or suffering violence is, by defi nition, “irrational.” To be sure, Brown’s actions went well beyond the usual limits of incivility or civil disobedience. It is one thing to spend the night in jail for not paying one’s poll tax, quite another to lead an armed assault against a federal installation. Even those who otherwise approved of Brown’s audacious undertaking struggled to understand his reasoning. What were his intentions once the arsenal had been secured? How could he have hoped to succeed with so small a force? Why did he not fl ee Harper’s Ferry when it became clear that the raid had failed? What was he thinking? Yet, for at least some of Brown’s defenders, the very insanity of the raid on Harper’s Ferry confi rmed that it had been divinely inspired. Brown was “mad” all right, at least as the world reckoned such things, but his was the mania (enthousiasmos) of the prophet. Like a latter-day Jeremiah, Brown had been sent by God to chastise and redirect a nation that had lost its moral bearings and gone seriously astray. It was, after all, a commonplace among radical abolition- ists that the Union as it was amounted to a pact with the devil. “Compromise” was, for them, not a virtue but an enabler of vice. Of Wendell Phillips, the movement’s most strident voice, Darsey writes: The mentality of compromise that Phillips excoriated in both politics and the church was intended by its proponents as the vehicle for continued unity. It was 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38002_12 3Griffin.indd 380 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 381 a beguiling notion in its passivity—“live and let live.” It was not a strenuous doc- trine. It refl ected the realities of the world in all its imperfections. But compromise also has a sharply dyslogistic element: it does not always preserve the interests of opposing elements in mutual deference and respect, but sometimes surrenders one to the other. Compromise can be a “shameful or disreputable concession,” particularly when it is the self that is compromised. . . . In an age where the self is asserted only through the exercise of virtue, the life of ease involves the horrible anxiety of the loss of self, a condition of slavery. And for radical abolitionists such as Phillips, compromise with slavery amounted not only to a “failure of moral vision” at the national level, but to a surrender of personal integrity on the part of every “free” man as well.39 No one was more certain of this truth that Brown, himself. While he did not consider himself to be possessed or irrational, Brown certainly believed himself to be divinely appointed to the work of destroying slavery (a fact that doubtless convinced many others that he was “mad”). In a dramatic post-capture inter- view widely reported in the North, Brown had been asked: “Do you consider yourself an instrument in the hands of Providence?” “I do,” he calmly replied. Later in the same interview, one of Brown’s interrogators had asserted: “I think you are fanatical.” In reply, Brown defi antly turned the accusation back on its maker: “And I think you are fanatical. ‘Whom the Gods would destroy, they fi rst make mad.’ And you are mad.”40 Brown’s trial, which formally commenced on October 27, 1859, and played out over the next two and a half weeks, afforded additional opportunities to affi rm his status as a divinely appointed martyr. Indeed, Marouf Hasian has argued that Brown ingeniously exploited the situation to transform himself into the “iconic embodiment of the natural law itself,” and that his deliberate “blurring of the secular and the sacred allowed millions of Americans to visu- alize the possibility that natural laws could be both beautiful and reasonable.”41 Brown’s moving plea to the court at the trial’s conclusion, writes Stephen Oates, was intended to “win an entire generation to his side.” But it failed to impress the trial judge, who sentenced him to hang on December 2, 1859.42 Between his sentencing and execution three weeks later, Brown received a steady stream of visitors and corresponded regularly with family, friends, and supporters throughout the North. Brown’s composure during these last weeks and masterful manipulation of the rhetorical possibilities of his confi nement helped to lay the foundation for his enduring martyrdom. Brown’s jailhouse correspondence testifi es eloquently to his faith in the transcendent purposes of his work and to his confi dence that it had set in motion the machinery that would one day end slavery. It is clear that Brown believed himself to be playing a central role in a grand historical drama. As he wrote to one Boston friend: “I 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38102_12 3Griffin.indd 381 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM 382 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS know that the very errors by which my scheme was marred were decreed before the world was made. I had no more to do with the course I pursued than a shot leaving a cannon has to do with the spot where it shall fall.”43 Perhaps the most notable public proponent of the Brown-as-prophet trope was the philosopher and essayist Henry David Thoreau. On hearing the news of Brown’s execution, Thoreau famously apotheosized his subject: “Some eigh- teen hundred years ago, Christ was crucifi ed; this morning, perchance, Captain Brown was hung. These are the two ends of a chain which is not without its links. He is not old Brown any longer; he is an angel of light.” As for Brown’s executioners, Thoreau pronounced them “but helpless tools in this great work. It was no human power that gathered them about this preacher.”44 Abolitionist orators such as Wendell Phillips argued that Brown was doing God’s work, identifying him with Protestant heroes Jan Wycliffe and John Huss, as well as the early Christian martyrs. “It is honorable, then, to break bad laws, and such law breaking history loves and God blesses,” pronounced the Reverend George Cheever, an infl uential New York Congregationalist. John Brown is “God’s handwriting on the wall of Slavery; and the knees of the whole South knock together at the apparition. John Brown is God’s own protest against this tyr- anny, against the unrighteous laws that sanction it, against the men and states that support it.” At a memorial service for Brown held only days later, Cheever compared Brown’s apprenticeship to that of the prophet Jeremiah. Attended by such angels, commissioned by such words, John Brown grew onward to the sphere of character and duty for which God had appointed him. The same infl uence in kind came upon him as came upon Jeremiah, the same concentra- tion and intensifying of Divine revelation in one direction, as always happens when God pleases, and when, for his own great purposes, He will discipline and prepare a man for Himself, to bear the reproach among men of being a fanatic,— a man of one idea.45 James Freeman Clarke, fellow abolitionist and prominent Unitarian minister in Boston, labeled Brown’s raid “one of those acts of madness which History cher- ishes, and which Poetry loves forever to adorn with her choicest wreaths of lau- rel.” Still other ministers compared Brown to Samson, Moses, John the Baptist, and in the case of at least one Southern divine, Satan.46 CONCLUSION As a meaningful clinical diagnosis, “madness” has long since lost whatever stand- ing it might have enjoyed. It is wildly imprecise, easily abused, and freighted with centuries of prejudice. But these same ambiguities endue “madness” 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38202_12 3Griffin.indd 382 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 383 with formidable rhetorical power in popular usage, where it still evokes images of dark, chaotic, and often violent behavior. In civic discourse, “mad- ness” remains a grave accusation, usually applied only to individuals or groups whose behaviors are perceived to be both irrational and threatening to the pub- lic good. To level a charge of “madness” against an individual or group operat- ing within the public realm is to situate that person or group within a narrative that is tragic and cautionary. Fanatical idealists, after all, threaten the cherished goal of open and reasoned debate that undergirds the stability of a democratic society. They cannot be bribed, bargained with, nor bullied. They can only be banished beyond the margins of the civic sphere lest others, perhaps including ourselves, fall under their spell. However, this does not mean that the “mad” have no voice, or that their words and deeds cannot be made to serve other, more legitimate interests within the public sphere. Indeed, as I have argued here, they serve a necessary function in our civic life. Nineteenth century popular thought held that “madness” could result when an excessive amount of stress was placed upon an inherently weak mental con- stitution, a view that is not unfamiliar today. In effect, this view allowed phy- sicians and the public observers to attribute any given case of insanity to a range of causes, from the individual level to various levels of outside infl uence, whether originating in the family or social or religious fervor or political agita- tion. Side-by-side with these newer scientifi c explanations of “madness,” lay the more traditional theogenic interpretations of insanity. All three of these expla- nations were invoked by contemporary commentators on John Brown’s raid. Some critics attributed Brown’s fanaticism to heredity and a history of personal disappointment. In so doing, they minimized the scope and signifi - cance of Brown’s actions—his was a private tragedy played out, unfortunately, on a public stage. But it held no larger signifi cance for society. If anything, Brown’s “madness” offered critics on both sides of the slavery issue a brief respite from contention and an opportunity to affi rm mutually that certain kinds of behavior, at least, would not be countenanced in resolving the slav- ery issue. The important thing was to silence Brown so that his words might die with him as quickly as the Virginia authorities could arrange for it. Other commentators saw Brown’s words and actions as symptomatic of larger forces (political leaders, sectional interests, abolitionists, slaveholders) that threatened to destabilize the republic. For these critics, it was important not to silence, but to defl ect his voice by attributing his “madness” to their adversaries’ words and deeds. Still other contemporaries held that Brown’s madness was divinely ordained. Rather than a confused outcast or an overwrought idealist, Brown, they urged, was an instrument of divine chastisement and correction. Slavery had so compromised the nation’s capacity to reason and act justly that Brown only appeared insane and his captors reasonable. In truth, it was the other way 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38302_12 3Griffin.indd 383 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM 384 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS around. Brown’s purifying voice should be neither silenced nor defl ected, but amplifi ed throughout the land until the nation was cleansed of its great sin. Much as did Brown’s contemporaries, historians in the century and a half since Harper’s Ferry have argued endlessly over the origin and meaning of his “madness.” Brown has become, for generations of American schoolchildren, emblematic of the dangers that extremism, even in a good cause, can pose in a democratic society. Paradoxically, Brown has also become the patron saint of would-be martyrs for social justice everywhere. John Stewart Curry’s iconic image of a wrathful Brown, arms thrown back, a Bible in one hand and a gun in the other, sweeping like a whirlwind off the Kansas prairie has come to sym- bolize the righteous fi re of populist anger as a purifying force in American life. In the end, the enigma of Brown’s mind will probably never be solved. But the debate over Brown’s “madness” is itself instructive of the subtle elasticity of this common trope. For students of public address and the rhetoric of social movements, Brown’s case raises questions that transcend his own historical circumstances. How have a century and a half of advances in the understanding and treatment of mental illness infl uenced the character and function of “madness” as a trope in politi- cal controversy? What do those changes reveal about the changing dynamics of public controversy? What do they tell us about the mythology of our civic life? In what ways do the “mad” help to sustain, even as they challenge, consensus- based systems of deliberation and governance? How does the trope of madness shape our understanding of and response to terrorism? For there is no lack of “madmen” in the political life of our own era. We, too, have our Browns: our Lee Harvey Oswalds and Timothy McVeighs, our Ted Kaczynskis, our Weathermen and MOVEs. And we struggle, as did Brown’s contemporaries, to understand the meaning of their madness and to fathom what it foretells for society. Perhaps, we even need them, as if the very act of naming them “mad” helps us in some way to clarify and maintain the bound- aries of rational civic life. In any case, the rhetoric of madness would seem to be a recurrent feature of American political discourse, a trope that refl ects as well as shapes the character of the public sphere; like Brown himself, endlessly debatable—at once fascinating, terrifying, and deserving of our continued attention and study. NOTES 1. William A. Phillips, “Three Interviews With Old John Brown,” Atlantic Monthly, December 1879, 740. 2. The literature on the Harper’s Ferry raid is wide and deep, refl ecting sharp divisions of opinion over Brown’s motives and the signifi cance of his actions. See, for example: James Redpath, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry (Boston: Thayer & Eldridge, 1860); W. E. B. Du Bois, John 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38402_12 3Griffin.indd 384 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 385 Brown (New York: Everyman’s Library, 2001); C. Vann Woodward, “John Brown’s Private War,” in America in Crisis: Fourteen Crucial Episodes in American History, ed. Daniel Aaron (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1952), 109–32; Stephen B. Oates, To Purge This Land with Blood: A Biography of John Brown (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1970); Paul Finkleman, ed., His Soul Goes Marching On: Responses to John Brown and the Harper’s Ferry Raid (Charlotte: University of Virginia Press, 1995); David S. Reynolds, John Brown Abolitionist: The Man Who Killed Slavery, Sparked the Civil War and Seeded Civil Rights (New York: Alfred A. Knopf: 2005); and Evan Carton, Patriotic Treason: John Brown and the Soul of America (New York: Free Press, 2006). 3. See John Edward Byrne, “The News From Harper’s Ferry: The Press as Lens and Prism for John Brown’s Raid” (Ph.D. diss., George Washington University, 1987), 24; Allan Nevins and Milton Halsey Thomas, eds., The Diary of George Templeton Strong (New York: Macmillan Co., 1952), 465; The Liberator, October 21, 1859, 166. 4. Norman Dain, Concepts of Insanity, 1789–1865 (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1964), 202; William S. Bainbridge, “Religious Insanity in America: The Offi cial Nineteenth Century Theory,” Sociological Analysis 45 (1984): 236–37; Gerald M. Grob, The Mad Among Us: A History of the Care of America’s Mentally Ill (New York: Free Press, 1994), 57–60. 5. Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason (New York: Random House, 1965), 8, 13; Dain, Concepts of Insanity, 1789–1865, 43. 6. Grob, The Mad Among Us, 11. 7. David J. Rothman, The Discovery of the Asylum: Social Order and Disorder in the New Republic (Boston: Little, Brown and Co., 1970), xv, 108–29. 8. Rothman, Discovery of the Asylum, 110–11; Bainbridge, “Religious Insanity in America,” 236. 9. Rothman, Discovery of the Asylum, 133; Dain, Concepts of Insanity, 1789–1865, 88. 10. Alexis De Tocqueville, Democracy in America, trans. Henry Reeve (New York: Oxford, 1947), 346. 11. Rothman, Discovery of the Asylum, 114, 112. 12. Bainbridge, “Religious Insanity in America,” 237; Grob, The Mad Among Us, 58; Dain, Concepts of Insanity, 1789–1865, 197–98. 13. Lynn Gamwell and Nancy Tomes, Madness in America: Cultural and Medical Perceptions of Mental Illness Before 1914 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995), 80. 14. Herman Melville, Moby Dick, or the White Whale (New York: Everyman’s Library, 1988), 185. 15. Melville, Moby Dick, 185. I am indebted to Professor Robert E. McGlone, whose use of this passage in his own essay on the “politics of insanity” in the Brown case spurred my thinking about the parallels between Ahab’s monomania and that attributed to Brown by some con- temporaries; “John Brown, Henry Wise, and the Politics of Insanity,” in Finkleman, ed., His Soul Goes Marching On. See also Andrew Delbanco, Melville, His World and His Work (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005), 165–66, and especially 170–74. 16. Leland M. Griffi n, “When Worlds Collide: Rhetorical Trajectories in the Assassination of President Kennedy,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 76 (1983): 125. 17. Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1989); James Darsey, The Prophetic Tradition and Radical Rhetoric in America (New York: New York University Press, 1997). 18. Kimberly K. Smith, The Dominion of Voice: Riot, Reason, and Romance in Antebellum Politics (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1999), 11–83. 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38502_12 3Griffin.indd 385 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM 386 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS 19. In Burke’s view, “The basic strategy of metonymy is this: to convey some incorporeal or intangible state in terms of the corporeal or tangible.” Kenneth Burke, A Grammar of Motives (1945, rpt. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969), 506. Lakoff and Johnson under- score the refl exive nature of metonymy in observing that “[m]etonymic concepts allow us to conceptualize one thing by means of its relation to something else” and that “like meta- phors, metonymic concepts structure not just our language but our thoughts, attitudes, and actions.” George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), 39. 20. Kenneth Burke, Attitudes Toward History, 3rd ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), 322; emphasis in original. 21. William J. Clinton, “Oklahoma Bombing Memorial Service Address,” April 23, 1995, in Public Papers of the Presidents: William J. Clinton, January–June, 1995 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Offi ce, 1996), 573. 22. Smith, The Dominion of Voice, 3–4; John M. Murphy, “Civic Republicanism in the Modern Age: Adlai Stevenson in the 1952 Presidential Campaign,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 80 (1994): 315; Peter B. Knupfer, The Union as It Is: Constitutional Unionism and Sectional Compromise, 1787–1861 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991); Darsey, The Prophetic Tradition, 63. 23. Charles E. Morris, “Our Capital Aversion: Abigail Folsom, Madness, and Radical Antislavery Praxis,” Women’s Studies in Communication 24 (2001): 69. 24. M. Jimmie Killingsworth and Jacqueline S. Palmer, “The Discourse of ‘Environmentalist Hysteria,’” Quarterly Journal of Speech 81 (1995): 1–19. 25. See, for example, “Being Rod Blagojevich: There’s No Way to Know Why He Sees Politics as He Does. But Few Seem Surprised,” Newsweek, December 22, 2008, 30; “A Portrait of a Politician: Vengeful and Profane,” New York Times, December 10, 2008, A1. 26. Of course, it can be countered that political protestors in the postmodern era have made some- thing of an industry out of mocking the conventions of the civic sphere, delighting in zany and outrageous stunts that call attention to its manifold hypocrisies and limitations. However, I contrast these “comic” exertions, which are (I believe) motivated by the impulse to reform a corrupt civic sphere, with the fundamentally “tragic” impulse of the madman or madwoman developed in this essay. An individual such as Brown, I believe, seeks not to reform the civic sphere, but to annihilate it altogether as a condition for the birth of a more just civic order. 27. “The Fatal Friday,” Chicago Press and Tribune, December 2, 1859; Pittsburgh Gazette, December 3, 1859. I wish to express my appreciation for the efforts of the Furman University Project on Secession Era Editorials for making available many of the original newspaper edi- torials cited in this essay. This valuable archive can be accessed at http://history.furman.edu/ editorials/see.py (accessed December 23, 2008). 28. Abraham Lincoln, “Address at Leavenworth, Kansas,” December 3, 1859, in The Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, ed. Roy P. Basler (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1953), 502; Lawrence (Kansas) Herald of Freedom, December 1859, quoted in Byrne, “The News from Harper’s Ferry,” 154. 29. Robert E. McGlone, “John Brown, Henry Wise, and the Politics of Insanity,” in Finkleman, ed., His Soul Goes Marching On, 215. The question of whether Brown was clinically insane has been a subject of lively debate among historians for generations. The assault on Harper’s Ferry was certainly premeditated. It was, moreover, abetted by a small group of wealthy northern abolitionists calling themselves “The Secret Six.” But whether either of these facts is inconsistent with Brown having suffered from what would today be recognized as 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38602_12 3Griffin.indd 386 7/1/09 9:31:24 AM7/1/09 9:31:24 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 387 a psychological disorder remains unclear. For contrasting views on the matter of Brown’s mental condition at the time of the Harper’s Ferry Raid, see: Carton, Patriotic Treason, and C. Vann Woodward, “John Brown’s Private War”; for insight into the planning and abet- ting of Brown’s raid, see Edward J. Renehan Jr., The Secret Six: The True Tale of the Men Who Conspired With John Brown (New York: Crown, 1995), and Otto J. Scott, The Secret Six: John Brown and the Abolitionist Movement (New York: New York Times Books, 1979). 30. McGlone, “John Brown, Henry Wise, and the Politics of Insanity,” in Finkleman, ed., His Soul Goes Marching On, 216. 31. Peter Knupfer, “A Crisis in Conservatism: Northern Unionism and the Harper’s Ferry Raid,” in Finkleman, ed., His Soul Goes Marching On, 141; Lorman A. Ratner and Dwight L. Teeter Jr., Fanatics and Fire-eaters: Newspapers and the Coming of the Civil War (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 2003), 74–75. 32. “Where the Responsibility Belongs,” Chicago Press and Tribune, October 20, 1859; Congressional Globe, (36th Cong., 1st Sess.), December 7, 1859, 38; quoted in Ratner and Teeter, Fanatics and Fire-eaters, 81. 33. Memphis Appeal quoted in Ratner and Teeter, Fanatics and Fire-eaters, 75–76; “The Riot at Harper’s Ferry,” Nashville Union and American, October 21, 1859; “The Harper’s Ferry Invasion as Party Capital,” Richmond (VA) Enquirer, October 25, 1859; “The Irrepressible Confl ict,” Nashville Republican Banner and Nashville Whig, October 25, 1859; “Execution of John Brown,” Raleigh Register, December 3, 1859. 34. New York Herald, October 27, 1859, 6. See also, Ratner and Teeter, Fanatics and Fire-eaters, 78; New York Tribune, December 2, 1859, 4; “The Harper’s Ferry Affair,” New Hampshire Patriot, October 26, 1859; John Bassett Moore, ed., The Works of James Buchanan: Comprising His Speeches, State Papers, and Private Correspondence, vol. X, 1856–1860 (New York: Antiquarian Press, 1960), 339. 35. Wendell Phillips, “Harper’s Ferry,” in Speeches, Lectures, and Letters by Wendell Phillips, ed. James Redpath (Boston: Lee and Sheperd, 1892), 273. Interestingly, the following day’s edition of the New York Tribune described Phillips’s address as “The most extraor- dinary speech that was ever delivered by a man professing to be sane.” New York Tribune, November 2, 1859. 36. Congressional Globe (36th Cong., 1st Sess.), December 13, 1859, 142. 37. Albany Evening Journal, October 19 and 20, 1859. 38. Congressional Globe (36th Cong., 1st Sess.), December 12, 1859, 35; Leroy P. Graf and Ralph W. Haskins, eds., The Papers of Andrew Johnson, vol. 3, 1858–1860 (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1972), 348; see also New York Herald, November 2, 1859. 39. Darsey, The Prophetic Tradition, 68, 66. 40. F. B. Sanborn, ed., The Life and Letters of John Brown, Liberator of Kansas and Martyr of Virginia (Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1885), 565, 569. 41. Marouf Hasian Jr., “Jurisprudence as Performance: John Brown’s Enactment of Natural Law at Harper’s Ferry,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 86 (2000): 210, 209; see also Oates, To Purge this Land With Blood, 326–27. 42. Oates, To Purge This Land With Blood, 337–39. 43. Sanborn, ed., Life and Letters of John Brown, 624. 44. Henry David Thoreau, “A Plea for Captain John Brown,” in Redpath, ed., Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, 41; see also Paul D. Erickson, “Henry David Thoreau’s Apotheosis of John Brown: A Study in Nineteenth Century Rhetorical Heroism,” Southern Communication Journal 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38702_12 3Griffin.indd 387 7/1/09 9:31:24 AM7/1/09 9:31:24 AM 388 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS 61 (1978): 307–9; Thoreau, “A Plea,” 31; Herbert L. Carson, “An Eccentric Kinship: Henry David Thoreau’s ‘A Plea for Captain John Brown,’” Southern Speech Journal 27 (1961): 152. 45. Hasian, “Jurisprudence as Performance,” 204–5; Wendell Phillips, “Harper’s Ferry” in Redpath, ed., Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, 279; George Cheever, “The Example and Method of Emancipation by the Constitution of Our Country and the Word of God,” in Redpath, ed., Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, 157–58; Cheever, “The Martyr’s Death and the Martyr’s Triumph,” in Redpath, ed., Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, 215. 46. James Freeman Clarke, “Causes and Consequences of the Affair at Harper’s Ferry,” in Redpath, ed., Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, 328; Glenna Schraeder, “We Must Look This Great Event in the Face: Northern Sermons on John Brown’s Raid,” Fides et Historia 20 (1988): 34–36; Reynolds, John Brown Abolitionist, 431. 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38802_12 3Griffin.indd 388 7/1/09 9:31:24 AM7/1/09 9:31:24 AM
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work_iyrrnis4c5cwbg6rqiklpylcue ---- Title Wilderness, the West and the Myth of the Frontier in Sean Penn’s Into the Wild Author Laura I. H. Beattie Publication FORUM: University of Edinburgh Postgraduate Journal of Culture and the Arts Issue Number 16 Issue Date Spring 2013 Publication Date 05/06/2013 Editors Laura Chapot & Lizzie Stewart FORUM claims non-exclusive rights to reproduce this article electronically (in full or in part) and to publish this work in any such media current or later developed. The author retains all rights, including the right to be identified as the author wherever and whenever this article is published, and the right to use all or part of the article and abstracts, with or without revision or modification in compilations or other publications. Any latter publication shall recognise FORUM as the original publisher. University of Edinburgh Postgraduate Journal of Culture and the Arts Issue 16 | Spring 2013 FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 1 Wilderness, the West and the Myth of the Frontier in Sean Penn’s Into the Wild Laura I. H. Beattie Freie Universität Berlin This article investigates the representation of wilderness in Sean Penn’s Into the Wild, specifically with regards to the myth of the American frontier. By using the myth of the frontier as a structure through which to read the film, we discover that the film proves William Cronon’s thesis that the idea of wilderness as an anti-human place is merely a human construct. Introduction Sean Penn’s Into the Wild was released in 2007 to widespread critical acclaim, with some describing it as “spellbinding” (Ebert) while others claimed that “it deserves to be one of the most talked about films of the season” (LaSalle). Based on the novel of Jon Krakauer, which in turn is based on a real life story, the film depicts the quest of college graduate Chris McCandless to escape from what he sees as the deceit ridden fabric of modern consumerist capitalist society into the freedom and the vast open spaces of the wild.1 As the title of the film indicates, one of its major preoccupations is the representation of wilderness and, beyond this, the meaning of wilderness in modern culture and society. William Cronon, in “The Trouble with Wilderness” (1995), makes what was seen as, at the time, “a very controversial attack” on the overly romanticised view of Nature held in the West and particularly in America (Clark 234).2 Cronon, Professor of History, Geography and Environmental Studies and specialist in American environmental history and the history of the American West, claims that “for many Americans, wilderness stands as the last remaining place where civilisation, that all too human disease, has not infected the Earth” (69). Cronon goes on, however, to highlight that this view o f wilderness as an escape from human civilisation is highly ironic, given the fact that “far from being the one place on earth that stands apart from humanity, it is quite profoundly a human creation”(69). In summary, Cronon claims that, in modern society, wilderness has come to embody a space that is anti- human but, in fact, wilderness is such a human construct that true wilderness in the sense of being completely other to the human, does not actually exist. Therefore, the contemporary Western relationship with wilderness cannot be perceived to be as “natural” as we might assume. In this essay, I intend to argue that Chris McCandless, the protagonist of Into the Wild, views wilderness in exactly the way that is condemned by Cronon. He thinks of it as a completely nonhuman place where he will be able to leave the falsity of human civilisation behind and at last discover “truth” (although he is always very vague as to what this truth might be). Chris’ highly romanticised and FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 2 idealised view of nature becomes apparent very quickly in the film. At the basis of Chris’ romantic perceptions of nature, we find the same two ideas that Cronon also claims are at the core of the wilderness’ sudden transformation at the end of the nineteenth century from being a place of barren wasteland to the desirable destination that it is today – the myth of the frontier and the idea of the sublime. Although we can use both these ideas as structures through which to read the film, this essay will focus on the myth of the frontier due to the fact that Into the Wild can be considered a type of Western, a genre to which the representation of the frontier is crucial. By using the myth of the frontier as a structure through which to read the film, I intend to prove that, ironically, Chris’ romanticised view of nature has been formed by the very society which he himself rejects and furthermore that he brings some of this civilisation into the wilderness with him, illustrating Cronon’s thesis that wilderness as an anti-human place cannot exist. The Significance of the Frontier in American History In venturing into the wild, Chris is following in the footsteps of his ancestors who set out, hundreds of years ago, as pioneers to discover the unknown lands of the Wild West beyond the frontier. Fredrick J. Turner, in his seminal essay “The Significance of the Frontier in American History” (1893), was the first to posit the theory that, rather than the relationship to colonial European powers, it was the American frontier that had the most significant formative influence not only on American history, but also on American character and culture. He argued that “the existence of an area of free land, its continuous recession, and the advance of American settlement westward explain American development” (3). Turner ends by claiming that, even by 1893, the geographical place of the frontier “has gone and with its going has closed the first period of American history” (38). This end, however, is also a beginning – Turner lays the foundations for the myth of the frontier which will come to have a pervasive influence on American culture and society, as evidenced in literature and film by the rise of the Western genre.3 Indeed, many of what will come to be the key aspects of the frontier myth, dealt with in the Western genre, are already evident in Turner’s essay. He defines the frontier as “the meeting point between savagery and civilisation” (2). Thus, as we witness, for example, in many Western films, it is a landscape of violence, “a place to express conquest and domination” (Schneekloth 210). Yet, paradoxically, seen through the eyes of the agrarian ideal, the frontier, as Turner emphasises throughout his essay, is also a place of “perennial rebirth” providing rejuvenation of both man and society (2), as well as a “new field of opportunity” for the rebirth of civilisation and society that will never come again (28). Believing to such an extent in the frontier’s capacity for renewal, Turner even goes so far as to describe the frontier as a “magic fountain of youth” (qtd. in Nash Smith 5).4 FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 3 The Frontier Myth in Into the Wild This is precisely the aspect of the American frontier that is mythologised in Into the Wild. It is the potential for rebirth and renewal provided by the frontier and what lies beyond, that really captures Chris’ imagination. This is evoked in the film by Chris’ rebirth as Alexander Supertramp and we are constantly reminded of this by the naming of the “chapters” the film is divided into: these progress from “My Own Birth” through to the “Getting of Wisdom.” Indeed, Penn deliberately associates this sense of rebirth and renewal with the myth of the frontier itself. In one of the opening scenes, when Chris is dropped off by the truck driver at the end of the Stampede Trail, the edge of the Alaskan wilderness, the way the camera is angled gives us a very high and wide bird’s eye view of the desolate and seemingly virgin wilderness into which Chris is about to set off, so much so that at first we do not even notice the approach of the van in one small corner of the screen. It is completely overpowered by the vast and immense landscape surrounding it. Even when the dialogue begins it is still the view of the landscape which dominates our attention, we do not even see the people who are talking. We are then presented with an overhead view of a tiny figure making fresh footprints in the otherwise untouched snow, signifying that this land into which he is about to venture is unknown and undiscovered. The edge of the Stampede trail, the climax of Chris’ journey of self discovery, is thus represented as a frontier beyond which the lands remain to be discovered. This idea is also emphasised throughout the sequence of the opening credits as we are presented with a montage of Chris journeying into the wilderness. The camera pans across the enormous, snow covered mountains, pausing to give us a shot of Chris’ face for the first time as he struggles through the snow, with no other sign of humanity in sight except the knitted hat that Chris places on a stick in a similar gesture to mountaineers who place a flag at the top of the mountain. The bright orange hat stands in great visual contrast to the snowy plains surrounding it and emphasises the lack of any other sign of civilisation by its stark and anomalous appearance. With the appearance of Chris’ words “I now walk into the wild” superimposed on the screen, the camera begins zooming out to show how vast, unforgiving and uninhabited this landscape appears. Chris is thus cast as a pioneer, about to embark on an adventure never before attempted. This cinematic technique is repeated at the start of the chapter noticeably entitled “My Own Birth.” Just after we have been shown Chris throwing off the ties and constraints of modern civilisation by cutting up his identification cards and giving away his money in order to allow for his rebirth as Alexander Supertramp, we are again presented with a high overhead shot, this time of him in his car driving into the desert, representing what he sees as his escape from society. Chris then simultaneously vocalises this escape and explicitly invokes the myth of the frontier by saying: It should not be denied that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape. History and oppression are gone and irksome obligations. The absolute freedom of the road has always led west. (Into the Wild) FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 4 Thus, with this statement, Chris not only inescapably references the frontier myth but makes it clear that his mythologisation of it specifically relates to the West as a place of liberation and self discovery. This, however, also presents us with a problem. Writing almost a century after Turner, Richard Slotkin, highlights the significance of the role of violence in the frontier myth to a far greater extent and brings the two opposing aspects of the myth together by claiming that this regeneration that Turner also speaks of was in fact achieved “through violence” (12 original emphasis). Hence we realise that by only viewing the frontier and the wilderness that lies beyond it as a place of escape from society, and failing to acknowledge the violence that Slotkin claims must go hand in hand with this, Chris holds a romanticised and unrealistic point of view about what he expects to discover beyond the frontier. We see this unrealistic perspective, for example, in his ecstatic statement to his friend Wayne: “I’m going to Alaska, I’m gonna be all the way out there on my own – no fucking watch, no map, no axe, no nothing, just be out there in it, big mountains, river, sky, in the wild – in the wild!” (Into the Wild). Noticeably throughout this conversation, Chris and Wayne are never shown in the same shot. The camera mostly focuses on Chris’ face, alight with passion and excitement, but occasionally switches to Wayne, whose expression is one of scepticism, mirroring the fact that one of the biggest criticisms which can be made of Chris by an audience is that he was severely underprepared for his journey and can therefore be seen as having a suicide wish. Ironically had he brought a map with him, it might have saved his life. However, clearly Chris believes that if he were to bring such tools of civilisation with him he would not be able to experience wilderness as an anti-human place. Indeed in the very next sentence Chris goes on to say that when he is in the wilderness he will be “just living, just there in that moment, in that special place in time” (Into the Wild). What is significant here is Chris’ mention of “that special place in time” because this is how wilderness, thanks to the frontier myth, is often falsely viewed. It is seen as being somewhere where all the past of human existence is miraculously erased and it thus becomes, to use the words of Cronon, “a flight from history” (79). William Talbot, in his 1969 essay “American Visions of Wilderness”, claims that in nineteenth-century America it came to be believed that “the past of the wilderness stretched back to creation itself, untouched by human civilization. This virgin nature was as close as man could ever hope to get to the primal state of the world” (152). This advocacy of primitivism, the belief that the ills of our modern society can only be escaped by returning to a more simplistic way of living, is an opinion endorsed by Chris. However, as Cronon is quick to point out, this is, and never has been, true of the lands beyond the frontier which were inhabited by the Native Americans before the Native Americans were forced out in order to maintain the myth of the virgin wilderness (79). In fact this irony only highlights how constructed the idea of wilderness has become. Furthermore, as we have already noted, in the opening scenes of the film, the frontier for Chris is shown to be the extreme North of America and not, in fact, the West. This is precisely because, as Turner highlights, the frontier of the West no longer exists – now it is only in Alaska where virgin wilderness can be found and this is why Alaska holds such an allure for Chris. The properties of the mythic West have been displaced to the North. Therefore, Chris is shown not only to be ignoring the violent aspect of the FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 5 frontier myth but also to be buying into this myth of virgin wilderness which is irrevocably intertwined with the renewal qualities of the myth of the frontier. Into the Wild has been recognised as including many elements of a more typical Western film, one of these key elements being a setting at the frontier and a representation of the frontier myth. Cronlund Anderson, in Cowboy Imperialism, argues that, in fact, without a representation of the frontier myth a Western film is not a Western (16). As such, the Western film itself, as a genre, is structured by the same series of oppositions which the frontier myth encompasses – the individual versus the community, nature versus civilisation and the West versus the East.5 In Into the Wild we can see these binaries present not only in Chris’ own beliefs but also in the way the film is structured. As Chris journeys North, Penn makes frequent use of flashbacks in order to contrast his past with his present. For example, as we see Chris renaming himself Alexander Supertramp and subsequently walking off towards the horizon, symbolising the beginning of his adventure, this image is pushed to the left hand side of the screen in order to allow for the simultaneous viewing of the lives of his parents who we see worrying about the whereabouts of their son. This splitting of the screen is a visual representation of the fact that Chris’ past is being contrasted with his present, as well as his new found individualism contrasted against the community he has left behind, and civilisation against the wilderness he is now living in. The voiceovers by Chris’ sister Carine also have this function – she acts as a voice from the past but a past which Chris has consciously severed himself from and is now placing himself in opposition to. Thus through its very structure the film is aligning itself with the Western film tradition specifically in regards to the dichotomies raised by the myth of the frontier. We could see Chris himself, however, as a kind of Western anti-hero. The typical hero of a Western film is the cowboy. Despite the fact that Chris does share some traits in common with the stereotypical cowboy, represented by a picture of Clint Eastwood on Chris’ wardrobe door, such as courage and skill, he is also very different from them mainly because although, like Chris, cowboys often acted alone, their actions were usually seen to be for the good of a community, as they sought to bring civilisation into the wilderness.6 Not only, however, does Chris act completely for himself but he deliberately seeks the primitive state of living that the wilderness can provide precisely because it is in complete opposition to civilisation, thus leading us to view him as an anti-hero. The question, then, is raised as to whether Chris manages to avoid tainting the wilderness he enters with traces of civilisation. We must remember that the very idea of the frontier itself is a human creation, as Schneekloth tells us, “it was invented, not discovered” (210). Therefore, we could see Chris’ conception of wilderness as a piece of civilisation he brings with him into the Alaskan wildness. The myth of the frontier as a place of rejuvenation is central to his conception of wilderness, an idea which comes from the very society he seeks to leave behind. This view of wilderness as a piece of civilisation comes to be visually and concretely represented in the symbol of the “magic bus,” the abandoned camper van where he lives while in Alaska. Chris calls the bus “magic” precisely because it contains enough of the vestiges of civilisation to fulfil his basic needs and allow him to live out his FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 6 fantasy of complete self-sufficiency in the Alaskan wilderness but not so much that he feels that he is no longer a pioneer. Another concrete piece of civilisation that Chris brings with him into the wilderness is his collection of books. Jonah Raskin criticises the film for “not being able to free itself from the written word” (4), but this is precisely because Chris himself is never freed from the written word. Throughout the film, we constantly see Chris reading the works of Thoreau, London, Tolstoy and Pasternak, from all of whom he learns important ideals which he applies to his own life, whether it is while he is sitting alone in the magic bus or perched upon a rock overlooking the sea and the ocean.7 We are shown early on in the film Chris’ capacity to take what he reads and apply it to his own life. When he and Carine are arriving at Chris’ graduation dinner, Chris reads out some poetry to Carine, who asks him “Who wrote that?’ to which Chris replies “Well, could have been either one of us, couldn’t it?” (Into the Wild). Thus, we see that, for Chris, there does not necessarily have to be a clear distinction between fiction and real life. Although books and reading abound in the film, the works of one writer in particular are important – those of Henry David Thoreau. It is from Thoreau that Chris borrows the idea that then forms his central philosophy on life: “rather than love or money or fame or fairness, give me truth” (Into the Wild). Thoreau’s Walden, or Life in the Woods is the only work of environmental literary non-fiction to be considered part of the Western literary canon (Clark 27). Throughout Walden, but particularly in the section entitled “Solitude”, we hear Thoreau express many sentiments that, as evidenced by references to the book throughout the film, Chris seems to have absorbed in his reading of it. For example, Thoreau speaks of the delight of having “a little world all to myself” and constantly expounds upon the innocence and benevolence of nature (98). When speaking of the one moment in his experience when he felt himself to be a little lonely, he goes on to say: In the midst of a gentle rain while these thoughts prevailed, I was suddenly sensible of such sweet and beneficent society in Nature, in the very pattering of the drops, and in every sound and sight around my house, an infinite and unaccountable friendliness all at once like an atmosphere sustaining me, as made the fancied advantages of human neighborhood insignificant, and I have never thought of them since. (99) Chris too believes that the society he will find in nature will be far superior and less corrupt than the human society he has chosen to leave behind. But most importantly of all, in the society of nature he will find truth where there is none to be found in civilisation. When Chris first arrives in the magic bus, he tells us that now comes, “after two years, the final and greatest adventure – the climactic battle to kill the false being within victoriously concludes the spiritual revolution” (Into the Wild). Chris believes that this “false being within” has been created by civilisation and only in the Alaskan wilderness is it possible to destroy it because first isolated surroundings must be found where nothing can contaminate the inner spirit. While Chris is speaking, FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 7 the image of him carving these words into the wood is interspersed with images of him chasing deer in the snow and watching them with tears welling in his eyes. Finally, he thinks that he has returned to “the truth of his existence” and has escaped from everything that kept this truth from him, as his sister tells us, once Chris has graduated: Now he was emancipated from that world of abstraction, false security, parents, materiality, the things that cut Chris off from the truth of his existence. (Into the Wild) Thus the frontier between the Alaskan Wilderness and the rest of the world becomes for Chris a boundary, a kind of dividing line, between truth and falsehood and reality and abstraction. He creates a dichotomy in his mind where everything good is ascribed to nature and everything else to humanity and the two are clearly distinct from one another. It is therefore more than a little ironic that Chris believes the “truth of his existence” is to be found in the wilderness, which he thinks has a radic al alterity to humanity, when this very idea of what this truth is has been formed by words and books coming from the civilisation he so despises. Significantly, not only is Chris constantly reading but he also writes a journal and tells his friend Wayne “maybe when I get back, I can write a book about my travels” (Into the Wild). Furthermore, when Chris speaks of his “spiritual revolution” he is writing the words at the same time and we witness him creating a narrative for himself as he carves painstakingly into the wood, emphasising the act of creation, while simultaneously reading aloud “no longer to be poisoned by civilisation, he flees and walks alone upon the land to become lost in the wild” (Into the Wild). The way the camera jerkily moves across the words as Chris carves them mirrors the act of reading, jumping from one word to another. This is a highly conscious deployment by Chris of the same types of narratives he has read by Jack London, for example, and suggests that in the narrative of his own story he is consciously representing himself as a heroic cowboy figure. This is emphasised by the fact that Chris chooses to write in the third person: by so doing he is distancing himself from his own story and writing about himself as though he were a character in one of his favourite novels. In Ecology Without Nature, Timothy Morton says, in reference to Thoreau, that “a white male nature writer in the wilderness may be “going native” to some extent, but he is also usefully distancing this wilderness, even from himself, even in his own act of narration” (126). We might modify Morton’s words slightly by saying that by the very act of narration the wilderness is being distanced because it starts to become something that is being written about and that has happened in the past rather than that is being experienced in the moment. Moreover it becomes subjected to the laws of storytelling and the control of the narrator. Therefore, just as the frontier has become a myth because it began to be written about, encoded with certain signs and symbols, the same thing happens to wilderness. By turning his wilderness experience into a narrative, Chris seems ultimately to be proving Cronon’s point , that the wilderness can never truly be an anti-human place because the wilderness is not allowed merely to exist, or even, to be enjoyed by humanity but is subjected to the narratorial authority of those who inhabit it. FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 8 In addition, Chris tells Wayne that, if he writes a book, it will specifically be about “getting out of this sick society” (Into the Wild). This is ironic because to write a book for others to read is to take part in the consumerist nature of capitalist society and by so doing, Chris would be allowing the account of his experiences to forever become trapped within, and perhaps be exploited by, the very society he escaped from. Although not written by Chris himself,8 a book was indeed written about the experiences the real Christopher McCandless had in escaping from this “sick society”. On a metatextual level, we are made aware throughout the film that what we are watching is indeed a story that has already been told and is subject to the narratorial whims of the director. Several times, for example, Emile Hirsch, as Chris McCandless, looks straight into the camera with an extra-diagetic gaze that is aware of the audience, reminding us not only that we are watching a man made film but that it has been constructed especially for our enjoyment and entertainment. These moments are also “intended to invoke the movie’s final shot”, a picture of the real Chris McCandless sitting outside the magic bus, smiling happily (LaSalle). This closing image reminds the audience just how distanced we are, first by Krakauer’s book, then by the film, from the “real” story as it actually happened and just how much narrative control it has been subjected to in the meantime. Therefore, not only are we shown that the wilderness itself is merely a construct but also that any attempt to relate a story about it inevitably involves enmeshing it even further in various human constructs, of which the myth of the frontier is only one. Notes 1. Throughout this essay, when I refer to Into the Wild, I am always referring to Penn’s film unless otherwise stated. It is also worth noting that when I refer to Chris McCandless, I am always referring to the character portrayed in the film and not the character of Krakauer’s novel nor the real life person. This essay focuses on the film as opposed to the book because it is through Penn’s film that the story of Chris McCandless has become well known. Furthermore, Penn makes more of a conscious effort than Krakauer to highlight the film’s links to the Western genre and thus the myth of the frontier takes on more importance in the film. 2. Despite Cronon’s assertion that his claim was “heretical”, it was both later and previously supported by many others. See, for example, J. Callicott, Kate Soper and Carolyn Merchant (although Merchant differs from Cronon in that she believes it is the myth of the garden of Eden that lies at the basis of our modern perception of wilderness rather than the myth of the frontier). 3. Much has been written about the influence, and presence, of the frontier myth in American literature and culture. For the impact of the Frontier myth on literature, see, for example, Bakker and McVeigh . For the influence of the frontier on American culture and politics, see Slotkin. 4. Nash Smith is quoting a speech delivered by Turner in 1896 of which I have been unable to find the original version. 5. For the full, more detailed table of oppositions see Kitses (12). 6. For more about the civilisation process of the lands of the frontier brought about by cowboys see Calder (5). 7. See Raskin for a discussion of the film’s intertextuality in relation to the works of Jack London. Issues of intertextuality are fairly prominent in the film, and would be interesting to investigate further, however, they fall outwith the scope of this essay. 8. Krakauer does, however, make extensive use of Chris’ journals in his book and has done extensive research on the journey that he took, even taking the same journey that he does. FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 9 Works Cited Anderson, Cronlund. Cowboy Imperialism and Hollywood Film. New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 2007. Print. Bakker, Jan. The Role of the Mythic West in Some Representative Examples of Classic and Modern American Literature: the Shaping Force of the American Frontier. Lewiston: E. Mellen Press, 1991. Print. Calder, Jenni. There Must Be a Lone Ranger: the American West in Film and in Reality New York: Taplinger Pub. Co., 1975. Print. Callicott, J.B. ‘The Wilderness Idea Revisited, the Sustainable Development Alternative’. The Great New Wilderness Debate. Ed. J.B Calliot and M.P. Nelson. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1998. Print. Clark, Timothy. The Cambridge Introduction to Literature and the Environment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Print. Cronon, William. “The Trouble with Wilderness: Or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature.” Environmental History 1.1 (Jan. 1996): 7 - 28. Print. Ebert, Roger. “Into the Wild.” Chicago Sun Times. 28 September 2007. Online. [25th Jan 2013] Kitses, Jim. Horizons West. London: British Film Institute, 2004. Print. LaSalle, Mike. “Losing Himself to Nature.” San Francisco Gate. 12 September 2007. Online. [25th Jan 2013] McVeigh, Stephen. The American Western. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2007. Print. Merchant, Carolyn. Reinventing Eden: The Fate of Nature in Western Culture. New York: Routledge, 2004. Print. Morton, Timothy. Ecology Without Nature: Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics. Harvard: Harvard University Press, 2007. Print. Into the Wild. Dir. Sean Penn. Paramount Vantage, 2007. Film. Raskin, Jonah. “Calls of the Wild on the Page and Screen: From Jack London and Gary Snyder to Jon Krakauer and Sean Penn.” American Literary Realism 43.3 (2011): 198 - 203. Print. Schneekloth, Lynda H. “The Frontier Is Our Home.” Journal of Architectural Education 49.4 (May 1996): 210 - 225. Print. Slotkin, R. Gunfighter Nation: The Myth of the Frontier in Twentieth-Century America. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1992. Print. Soper, Kate. What is Nature: Culture, Politics and the Non-Human. Oxford: Wiley,1995. Print. Smith, Henry Nash. “The Frontier Hypothesis and the Myth of the West.” American Quarterly 2.1 (Apr. 1950): 3 - 11. Print. Talbot, William S. “American Visions of Wilderness.” The Bulletin of the Cleveland Museum of Art 56.4 (Apr. 1969): 151- 166. Print. Thoreau, Henry D. Walden: Or, Life in the Woods. London: J. M. Dent & Sons, Limited, 1912. Print. Turner, Fredrick .J. The Frontier in American History, by Frederick Jackson Turner. 1893. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2006. Print. FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 10 Author Biography Having graduated from the University of St Andrews with an MA Hons degree in English and Latin, Laura is currently pursuing a Master’s degree in English Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin where her research interests lie in the varied fields of Renaissance literature, the American novel and film and, recently, ecocriticism.
work_iz2mvk4co5hwxmaih5laaoga2q ---- 49Clarence W. Joldersma doi: 10.47925/76.4.049 PHILOSOPHY OF EDUCATION | Heather Greenhalgh-Spencer, editor © 2021 Philosophy of Education Society Echoes of the Coming Kingdom of God on Earth in America: The Religious Animation of Sarah Stitzlein’s Hopeful Hope in Democracy Clarence W. Joldersma Calvin University Stitzlein’s insightful and compelling book, Learning How to Hope, begins with “[h]ope is at the heart of democracy.”1 This radical idea has great promise for American society, which alone makes the book worth reading. She suggests teaching habits of hope to motivate citizens towards possibility, improving their own lives and that of others. Schooling should be directed towards citizenship, teaching hope “aimed at sustaining and improving democracy.”2 Her idea of citizenship is broad. Not just a legal status in a country which offers political rights and responsibilities, citizenship is a social/political identity connected to public practices. Habits of hope are not enacted in individuals pursuing personal goals of individual well-being, but rather towards public good in the social and political realm. In short, Stitzlein’s book addresses “the role hope plays in democracy and how it might be fostered in schools and civil society.”3 But what form of hope is at the heart of her vision of democracy? Stit- zlein embraces a pragmatist form of hope, a Deweyan inspired hope for a robust democracy—living well together, associatively. It is “a hope that is related to our experiences and our agency (our ability to participate in and impact democratic life).”4 This is an active sense of hoping, embodied in taking responsibility for shaping our lives together. It is tied to the well-being of communities, bringing them together to solve common problems. Stitzlein contrasts her pragmatist hope with hope “tied to faith in God.”5 For her, in formal religions “[t]heolo- gians tend to locate hope in an individual’s faith in a deity who will act on his or her behalf,” where the “desire for a better future…is then allocated based on 50 the faith, belief, and/or practices of the individual, depending on his religious affiliation.”6 She depicts religious approaches as depreciating human agency and fostering passivity, and suggests they are inadequate to animate democracy. She summarizes, “[r]ather than a religious faith, which entails an adherence to God or ideology, pragmatists exhibit faith by being willing to try out ideas and to pursue desired ends even in the face of uncertainty or difficulty.”7 Stitzlein’s contrast with religion echoes Dewey’s distinction in A Common Faith between “religion” (noun) and “religious” (adjective). Religion for Dewey “signifies a special body of beliefs and practices having some kind of institutional organization,” i.e., settled doctrines specifying the parameters of organized religion.8 By contrast, religious for Dewey is a spirit moving beyond the actual into what is possible, as if “[a]n unseen power controlling our destiny becomes the power of an ideal.”9 The religious has a “comprehensiveness and intensity” and “[l]ives . . . are consciously inspired by loyalty to such ideas.”10 Dewey’s idea of religious (adjective) evidently drew on his own religious tradition of Calvinist congregationalism. Dewey’s pastor at First Congregational Church, Lewis Brastow, emphasized “intelligence and social action . . . and reconstruction.”11 Brastow explained, “[o]ne should rise to ‘spiritual manhood’ [but] the rescue and reconstruction are not wholly of individual men in their isolation from their fellows, but of men in their associate life . . . No man ever finds completeness in himself . . . only in our associate life. Men must be won to a common life.”12 Dewey says “[t]he actual religious quality in the experience described is the effect produced, the better adjustment in life and its conditions . . . The way in which the experience operated, its function, determines its re- ligious value. If the reorientation actually occurs, it, and the sense of security and stability accompanying it, are forces on their own account.”13 For Dewey the religious nature of the experience is in its trajectory, a force towards “better adjustment” in living together. Rather than mere accommodation, it is adjustment that signals the experience as religious. What makes it a religious experience is its reorienting power, towards collective security and stability and peace. It also implies an inner change that accompanies a social change. Precisely when this sort of change of attitude occurs, it is a religious change, especially when it 51 “appropriates a person’s life as a whole.”14 The person as a whole self is imagi- natively projected into the ideal of harmonizing with society in associative living. The religious thus involves, Dewey says, “the unity of all ideal ends arousing us to desire and [to] actions.”15 Dewey’s idea of the religious (adjective) has obvious parallels with Brastow’s Calvinist congregationalism. Stitzlein’s pragmatist hope clearly contrasts with what Dewey calls religion (noun). But does it contrast with what he calls religious (adjective)? She invokes Cornel West, someone situated in the pragmatist tradition who brings explicitly religious sentiments into play to encourage agency for change.16 Stitzlein refer- ences West’s idea of meliorism, explaining that “[West’s] meliorism is driven by virtues that enable one to flourish as one faces despair, a drive ‘to try to keep struggling for more love, more justice, more freedom, and more democracy.’”17 She cautions that West isn’t drawing on his religion, for his “prophetic, blues hope is bolstered by habits of courage and Christian love, which is focused less on a savior figure and more on how people can support each other.”18 Perhaps not his religion (noun). However, West’s prophetic pragmatism is self-identified as an “Afro-American revolutionary Christian perspective.”19 West characterizes his prophetic stance religiously, as involving “distinctive Christian conceptions of what it is to be human, how we should act towards one another and what we should hope for.”20 His identification with what he calls the downtrodden involves a “moral vision and ethical norms . . . derived from the prophetic Christian tradition. I follow the biblical injunction to look at the world through the eyes of its victims.”21 His hope is rooted in “the good news of Jesus Christ, which lures and links human struggles to the coming of the kingdom,” the hope which he believes wards off despair and disap- pointment.22 West’s pragmatism is animated by a religious spirit, in Dewey’s adjective sense, where the Christian narrative is “stripped of its static dogmas and decrepit doctrines” while animating “political engagement.”23 However, West’s religious spirit still includes the “truth” of “the Reality of Jesus Christ” which “encourages the putting of oneself on the line.”24 West states that “the resurrection claim essentially refers to the inauguration of a new future, a future that promises redemption and deliverance.”25 West’s religious (adjective) spirit 52 draws on his religion (noun) to animate political actions of the sort Stitzlein values and connects to authentic democracy. West’s pragmatism isn’t an outlier. The Chicago school of pragma- tism—Dewey, Mead, Tufts, Addams—has a similar religious spirit.26 Tröhler argues that American Protestantism and the pragmatist idea of democracy are intimately connected, that “the ultimate aim of Protestantism (and, by exten- sion, Pragmatism) . . . was to build the kingdom of God on earth.”27 Without the doctrinal trappings associated with particular organized denominations in America, these pragmatists drew this decidedly religious sentiment from “the work of authors such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and especially Walt Whitman.”28 Tröhler quotes Dewey as drawing on Whitman especially for “[h]is philosophy of democracy and its relation to religion.”29 The religious vision of “establishing God’s kingdom on earth” was thought to embody particularly “an emphasis on mutual communication as a prerequisite for democratic decision making.”30 As a result, argues Tröhler, Dewey and the Chicago school thought of themselves as academics whose primary goal was “social justice guided by a spirit of democratic Protestantism.”31 In particular, influenced by Whitman and others, for Dewey and the Chicago school “the teaching of salvation was seen as the prerequisite to thinking and acting.”32 This was not, Tröhler makes clear, a concern with settled dogmas and doctrines, but with a religious (adjective) spirit. Nevertheless, for the Chicago pragmatists “[t]he goal of realizing the message of salvation required adjusting politics and education to these conditions in order to respond to them, where adjustment is an active process that requires targeted action.”33 Although not a fixation on dogma, this religious spirit was not devoid of doctrine either. The activities of intelligent cooperation and changing society, moving in the direction of becoming more democratic were not only religious in spirit, but echoed the protestant doctrine of salvation. This echo of salvation included particular religious public roles for humans. In Mead’s words, “Christianity was an infallible motive for an active life, ‘which raises every man to become a King and Priest.’”34 The Calvinist doctrines of the priesthood and kingship of all believers echoed within pragmatism. It lifted up everyday actions of doing good 53Clarence W. Joldersma doi: 10.47925/76.4.049 and looking out for others to be a priestly function, and it lifted up the everyday mutual and active governance to be a kingly function, each mimicking Christ’s priestly and kingly functions. This allowed Mead and the other pragmatists to envision even small everyday actions for change as part of the religious trajec- tory of moving towards a better society. The trajectory of religious progress uncovered “the idea of a true community of interests” as normative, allowing a contrast with personal individual interests. It meant that “a true community of interests” was involved in moving society towards the “realization of the kingdom of God.”35 Although Protestantism as a religious spirit rather than settled dogma was the animating pulse of pragmatism, formal doctrines were nevertheless operative in that spirit. So when Mead states, “[t]he centering of our interest upon riches that pass away involves the absence of all ‘treasure in the Kingdom of Heaven.’ For where your treasure is there will your heart be also [Matthew 6:21],” he’s urging people to put their heart in building the kingdom of God here on earth.36 This was connected to the early American theology of millennialism, Christ’s reign over a kingdom on earth in which it was assumed that “Amer- ica was the kingdom of God.”37 Early America was dominated by views of a 1000-year reign of Christ at the end of time: “[t]he millennial theme was pervasive in [American] religion, where ministers promised millennial states that ranged from the literal heavenly kingdoms of the Calvinist conservatives to the metaphorical earthly states of the dissenters and deists.”38 The idea of millennialism, which had at least two major variations—premillennialism and postmillennialism—meant that what in Christian doctrine was termed “the king- dom of God” was going to occur at a particular location on earth at some time in history. For some—the premilliannials—this was believed to be preceded by a feared apocalyptic war and condemnatory judgment, before Christ would reign in peace and make all well. For others—the postmillennials—Christ’s reign on earth was going to happen after an age (millennium) in which Christians paved the way for that coming. In post-millennium doctrine, human action would Christianize culture, preparing a receptive earth for Christ’s return and reign. Both pre- and post-millennialism played central roles in the self-understanding Echoes of the Coming Kingdom of God on Earth in America54 Volume 76 Isuue 4 of America. In both versions, America was thought to be the place where that kingdom of God was going to occur on earth. In the postmillennial version, “[t]hese political prophets assumed that the founding would usher in a new era of republican peace and happiness. They called this political heaven-on-earth the ‘political millennium.’”39 Among the nations, America was an exceptional country precisely because it was going to be the geographic location where God’s kingdom would come down to earth. Although using markedly different language, and written in a different time, I’m struck by how Stitzlein’s depiction of democracy, and her urging America to engage in a pragmatist hope, echoes not only the Chicago school’s religious spirit but also postmillennialist theological doctrine. Not apocalyptic or dogmatic, her form of hope nevertheless embodies the spirit of the hope- ful hope of postmillennialism. Just like postmillennialists, her hopeful hope is tied up with America as a way of life, a combination of vision and action in America for America. She approvingly quotes pragmatist Colin Koopman, “America, like pragmatism, is an emblematic vision of hope.”40 This phrasing suggests that America is an exceptional nation in its serving as a symbol of hope. Further, Stitzlein suggests that pragmatism involves a profound social imaginary about “how we understood ourselves, our relation to each other, and our role in the world.”41 The “us” here is consistently “us Americans” and the place that we are living is consistently “America.” She references Thomas Paine, who envisioned “a common cause and a new utopian nation,” rooted in a religiously based exceptionalism: “America was God’s country of the future.”42 Of all the countries, it is America that is God’s country; America isn’t just a secular country, but God’s country; and, it isn’t America’s present, but its future, that is being imagined. In this social imaginary, “being an American meant building social and political life anew.”43 The content of Stitzlein’s pragmatist hope is American democracy. She states, “[t]he content of such hoping comes to compose a vision of our shared life together within American democracy, one that springs from the people and is enacted by them, and one that is, importantly, revisable.”44 This echoes not only Paine’s exceptionalism but also Mead’s “true community of 55Clarence W. Joldersma doi: 10.47925/76.4.049 interests” that could move society towards the “realization of the kingdom of God.”45 Stitzlein’s idea of our shared life together in democracy, her broadest form of hope, is connected to a specific nation, America. It is America in the future, in which the shared life together involves “the flourishing of American people.”46 She suggests, “[s]hared objects and objectives of hope may help us build a new conception of America that we can rally around—a sense of who we are and what we stand for that we can take pride in, defend, and advance.”47 This is future-oriented vision of America is one in which more people will feel at home and thrive. Stitzlein’s hopeful hope for democracy echoes postmillen- nialism’s American exceptionalism, that America is (on its way to) the kingdom of God on earth. As stated earlier, central to Stitzlein’s form of hope is meliorism. She quotes Dewey in this context, who describes meliorism as “the idea that at least there is a sufficient basis of goodness in life and its conditions so that by thought and earnest effort we may constantly make things better.”48 But meliorism is central to postmillennialism, which embraces preparation for the Kingdom of God through steady progress of social improvement: “the future depended on the power of steady perseverance,” preparing a path “for the universal reign of the Prince of peace.”49 Postmillennialism centered on humans enacting such meliorative preparation: “the application of human action held out the possibility of incremental progress.”50 The Kingdom of God would be “ushered in by human means.”51 America could bring about its own status as Christ’s kingdom on earth by its own collective incremental effort of associative living. Stitzlein similarly emphasizes a future-directed meliorism, “a belief in the agency of people, trusting that they can have significant impact on the world.”52 Stitzlein’s meliorism is connected to her idea of hope in a robust democ- racy. Democracy is a radical way of living together, associative living. Stitzlein quotes Colin Koopman, “[d]emocracy is the simple idea that political and ethical progress hinges on nothing more than persons, their values, and their actions.”53 She states explicitly that this spirit of democracy, present in America from its founding, lingers to this very day. Central to democracy is the impulse “to create a new and better nation and world,” and “meliorism fits well with democracy Echoes of the Coming Kingdom of God on Earth in America56 Volume 76 Isuue 4 1 Sarah M. Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope: Reviving Democracy through Our Schools and Civil Society (Oxford University Press, 2020), 1, https://www. oxfordscholarship.com/view/10.1093/oso/9780190062651.001.0001/oso- 9780190062651. 2 Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope, 3. 3 Stitzlein, 17. 4 Stitzlein, 3. 5 Stitzlein, 17. 6 Stitzlein, 17 & 21. 7 Stitzlein, 22. 8 John Dewey, A Common Faith (Yale University Press, 1936), 9. 9 Dewey, A Common Faith, 23. 10 Dewey, 27. 11 Siebren Miedema, “Heart and Reason: A Comparison of John Dewey’s as a way of life where our hopes can be nurtured together.”54 Meliorism as a belief in the improvability of the nation is not local and particular but general and national. She quotes Koopman to show that essential to America is such hope-embodied meliorism: “a loss of hope is a loss of America itself.”55 For Stitzlein, the hopeful impulse to create a new and better nation is the animating heartbeat of America itself. She argues that America’s history shows us becom- ing “more just and freer over time,” that despite significant exceptions, “the overall trend of progress.”56 This resonates with the long tradition of religiously hopeful meliorism that comprises postmillennialist thought in America, the re- ligiously-inflected idea of working together towards perfection by slow degrees. Stitzlein’s hopeful hope in democracy echoes the religious spirit of hope in the coming of the kingdom of God to earth in America. 57Clarence W. Joldersma doi: 10.47925/76.4.049 A Common Faith and His ‘Religious’ Poems,” Religious Education 105, no. 2 (2010): 178, https://doi.org/10.1080/00344081003645178. 12 Quoted in Miedema, 178. 13 Quoted in Miedema, 183. 14 Quoted in Miedema, 184. 15 Quoted in Miedema, 185. 16 Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope, 34, 53–54. 17 Stitzlein, 54. 18 Stitzlein, 54. 19 Mark David Wood, Cornel West and the Politics of Prophetic Pragmatism (University of Illinois Press, 2000), 2.revolutionary socialist stance to a later, progressive reformist one. Wood shows how West’s subsequent reworking of Marxism supports his transition from a socialist to a pro- gressivist politics.\”--BOOK JACKET.”,”ISBN”:”978-0-252-02578- 5”,”language”:”en”,”note”:”Google-Books-ID: RVdQ0mhiapUC”,”num- ber-of-pages”:”264”,”publisher”:”University of Illinois Press”,”source”:”- Google Books”,”title”:”Cornel West and the Politics of Prophetic Pragma- tism”,”author”:[{“family”:”Wood”,”given”:”Mark David”}],”issued”:{“- date-parts”:[[“2000”]]}},”locator”:”2”}],”schema”:”https://github.com/ citation-style-language/schema/raw/master/csl-citation.json”} 20 Cornel West, The Cornel West Reader (New York and Great Britain: Civitas Books, 1999), 13. 21 West, The Cornel West Reader, 370. 22 West, 14. 23 West, 177. Echoes of the Coming Kingdom of God on Earth in America58 Volume 76 Isuue 4 24 West, 419. 25 West, 419. 26 Daniel Tröhler, “The ‘Kingdom of God on Earth’ and Early Chica- go Pragmatism,” Educational Theory 56, no. 1 (February 1, 2006): 89–105, https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1741-5446.2006.00005.x. 27 Tröhler, “The ‘Kingdom of God on Earth’ and Early Chicago Pragma- tism,” 93. 28 Tröhler, 94. 29 Tröhler, 95. 30 Tröhler, 95. 31 Tröhler, 97. 32 Tröhler, 99. 33 Tröhler, 100. 34 Quoted in Tröhler, 100. 35 Tröhler, 102. 36 Quoted in Tröhler, 101. 37 Tröhler, 94. 38 Michael Lienesch, “The Role of Political Millennialism in Early American Nationalism,” The Western Political Quarterly 36, no. 3 (1983): 446, https://doi. org/10.2307/448402. 39 Lienesch, “The Role of Political Millennialism in Early American Nation- alism,” 446. 40 Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope, 25. 41 Stitzlein, 24. 42 Stitzlein, 23 (emphasis added). 59Clarence W. Joldersma doi: 10.47925/76.4.049 43 Stitzlein, 23. 44 Stitzlein, 66. 45 Tröhler, “The ‘Kingdom of God on Earth’ and Early Chicago Pragma- tism,” 102. 46 Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope, 67. 47 Stitzlein, 69. 48 Stitzlein, 33. 49 Lienesch, “The Role of Political Millennialism in Early American Nation- alism,” 448-458. 50 Lienesch, 458. 51 Lienesch, 458. 52 Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope, 36. 53 Stitzlein, 37. 54 Stitzlein, 36-37. 55 Stitzlein, 37. 56 Stitzlein, 33.
work_iz3u5kwihrc6febyt7afaes7su ---- S2515045620000097jxx 231..239 Q&A The WRITER’S STUDIO with Richard White Ralph Ellison listened carefully to how people talked. John Steinbeck read his dialogue out loud. Joan Didion confessed to sleeping in the same room with her nearly completed drafts. Historians, too, have special ways of working that are worth sharing. In February 2020, Thomas Andrews and Brooke L. Blower asked the distinguished and wide-ranging scholar Richard White to talk about writing habits, life with books, and arguments with friends. Richard White is a MacArthur Fellow, recipient of the Mellon Distinguished Professor Award, and Emeritus Margaret Byrne Professor of American History at Stanford University, CA, USA. He is the author of numerous award-winning books, including The Republic for Which It Stands: The United States during Reconstruction and the Gilded Age, 1865–1896 (Oxford University Press, 2017); Railroaded: The Transcontinentals and the Making of Modern America (W. W. Norton & Company, 2011); and Remembering Ahanagran: Storytelling in a Family’s Past (Hill & Wang, 2003). His most recent book, built around photographs by his son, Jesse White, is California Exposures (Norton, 2020). Tell us about how you usually write. Do you have any special techniques for getting words onto the page? I formed my writing habits when my son Jesse was three. I was a single parent and too busy teaching to write during the day and too exhausted to write after he went to bed, so I began getting up early—5:30 or 6:00—and writing for an hour or two before I had to get him ready for daycare and later school. I kept this routine up when Jesse was with his mother during the summers, and later when I no longer lived alone with him. I still write every day, except weekends, and these days sometimes even then. The early morning hours alone in my home office with the sun rising have remained my favorite time of the day. These old habits make my writing incremental. I might only spend an hour or two putting words on the page, but once the process starts, ideas constantly percolate in the back of my mind. They come to consciousness throughout the day and night, and I keep a notebook to jot them down. When I go back over these notebooks, I discover that most of my ideas are god awful, but it doesn’t matter. If 2 to 3 percent are workable, I am in business. This incre- mental writing means I do not write quickly or in large chunks, but I do write methodically and usually well ahead of deadline. I rarely start a piece at the beginning. My initial goal is just getting something on the page to which I can react. My first drafts are just a catalyst for new thoughts, which are usually criti- cisms of my initial thoughts on a topic. I revise endlessly, and I am willing to throw everything out and start over. I used to write in longhand. I have been going back over old papers that I am giving to the Stanford archives, and I discovered that my cursive was once clear and legible. Now I can barely read my own handwriting. I moved to a typewriter—an old big black Royal—and then to computers. © The Author(s), 2020. Published by Cambridge University Press Modern American History (2020), 3, 231–239 doi:10.1017/mah.2020.9 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog?doi=10.1017/mah.2020.9&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core At the final stages of a project, I print out my drafts to correct by hand. I read them out loud. I think good prose has a cadence and rhythm. When read aloud, sentences that either lack that cadence or make no sense slap me in the face. This stage is not proofreading (at which I am horrible). I have become too familiar with the rhythms of my own prose and I often fail to detect missing words. I mentally insert words that are not on the page. The final step of correcting my drafts takes place outside my usual writing time. In the early evening on days when it is not my turn to cook, I pour a glass of wine. The wine does not heighten my acuity; it lessens it and thus causes me to pause over patches of work which demand attention. One of the things of which I am proud in my own books and articles is that I try never to skip the hard stuff. My goal is to make what is difficult to understand as clear as possible. A glass of wine slows me down, makes me feel all the bumps and recognize all the wrong turns in my writing. I recognize what I need to revise, not by dumbing these sections down but by making them more direct—clearer and simpler. My attempts to clarify difficult topics and concepts have contributed to my use of analogy and metaphor. I, for reasons I do not know, think by analogy. If something does not make sense to me, I try to make it analogous to something else. As a way of thinking, this can be dangerous, and I try to be careful when using it, but when it does work, it can be a good way to explain a difficult concept. Did you grow up with lots of books? When did you start writing? My father was a voracious reader. He was not an easy man, but he would take me into New York City with him. We would go to used bookstores. I could buy whatever I liked. The books cost a nickel or a dime, sometimes a quarter. I think this began when I was in the second grade and went on until we moved to California when I was in the sixth grade. He told me I had to read whatever I bought; we would not come again until I had finished them. We went into the city, as I recall, once or twice a month. My father never censored what I read, nor did he tell me something I selected was too hard or unsuitable. He believed, and he was right, that if I had to read things I did not understand, I would not buy anything like it again. Among the purchases I remember were Landmark Books, historical novels by Kenneth Roberts and Harold Lamb, Bruce Catton’s histories, Jules Verne novels, and books about baseball. Outside of playing baseball, the thing I wanted most in the world to do was read. My bubbe believed I should be playing outside, so when we visited my grandparents, I would take a vol- ume from the collected works of Mark Twain that my zayde owned and go hide, reading in peace until my grandmother found me. Although my father was Jewish, when we moved to California my mother talked him into allowing me to attend Catholic school because I was in so many fights at the public school I attended. Catholic school meant confronting the Index Librorum Prohibitorum, or “list of for- bidden books,” produced by Vatican censors until 1966. It was the first time anyone had ever tried to prevent me from reading anything. With my father’s encouragement, I began treating the Index as if it were a recommended reading list. It was full of wonderful books, many of 232 The WRITER’S STUDIO with Richard White Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core which we already had at home. The Index led me to read the Three Musketeers and to try Zola. It got me to attempt Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, which I don’t think I ever quite finished. My father had copies of these from the Heritage Press, which would send a new volume every month. I own them still. I also read Nikos Kazantzakis’s The Last Temptation of Christ, which was a wonderful respite from a Catholic education. Long before I started writing, I began telling stories—serial stories. I had three brothers and a sister, and my brothers and I for a while slept in a single room. For reasons I understand all too well now but did not then, my parents would insist we go to bed by eight. It seemed horribly unfair; I could hear my friends playing outside in the summer. They could make us go to bed, but they could not make us sleep. I began telling my brothers stories—I can’t recall them now— but I told them in installments, which forced me to think of the next installment before bedtime. I did not start writing seriously until I went to college. In the process of giving my papers to the Stanford archives, I have rediscovered short stories I wrote then, and what I called a novel that I wrote just after college. I was deceived by winning a college literary prize for one of the stories. They are all horrible. The novel was about a summer and fall I spent on the Nisqually River in Washington at Indian fishing rights encampments. A friend and I had started out to Chicago for demonstrations at the 1968 Democratic convention, but one thing led to another. My friend, who was a Yaqui Indian, took acid at the Sky River rock festival and talked to Rolling Thunder, who was briefly a famous Shoshone shaman, who told him to go to Frank’s Landing on the Nisqually River because his people needed him. I was along for the ride. The novel was a roman à clef; all I did was change the names. I discovered that I could not write dialogue to save my life. What surprises me now is how ear- nest all this early writing was. I can’t believe I wrote it. During these years my friends and I also wrote a set of chronicles about an imaginary place called Oscillia (we had various spellings), told from the point of view of various characters— Baron Vasil Konstantly, Roary Roberts, Full Bore Sloth, Brother Bernard the Beautiful Benedictine, and more. Some of these pieces have not aged well, but at least they were not ear- nest. We were trying to entertain each other rather than impress each other. Some of this work is still pretty funny and revealing about life in the late 1960s and early 1970s. But I will probably seal these until I die. I don’t want to be a guy in his seventies explaining what I had in mind at nineteen. I certainly don’t want anyone thinking all these letters described actual events, or, for that matter, that all they contain was fictional. But I am too busy to explain the difference on the longshot chance that anyone cares. My breakthrough as a writer came when I realized that historians not only didn’t have to write dialogue, but they weren’t allowed to do so. I had found my niche. Which writers do you most admire and why? This could go on forever, so I am going to leave out historians. I have too many friends who are historians. And I am going to leave out Western writers I admire but know or knew—Ivan Doig, Bill Kittridge, James Welch, L. Scott Momaday, and others. I will concentrate on people I know largely on the page. Modern American History 233 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core I will narrow it further by focusing on authors who excel at what I regard as the key to good historical writing: the ability to imagine past worlds. Novelists, essayists, and memoirists can do this. What historians add is degree of difficulty. We cannot invent stuff. So, in no particular order: • John McPhee, for the clarity of his voice and his ability to explain how he writes. He more than any other writer I know has solved the dilemma of being in a book without domi- nating it. He gives his characters room. He is the best writer on writing. • Henry David Thoreau: I would hate him if I had met him. I disagree with much of what he says, and I am pretty sure he was a horrible human being. But this is why I like him as a writer. Nearly two hundred years later his writing can not only enrage a reader but give a clear sense of his persona, if not his actual self. I have never gone back to the text of Walden without not only being surprised but also realizing that the man has made a fool of me in my previous readings. It is the most difficult book in the classic American canon. • Edith Wharton: For subtlety, creating a large picture through an accumulation of details, and for conveying a sense of social mores, there is no one better. • Mark Twain: Anyone as prolific as Twain had to be uneven, but at his best he both touches deep and persistent American traits and is hilarious. There are parts of Roughing It that I still cannot read to classes without cracking up. A man who describes a steamboat as so slow it raced islands is hard not to like. • Joan Didion: Her short pieces in particular are as near perfect as anything that I have read. Again, she is someone whose politics—at least her old politics—and her sensibility are for- eign to me, but her prose seduces. I do not share her opinions of it, but she captures the California world that produced me perfectly. • J. D. Salinger: Some years ago, I was teaching a summer class at the Buffalo Bill Center in Cody. I was staying in the guest house where the bookshelves had not been altered since the 1960s. There was a copy of Catcher in the Rye. I had not read it since I was a teenager. I read it again in a sitting. The book was as compelling as when I first looked at it. I had forgotten what a great writer he was. • Raymond Carver: For a long time, my highest aspiration as a writer was to write as simply and cogently as Carver. For pure writing, I don’t know anything better than his best stories. • Ralph Ellison: The 1940s through the 1960s were a golden age of American fiction, but Invisible Man was in my reading the best of them. Ellison opened a window on a world and a sensibility that I had seen only from the outside. • Molly Keane: Her Good Behaviour raised the level of difficulty in narration as high as pos- sible, and then she nailed it. It is a model of using the unreliable narrator so that the reader knows more than the narrator who is telling the story. • Margaret Atwood: I admire her craft, her productivity, and while I don’t appreciate every- thing she has written as much as others do, I find her best work, such as Alias Grace, remarkable. She can imagine past worlds. • James Baldwin: I inordinately admire his essays. • Italo Calvino: Many writers pretend they can create self-contained worlds. Calvino could, and he did it with amazing economy. • George Saunders: Lincoln in the Bardo is a remarkable book. In making his characters ghosts and spirits, he manages to evoke a nineteenth-century world I recognize. • Derek Walcott: His Omeros, an epic poem, may be my favorite twentieth-century book. It is a thing of beauty and quite moving. It reduces me to awe every time I read it. 234 The WRITER’S STUDIO with Richard White Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core • Charles Portis: Probably the least known great writer of the twentieth century. People mostly know him through the movie version of True Grit, but his novels are a wonder. He could do what I could never do—write dialogue and plot. His books are laugh-out-loud funny. When I discovered he had written things beside True Grit, my wife and I read all of them in a week. • Richard Powers: I admired him before Overstory, but I didn’t think anyone could write a good environmental novel. He wrote a great one. There are others that I am leaving out, Richard Ford, Don DeLillo, and more, but this list is too long already. What writing practices have helped you to be such a productive historian? What do you do when you get stuck? I read somewhere that Ernest Hemingway said always stop writing for the day when things are going well because it will be easier to resume again. This usually works, but inevitably I do get stuck. When I can’t figure out how to move forward, I work on something else. People mistake my productivity for working fast. My books take years, usually around eight to ten years, from conception to production. I have more than four because I am usually working on two, occasionally three, at once. When I get stuck on one project, I switch to another project. I usually find that even if I am not consciously working on a book, it is percolating somewhere in the back of my brain. The solutions to the problems that stymie me are, when they come, usually embarrassingly simple. Do you outline before you write? No. I start in the middle with something I think I know. I have had some ex-students and other friends—Jared Farmer is one—who can plan a book or article in their head, outline it, and then write to the outline. I am incapable of doing that. My ideas are all born prematurely. They can do nothing until I have lavished attention on them. As they grow, they reveal themselves to me. What role do your research methods and techniques for organizing data play in your writing process? I research as I write. Until I begin to write, I do not know what I need to know. I don’t know what all my questions are. As the questions arise, I do research to try to find the answers. I have massive files of notes and xeroxes for my early books, but for the last few books I have gone digital with mixed results. I find it very difficult to keep track of scans that I take on my cellphone and file on my computer because inserting the citation material is so clunky. I tend to group them by source, which makes it harder to reorganize them topically. There is a silver lining to bad organization. I am forced to go through my notes constantly with resulting serendipitous finds. On a second or third reading, things jump out that I missed the first time around. Modern American History 235 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core I had a disaster when I used a footnoting program on Republic. It scrambled everything, so I avoid such programs like the plague. I have gone back to Microsoft Word. Your voice stands out as witty, incisive, and perhaps even quarrelsome. Does this come naturally, or have you had to cultivate it? I cultivate it. I do not have a single voice. When I lecture to a class, I have a different voice than I use in print. When I give an academic lecture at say Harvard, my voice is not the same as when I give a radio interview. I may sound contentious in print, but I have usually toned down what I have first written. I edit out my junkyard dog tendencies. In early drafts, for instance, I often have sections attacking interpretations I disagree with, but I drop them. I am more interested in sketching out my own position. The only valuable advice I have ever given my children and grandchildren is don’t be an ass- hole. Don’t be that guy. In the current moment, this seems like bad career advice, but I still have hope. I try not to be an asshole, even when I have serious disagreements with people. Anyone worth disagreeing with is worth taking seriously, and to take them seriously is to confront their strong arguments. I try not take cheap shots. I try to train my graduate students to do the same. Don’t make the easy attacks. Don’t complain about what an author didn’t do; concentrate on what they did do. Find the strongest part of your opponent’s argument and go for the heart. I find much of the history that I write about quite funny. It took me years to realize that when I had dinner with friends who were historians, the conversations could be hilarious. The past was as full of fools, blunders, and “what-were-they-thinking” moments as is the present. Historians share all this in conversation but usually edit it out of their published work. We want, I guess, to be seen as serious people. I just stopped editing those elements out. Over the course of my career, I have found that graduate school often strips historians of their voice. Many students are accepted because they can write, but then we turn them into bad writers. This is not inevitable. Kate Brown is a writer of enviable skill. I served on her dissertation committee, and I remember other committee members wanting her to eliminate the first person from her dissertation manuscript. I and another committee member success- fully opposed it, but the attempt was revealing. The ideal was bland academic prose. There is also, at least in my experience, pressure on assistant professors to make sure their first book is “academic,” which means the writer does not try to attract a broader audience. Popularity is suspect. I have been remarkably lucky to be a Western historian. It has shaped my work. There are superb writers in other historical fields—Jill Lepore, David Blight, Paul Johnson, Walter Johnson, David Kennedy, and more—but I think the concentration is greatest in Western his- tory. To cite only my cohort, Elliott West, Marni Sandweiss, Johnny Faragher, Patty Limerick, Virginia Scharff, Bill Cronon, Don Worster, Bill DuBuys, Paul Hutton, Neal Foley, and Ramon Gutiérrez can not only write wonderfully, they are also people of strong opinions. When I reg- ularly argue with my friends and colleagues, how can I avoid arguing with my enemies? 236 The WRITER’S STUDIO with Richard White Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core I have had a second gift as a Western historian. Because the cohort of historians who have fol- lowed mine are as good or better writers, it is not a field where you can rest on your laurels. One of my complaints about much but not all popular history (I very much admire the work of Geoff Ward and Ron Chernow, for example) is that they provide a version of what amounts to a national bedtime story. We get the same characters, the same incidents, the same reassuring endings over and over again. Reading most popular history is like reading a book to my grand- daughter, Sofia, who is not yet two. When we reach the end, she always says “again.” In popular history, Sofia’s wishes come true: someone will write the same story again and again and again. Reading over this answer, I guess I am quarrelsome. You have published a textbook, trade books, traditional monographs, and a memoir. Do you think there are themes or threads that run through this diverse body of work? I don’t plan these books. I joke about being a short attention span theater historian who is never able to stay with the same topic, but there is some truth to it. Life is too short to do the same thing over and over again. I move from topic to topic and from century to century, usually from curiosity, sometimes from opportunity, and sometimes from necessity. One of my favorite lines from the movies is when the Wizard of Oz explains how he came to be the Wizard. “Times being what they were, I accepted the job.” This explains a great deal of what I do. I wrote Its Your Misfortune and None of My Own because my daughter Teal was going to col- lege and I needed the money. I wrote Remembering Ahanagran (which is an anti-memoir) because my mother, after trying to read The Middle Ground, said, “I am more interesting than this, why don’t you write a book about me?” My mother, who had a third-grade educa- tion, was proud of my books but never read them. My brother Stephen is a successful mystery novelist. Any one of his books has sold more than everything I have ever written put together. As my mother explained to my son, Jesse, “Your Uncle Stephen writes real books, not like your Dad. People read them.” I wrote The Republic for Which It Stands because my mother, who had dementia, was running out of funds and I needed the money. I wrote my most recent book, California Exposures, because of a bet with my son Jesse, a pho- tographer. I lost the bet, but I ended up with what I think is the most original and unusual of all my books. I have learned to try to think about audiences when I write. Years ago, I was talking with Bill Cronon and Patty Limerick about how you know when a book was done. I said, “It’s done when I am sick of it.” It is the only time in my life when I silenced them. After a while, Bill asked if I thought that was a good practice. I had never considered that. And on reflection, I had to admit that it probably was not. It was better to think about what I intended the book to do and whom I intended to read it. It was not done until I could get no closer to my goals. This, of course, does not mean that my intention is to please my audience. A book that does not arouse argument and opposition is probably not worth writing. Modern American History 237 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Of all your books, which one was the hardest to write? Which one did you enjoy the most? The Republic for Which It Stands was the most difficult book because I had to write within con- straints that did not arise from the material itself. Because it was part of a series, I had to start at a certain point and end at a certain point. That I was also writing about an era that has become the flyover country of American history didn’t help. The Gilded Age eventually fully engaged me, and having David Kennedy as general editor was a great help, but I knew the volume would be an odd fit with the Oxford series whose volumes usually have themes of progress, improve- ment, and overcoming adversity. They end on a triumphant note. Still, I think of Republic as perhaps the most hopeful of my books—a story of struggle and reform under difficult circum- stances. But it is not celebratory in customary ways, and those looking for celebratory books certainly don’t read it as the kind of history they desire. The books I enjoyed writing the most were those I wrote collaboratively with my mother and my son. Remembering Ahanagran went to places my mother did not want to go, but eventually she became the book’s advocate even though it outraged relatives on both the Jewish and Irish sides of my family. The old joke about Irish Alzheimer’s—“you forget everything but the grudges”—could just as easily be a Jewish joke. I have relatives who went to their graves without ever speaking to me again. Fair enough, I come from the same family and can hold a grudge, too. Working with my mother was a wonder. She taught me a lot about history, memory, and how people make sense of their lives. I anticipated that working with my son Jesse on California Exposures would be fraught, and sometimes it was, but most of the time I enjoyed it immensely. He taught me how to see. I really had no knowledge of how photographers work. He saw photographs where I saw noth- ing. Once he made the photograph, I saw stories. I was sorry to see the project end. I hope I live long enough to do another one with him. Do you share your drafts with anyone? What is your revision process? Before multiple sclerosis hurt her eyesight, my wife Beverly read everything I wrote. She was ruthless. She is not a good writer, but she was a wonderful reader and an editor with an unerr- ing eye for what was unclear, flabby, and unnecessary. I miss her help. I send drafts to friends, particularly good friends who do not hesitate to tell me what is bad or inaccurate. Most recently, Jenny Price was invaluable in critiquing the early drafts of California Exposures. Hollywood has script doctors. Jenny is a book doctor. Her solutions were elegant and clear. I have also had a series of good editors, some of them legendary—Arthur Wang and Betty Ballantine, who recently died. I gather that a lot of historians do not like to be edited, but I appreciate all the help my current editors, Steve Forman at Norton and Susan Ferber at Oxford, can give me. Have you tried to teach your students—especially your graduate students—about writing and, if so, how? I teach writing by cruelty. My dissertation advisor, Vernon Carstensen, critiqued me mercilessly as a graduate student, and I appreciated it so much that I replicate it now. I am not proud of being cruel, but I have found that the best way to teach is by detailed and very direct criticisms of multiple drafts. I recognized a long time ago that to become a professor is to 238 The WRITER’S STUDIO with Richard White Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core consign yourself to a lifetime of reading bad prose. I find much academic writing—and a lot of popular writing—almost physically painful to read. When my graduate students give me such writing, I get irritable. I don’t want my graduate students producing more of it. I want them to become their own toughest critics. What I want them to do is fairly simple. I want an argument. I want only relevant details: “Why are you telling me this?” I want clear topic sentences and transitions. I want signposts to remind readers where they are going and why. I want like material grouped with like material. I want active verbs. My colleague, Marni Sandweiss, once told me of her pride in having written sev- eral pages without the verb to be. This made me envious and amazed. I often cannot do that for a paragraph. I am forgiving of mistakes the first time a graduate student makes them, but I do not want to see the same mistakes a second time. Would you change anything about the books you’ve already written if you rewrote them now? Of course I would, and of course I won’t. Life is a litany of mistakes and failures. You do the best you can and move on. I would never go back and rewrite earlier work. I am too interested in what I am doing now—and at my age there is a growing sense of desperation—not enough time to finish what I have started. If I did rewrite, I would cut, cut, and cut some more, taking out inessential material—no matter how much I am interested in it—to allow what is left room to breathe. I remember Arthur Wang telling me that since people read less these days, he would make the books he published shorter. If you hadn’t become a historian, what do you think would you have done instead? I have no idea. Once I realized that I was not going to be a major league shortstop, life reduced to a list of second bests. I wanted to be a novelist or short story writer, but I was horrible. Historian was next. Thank God that mostly worked out. Modern American History 239 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core The WRITER'S STUDIO with Richard White Tell us about how you usually write. Do you have any special techniques for getting words onto the page? Did you grow up with lots of books? When did you start writing? Which writers do you most admire and why? What writing practices have helped you to be such a productive historian? What do you do when you get stuck? Do you outline before you write? What role do your research methods and techniques for organizing data play in your writing process? Your voice stands out as witty, incisive, and perhaps even quarrelsome. Does this come naturally, or have you had to cultivate it? You have published a textbook, trade books, traditional monographs, and a memoir. Do you think there are themes or threads that run through this diverse body of work? Of all your books, which one was the hardest to write? Which one did you enjoy the most? Do you share your drafts with anyone? What is your revision process? Have you tried to teach your students---especially your graduate students---about writing and, if so, how? Would you change anything about the books you've already written if you rewrote them now? If you hadn't become a historian, what do you think would you have done instead?
work_j4ao34dotbhfjda3rotxdnitni ---- Research Poster 36 x 48 - B Endangered Data Preservation Organizing and Visualizing Thoreau’s Botanical Observations Jodi Coalter, MLIS University of Maryland, College Park METHODS AND MATERIALS CONCLUSIONS DISCUSSION REFERENCES ABSTRACT CONTACT Jodi Coalter University of Maryland, College Park Email: jcoalter@umd.edu Phone: 301-405-9147 The aim of this work was to create a usable data set from botanical data gathered in the 1800’s by Henry David Thoreau for visualization and scientific purposes. A special focus was to preserve the work completed by Ray Angelo in his botanical index for future work. A Python script was written to scrape each HTML page on Angelo’s website to gather the botanical information and index information provided. The data has been useful in drawing out patterns in Thoreau’s exploration of botany. Specific plants are watched more closely, though his interest wandered throughout the botanical world. Future data work will be needed or helpful, including attribution of dates to specific pages and volumes, as well as updated botanical terms.. Further research is needed to complete the data sets. For example, dates (specially month and year) would be helpful in determining what Thoreau cited in winter months vs summer months. In addition, Ray’s index uses the Grey’s Manual of Botany 8th Edition. Since its use, other editions have been printed, and +plant taxonomy has continued to improve. Updating botanical terms will be required. Photograph by Herbert Gleason https://www.walden.org/collection/journals/ SAMPLE TRANSCRIPTION Feb 13th Skated to Sudbury. A beautiful summerlike day. The meadows were frozen just enough to bear-- -- Examined now the fleets of ice flakes close at hand. They are a very singu- lar & interesting phenomenon which I do not remember to have seen I should say that when the water was frozen about as thick as pasteboard--a violent gust had here & there broken it up & while the wind & waves held it up on its edge--the increasing cold froze it in seemed for the flakes firmly. So it were for the most part turned one way--i.e. standing on one side you saw only their edges on another--the N E or S W--their--sides-- They were for the most part of a triangular form--like a shoul- der of mutton? sail slightly scolloped--{drawing} like shells They looked like a fleeet of a thousand mack- eral fishers under a press of The Data Path Angelo, R. (2017, May 4, 2017). Botanical index to the journal of Henry David Thoreau. Retrieved from http://www.ray-a.com/ThoreauBotIdx/index.html Primack, R. B., & Miller-Rushing, A. J. (2012). Uncovering, collecting, and analyzing records to investigate the ecological impacts of climate change: A template from Thoreau's Concord. BioScience, 62(2), 170- 181. doi:10.1525/bio.2012.62.2.10 Figure 3 & 4: Example of Thoreau’s use names normalized by current Genus. RESULTS Figure 1: Distribution of citations by volume Figure 2: Current Genus by volume This work was completed with significant help from Dr. Peter Hook, Cornell University, and Dr. Timothy Bowman, Wayne State University. Acknowledgments Example journal page from Thoreau’s diary. Ray Angelo’s botanical index of Thoreau’s journals. http://www.ray-a.com/ThoreauBotIdx/ http://www.ray-a.com/ThoreauBotIdx/
work_j6syk5geizcmhbdsifj7dum2wy ---- Dustin Beall Smith the Invisible Dead And when the last red Man shall have perished [. . .] these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe. [. . .] the White Man will never be alone. Attributed to Chief Seattle in 1854 At the time of my birth, in April 1940, my grandfather sent my mother— his youngest daughter—a letter in which he expressed the hope that I would inherit the spirit of my famous ancestors. one of the ancestors he had in mind was my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother, hannah Emerson Dustin, born hannah Webster Emerson on December 23, 1657, in the frontier village of haverhill, Massachusetts. hannah spent the first thirty-nine years of her life in relative anonymity. At age twenty she married thomas Dustin, of Portsmouth, New hampshire, and over the next nineteen years she gave birth to eleven children, three of whom died of natural causes. then, on March 15, 1697, one week after her twelfth child, Martha, was born, a band of approximately twenty-five Indians (a ragtag mix of Nipmucks and Penacooks that included women and children) attacked haverhill, looting and burning the homes of Protestant settlers. twenty- seven people, well over one-third of the town’s population, died in the attack. the dead included thirteen children. hannah, along with her new- born infant, Martha, and her fifty-one-year-old midwife, Mary Neff, were dragged from the Dustin residence and taken captive. thomas, who had been working in a field behind their cabin at the time of the raid, man- aged to shepherd eight of the couple’s nine children to the safety of the nearby military garrison on Packer hill, but he could do nothing to protect hannah and baby Martha. river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 112 Fearing reprisal by the militia, the raiding party retreated from haverhill with thirteen hostages in tow. Smoke from the burning town had alerted other settlers, making stealth essential to the retreat. When little Martha began to bawl with hunger, one of the braves yanked the infant from hannah’s arms, grabbed the child by her ankles, and brained her against the trunk of an apple tree. this accounts for (if it doesn’t entirely justify) what hannah did several weeks later. the Indians and their hostages continued on foot through the woods, heading northwest toward the Merrimack river. During the twelve-mile journey that first day, thirty-nine-year-old hannah trudged along wear- ing only one shoe. Everything conspired against her progress—the muddy ground, patches of swampland, pockets of deep snow—not to mention the taunting and prodding of the captors. Several other hostages, unable to keep up, were killed and scalped on the spot, their bodies left for scaveng- ing animals, as baby Martha’s had been. the first of the French and Indian Wars was coming to a close. the Indians (who had recently been converted to Catholicism) thought of their captives as slaves and of themselves as masters. Assuming they could reach the safety of New France (now Canada), they planned to strip the hostages naked, forcing them to run a gauntlet of tomahawk-wielding men, wom- en, and children. Even if hannah and Mary were to survive the gauntlet (many didn’t), it was understood that their master would then sell them to the highest bidder—probably a French priest who would try to convert the women to Catholicism. For hannah’s master, whose name remains unknown, there was both sport and profit to be gained by keeping the women alive, which may explain why he seems not to have been worried that traveling with these two particular women—Mary, who had lost her husband to Indians sixteen years earlier, and hannah, who now assumed her whole family had died in the haverhill raid—was like traveling with two rattlesnakes in a basket. For fourteen days and nights, the Indians led their captives in a circu- itous route, north along the river, closer and closer to New France. hannah was plagued with painfully engorged breasts and, according to at least one account, still bleeding from her womb. She clung quietly to her Protestant faith. (“In my Affliction, God made his Word Comfortable to me,” she would later write.) her master forbade her and Mary to pray, even though he and the other “popish” Indians prayed aloud in Latin, three times daily. Smith: the Invisible Dead 13 he informed hannah that he himself had once been accustomed to pray- ing in English but that now he found the French way better. hannah patiently awaited her chance to escape, secretly plotting to steal one of the Indian children—a boy—as payback for Martha. She also cultivated the friendship of a fourteen-year-old fellow captive, Samuel Lennardson. Sam’s master, a brave named Bampico, had snatched Sam from his family in a raid on Worcester, Massachusetts, one year earlier. Sam had acquired hunting skills from Bampico and had come to enjoy living as an Indian. But, as the days dragged on, hannah’s maternal talents began to engender a profound homesickness in the teenage boy. Sam would soon become the third rattlesnake in the basket. on March 30, fifteen days after the haverhill raid and seventy-five miles closer to New France, the Indians and their captives arrived at the conflu- ence of the Contookook and Merrimack rivers, just north of what is now Concord, New hampshire. the watery intersection served as a staging area for Indians. Canoes, which were considered communal property, sat on the riverbank, free for the taking. It was here that the Indians split into two parties, roughly half the band continuing upriver on foot, hoping to encounter a larger war party—a rendezvous they had narrowly missed the day before. they took all but three of the hostages with them. hannah’s master, along with Bampico, three Indian women, and seven Indian children, remained behind to guard hannah, Mary, and Sam. they decided to camp for the night on Sugar Ball Island (now called Penacook), a two-acre sugar bush in the middle of the Merrimack river. they made the short crossing to the island in four or five canoes. the island’s existing wigwams and fire pits facilitated their preparations; kindling and toma- hawks lay scattered about. hannah’s master informed her that he planned to catch up with the larger war party the following day. then he shouldered his flintlock rifle and relaxed his guard. Late that afternoon, as the sun dropped behind the island’s bare-limbed sugar maples, hannah plotted their escape. First she and her cohorts would have to dispatch five adults and six of the seven children. She persuaded Sam to ask Bampico how best to kill a man with a tomahawk. Bampico, eager to teach his young protégé, answered Sam’s question by pointing at his own temple: Hit him here, hard. When Sam returned to the women with this information, hannah whispered her plan of attack. Each of them was to find and conceal a river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 114 tomahawk then wait until midnight, when the Indians would be sound asleep. they would have to kill their captors quickly, beginning with the two men. hannah assigned specific victims to both Sam and Mary and let them know which boy was to be spared. It fell to Mary to kill the boy’s mother. I picture hannah tossing more kindling on the fire and pulling a shawl around her shoulders, and I can hear the waters of the swollen river gur- gling in the evening air. I have always marveled at the resolve she brought to her dilemma. She knew her enemies, and when “God’s word became comfortable” to her, she felt certain she would be able to accomplish the awful deed. Such clear resolve is what her master seems to have lacked. having once been a devout Protestant himself, he had stayed in the house of the famous reverend rowlandson of Lancaster, before finding employ- ment as a mercenary with the French, who then pressured him to convert to Catholicism. his head must have been swimming with foreign alle- giances. Whether he and Bampico were drinking British cyder or French rhum on the night of March 30 is not clear. But my guess is that both men must have been utterly exhausted trying to maintain their dignity atop the shifting cultural and religious sands. too exhausted that night, in any case, to post a guard. too distracted to recognize that hannah’s quiet determi- nation masked a primal urge for revenge; or that midwife Mary’s passivity belied her recent resolve to kill Indian women and children; or that Sam’s choice to sit by the fire with two older women of his own race—rather than chew the fat with the braves—signaled a newfound need to go home. Around midnight the three captives crawled out from beneath their bedding to begin their grisly work. Sam probably whacked Bampico on the temple, a blow that would have instantly damaged the temporal lobe of his brain, the region that controls hearing and speech. hannah killed her master in a similar fashion. Mary valiantly hacked away at the mother of hannah’s replacement child, but the badly cut-up woman somehow escaped in the darkness with the little boy. (She and her child later joined the larger band of Indians; her fate is described in another captive story.) hannah and Sam may have shared in the killing of the remaining two women. Most accounts imply that hannah finished off the children by herself. the whole business could not have lasted more than a minute or two. there would have been a lot of thrashing and jerking in the night—punc- Smith: the Invisible Dead 15 tuated by the muffled thwacks of tomahawks cleaving flesh and bone. taken out of sleep so abruptly, the children may not even have had time to cry out. the peaceful sound of the river would have taken over again by the time hannah gained possession of her master’s flintlock and toma- hawk. She and Mary and Sam gathered a few provisions, carried them to the shoreline and scuttled all but one of the birch-bark canoes. As they were easing the surviving boat into the swift and chilly current, it occurred to hannah that no one back home would believe their story. She decided to return to the scene and scalp the Indians—all of them. Bampico had taught Sam how to take scalps. Now Sam showed hannah how to make the first crescent-shaped cut, high on Bampico’s own fore- head, right at the hairline—and how to yank the scalp back with each subsequent slice. hannah wrapped the bloody mementos in a piece of knitted cloth that the Indians had stolen from her loom during the initial raid. then the three of them returned to the canoe, shoved off from the shore, and glided quietly down the Merrimack river toward haverhill. Sleeping in shifts, they returned home without incident in several days. three weeks later in Boston, hannah received a twenty-five-pound bounty for her share of the ten scalps. Mary and Sam received twelve pounds, ten shillings each. the reverend Cotton Mather witnessed the reward and recorded the details of hannah’s story in his Magnalia Christi Americana. Sam returned a hero to his hometown of Worcester. hannah resumed her family life with thomas and their eight surviving children and built a new house on the ashes of the old one. At age forty she gave birth to her thirteenth child, Lydia. hannah died in 1729, at age seventy-two. Nearly a century and a half later, in 1874, a permanent monument honoring her bravery was erected on Penacook Island. She can be seen to this day, holding her left arm high in the air, brandishing a fistful of scalps. Another statue, depicting her in a long dress and wielding a hatchet, is one of haverhill’s modern-day tour- ist attractions. It stands at the edge of GAr Park, a startling reminder that haverhill was not always the peaceful and thriving metropolis it has since become. Artifacts of hannah’s captivity—her one shoe, her master’s flint- lock rifle and tomahawk—are on display in haverhill’s public library. her story has survived despite a good deal of moral scrutiny, perhaps because it portrays a time when Indians and whites held nearly equal sway on the river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 116 eastern edge of the continent, each side having something to offer the oth- er; each side able to dish out its own brand of cruelty and barbarity. Even today hannah’s story seems safely cocooned in moral inevitability. that she trespassed on the sacred ground of motherhood by killing children can be explained away by pointing to her belief that her own family had been murdered. What today might be thought of as lawless revenge was, to the Protestant ethic of her day, God’s justice: if Indian raids were part of God’s plan, so too was her escape from captivity—at whatever cost. her captors certainly shared that ethic, albeit with a Catholic slant, and “justice” has served as justification, ever since. henry David thoreau, after recounting hannah’s story in A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, avoids any moral judgment. Writing in 1839, 142 years after hannah’s captivity and nearly four decades before her monument was built, he muses: “this seems a long while ago, and yet it happened since Milton wrote his Paradise Lost. [. . .] From this September afternoon, and from between these now cultivated shores, those times seemed more remote than the dark ages” (261). the French and Indian War, a series of battles fought between England and France on American soil, continued for another sixty-six years after hannah’s escape—until the decade before the American revolution. haverhill was attacked again while hannah was still alive, but the maraud- ers avoided the Dustin house. Apparently her decision to scalp her victims had made her something of an Indian herself, and her fierce reputation acted as a kind of talisman—Big Medicine, so to speak. In any case, there was safety enough in her household to assure that her thirteen-year-old son Nathaniel would grow up to wed Mary Ayer, whose son John Dustin would wed Mary Morse, whose son timothy Dustin would wed Eunice Nutting, whose son Moody Dustin would wed Lucy Cowles, whose son William Dustin would wed Sarah Bentley, whose daughter Lucy Jane Dustin, after marrying Seth revere, would give birth to my maternal grandfather Clinton tristram revere, at whose artificial knee I first heard hannah’s story. C. t., as my grandfather revere was called, lost his right leg, at age twenty- two, to a grizzly bear during a Wyoming hunting trip in November 1890. the way he told it, a member of his hunting party shot a bear cub, and the cub’s angry mother mauled C. t. before anyone could shoot the bear. C. t.’s Smith: the Invisible Dead 17 companions carried him out of the woods and into town, where his leg was sawed off above the knee in a makeshift operation that took place on a bar top in some backwater saloon. he said the bartender gave him “god-awful rot-gut” to kill the pain. My mother, born harriett Winn revere, was the youngest of C. t.’s four children. By the time I came into the world, he was already an old man. he wore a prosthesis made of wood, held tight to his leg stump by a strap that went around his waist and over his shoulder. I clearly recall standing, at age five, next to his leather armchair in the book-lined study of his Westfield, New Jersey, home, listening to the story of the bear attack and the tale of hannah Dustin. he told a sanitized version of hannah’s story; all the Indians were fierce braves, and there was no mention of selling scalps. I remember fingering his crude knee-joint, the outline of which was visible beneath his pants leg. Even then, at age seventy-seven, C. t. was a robust man, still ambitious and full of life, the way you want a grandfather to be. Wire-rim spectacles added to his powerful aura, suggesting an active intellect. he had been born in San Francisco in 1868 and attended public schools there. Both his parents, native New Englanders, had died when he was twelve, and he and his brother, Charles, were left in the care of an abusive, pipe-smoking grandmother. one day, at age fourteen, after his grandmother slapped him too hard, C. t. ran away from home—for good. Like many self-made men of that era, he left a murky trail on his way to success. It is likely that he attended college, since he emerges first as a newspaper man—a drama critic and drama editor for The Washington Post. By then he had married harriett Winn, who hailed from Savannah, Georgia. C. t. and harriett had their first of four children, Anne, in 1903. In his capacity as a journalist, C. t. befriended a stockbroker named Daniel J. Scully, known on Wall Street as the King of the Cotton Market. As a consequence of this friendship, C. t. applied his considerable rhetori- cal skills to defend the structure of the free-market economy. Eventually, he himself became a broker and a partner in the firm of Laird, Bissell, and Meeds, whose office was at 120 Broadway in New York City. he soon became known on the street as King Cotton’s Boswell and the Shakespeare of the Cotton Market, a reputation that resulted chiefly from a series of essays published in a newsletter called Cotton and Other Problems. C. t. used this venue to hold forth on all manner of political, economic, and philo- river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 118 sophical issues. the newsletter was widely read and admired, even by people who cared nothing about cotton but especially by readers who admired C. t. as a “patriot”—a euphemism in those days for “anti–New Dealer.” on December 29, 1890, about a month after C. t. lost his leg to the griz- zly bear and at a place not too distant from the scene of the amputation, the U.S. Seventh Cavalry fatally gunned down 153 mostly unarmed Sioux Indians in an episode that would later become known as the Massacre at Wounded Knee. the dead included sixty-two women and children. this shameful event, which took place in the newly declared state of South Dakota, marked the end of armed Indian resistance to the white man’s presence on the Great Plains, effectively removing the last barrier to west- ward expansion. Whether twenty-two-year-old C. t. revere was still in the region at the time of the massacre, I can’t say. But I know for a fact that a twenty- two-year-old Sioux Indian named John White Wolf was summoned to the bloody scene right after it occurred. the young man, attracted by an offer of warm clothing and insulated boots, had recently signed on as a police- man at the nearby Pine ridge Indian Agency. Among the wounded he helped evacuate that day was a fourteen-year-old girl named Alice Waters, whose parents had been killed in the massacre. John married Alice soon afterwards, at the request of her uncle. At some point the couple converted to Catholicism, and over the course of the next half century, John and Alice raised their children and grandchildren in the harsh environment of the Pine ridge Indian reservation, a 2,778,000-acre tract in southwest South Dakota noted for its Badlands. they lived peacefully on a portion of land allotted to John by the U.S. government and survived, at least in part, on government-issued commodities. In his later years John White Wolf became a tribal chief. his wise advice about tribal matters was eagerly sought by other members of his tribe, as well as by U.S. government officials, just as my grandfather’s advice about the fluctuations in world cotton prices was sought by investors in the commodi- ties market. In the spring of 1940, at age seventy-two, White Wolf embarked on a road trip to Washington, DC, with three fellow chiefs. the four men were scheduled to testify before a congressional committee with regard to the upcoming fiftieth anniversary of the Massacre at Wounded Knee. Smith: the Invisible Dead 19 At noon on April 12, 1940, twenty-two hours before I was born, John White Wolf was relaxing on the lookout deck of the restaurant at Grand View Point, in Pennsylvania. Gazing eastward, in the direction of Gettysburg, where I now live and teach, he would have been able to see across seven counties and into the states of Maryland and West Virginia. Maple buds were beginning to redden in valleys where the grass was already green; small patches of snow still clung to wooded hilltops. Back home, on the Pine ridge Indian reservation, this month was called the Moon of red Grass returning. It cannot be said with any certainty what White Wolf had to eat for lunch that cold spring day—no autopsy was ever performed—but a hot dog is a good bet; it would have been easy on his dentures. At the coroner’s inquest four days later, the driver of White Wolf ’s car, Frank Short horn, forty-two, would testify from his hospital bed: “We stopped on top of the last hill, the last big hill, I don’t know the name, the boys had coffee and lunch there.” the two other “boys” were thomas Fast horse, fifty-six, and Arthur Bone Shirt, sixty-eight. the four Indians had been driving from Pine ridge for almost a week. that morning, they had left the town of Ligonier, Pennsylvania, thirty-five miles to the west, after resolving a persistent steer- ing problem. the Lincoln highway east of Ligonier is a tedious stretch of road that includes a steep climb to an elevation of 2,464 feet. As they crested the top of that last big hill, the four men would have seen before them the famous S.S. Grand View hotel and restaurant, a scaled-down replica of an ocean-going steamship, perched precariously on the rocky mountainside. It is possible that when John White Wolf saw this preposterous con- struction, he let out a reflexive “Aho!” and that his exclamation was echoed by his companions, as when some truth is uttered in a sweat-lodge cere- mony. But whatever amazement or mirth a mountaintop steamship might have occasioned in the mind of the four Plains Indians, there was nothing funny about the ninety-degree turn just ahead or the sharp descent that followed it. Short horn nosed the 1936 Ford tudor sedan into one of the restaurant parking spaces in front of a cliff-side stone wall. the four men stepped out and stretched, no doubt aware of the impression they were making on other travelers. though attired in street clothes, they wore beads and head- river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 120 bands, and they looked exactly the way old Indians from the Plains were supposed to look—flat-faced, weather-beaten, ruddy. Standing on the lookout deck, White Wolf did not need the tourist map to know that the nation’s capital lay quite some distance beyond the visible horizon, but he might have been surprised to learn that Gettysburg could not be seen from where he stood. he and the boys hoped to visit the Civil War battlefield before day’s end. of course he knew firsthand about battle- field carnage. he had no idea how he was going to describe to Congress his tribe’s encounter with the U.S. Seventh Cavalry at Wounded Knee, but he would not be at a loss for details: women and children huddled in bloody heaps and scattered along a winding gulch. A baby sucking at its dead mother’s breast. Frozen flesh and blood strewn like cobwebs across the hard mud and dry grass. And then that eerie, silent snow that had come out of nowhere and covered everything. Maybe he would quote Black Elk, the famous medicine man, who had called the massacre “the end of a beauti- ful dream.” White Wolf couldn’t say that he had fully registered the horror then, at age twenty-two. he couldn’t say he had processed it yet, fifty years later. ten U.S. Army soldiers had received Congressional Medals of honor for their murderous deeds that day. Why then, today, did some small part of him thrill at the prospect of testifying in Washington and perhaps even meeting President Franklin D. roosevelt? Why was he, like Crazy horse, Sitting Bull, red Cloud, and Big Foot before him, agreeing to yet another “dialogue” with the wasichu? It was the fate of the vanquished, of course. his appearance before the Committee on Indian Affairs promised to be a workaday bit of government propaganda. house resolution 953 sought to “liquidate the liability” of the United States for the massacre. he and his fellow Lakotas could expect to be called in front of the committee at 10:00 a.m. and dismissed before lunch. Keeping the memory of Wounded Knee alive would help his tribe obtain reparations from the government. on the other hand, by resurrecting the pathetic defeat of his people, he risked trumpeting their insignificance. the entire Sioux nation did not now number as many souls as were wasted in a single day at the Battle of the Somme, in 1916. Who in 1940 cared about 150 dead Indians in a ditch? Just two decades earlier, the trenches of Europe had absorbed the blood of more than eight million men. the four Indians browsed the gift-shop displays of international crafts. Smith: the Invisible Dead 21 Bone Shirt purchased an authentic Mexican sombrero. White Wolf, who had promised his grandchildren patent leather shoes and Keds, kept his spending money in his pocket. After lunch and coffee, they returned to the car, and Short horn took the wheel again. White Wolf stepped aside, allowing Bone Shirt to crawl in back, followed by Fast horse. Both men settled in, taking advantage of the padded armrests and the roominess afforded by the bustle-back luggage trunk. I can almost see White Wolf as he eased himself onto the front seat, unhappy perhaps that the seat springs poked at his buttocks through the corded upholstery. Short horn hit the starter button and pumped the floppy accelerator pedal. When the V-8 engine caught hold, he depressed the clutch, and with wide swings of the floor-mounted stick shift, finally found reverse. he waited while a trailer truck that had just topped the hill whined down and around the bend in low gear, followed closely by two cars. then he released the emergency brake, backed out into the road, shifted straight into neutral and coasted downhill to save gas. Divided by a single white line, the Lincoln highway dropped steeply from Grand View Point for about a quarter of a mile, then curved sharply to the right, passing close by a stone building used as a shot factory during the revolutionary War. It was the first of many such nine-degree slopes and sharp curves and one of the reasons Short horn would later say, “this is the worst road we ever came to.” Watching Lincoln highway unfold before him, White Wolf would have had time to consider the arc of his life. the Massacre at Wounded Knee had brought John and Alice together, defined their lives, really. Alice still bore scars on her left leg and back, which she obligingly showed her grand- children whenever they asked. John might well have reflected that this mission to Washington was the consummate act of his life. on the other hand, he might have thought nothing of the kind. he might simply have taken a nap. the road was like a roller coaster now. the whining trailer truck never got out of first gear and the driver was braking constantly, leaving behind a wake of diesel smoke tinged with the odor of hot rubber. At the top of each rise, Short horn edged over the centerline for a better look ahead, but all he could see was another impassable stretch. It had now taken about fifteen minutes to go two-and-a-half miles. At this rate, they wouldn’t get river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 122 to Gettysburg until after dark. roads were never this congested on the res- ervation. You could really step on it out there. they started into a big dip. Short horn hung back, waiting for the truck to make the grade up ahead. then he floored it and crested the next hill at forty miles an hour, only to find the opposite lane crowded with west- bound traffic. they headed down a gentle slope bordered on both sides by pasture. Short horn was tempted to kill the engine and coast, but he didn’t want to miss a chance to pass. the highway curved right, then left, then rose and dropped so sharply his stomach felt queasy. then it descended into the shadow of a large hill on the south side. Another right, another drop, another left, and another drop. hawks lost altitude this way if they weren’t in a mood to dive. one more stomach-flutter dip in the road, then a leveling-off. the car directly behind the trailer truck pulled out first, and the second car fol- lowed, close on its tail. Both cars managed to scoot past the truck and squeeze back in line just before the next turn. Short horn was forced to wait. he checked the odometer. they’d been stuck behind this truck for four-and-a-half miles already; he was feeling pressured to make a move. Pulling close behind the trailer, he wove in and out, warming up for the next chance to pass. he noticed looseness in the steering again and was going to mention it to White Wolf, but the old man was staring grimly ahead, as though he already knew. At exactly 4.7 miles from Grand View Lookout, the road curved sharply left and then leveled out across the valley. this was it, now or never. Short horn veered into the oncoming lane and floored it. At the same time, the driver of the trailer truck shifted into high gear, speeding up. Short horn clutched the steering wheel, fighting the sedan’s tendency to oscillate side- ways. he was halfway past the trailer when the real trouble began: three hundred yards ahead, a flatbed pickup, carrying a horse, popped up from a dip in the road. Seeing the pickup, the trailer-truck driver gave ground. Short horn eased up too, unintentionally boxing himself into the left lane. In a panic he floored it again. thomas Fast horse sat forward suddenly, gripping the back of White Wolf ’s seat. the driver of the approaching flatbed, Calvin Leonard, recognizing instantly that whoever was headed his way was out of control, skidded into the guardrail and tried to jump from his vehicle on the passenger side. the horse in back reared up against its ropes. the Smith: the Invisible Dead 23 Indians’ sedan, going sixty now, cleared the trailer truck with room to spare, but instead of cutting back into the right lane, it swerved left, slamming hard into the flatbed’s left front fender. the collision came midway back on Bone Shirt’s side of the car, pounding him against his armrest. White Wolf was thrown hard against Short horn. the car then caromed across the road and smashed into the south guardrail. White Wolf, rebounding against his now dislodged seat, somehow managed to hang on as the vehicle clipped three guardrail posts and tore out forty feet of steel cable. then the car leapt the shoulder and flipped. As White Wolf tumbled with the momentum of the event, his head struck the windshield, a split second before the vehicle severed a telephone pole and slammed into a concrete abutment. Four members of a road crew, working in front of Colvin Wright’s place, several hundred yards to the east, dropped their scythes and ran toward the accident. Someone in the house called the police and then dialed the Pate Funeral home for an ambulance. thomas Fast horse was found unconscious, jammed against his side window. Arthur Boneshirt, his ribcage crushed, lay heaped on the ceiling of the overturned car, the Mexican sombrero flattened beneath him. Frank Short horn hung upside down, his pelvis wedged between the flattened steering wheel and the seat, his collarbone snapped, blood gushing from a head wound. the V-8 engine was racing, the rear artillery-spoke wheels spinning madly, like a wind-up toy. Gasoline dripped from the ruptured fuel line. the trailer-truck driver, harvey rummell, held a small fire extinguisher at the ready while Calvin Leonard, ignoring his own minor injuries and those of his neighing horse, crawled through the driver’s window and flipped the ignition key to “off.” then he and rummell removed White Wolf from the passenger side, using his dislodged seat as a litter and placing it along the shoulder of the road. the deep lacerations on White Wolf ’s face, scalp, and neck would have to wait until the ambulance arrived. Across the highway, to the north, a tree-topped knoll rose above a cow pasture. A rivulet called Burns Creek, swelling with snowmelt from the Allegheny Mountains, traversed the pasture and narrowed into a culvert beneath the highway where White Wolf sat. though a few curious cows stared at the overturned car on the highway, most of the pastured dairy herd had returned to grazing on the fresh grass or drinking from the creek, their dull-brown backs turned orange by the sun. It was 1:29 p.m. river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 124 White Wolf, still breathing, was taken to timmins hospital by ambu- lance, along with thomas Fast horse, who lay on a stretcher next to him. Frank Short horn, Arthur Boneshirt, and Calvin Leonard were driven to the hospital in officer rowan’s patrol car. Dr. N. A. timmons stapled and sutured White Wolf ’s torn-away scalp, bandaged what was left of his nose, and dressed the deeper neck wounds. But he didn’t bother to x-ray the badly fractured skull. A nurse washed and set aside the old man’s shaved- off gray hair. John White Wolf never knew that he was dying in the town of Bedford, where fifty years earlier the Bedford Gazette had printed “the happenings of the Year Eighteen-and-Ninety,” a listing in which the only mention of a “wounded knee” was that of one George Stoler, who suffered a gun shot in the knee on the ninth of December, leading to his death on the tenth. And it is just as well that he never saw the headline in the Gazette on this very day, April 12, which announced the near-completion of a section of the Pennsylvania turnpike meant to replace the treacherous stretch of Lincoln highway. the sun was still up, barely visible through the trees on the hospital grounds, when John White Wolf ’s heart stopped beating. the same set- ting sun my grandfather might have glimpsed from the backseat of his chauffer-driven car on his way home from Wall Street, on the very evening my mother went into labor with me, in Boston, Massachusetts. take old Lincoln highway nine miles west of Bedford, and you’ll encoun- ter the straight stretch in the road. the highway is wider now—the shoul- ders delineated in white—but the pavement still crests over the culvert, just as officer rowan testified back in 1940. If you turn onto the only side road, as I did recently, you’ll find a place to pull over a few hundred feet from the crash site. roll down the car win- dow and listen for a moment to the surprising quiet of the countryside. Get out and stretch. that’s Burns Creek meandering toward you from the west, wending its way through a mixed stand of maples and oaks before it runs beneath the side road and cuts sharply south toward the large culvert under the highway. You’ll be able to make out the concrete abutment from here, and, in the stillness of the place, you’ll have no trouble imagining White Wolf ’s overturned sedan atop it, its rear wheels spinning madly. A few cows, descendants perhaps of the herd that witnessed the accident, may be Smith: the Invisible Dead 25 standing in the creekbed on the far side of the highway, their legs static and bronze in the sun and clearly visible through the culvert. Shut your eyes and wait. If you hear behind you the unmistakable sound of bovine hoofs making their way over rock and dirt, you’ll prob- ably assume, as I did, that some curious cow is climbing the embankment to check you out. take in the sound (take it as a blessing) and when the animal has stopped moving and is quite still, turn suddenly and open your eyes. If you’re lucky, as I was, you’ll see not a cow, but a large buffalo gazing back at you through a fence, its dark eyes set wide in its low-hung, massive head; its arched backbone communicating both weariness and power. For an instant, it won’t matter that there is a rational explanation for this—that a young Pennsylvania farmer named richard Darrow has purchased the pastureland on this side of old Lincoln highway in order to graze his small herd of American bison. For a brief moment, your encounter will need no elucidation, and the animal will seem more like spirit than flesh. Which is why, later, it probably won’t surprise you to learn that while richard Darrow’s wife, Ann, sells Native American crafts from her shop just down the road, neither she nor her husband have heard of an Indian chief named John White Wolf, killed in a car wreck near the old Colvin Wright place— now the Darrow place—way back in 1940. work cited thoreau, henry David. A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers. New York: Penguin, 1998.
work_j7y775cfrbey5h25qpcvqpkd2a ---- Special Feature Medical Risks in Living Kidney Donors: Absence of Proof Is Not Proof of Absence Elizabeth S. Ommen, Jonathan A. Winston, and Barbara Murphy Mount Sinai Medical Center, Division of Nephrology, New York, New York Living-kidney donation has become increasingly widespread, yet there has been little critical analysis of existing studies of long-term medical outcomes in living donors. This review analyzes issues in study design that affect the quality of the evidence and summarizes possible risk factors in living donors. Virtually all studies of long-term outcomes in donors are retrospective, many with large losses to follow-up, and therefore are subject to selection bias. Most studies have small sample sizes and are underpowered to detect clinically meaningful differences between donors and comparison groups. Many studies compare donors with the general population, but donors are screened to be healthier than the general population and this may not be a valid comparison group. Difficulties in measurement of BP and renal function may underestimate the impact of donation on these outcomes. Several studies have identified possible risk factors for development of hypertension, protein- uria, and ESRD, but potential vulnerability factors in donors have not been well explored and there is a paucity of data on cardiovascular risk factors in donors. Prospective registration of living kidney donors and prospective studies of diverse populations of donors are essential to protect living donors and preserve living-kidney donation. Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006. doi: 10.2215/CJN.00840306 I n 1954, the first successful kidney transplantation was performed using a kidney from a living donor: the iden- tical twin of the recipient. Living kidney donation contin- ued to be performed because of a good-faith belief that it would do no harm to the donor. Enthusiasm for living donation waned somewhat in the early 1980s with experimental reports of hyperfiltration after uninephrectomy and fear that living kidney donation would cause proteinuria, hypertension, and eventual glomerulosclerosis. However, these data were not borne out in human studies, and living kidney donation has steadily increased in the past several years. The number of living donors has more than doubled, from 3009 in 1994 to 6467 in 2003, and in 2001 surpassed the number of cadaveric donors (1). In addition, data showing that living-unrelated transplants have similar graft and patient survival to living-related trans- plants (2) have increased the number of unrelated donors, including emotionally unrelated donors. Emotionally unrelated donors have increased from 2.5% of all living donors in 1994 to 21.4% in 2004 (1). All involved in the area of transplantation acknowledge the great contribution of living donors, and there are many safe- guards in place to protect donors. However, medical exclusion criteria are variable from center to center, reflecting the uncer- tainty of the importance of these criteria on donor outcomes (3). In the past few years, there has been a trend in some centers to expand the eligible donor pool beyond traditional limits, mo- tivated by and explained as a response to the increased demand for kidneys (4 – 8). Short-term studies have found no data con- traindicating these policies, and indeed there are few specific data for many of the existing exclusion criteria for donation. However, evidence-based policies must be based on appropri- ate and valid studies. There has been little critical analysis of existing studies of long-term medical outcomes in living kidney donors and little examination of whether these studies meet current methodologic, epidemiologic, and statistical standards. In this review, we analyze the existing data in the context of five major issues in study design that affect the quality of the evidence—retrospective studies, power and sample size, choice of appropriate controls, inclusion of racial and ethnic minori- ties, and measurement limitations—summarize possible risk factors in living donors, and make recommendations for future directions. Retrospective Nature of Existing Studies Virtually all studies that report medical outcomes of living kidney donors at �1 yr from donation are retrospective. Al- though practical for evaluation of long-term outcomes, retro- spective studies are vulnerable to certain methodologic pitfalls and biases that may limit their interpretability. Most important is the potential for selection bias, which may alter findings if there is a difference between included and nonincluded donors either as a result of nonparticipation or because the study investigators are unable to locate the subject. In studies that follow living kidney donors, donors in good health may be more likely to participate because of greater survival or greater ability to meet the requirements of participation. Selection bias is of greatest concern when the percentage of eligible subjects who are included is small. Table 1 illustrates the low inclusion Published online ahead of print. Publication date available at www.cjasn.org. Address correspondence to: Dr. Elizabeth S. Ommen, Mount Sinai Medical Center, Division of Nephrology, 1 Gustave Levy Place, Box 1243, New York, NY 10029. Phone: 212-241-3549; Fax: 212-987-0389; E-mail: elizabeth.ommen@ mssm.edu Copyright © 2006 by the American Society of Nephrology ISSN: 1555-9041/104-0885 Table 1. Studies of living kidney donor outcomesa Author, Year Years of Follow-Up, Mean(Range) Postnephrectomy Findings versus Comparison (Statistical Significance) N b Participation Rate (%)b Bertolatus et al., 1985 (50) 1.2 (0.1 to 3) SBP: 130 versus 118 predonation (P � 0.05)c DBP: 87 versus 76 predonation (P � 0.05)c Urinary albumin excretion (24-h urine collection): 9.9 versus 6.3 mg predonation (NS) Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): 64 versus 78 mg predonation (NS) 21 N/A Siebels et al., 2003 (83) 3 (0.04 to 5) Serum creatinine: 1.2 versus 1.2 mg/dl 1 yr postdonation (NS) Hypertension (not defined): 7 versus 5% predonation (N/A) Proteinuria (positive urine dipstick): 6 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 100 63 Rizvi et al., 2005 (47) 3 (0.5 to 18) CrCl (24-h urine collection): 87 versus 101 mg predonation (P � 0.0001)c Serum creatinine: 1.0 versus 0.8 mg/dl predonation (P � 0.0001)c Hypertension (�140/90): 10 versus 0% predonation (N/A) Proteinuria (�150 mg/24 h): 24 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 736 57 Dunn et al., 1986 (13) 4.4 (0.5 to 15) Serum creatinine: 1.18 versus 1.01 mg/dl predonation (P � 0.001)c 180 57 CrCl: 85.2 versus 128.2 ml/min predonation (P � 0.001)c 98 31 Hypertension (�150/90 by questionnaire): 14.4 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 250 80 Proteinuria (positive urine dipstick): 4 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 137 44 Serum creatinine: 1.16 versus 1.02 mg/dl in age/gender- matched potential donors (P � 0.001)c CrCl (24-h urine collection): 87.7 versus 131.6 ml/min in age/gender-matched potential donors (P � 0.001)c SBP: 122 versus 123 in age/gender-matched potential donors (P � 0.50) DBP: 77 versus 78 in age/gender-matched potential donors (P � 0.63) 71 23 Tapson et al., 1984 (64) Short-term: 4.7 (1 to 10) Serum creatinine: 104.0 versus 88.4 �mol/L predonation (P � 0.001)c CrCl (24-h urine collection): 78.3 versus 105.1 ml/min predonation (P � 0.001)c SBP: 133 versus 128 predonation (P � 0.05)c DBP: 84 versus 78 predonation (P � 0.01)c Hypertension (not defined): 13 versus 0% predonation (N/A) Proteinuria (not defined, based on 24-h urine collection): 3 versus 0% predonation (NS) 38 N/A Long-term: 13.5 (10 to 21) Serum creatinine: 98.6 versus 87.2 �mol/L predonation (P � 0.01)c Cr l (24-h urine collection): 83.3 versus 101.4 ml/min predonation (P � 0.01)c SBP: 144 versus 130 predonation (P � 0.01)c DBP: 90 versus 80 predonation (P � 0.01)c Hypertension (not defined): 38 versus 0% predonation (P � 0.05)c Proteinuria (not defined, based on 24-h urine collection): 0 versus 0% predonation (NS) 37 N/A Miller et al., 1985 (18) 6 Hypertension (�160/90 or on antihypertensives): 31 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 29 14 Hypertension (�160/90 or on antihypertensives): 40 versus 13% in race/age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.11) 15 7 Serum creatinine: 1.2 versus 1.0 mg/dl predonation (P � 0.001)c; 1.19 versus 1.05 in race/age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.001)c 45 22 Borchardt et al., 1996 (21) 6.4 (0.7 to 24) Hypertension (SBP �140 or on antihypertensives): 23 versus 42% in age-matched general Austrian population (N/A) 22 19 Chavers et al., 1985 (10) 7 (1 to 22) Urinary albumin excretion (24-h urine collection): 6 versus 7.7 mg in potential donors (NS) 129 80 Fehrman-Ekholm and Thiel, 2005 (84) 7 Hypertension (DBP � 90): 34 versus 13% predonation (N/A) Albuminuria (�5 mg albumin/mmol creatinine): 9 versus 3% predonation (N/A) 91 70 886 Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 Table 1. Continued Author, Year Years of Follow-Up,Mean (Range) Postnephrectomy Findings versus Comparison (Statistical Significance) N b Participation Rate (%)b Wiesel et al., 1997 (42) 8 Serum creatinine: 1.3 versus 1.0 mg/dl predonation (N/A) Hypertension (not defined): 27 versus 0% predonation (N/A) Proteinuria (not defined): 19 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 67 57 Toronyi et al., 1998 (63) 8.9 Hypertension (not defined): 17 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 30 38 Bahous et al., 2005 (15) 9.3 (4 to 18) CrCl (calculated by Cockroft-Gault equation): 86.2 versus 107.6 ml/min per 1.73 m2 predonation (P � 0.0001)c SBP: 130 versus 114 predonation (P � 0.0001)c DBP: 82 versus 69 predonation (P � 0.0001)c Hypertension (140/90): 18.8 versus 0% predonation (P � 0.0001)c 101 41 Hakim et al., 1984 (11) �10 Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): 188 versus �50 mg in age/gender-matched potential donors (P � 0.01)c; men: 212 versus 63 mg in outpatient controls (P � 0.01)c; women: no difference versus outpatient controls, means not given 52 87 Hypertension (DBP �90): Men: 60 versus 18% predonation (P � 0.003)c versus 28% in age/gender-matched potential donors (P � 0.02)c versus 17% in normal controls (N/A); women: 30 versus 10% predonation (NS) versus 14% in age/gender-matched potential donors (NS) versus 20% in normal controls (NS) 51 87 Torres et al., 1987 (26) �10 Hypertension (combined “borderline” �140/90 and “definite” �160/95): 35 versus 26% predonation (N/A) 90 63 Talseth et al., 1986 (12) 11 (10 to 12) CrCl (24-h urine collection): 87 versus 108 ml/min per 1.73 m2 predonation (N/A) SBP: 140 versus 132 predonation (P � 0.003)c DBP: 90 versus 82 predonation (P � 0.001)c Proteinuria (urine dipstick positive for albumin): 13 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 68 92 SBP: 140 versus 132 in controls (NS) DBP: 90 versus 85 in controls (P � 0.05)c Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine): 105 versus 94 mg in controls (NS) Urinary albumin excretion (24-h urine): 7.7 versus 4.7 mg in controls (P � 0.002)c Albumin excretion rate: 4 versus 3.3 �g/min in controls (P � 0.002)c 32 43 Gossman et al., 2005 (9) 11.7 (1 to 28) Serum creatinine: 85.7 versus 72.5 mmol/L predonation (P � 0.001)c CrCl (24 h urine): 99 versus 119 ml/min per 1.73 m2 predonationc Estimated GFR (modified MDRD equation): 71 versus 92 ml/min per 1.73 m2 predonation SBP: 134 versus 125 mmHg predonation (P � 0.001)c DBP: 81 versus 79 mmHg predonation (NS) Hypertension (�140/90 or on antihypertensives): 30 versus 7% predonation 135 93 Proteinuria (�150 mg on 24-h urine collection): 56 versus 0% predonationc Albuminuria (�50 mg/L on 24-h urine collection): 10 versus 0% predonationc 115 79 Fehrman-Ekholm et al., 2001 (14) 12 (2 to 33) Hypertension (DBP �90 or on antihypertensives): 38%, similar to age/gender-matched general population (NS) 348 87 Mild proteinuria (�1.0 g/L on urine dipstick): 9 versus 0% predonation (N/A) Significant proteinuria (�1.0 g/L on urine dipstick): 3 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 331 82 Anderson et al., 1985 (23) 12.6 Hypertension (�160/95 or on antihypertensives): 19 versus 21 to 27% in general Minnesota population (NS) 89 61 Watnick et al., 1988 (24) (9 to 18) Serum creatinine: 1.06 versus 0.86 mg/dl in race/age/gender- matched controls (P � 0.025)c CrCl (24 h urine): 85 versus 109 ml/min per 1.73 m2 in race/ age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.025)c Inulin Cl: 66 versus 78 ml/min per 1.73 m2 in race/age/ gender-matched controls (P � 0.025)c Hypertension (�140/90 or on antihypertensives): 62 versus 42% in adults �50 yr old in Connecticut (P � 0.05)c versus 32% in race/age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.05)c Urinary albumin excretion (24-h urine): 61 versus 4 mg in race/ age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.05)c 29 71 Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 Medical Risks of Living-Kidney Donation 887 rate of most studies: the majority have a participation rate of �80%, and seven have lower than a 50% participation rate (9 –21). The results of these studies must be accepted with caution. Power and Statistical Significance Studies that fail to demonstrate statistical significance may do so because they are underpowered to reveal a true differ- ence between groups. As can be seen in Table 1, the majority of Table 1. Continued Author, Year Years of Follow-Up,Mean (Range) Postnephrectomy Findings versus Comparison (Statistical Significance) N b Participation Rate (%)b Williams et al., 1986 (25) 12.6 (10 to 18) Serum creatinine: 20% higher versus siblings, age- adjustedc CrCl: 20% lower versus siblings, age-adjustedc Hypertension (�140/90 or on antihypertensives): 47 versus 35% siblings (P � 0.41); men: 42 versus 42% in age/race/gender-matched control group (P � 0.50); women: 50 versus 31% in age/race/ gender-matched control group (P � 0.16) 38 68 Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): mean increase of 100 mg versus predonationc 19 34 Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): men: 190 versus 40 mg in siblings (P � 0.001)c; women: 80 versus 20 mg in siblings (P � 0.08) 38 68 Vincenti et al., 1983 (20) 16 (15 to 19) BP: 122/77 versus 124/78 predonation (NS) Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): 141 versus 74 mg in age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.005)c 20 31 Iglesias-Marquez et al., 2001 (41) �20 Serum creatinine: 1.01 versus 0.87 mg predonation (P � 0.10) CrCl (24-h urine): 98.2 versus 125.3 ml/min predonation (P � 0.10) Prevalence of hypertension (not defined): 25 versus 22% in general population (N/A) MAP: 104.7 versus 89.8 predonation (P � 0.003)c Proteinuria by urinalysis: 5 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 20 N/A Saran et al., 1997 (49) 20 (12.5 to 31) Prevalence of hypertension (�140/90 or on antihypertensives): 74.5 versus 51% in age/gender- stratified population controls (P � 0.001)c Albumin excretion rate �20 �g/min (timed overnight collection): 34 versus 0% in age/gender-stratified population controls (P � 0.0003)c Albumin excretion rate: median increase of 2.7 mg versus early postdonation (P � 0.001)c 47 62 Najarian et al., 1992 (19) 24 (21 to 29) Serum creatinine: 1.1 versus 1.1 mg/dl in siblings (NS) CrCl (24 h urine): 82 versus 89 ml/min in siblings (NS) 57 42 Prevalence of antihypertensive medication (by questionnaire): 32 versus 44% in siblings (NS) SBP of those not on antihypertensives: 130 versus 116 predonation (P � 0.01)c versus 122 in siblings (NS) DBP of those not on antihypertensives: 79 versus 74 predonation (NS) versus 79 in siblings (NS) 63 47 Proteinuria (�150 mg on 24-h collection): 23 versus 22% in siblings (NS) Abnormal albumin excretion (not defined): 6 versus 7% in siblings (NS) 52 38 Goldfarb et al., 2001 (17) 25 (�20) Serum creatinine: 1.2 versus 1.0 mg/dl predonation (P � 0.001)c CrCl (24-h urine): 73 versus 102 mg/ml per 1.73 m2 predonation (P � 0.001)c Prevalence of hypertension (�140/90 or on antihypertensives): 48 versus 0% predonation (P � 0.001)c Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): 230 versus 80 mg predonation (P � 0.05) 70 39 aCrCl, creatinine clearance; DBP, diastolic BP; MAP, mean arterial pressure; MDRD, Modification of Diet in Renal Disease; N/A, data not available; SBP, systolic BP. bNumbers may vary for different comparisons within a study. cSignificant at P � 0.05. 888 Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 studies of long-term outcomes of living donors have relatively small sample sizes; therefore, studies with “negative” results may simply be underpowered. One way to evaluate the adequacy of the sample size in a study is to determine the minimum detectable difference, which is the smallest difference in outcomes between two groups that could be statistically significant given the magni- tude of the outcome and the number of subjects in the study. If the minimum detectable difference is larger than what would constitute a clinically important difference in outcomes, then the study is underpowered to detect clinically important dif- ferences. Table 2 applies this approach to those living donor cohort studies with negative results. Only studies that compared do- nors with a control group were included, to eliminate the confounding effect of increasing BP and proteinuria with age. (Outcomes that evaluated kidney function were not included, because it is expected that function will be lower in donors than nondonors.) Minimal detectable differences were calculated using the Power Calculator offered on the UCLA Depart- ment of Statistics’ web site (http://calculators.stat.ucla.edu/ powercalc/). By convention, � was set to 0.05 and power was set to 80%. As is shown in Table 2, with only two exceptions, the negative studies evaluated had minimum detectable differ- ences that were larger than the differences that were seen between donors and control subjects. This suggests insufficient power in these studies. More striking, the minimum detectable difference in most studies is far greater than what would be deemed clinically important. Underpowered studies may provide invalid information to physicians and potential donors and undercut the need for future study. It is not possible, of course, to know whether the negative studies in Table 2 would find differences in BP or proteinuria outcomes if a larger sample of donors were in- cluded. The purpose of this analysis is simply to demonstrate that many of the “negative” studies of living donor outcomes do not rule out a true and meaningful effect of living donation on these outcomes. Comparisons and Controls Studies that measure outcomes without providing a compar- ison value for context may contribute to the body of knowledge on living donor outcomes, but they cannot be used to evaluate changes or associations in a meaningful way. The majority of studies in living donors compare postdonation to predonation values. Those that compare renal function postdonation with predonation provide little information, given the expected de- crease in function with donation. Studies that compare early and late postdonation function also may be limited because of an expected age-related decline in GFR (22). Similarly, the prevalence of hypertension increases with age, making com- parisons over time less informative. A separate control group may provide a more meaningful comparison, but to be valid, a Table 2. Minimum detectable differencea Study Finding of No Difference Minimum DetectableDifference Dunn et al., 1986 (13) SBP: 122 versus 123 in age/gender-matched potential donors 7 mmHg DBP: 77 versus 78 in age/gender-matched potential donors 5 mmHg Miller et al., 1985 (18) Prevalence of hypertension (�160/90): 40 versus 13% in race/ gender/age-matched controls 54% Chavers, 1985 (10) 24-h urinary albumin excretion: 6 versus 7.7 mg in potential donor controls 3.5 mg Hakim et al., 1984 (11) Prevalence of hypertension (DBP �90): Women: 30 versus 20% in outpatient controls 44% Women: 30 versus 14% in matched potential donors 43% Anderson et al., 1985 (23) Prevalence of hypertension (>160/95 or on medication): 19 versus 21 to 27% in general Minnesota population 12 to 13% Williams et al., 1986 (25) Prevalence of hypertension (�140/90 or on medication): 47 versus 35% in siblings 34% 47 versus 34% in age/race/gender-matched general population 34% Men: 42 versus 42% in age/race/gender-matched control group 57% Women: 50 versus 31% in age/race/gender-matched control group 42% Najarian, 1992 (19) Prevalence of antihypertensive medication: 32 versus 44% in siblings 26% SBP of those not on antihypertensives: 130 versus 122 in siblings 10 mmHg DBP of those not on antihypertensives: 79 versus 79 in siblings 4 mmHg Proteinuria (�150 mg on 24-h collection): 23 versus 22% in siblings 28% Abnormal albumin excretion (not defined): 6 versus 7% in siblings 23% aThe smallest difference in outcomes between donors and comparison group that could be statistically significant in studies with negative findings. Studies whose minimum detectable difference is within the difference found are in bold. Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 Medical Risks of Living-Kidney Donation 889 control group should be as similar as possible to the donor group in other characteristics that may influence outcomes. Unfortunately, several studies compare donor outcomes with those in the general population (9,21,23,24); because donors are screened carefully, they are expected to be healthier than the general population and therefore have a lower risk for devel- oping other health problems. Studies that find outcomes in living donors to be similar to or even better than those in the general population, then, cannot be used to show that living donation does not increase medical risk among donors. The most valid control group in studies of living donors would be composed of siblings or potential donors who are excluded for nonmedical reasons. Either of these groups would be expected to have age, race, and family history of renal disease similar to that in donors. Five studies have compared donors with siblings or potential kidney donors, and these have shown conflicting results for the impact of donation on BP, renal function, and proteinuria outcomes (10,11,13,19,25). The sum of the results of these five studies can be interpreted as showing that there is likely an increase in hypertension and proteinuria in male donors and, not unexpected, a loss of renal function of at least 20% in both genders. However, given small sample sizes and low participation rates, it cannot be deter- mined from these studies whether similar hypertension and proteinuria risks apply to women as well or more subtle dif- ferences in BP exist in donors. Race and Ethnicity There is a paucity of data regarding long-term outcomes in living donors from minority populations. In 2003, 14.3% of living donors were black and 12.6% were Hispanic (1), yet few studies that evaluate medical outcomes of donors describe race or ethnicity of the study participants, and US studies that do reveal that their donors are almost exclusively white (8,24 –26). There are clear racial and ethnic disparities in the development, progression, and control of disease, including those that may be especially relevant to living kidney donors. The incidence rate of ESRD in black individuals is four times higher than in white individuals (27) and in Hispanic individ- uals is 1.5 times higher than in non-Hispanic individuals (28). The prevalence of hypertension in black individuals is 41% compared with 28% in white individuals (29), and black indi- viduals with hypertension show a six-fold greater progression to ESRD than hypertensive white individuals (30). Although hypertension in Hispanic individuals is lower than that in other groups, the prevalence may be increasing (31), and Hispanic individuals have the lowest rates of controlled hypertension (32). In women, who constitute the majority of living donors, the prevalence of overweight and obesity is �50% in black and Hispanic women, compared with 34% in white women (33); obesity increases the risks for proteinuria, hypertension, car- diovascular (CV) events, and ESRD (34). Black individuals in general have a 50% higher rate of abnormal microalbumin excretion than white individuals (35) and are particularly prone to certain renal diseases, including focal segmental glomerulo- sclerosis and HIV nephropathy, a variant of focal segmental glomerulosclerosis that affects black individuals almost exclu- sively. There also are several reports of familial clustering of renal disease in black individuals with a family history of ESRD as a result of diabetes, hypertension, HIV, and systemic lupus erythematous (27,36 –38). It is possible, then, that living donors, especially living- related donors, from minority populations form a group at increased risk for developing hypertension or renal disease. Given the limited inclusion of minorities in studies of living donors and given the increased rates of renal disease in these populations in general, basing risk assessments in black and Hispanic potential donors on existing studies may be mis- leading. Limitations in Measurement Measurement difficulties limit our ability to interpret studies of BP outcomes. In several studies, measurement was not stan- dardized, or results were determined by patient self-report (13,17,19,24,39,40), thereby increasing chances of measurement errors and decreasing the chance of detecting a true difference in BP or hypertension in donors. The definition of hypertension has changed over time, and early studies (11,12,14,18,23) used cutoff points for hypertension that would not be considered acceptable today, whereas other studies (14,41,42) provided no definition of hypertension. Further complicating these studies is a prevalence of white-coat hypertension of 20 to 43% in potential kidney donors (4,43,44). BP that is measured during donor evaluation, which may be a time of considerable stress, may not reflect a donor’s true BP, and BP that is measured long after donation may underestimate changes in true BP. This may explain the finding in some studies that donors who were hypertensive at the time of donation were normotensive on follow-up (11,45). The majority of transplant centers use creatinine clearance as determined by 24-h urine collection to estimate GFR. However, 24-h urine samples are vulnerable to under- or overcollection, and prediction equations using body weight to determine the adequacy of a collection may not be useful (46). Furthermore, because of tubular secretion of creatinine, both serum creati- nine and creatinine clearance will overestimate GFR to a greater degree as renal function declines. This may lead to underesti- mation of decreases in renal function and the degree of renal dysfunction after donation in studies that rely on these mea- surements, as the majority do (11,12,17–20,23,25,40,45,47). This is demonstrated in a study by Watnick et al. (24), in which postdonation creatinine clearance was only modestly decreased at 85 ml/min per 1.73 m2, whereas inulin clearance was 44% lower at 66 ml/min per 1.73 m2. Summary of Risk Factors Several risk factors for bad outcomes have been identified in the existing literature and deserve special emphasis Hypertension BP does tend to increase after donation, and pretransplanta- tion BP may be a determining factor. Despite the possibility of white-coat effect in potential donors, higher values of BP before donation have been shown to be associated with a greater rate 890 Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 of hypertension after donation, even when BP is within normal limits (12,23,47). In one study, donors who were hypertensive at follow-up had a predonation mean BP of 133/82 mmHg, as compared with 123/79 mmHg in those who were normotensive at follow-up (12,23,47). There are few studies of the effects of donation on established hypertensive donors, but the few data that do exist suggest that it is associated with worse BP control (8,10 –12,26,48). Renal Failure Studies that have compared early with late postdonation function have found no difference in mean function in the sample of donors (49,50). In fact, a study by Saran et al. (49), which compared 51Cr EDTA early postdonation and then 10 yr later, found that the mean GFR had actually improved slightly at a follow-up of 20 yr. However, there is evidence that some donors may be at risk for renal failure. Studies by Talseth et al. (12) and Hakim et al. (11) identified a small group of donors, 9 and 12% respectively, whose renal function declined by �50% at least 10 yr after donation. In a study by Ramcharan and Matas (40), 2% of donors who responded to a questionnaire had advanced renal disease or had required kidney transplantation. Ellison et al. (51) used the Organ Procurement and Transplan- tation Network database to identify former living donors who had received or were awaiting kidney transplant. This analysis revealed an incidence of ESRD of 0.04% as compared with a 0.03% incidence in the general US population (52); this study likely underestimates the true rate of renal failure in donors because it does not include donors with less advanced renal failure or those who had ESRD and were not listed for trans- plant. These studies suggest an increased risk for important renal dysfunction after donation in certain donors. Particular donor characteristics that confer vulnerability to renal failure in the general population have been examined in a few studies of living donors. Talseth et al. (12) found that the degree of renal decline after donation was inversely and inde- pendently associated with predonation systolic and diastolic BP, suggesting that higher levels of BP either interfere with compensatory hyperfiltration or promote decline in renal func- tion. However, a recent study that evaluated renal function after donation in donors with established hypertension found no difference in serum creatinine compared with normotensive donors at a mean follow-up of 11 mo (8), although most hy- pertensive donors were taking an angiotensin receptor blocker, which may have offered renal protection. Najarian et al. (19) reported that donors with “below normal” (not defined) creat- inine clearance were more likely to have siblings with “below normal” clearance than were donors with “normal” creatinine clearance, indicating a familial propensity to renal disease in these donors. Proteinuria Most studies that compare urinary protein with values pre- donation or in a control group reveal an increased amount of urinary protein or increased frequency of abnormal excretion (9,11,12,17,20,24,25,49), although the amount of urinary protein usually is small. However, studies use varying definitions of “abnormal,” and rates vary widely among studies (9 –12,16,17, 19 –21,24,25,42,45,49,50,53). One recent study that included 18 donors with established hypertension found that none had developed proteinuria at a median follow-up of 30 mo (48). However, studies with at least 7 yr of follow-up have shown greater levels of protein excretion in donors with higher BP or established hypertension (9 –11). Four studies of donors, in- cluding a meta-analysis by Kasiske et al. (53), have shown a greater rate of proteinuria in men as compared with women (11,25,49,53). CV Events Living kidney donors live longer than the general popula- tion, as shown in an often-cited study by Fehrman-Ekholm et al. (39). Although, as the authors pointed out, this is because living donors are healthier than the general population, the study does demonstrate that donor nephrectomy does not increase mortality beyond that in the general population. Nonetheless, uninephrectomy may increase certain CV risk factors and there- fore raise the risk for CV events in otherwise healthy living donors. This topic has not been studied specifically and has not been well explored in the literature on living kidney donation. Most living donors are left with creatinine clearances of between 70 and 90 ml/min after donation, whereas older do- nors or those with other CV risk factors may have a GFR of 60 ml/min or less (4,8,54,55). Given this decreased renal function in conjunction with the presence of a solitary kidney, many donors would be considered to meet criteria for chronic kidney disease (CKD). Several large studies have established that mor- tality and CV risk rise with even mild CKD and increase in a graded manner as renal function decreases (56 –59). In the Second National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey, people with an estimated GFR of �70 ml/min had a 64% greater risk for CV death than those with a GFR of �90 ml/min (56). Risk for CV events increases with increasing BP, even when BP is below hypertensive levels (60 – 62). In a study of the Framingham cohort, women and men with high-normal BP (130 to 139/85 to 89) had a 60 and 150% greater rate, respec- tively, of CV events than those with BP �120/80 (61). Several studies have found that BP not only increases after donation but also increases with time after donation; in several of these studies, increases in BP were independent of age (13,14, 47,63,64). Most living donor studies have shown a small increase in urinary protein or albumin. Even low levels of proteinuria and microalbuminuria have been shown to be important risk factors for CV events, independent of BP, diabetes, or other cardiac risk factors (65– 68). In one population study, an increase in the risk for death was seen beginning at an albumin-to-creatinine ratio of 6.7 �g/mg (68). Abnormal serum lipid profile is a long-established marker of CV risk. Elevations in LDL and triglycerides (TG) and declines in HDL each increase CV risk by approximately two-fold in healthy adults (69). LDL and TG typically increase and HDL typically decreases as renal function declines, although it is unclear whether there is a threshold GFR below which the lipid Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 Medical Risks of Living-Kidney Donation 891 profile significantly worsens (70). Animal models may suggest an increase in lipids as a result of nephrectomy itself: apoli- poprotein E– deficient hyperlipidemic mice that underwent uninephrectomy were found to have significantly increased total cholesterol despite similar serum creatinines (71). Al- though most transplant centers include serum lipid profile in their donor evaluation, there has been little study of risks that are associated with abnormal lipid levels in donors. Obesity is an important modifiable risk factor for CV events and death (72–74). As the prevalence of obesity in the US population continues to increase (75) and more transplant cen- ters accept obese living donors, the number of donors who face this health risk has increased. Individual risk for developing obesity increases with time (76), and this holds true for living donors as well (15,23,26,77). In a study that followed donors for at least 10 yr, there was a significant weight gain, and the mean weight at follow-up was in the obese range. The greatest weight gain was seen in donors who were already overweight at the time of donation (26). Although consensus statements encour- age weight loss and healthy lifestyle education in obese donors (78), there is no evidence that this lowers obesity risks in living donors. In one prospective study of living donors, there was no change in body mas index among overweight, obese, or ex- tremely obese donors at 1 yr after donation (5). The effects of donor nephrectomy may impart an increase in relative risk for CV events in living donors. Although this may translate into slight increases in absolute risk in most donors, it nonetheless necessitates careful follow-up of living donors for identification of the development of risk factors and timely initiation of risk factor modification. Discussion The Council on Ethical and Judicial Affairs of the American Medical Association issued a report on the transplantation of organs from living donors that stated, “The risks to a kidney donor . . . are fairly well understood, have a relatively low in- cidence, and are considered minimal beyond the regular risks of surgery” (79). This sense of understanding, at first glance, may seem justifiable given the number of studies on living donor outcomes and the long duration of follow-up of several of these studies. When we examine many studies closely, how- ever, we find limitations that weaken our confidence. Early in the history of living donation, it was necessary and appropriate to obtain fairly quickly data that would provide us with pre- liminary reassurance that donation posed no great harm. Ret- rospective study designs that included small numbers of sub- jects and comparisons with the general population were reasonable approaches at that time and have advanced the field. We should be reassured that there have been no consis- tent increases in BP or large decreases in GFR. However, we have not considered adequately small changes in GFR, protein- uria, and hypertension and the evidence that risk in certain donors may be enhanced by nephrectomy. We also must con- sider the potential long-term CV risk that is associated with such changes. Moreover, we have not evaluated these issues in donors from minority populations. The history of clinical re- search has taught us that extrapolation of results in white individuals to other racial and ethnic groups may underesti- mate the risks in a more diverse group of donors. Moving forward, it no longer seems sufficient to base prac- tices and consensus statements on the existing studies and the existing methods. It is time for the transplant community to call for prospective registration of living kidney donors and pro- spective studies of diverse populations of donors that may be compared with groups with similar compositions of race, eth- nicity, and family history. The United Network for Organ Sharing maintains a database on outcomes of living kidney donors. However, an analysis of the completeness of these data found that only 60% of 6-mo follow-up forms were returned to the United Network for Organ Sharing from transplant centers, and those forms that were returned revealed that 36% of donors already were lost to follow-up (51). It is understandably difficult to maintain a relationship with donors who wish to think of themselves as healthy individuals. However, the South-Eastern Organ Pro- curement Foundation reported on efforts to follow living do- nors with questionnaires and found an overall response rate of 90% (80). The authors attributed the maintenance of a high response rate to the fact that donors were enrolled prospec- tively and knew that participation was a part of their follow-up care. It is likely that registries or programs that involve hospital visits and blood tests, which are necessary to ensure adequate and accurate data, would have a lower rate of donor participa- tion than seen in this study. However, it also is likely that if donors understand that the risks of donation are not completely clear and understand from the outset that follow-up of their health is part of the donation process, then we will be able to obtain sufficient information to gain a better understanding of risks of living donation. How, then, in the era before the creation of a national donor registry and before the development of long-term prospective studies in diverse donor populations should we evaluate and counsel potential living kidney donors? The transplant commu- nity continues to revisit this question, most recently at the international Amsterdam Forum in 2004. The report that was generated from this meeting was published in 2005, and we direct the readers to this article for a comprehensive discussion of the currently accepted guidelines for living donation (81). As discussed in this article, however, the data on which these guidelines are based are not complete. Given these circum- stances, prudence suggests the exclusion of “marginal living donors”—prospective donors with medical abnormalities that have been shown to increase overall medical risk in the general population. We should recognize that the use of marginal living donors as a response to the growing number of patients who have ESRD and are dying while awaiting renal transplantation may be in direct conflict with our responsibility to potential donors to “do no harm.” A recent multicenter study of potential living donors in Canada found that acceptance of potential donors who were excluded for mild hypertension or protein- uria would have resulted in only a 3% increase in the number of patients who receive a transplant (82). Liberalization of these exclusion criteria would have a minimal impact on the waiting list and would not offset its steady growth. However, the 892 Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 impact would be great for the potential donor who has hyper- tension and is eager to donate to his or her child. The evaluation of potential donors therefore must balance our respect for donor autonomy with our level of comfort with the risk in- volved. It is not paternalism but protection of our own core beliefs that prevents us from facilitating a donation that we have reason to believe may cause substantial harm to the do- nor. Perhaps the most compelling argument for maintenance of cautious donor acceptance criteria and for proceeding with registries and research studies is our dependence on public trust and goodwill for continuation of living-donor transplan- tation. If certain donor characteristics, including medical abnor- malities, confer greater medical risks, then it likely will be discovered many years in the future. If the transplant commu- nity has not made appropriate efforts, through registries and research, to understand potential risks, then living-donor trans- plantation and the health care system will be irreparably damaged. As Henry David Thoreau said, “To know that we know what we know, and that we do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge.” We must acknowledge to ourselves and to potential donors the limits of our knowledge and request of our donors another gift: That of continued participation in research and in registries. It is only by further study that we may truly protect our living donors and preserve the practice of living donation. 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work_jfaljtz7efdibk2qdkig6ln27q ---- ASME 5,2_f2_219-242.indd © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011 DOI: 10.1163/157342109X568793 Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 brill.nl/asme Conservation, Cultivation, and Commodification of Medicinal Plants in the Greater Himalayan-Tibetan Plateau Sienna R. Craig and Denise M. Glover This special issue of Asian Medicine: Tradition and Modernity emerges from the Seventh International Congress of the International Association for the Study of Traditional Asian Medicine (IASTAM), which was held in Thimphu, Bhu- tan, from 7–11 September 2009. As readers of this journal may be aware, IASTAM’s unique vision aspires to bring academics and practitioners of Asian medical traditions into dialogue with each other, to promote the study and cross-cultural understanding of Asian medicines from a variety of disciplinary perspectives, and to do so in a way that honours and embraces the sometimes difficult task of reckoning the world of reflection and critique with that of engagement and practice. This Seventh Congress in Thimphu brought together scholars, practitioners and students of Himalayan, East Asian and South Asian healing systems, as well as social entrepreneurs, civil servants, and representa- tives of global businesses engaged in the commercial sale of Asia-derived medicinal products. This mélange of perspectives owed a lot to the theme of this Congress: Cultivating Traditions and the Challenges of Globalization. Cultivating the wilds In the context of the Seventh Congress of IASTAM, we co-organised a large multi-day panel titled ‘Cultivating the Wilds: Considering Potency, Protec- tion, and Profit in the Sustainable Use of Himalayan and Tibetan Materia Medica’. This panel included presenters who were from, or who had done extensive work in, Nepal, Bhutan, Ladakh, India, China (Tibet Autonomous Region and Yunnan, Sichuan, and Qinghai Provinces), and at sites of Tibetan medical production and practice in Europe. In this panel, we aimed to inte- grate knowledge, methods, and field experience from a variety of disciplines Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 220 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 and professional perspectives to explore the intersection of conservation and development agendas related to Asian materia medica. A selection of the pre- sentations given in Bhutan has been further developed for inclusion in this special issue of Asian Medicine. We began our discussions in Thimphu with the assumption that the land- scape of Asian medical production is undergoing a profound set of changes at present. Medicinal and aromatic plants are being increasingly commodified, and represent significant cultural and economic value to a range of stakehold- ers in new and increasingly interconnected ways. These changes are impacting the lives and work of am chi or sman pa (practitioners of gso ba rig pa, or the ‘science of healing’ in Tibetan)1 in a range of contexts and locales, to village farmers, herb traders and middlemen, pharmaceutical factory directors and marketing specialists and scientific researchers as well as patients and consum- ers in many different countries. Medicinal plants represent not only pathways to healing but also to profit; they remain paragons of ‘traditional culture’ even as they are clinically tested for safety, quality, and efficacy according to bio- medical and techno-scientific parameters. The various medicinal products derived from Himalayan and Tibetan raw materials are stable in one sense— based, as they are, on centuries of oral and textual tradition. Yet, like any aspect of culture, such products are also malleable, diverse, and at times embodiments of secret, guarded knowledge. Who holds or owns what knowl- edge, how it is passed down and to whom and for what ends are all questions we grappled with during the conference. In addition, we discussed the design and implementation of complex governance and regulatory structures related to the sourcing of medicinals and the production of medicines and other ‘nat- ural’ products in Asian countries and beyond. Our collective voices raised important questions about what ‘conservation’ and ‘sustainability’ mean and what these concepts accomplish, both discursively and in practice. Himalayan and Tibetan materia medica exist at the intersections of local, regional and transnational regimes of value and within different economic and cultural frames: from the moral economy associated with the ethics of gso ba rig pa to the market economy which shapes worlds at local and global levels and which is implicated in practices of conservation and sustainability. In relation to this theme of ‘sustainability’, the panel took up issues of over- harvesting and the depletion of medicinal resources upon which Tibetan med- icine and other Asian medicines depend. Market forces and the need for cash 1 Other commonly used spellings for the previous three Tibetan terms are amchi, menpa, and Sowa Rigpa. Throughout this essay we use Wylie transliterations for Tibetan terms, except for personal names where we use the spellings preferred by subjects themselves. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 221 income at local and regional levels are giving rise to new challenges with respect to the use and availability of these materia medica. Concomitantly, there has been an increase over the past decade in cultivation efforts, research into substitutions (tshabs) for rare, endangered or otherwise unavailable ingre- dients, and a deepening desire to document and more clearly understand pat- terns of medicinal plant resource use across the region. As we heard from some panelists—Pei Shengji from the Kunming Institute of Botany and Amchi Gyatso Bista, the chairman of the Himalayan Amchi Association in Nepal, Tsewang Gombo, the project supervisor for the Ladakh Society for Traditional Medicine (LSTM), Ma Jianzhong and Samdrup Tsering of the Deqin Tibetan Medicine Research Association in Northwest Yunnan Province, China, and Ugyen Dorje, from the Ministry of Health in Bhutan—medicinal plant culti- vation trials are ongoing and increasing in scope, with financial and technical support from governments and non-governmental organisations alike. In addition, efforts to create or expand protected areas and to monitor resource use are giving rise to new possibilities for collaboration between local com- munities, medical practitioners, scientific researchers, governmental and non- governmental organisations and (social) entrepreneurs. However, as crucial as such efforts are, these moves toward cultivation, con- servation, and delimiting sustainable harvesting levels raise a host of chal- lenges with respect to how to steward land and how to balance cultural and ecological possibilities and constraints with market-based concerns. Most of the Tibetan medical practitioners and conservation-development experts who presented preliminary results of cultivation trials pointed out that while cer- tain species (such as ma nu, ru rta, and lcum rtsa) did quite well as cultivars, many trial plant species failed to germinate under these changed growing conditions. Often, the potency (nus pa) in Tibetan medical terms was consid- erably weaker in cultivated varieties than in wild-crafted specimens. In his presentation, Ed Smith, the founder and director of HerbPharm based in the United States, stressed the practical difficulties, time commitment, and tech- nological resources that successful cultivation entails. Carroll Dunham, a social entrepreneur and the founder of Wild Earth, a Kathmandu-based herbal products company committed to sustainable sourcing and income generation, cited another practical limitation of cultivation: namely, the glutting of mar- kets with plants that are relatively easy to cultivate and that are ‘key’ species for commercial production, such as Swertia spp. (tig ta/rgya tig), but that might throw other local agricultural systems and regional economies into cycles of rapid and unpredictable change as a direct result of commodification. Calum Blaikie echoed this concern, based on his long-term fieldwork among Ladakhi am chi. Daniel Winkler’s longitudinal research on the (in)famous caterpillar Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 222 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 fungus (Ophiocordyceps sinensis) across the greater Tibetan Plateau tells a com- pelling story about sustainability and the power of the market—through informal and formal economic channels—as a driver of human-environment interactions. The methods by which quality and efficacy of cultivated and wild-crafted medicinal ingredients are determined can raise significant points of scientific and cultural incommensurability. Likewise, debates about the proper classifi- cation of medicinal plants and other materia medica across cultural and scien- tific systems—between Tibetan pharmacology and botany, for instance—expose concerns at once taxonomic and epistemological. Dr Dawa, the former direc- tor of the Men-Tsee-Khang in Dharamsala, India, and a leading expert in Tibetan medicinal plants, made important points in this regard during his presentation in Thimphu—points echoed in his more extensive Tibetan lan- guage essay which we have translated and include in this special issue.2 Kalden Nyima of the Lhasa-based Project to Strengthen Traditional Tibetan Medicine (PSTTM) raised similar concerns in his Thimphu presentation, and reiterates them in his practitioner’s report, included herein. Kalden Nyima’s father, Gawai Dorje, the renowned Tibetan medical practitioner and author of the Pure Crystal Mirror of Medicinal Plants (’Khrungs dpe dri med shel gyi me long) did not attend the conference in Bhutan. However, we have chosen to include an English translation of one of his original essays on the challenges of trans- lating names of Tibetan materia medica into other languages. The combina- tion of these three papers in translation represent a wealth of knowledge from foremost Tibetan medical experts in both India and China—scholarship that has not been easy for non-Tibetan scholars to access and that all too often has not been put in direct dialogue with each other, even in Tibetan language. Other presentations given in Bhutan dealt directly with trade, commodifi- cation, and regimes of governance connected to the ways medicinal plants are used in contemporary contexts, in Himalayan and Tibetan milieu and glob- ally. The equitable distribution of resources and determination of ‘ownership’ of traditional knowledge in this context raise further legal, cultural, and polit- ical issues. Such concerns were elucidated by Chamu Kuppuswamy in her presentation and further developed in her paper on Intellectual Property Rights (IPR) and Traditional Knowledge (TK). In his conference presentation and the practitioner’s report included in this issue, Herbert Schwabl discussed the blessings and burdens of ‘tradition’ with respect to the production and sale of Tibetan medicines in modern European contexts. Schwabl is a senior rep- 2 Tibetan versions of these essays are available through the IASTAM website: http://www. iastam.org. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 223 resentative of Padma, Inc., the only company that currently produces and sells Tibetan medicinal formulas in Switzerland and Austria, with permissions for distribution in the United Kingdom pending. In his report, Schwabl dis- cusses the ways ‘traditional medicines’ operate as discursive categories within the context of state regulation of all medicines, and as commodities within the greater context of increasing market-based activities around ‘complemen- tary and alternative medicines’ (CAM) worldwide. In a similar vein, Mona Schrempf put forth a preliminary interdisciplinary research agenda on the globalisation of ‘traditional’ Chinese and Tibetan medicines. This agenda encourages comparative analyses of how several hallmark Chinese and Tibetan pharmaceuticals whose ingredients stem from the Tibetan Plateau become recontextualised as both globalised and localised carriers of ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’ sentiment, often simultaneously. Furthermore, this dual sense of authenticity often emerges in strange consort with efforts at standardisation on the one hand and claims to extra-pharmacological efficacy (through ritual blessings, ideas of Tibetanness, etc.) on the other. Martin Saxer, whose paper is included in this volume, presented a fascinating study of Himalayan border regimes, at once geopolitical and ideological, which are impacting the trade of medicinal plants between Nepal and China. In his treatment of this issue, we see how supposedly ‘fixed’ practices of licensing and certification, tests for drug quality, etc. come up against social and economic realities that demand flexibility and innovation at all points along this trade route, at once ancient and (post)modern. Finally, impacts of climate change on high altitude medicinal plants can neither be underestimated nor easily assessed in the context of the ‘third pole’: Himalayan and Tibetan mountain environments. Jan Salick, a leading ethnobotanist of high Asia based at the Missouri Botanical Gardens, posed difficult yet crucial questions about the purpose of cultivation in the first instance. She stressed that cultivation should not be viewed unproblematically as a pathway to biodiversity conservation; rather, she argued that cultivation should be seen as fundamentally linked to world economic systems and mar- ket-based activities involving medicinal plants. In other words, cultivation should not be seen as a panacea for protecting vulnerable high altitude species, including those such as the snow lotus (Saussurea medusa, bya rgod sug pa), which she and colleagues in Yunnan have studied intensively. For Salick, cul- tivation is fundamentally untenable because the resources in question cannot be scaled up. Yet how to reconcile this with the general thrust of the com- modification of Tibetan medicine, and its powerful and pervasive link to notions of cultural preservation as well as the commodification of Tibetan cultural concepts more generally, proves especially challenging today. Salick Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 224 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 also inserted into the discussion the role that global climate change is playing not only within Himalayan and Tibetan natural ecologies, but also social ecologies—changes that bear on how Tibetan medical practitioners harvest plants, make medicines, and treat patients. These issues also play out through dynamics between national park and protected area managers and the people who make their homes or have historically used resources from these environ- ments. The creation of protected areas introduces additional variables into efforts to define, promote, or monitor ‘sustainable’ use of medicinals. All of these concerns point toward the intersection of cultural integrity, environmental protection, different ways of knowing and interacting with the world, and the socioeconomic pressures that are concomitant with modern life. They also present unique opportunities for cross-disciplinary and cross- cultural engagement. Of the many themes to emerge from the conference and which are threaded through the papers included in this special issue, three emerge as central. First is the relationship between conservation, preservation and sustainability. Second is the sense that medicinal plants are what our colleague Laurent Pordié (2002) has called ‘biocultural objects’. And third is the centrality of translation, both as key metaphor for work on Himalayan and Tibetan medicinal plants, and as a practical act. These three themes are deeply intertwined, but we find it useful to stream out some key components of each, below. Conservation, preservation and sustainability The concepts of conservation and sustainability have taken on widespread, global currency over the past two decades. However, the roots of these ideas can be traced to specific political and economic processes that converged at a particular historical moment. While a general concept of ‘conservation’ may not be the sole product of Euro-American ideas and historical processes, there is a conceptual lineage between contemporary discussions of conservation, preservation, and sustainability and the development of these ideas in Europe and North America. We find it useful to briefly outline the history of ‘conser- vation’ in the Euro-American context in order to explore the connections between and ramifications of past histories in the current moment. Stemming from romanticist reactions first to the Enlightenment and then to the Industrial Revolution in the eighteenth century, a sensibility of valuing ‘nature’ and ‘wilderness’ as embodying intrinsic worth—especially in contrast to rationalised and mechanised human artifices—developed in Euro-American intellectual and popular circles. In the United States in the nineteenth century, such views became popularised in the well-known works of Ralph Waldo Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 225 Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. Somewhat later, John Muir emerged as one of the leading voices of proto-environmentalism and what we might call a preservationist ethic, espousing the concept of wilderness preservation areas—where human presence and activity would be severely curtailed—and founding one of the oldest environmental organisations in the United States, The Sierra Club. Muir’s idea pivoted around the notion that ‘wilderness’ was in and of itself valuable, regardless of utility. This would in part, during Muir’s time as well as after, take the form of the establishment of national parks, protected areas and nature reserves. In the United States, for example, Yellow- stone National Park was established in 1872 with the expressed view that this was an area worthy of protection: [This] tract of land . . . is hereby reserved and withdrawn from settlement, occu- pancy, or sale under the laws of the United States, and dedicated and set apart as a public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people . . .3 Yellowstone was one of the first national parks established in the Western Hemisphere and would in many ways become a key model for national parks and preservation/conservation areas worldwide.4 In 1948, the International Union for the Protection of Nature (later known as the IUCN and later still as the World Conservation Union but maintaining the acronym IUCN) was founded with the stated goal of ‘the preservation of the entire world biotic environment’.5 This was perhaps one of the earliest examples of governmental and non-governmental organisations collaborating in the area of preservation/ conservation on an international level; such collaboration is also reflected in several of the articles contained within this issue. It should be noted that the IUCN is currently responsible for establishing and maintaining a list of threat- ened species, termed the Red List, which is used globally to decide the endan- germent status of species, and to which many of our panelists refer, directly or indirectly, in their work. Running parallel to these preservationist views of landscape, ecology and biodiversity was a movement that sought to combine the sensibility of an appreciation for ‘nature’ with a conviction that ‘nature’ is primarily an assort- ment of resources that should and need to be utilised—but with ever so much care, with (the ideology and empirical practice of ) science as a powerful guide, and with the state as protector/enforcer of resource use conservation policies. 3 Chittenden 1915, pp. 77–8. Note here the complete disregard for people already living within the area that became the park, such as Native Americans. We will return to this point below. 4 Nash 2001; Igoe 2003; Trusty 2010. 5 Quoted in Nash 2001, p. 361. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 226 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 Throughout Europe this initially took the form of forestry science with special focus on sustainable-yield management.6 A fundamental premise of this move- ment was that national governments would ensure ‘sustainable’ harvesting according to newly formed social and scientific metrics. As with other aspects of European colonial-era administrations, many of these same techniques of resource management were applied in the colonies, particularly in Africa, and South and Southeast Asia—including the region of concern for this volume, the Himalayas. Agrawal discusses the work of Dietrich Brandis in Burma in the mid-1800s, where the ‘linear evaluation survey’ method was utilised to maintain the ‘model forest’—a kind of ideal forest in which sup- posed perfect equilibrium exists due to careful calculation and harvesting annual increments only.7 As Agrawal quips about this kind of forestry, ‘Num- bers came to shape the way the world of trees and vegetation would be regarded and understood’.8 Under colonialism, when utility was considered and factored in, as was the case with the concept of conservation of forests, it was quite narrowly defined by colonists as useful to the empire. Hence Agrawal discusses the centrality of teak in Burma as being important for British Naval ambitions and therefore being the focus of conservation efforts by Brandis. Non-imperial uses, such as for local subsistence, were continually seen as problematic to the goal of con- servation during the colonial era.9 We might extend this argument today, and suggest that utility is in effect defined by international organisations and national governments in terms of being useful to the global economy and more specifically the markets for ‘sustainably sourced’ ‘natural’ medical prod- ucts from the greater Himalayas. Many of the founding ideas of conservation and sustainable development implicit in forestry management of the colonists remained in place in post-colonial administrations (including in many areas of the Himalayas), as Nash (2001), Igoe (2003), and West (2006), among others, discuss. Even today, while numbers do not completely determine the ways medici- nal plants are regarded, they nonetheless remain an important element in the discourses of conservation, preservation, and sustainability in Himalayan and Tibetan contexts. Certainly the concept of sustainability, based on the notion of sustainable yield as a particular, quantifiable measurement, is quite central 6 Scott 1998; Guha 2000; Agrawal 2005; Nash 2001. 7 Agrawal 2005, pp. 39–43. Incidentally, this became the model for forestry management in the United States, as reflected in the work of Gifford Pinchot, the first head of the US Forest Service. 8 Agrawal 2005, p. 37. 9 Agrawal 2005, pp. 32–64. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 227 to much state and non-governmental conservation initiatives in the region. In the Himalayas as elsewhere, concepts of conservation and sustainability also have become quite directly, if paradoxically, coupled with ideas of ‘develop- ment’. By this logic, economic growth and improved livelihoods are also sup- posed to facilitate the conservation of natural resources and Earth’s biodiversity. Yet as many of the papers in this volume illustrate, it is quite difficult to square concepts of ‘sustainability’ with efforts to scale up the Tibetan medical indus- try, either from the perspective of commodification and sheer resource use or from the perspective of a moral economy of gso ba rig pa practice and the standards of medicinal potency and benefit that practitioners of this tradition espouse. Turning again towards history, the national park model of preservation came under fire in the last decades of the twentieth century. As discussed above, most national parks were quite exclusionary of people except as tem- porary (non-residential) consumers of natural beauty. This model encoun- tered resistance among a large portion of the world’s populace that was already living within the claimed boundaries of national parks.10 In some cases, alter- native models were put forth, many of them in the Himalayas. One of the first of these was the Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP) of Nepal, established in 1992. ACAP was a newly conceptualised category of Protected Area (defined by IUCN) that aimed to explicitly link human dwelling in particular environments, their histories of environmental stewardship in these contexts, and their contemporary livelihood needs with the goals of conservation. The idea of joint conservation-development projects (and related concepts such as eco-tourism) was fleshed out, in great part, through initiatives such as ACAP. Today, ACAP is Nepal’s largest protected area, mea- suring 7629 km2; total coverage for protected areas in Nepal is currently 34,000 km2, according to the official governmental website of the National Parks of Nepal.11 In Ladakh (the location of Blaikie’s work), protected areas cover 15,000 km2;12 in all of India nearly 157,000 km2 of land is under pro- tected area status. In the Himalayan areas of China, dozens of protected areas exist, including the Baima-Meili Xueshan National Nature Reserve, where the work of Ma Jianzhong in this volume is located; this reserve is included within the larger Three Parallel Rivers UNESCO World Heritage Site (declared in 2003), approximately 9,390 km2.13 10 Igoe 2003. 11 www.dnpwc.gov.np. 12 Goeury 2010, p. 109. 13 How much environmental protection any of these designated ‘protected areas’ (or World Heritage sites) confer is an interesting issue, but one that is beyond the scope of this essay. Our Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 228 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 While it is difficult to know how much overlap there is between these pro- tected areas of conservation and actual sites of harvesting of medicinals, the mere presence of these zones of protection and conservation in the Himalayas signals a significant orientation at both the national and international levels to themes of conservation, preservation, sustainability. In this special edition, we witness Pei Shengji and colleagues propose that a number of significant areas within China for Tibetan medicinal plants should be designated for protection under the Important Medicinal Plant Areas scheme. Hence we can see the continuation of conceptual categories of conservation/preservation in the early twenty-first century, with newly created groupings focused on specific uses of natural resources. Furthermore, the value of these sites of conservation— as spaces of ‘wilderness’ particularly for national and inter national tourists and other consumers of nature and ‘traditional’ culture—becomes augmented in a larger field of political-economic relations. As Nash states, Thinking of wild nature as an actively traded commodity in an international mar- ket clarifies appreciation and largely explains the world nature protection move- ment. The export-import relationship underscores the irony inherent in the fact that the civilizing process, which imperils wild nature, is precisely that which cre- ates the need for it.14 International donors, non-governmental organisations, and governmental agencies involved in conservation efforts all value ‘the wilds’ so represented in and by these protected areas. Likewise, purveyors of knowledge about these landscapes, especially those who have specific expertise in natural resources with cultural and economic value—medicinal plants—become crucial ‘stakeholders’ within the politics of conservation. Enter the Himalayan am chi, the Tibetan medical practitioner. Such people are increasingly being recruited to do the work of conservation and sustainability science.15 They are engaged in the transformation and inter- pretation of these concepts on the ground in strategic ways, for a range of reasons, as Calum Blaikie examines in his article with am chi in Ladakh. Gso ba rig pa practitioners’ involvement in participatory species mapping projects such as those described herein by Ma Jianzhong, for example, can become an avenue for the recognition of specific types of indigenous/traditional knowledge—themselves key currency in efforts of such practitioners to defend point here is to highlight the extent to which ‘protection’ and ‘conservation’ have entered into the discourses of state-making, (inter)national funding, and even subject formation of people like am chi and sman pa. 14 Nash 2001, p. 343. 15 Cf. Lama et al. 2001; Ghimere et al. 2005. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 229 and transform their medical praxis in a contemporary context—to ‘develop’ am chi medicine, as many of our panel participants and interlocutors describe.16 Plant cultivation and efforts to broker wholesale trade in materia medica can provide reliable sources of income and extend local socioeconomic networks of am chi, but can also create or exacerbate divisions between am chi, as we see in Blaikie’s paper. For Tibetan medicine practitioners and many others, sustainability as a concept and joint conservation-development projects as lived practices become increasingly important avenues through which populations are governed—a process that Arun Agrawal (2005) has aptly dubbed ‘environmentality’, after Michel Foucault’s ‘governmentality’. Agrawal explores this occurrence in an area of the Himalayas of northern India and argues that a yoking between the state and local populations—often in consort with international NGOs—has created a new form of governance of natural resources as well the emergence of what he terms ‘environmental subjects’, people who are concerned about the environment and for whom the environment is an important domain of both cognition and action.17 This has clearly happened in many places, per- haps particularly so in some of the ‘hot spots’ of biological (and often cultural) diversity, from the highlands of Papua New Guinea18 to the jungles of Mexico19 to the Indonesian archipelago20 and, of course, the Himalayas, where pro- tected areas exist and where funding for conservation efforts is intense and intensely sought after, as discussed in Blaikie’s article in this issue. As the wave of sustainability studies was starting to crest, Donald Worster and others noted that the notion of ‘sustainable development’ (and kindred ideas) is essentially an economic model applied to an extremely complex and unpredictable reality.21 Recall the forest departments of Europe and the United States and their proposals to keep the resources of the forest available for an indefinite amount of time: the economic viability of the forest needed to be maintained through careful calculations of sustainable yield. As it turns out, the ‘model forest’ on which sustainable yield was figured resembled no forests that actually exist. As Worster argues, a main problem with an equilibrium- based, economic model of ‘sustainability’ is how exactly to determine the parameters of environmental ‘stress’ and/or ‘collapse’. Ecologists do not even agree on this. In part, Worster argues that this is due to the fact that previous 16 Cf. Pordié 2008; Craig and Bista 2005. 17 Agrawal 2005, pp. 164–5. 18 West 2006. 19 Hayden 2003. 20 Lowe 2006. 21 Worster 1993, pp. 142–55. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 230 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 notions of ‘equilibrium’ in nature are illusions. The environment is constantly in flux.22 Worster’s warning to us from over a decade ago is one that we should pay careful attention to, especially since so much of our attention with respect to Himalayan medicinal plants does indeed seem to hinge very much on notions of utility on the one hand and preservation (both cultural and natural) on the other. Yet plants are more than commodities—if they are even that. Medicinal plants at biocultural objects Due to their fundamental utility as well as their symbolic and market values, medicinal plants are situated within social and cultural fields of activity and knowledge. Whether the plants are harvested from ‘wild’ sources or are culti- vated intentionally, their existence intersects significantly with that of human- ity. From one perspective, many medicinal plants are chemically active due to evolutionary forces that have helped maintain protection from predators— including humans (since plants cannot flee from predators). Hence a ‘medi- cine’ within plants can also be a poison, as many an investigator of plant pharmacology has discovered throughout history. Humans have developed significant traditions of knowledge related to these medicinal/poisonous aspects of plants, undoubtedly aided through careful observation of other spe- cies’ interactions with plants, as discussed in Dr Dawa’s article in this issue. On the other hand, some plants may in fact ‘benefit’ from close interaction with ‘predatory’ humans—especially plants that are deemed ‘useful’ by human beings. A human community may in fact aid in the propagation and continu- ation of a plant community. Hence the ‘poisons’ that plants emit to protect themselves may prove to be valued by people, which may in fact prompt peo- ple to encourage the continued growth of that type of plant, which then also benefits the survival of the plant species. The central trope of utility is in many ways at the heart of the themes that this special issue addresses. Plants utilised for medicine become objects (or perhaps participants) in networks of exchange, governmental regulations, related systems of material and information transfer, and physiological pro- cesses taking place within human bodies. It is their usefulness within localised and increasingly globalised/globalising contexts that links particular natural kinds with spheres of human activity in particular and powerful ways. Yet, 22 Worster feels there are other issues with sustainable development as well, including its strictly utilitarian orientation that ignores intrinsic value and non-utilitarian aspects of the envi- ronment. In this sense, his work resonates with that of John Muir’s and the more general preser- vationist-oriented view of the wilds. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 231 how does this generalised utility relate to more specific notions of value, most germane in discussions of exchange, and in the points of tension that arise between localised barter economies or even moral economies tied to gso ba rig pa ethics, and the logic of the market? More precisely, is an abstract notion of utility sufficient to understand the particular ways in which plants are valued within specific human fields of activity? Furthermore, what hap- pens when there are varying values attached to plants by different human communities or actors and these, then, come into contact or conflict through systems of exchange? Pordié has argued that plants are themselves expressions of culture.23 They are, in this sense, biocultural. Plants, especially medicinal ones that are grounded in particular systems of etiology, diagnosis, and consumption, are not just floating signifiers, even if they can be anchored to an ‘objective’ reality of the biological species, for example. An effective analysis of plants as biocul- tural kinds must then address the culturally relevant significations of plants.24 Pordié goes on to discuss the connections between plants, medical practice and practitioners, and the Buddhist religious tradition of Ladakh, where he has worked for many years, to argue that a plant can be seen as ‘a principal vector of the symbolic efficacy of treatment’.25 Plants are endowed with medic- inal power in part through ritual practices of am chi, wherein various aspects of cultural and religious life are infused into the ‘object’ of the plant or into compounded medicines.26 In this sense, one could argue that plants in the medical context embody certain kinds of power and force. This is in part reflected linguistically in Tibetan concepts of plants. In Tibetan, there are sev- eral words for the general term ‘plant’ in the medical context: the neologism rtsi shing and the more literary term of skye dngos (‘things that grow’).27 The second term, at least, seems to imply some level of self-propulsion, some amount of agency and potentiality; a plant can become, in some sense, although not without the help of people, a culturally endowed object. We see this in part reflected in the significant arboreal metaphor of medical knowledge and learning in many Tibetan medical texts, and certainly in the medical paint- ings: medical knowledge can be represented by a tree—plant writ large. 23 Pordié 2002. 24 Pordié uses the phrase ‘biocultural objects’ in his work (bioculturel objet), which links in compelling ways to ideas of commodification. However, we prefer the term ‘biocultural kind’ because this allows for inclusion of potentiality, as will be discussed below. 25 Pordié 2002, p. 186. 26 Craig 2010; Garrett 2009; Pordié 2008. 27 Glover 2005. Here we exclude more specific terms such as sngo or sngo ldum (herbaceous plant) and shing (woody plant). Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 232 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 At the same time as plants take on cultural meanings, they circulate in sys- tems of exchange that have undoubtedly gone beyond localised pockets of culture for a very long time, as Saxer’s contribution points out. Sometimes the culturally imbued plant is ‘reborn’ in a new locality; the cultural meanings associated with the plant may change. However, sometimes a consistency of meaning across cultural boundaries is retained—or at least put to use (and here we are back at utility again). This is possibly due to cultural borrowings, but is in part also likely due to some of the biochemical bases of healing prop- erties in plants. These biochemical properties can become highly valued char- acteristics of plants, which can ultimately affect the harvesting and overall availability of the plant in any given region. Of course other social and cultural factors can affect the ‘popularity’ of a plant across cultural boundaries, some of which may be traceable to chemistry but some of which may be part of broader sociocultural systems of signification and value, couched within particular geopolitical milieu; witness the popularity of Ophiocordyceps sinensis in China as an aphrodisiac, as Winkler describes. Some of this plant popularity may be traceable to chemical properties but certainly much is also related to notions of fertility and sexuality, gender relations, conspicuous consumption, and effective marketing. Whatever the possible roots of interest in utilisation of particular plants as medicines, we have without a doubt seen some significant changes in pro- curement, production, and marketing of materia medica within the greater Himalayan region within the past decade. In general, we identify these trends in terms of commodification, which we understand in Marxist political- economic terms to involve the assignation of economic value to something that had not previously been understood, at least exclusively, in those terms. This is true even as discourses and practices of conservation, preservation, and sustainability are invoked. We have seen an increase in the amount of organi- sations, researchers, state-based and international structures of governance at work in this area to monitor, report, and propose solutions to issues of sustain- ability, as well as to regulate the ways medicinal plants and other materia med- ica are traded and put to use in, or as, commercial products. Interestingly these pressures come both from the side of conservation and sustainability through national and international policies on rare and endangered species (in the form of CITES or the IUCN Red List, for example28), practitioners’ own lists of threatened, rare, or expensive ingredients, etc., and from the more 28 The Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES) is an international agreement between governments which aims to ensure that the global trade in wild flora and fauna does not threaten their survival. The International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) maintains a Red List of threatened species (see http://www.iucnredlist.org/). Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 233 overtly market-implicated and techno-scientific demands of Good Agricul- tural Practices (GAP), Good Manufacturing Practices (GMP) and various other parameters for determining the ‘quality’ and ‘safety’ of drugs.29 It is interesting to note that, when spoken about in Tibetan, the transforma- tion of goods or services into substances for which particular market-based values are assigned becomes inflected with a certain kind of morality. There is an explicit desire to retain some sort of cultural space that is not about money but that is about the provision of ‘benefit’ ( phan) to sentient beings and the ‘real’ or ‘authentic’ (dngos nas) nature of this medical and cultural tradition. Of course this does not mean that the practitioners of Tibetan medicine with whom we engaged in Bhutan or whose work is represented here argue against commodification. Indeed, many are directly engaged in the act of ‘scaling up’ the Tibetan medical industry, in different ways—from Schwabl’s work to bring Tibetan formulas to new European markets, to the ‘elite’ Ladakhi am chi about whom Blaikie writes, and the general if controversial trend amongst many contemporary Tibetan medical practitioners, in both rural and urban settings, to buy ready-made Tibetan pills and powders, as opposed to produc- ing their own medicines. Yet do these changed production regimes mean the same thing in different social contexts? In thinking about medicinal plants as biocultural kinds and linking this idea to the dual pressures to both conserve and commodify, we find resonance with Arjun Appadurai’s concept of the ‘social life of things’, and to ideas about differential relations of exchange that this concept invokes.30 In his introduc- tion to his book, The Social Life of Things, Appadurai writes, ‘Focusing on things that are exchanged, rather than simply on the forms or functions of exchange, makes it possible to argue that what creates the link between exchange and value is politics, construed broadly. This argument . . . justifies the conceit that commodities, like persons, have social lives’.31 This focus on things is crucial for our purposes because it is these things—medicinal plants and other materia medica—that actually give rise to a certain kind of politics, as well as policies, on both ends of the conservation-commodification spectrum. Many of the papers in this volume speak to the ways plants are at once biocultural objects and embodiments of socioeconomic, historical and politi- cal relationships. We point out the historical continuity of trade in medicinals throughout the greater Tibetan-Himalayan region as an example. Yet we also note the ways in which these patterns of exchange are now implicated in global 29 Saxer 2010, this issue; Craig 2006, 2010. 30 Appadurai 1988. 31 Appadurai 1988, p. 3. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 234 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 commerce, and how this changes the terms of this exchange at distinctly local levels. While the more abstract or globalised argument about ‘trade’ connected to cultivating medicinal plants as supposedly a way to offset industry growth (parallel to ‘cap and trade’ arguments in larger environmental debates) is of dubious legitimacy, ideas that link local or regional income generation to plant cultivation may be viable at some level. However, as is reflected in several papers included herein, and in recordings of our Thimphu discussions,32 this depends greatly on the vagaries of market forces and on the enactment and enforcement of regulations on the ground. The many meanings of ‘translation’ A third central theme to emerge from the conference and this special volume of Asian Medicine revolves around concepts and practices of ‘translation’. We have already seen reference to this in the sections above, but it seems necessary to further elaborate what we mean. By translation, we refer not only to the multiple languages at play during our gathering in Bhutan, and the formal and informal moments of interpretation that defined our time together and made this cacophony of voices comprehensible, but also the layers of meaning and epistemological complexity that communication entails. Translation, in this sense, relates to the intersection of different knowledge systems and places on the map. Acts of translation can bridge distances between abstract and inadequate dichotomies such as local/global or tradition/modernity. Good translation can help to create a continuum and a dialogue where there might otherwise be only silence or the assumption of difference. Consider the words of the Spanish philosopher, José Ortega y Gasset. The stupendous reality is that language cannot be understood unless we begin by observing that speech consists above all in silences. A being who could not renounce saying many things would be incapable of speaking. And each language represents a different equation between manifestations and silences. Each people leaves some things unsaid in order to be able to say others. Because everything would be unsayable. Hence, the immense difficulty of translation: translation is a matter of saying in a language precisely what that language tends to pass over in silence.33 Following Ortega, we understand translation to be a process of distillation wherein decisions are made about what details are most important to repre- 32 Podcasts of the talks are available at www.iastam.org/conferences_VII_podcasts.htm. 33 Ortega y Gasset, quoted in Becker 1995, p. 6. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 235 sent, what might be taken for granted, and how to reconcile the spaces in between. While in Bhutan, each of us endeavoured to stretch beyond linguistic and disciplinary ‘comfort zones’ so that we might make the most of this extraordi- nary meeting and the opportunities it afforded. Presenters on our panel included native speakers of Nepali, Dzongkha, German, Chinese, English, and various dialects of Tibetan. The ability to speak with each other and share information depended on imperfect yet well-intentioned efforts on all of our parts to listen carefully, to ask questions, to speak slowly. While some non- native English speakers choose to present in English, others requested the assistance of a translator. Consider the following example. Sienna served as interpreter for one of our long-term colleagues Dr Gyatso Bista, an am chi from Mustang District, Nepal. This was not the first time these two individuals have stood side by side at a podium. However, in most other circumstances, Sienna has translated for Gyatso in front of an audience of non-Tibetan speakers. In this case, a testa- ment to the uniqueness of this IASTAM event, the audience was as diverse as our array of panelists. As such, she found herself choosing words differently than in past moments. She knew that others in the audience could probably surpass her technical aptitude in Tibetan. And yet she was the right person for the job because of their shared vocabulary of experience: Sienna knew inti- mately the places of which Gyatso spoke, and the people with whom he was working. She could anticipate the arc of his discourse, having heard him speak on such topics in the past. In short, there were few silences between them. Yet the nature of instantaneous translation and the time constraints of a formal conference setting created other silences, elided other areas of comprehension. While Gyatso felt compelled to describe his home region and the different planting methods he had used for medicinal plant cultivation trials, Sienna felt more obliged to capture the particular idioms and metaphors with which this am chi discussed his experiences. In a different setting, Sienna might have glossed over Gyatso’s comments about the particulars of Mustang’s air and soil in relation to a plant’s potency and the five elements (’byung ba lnga), aiming instead for a more overarching commentary about the ways materia medica are harvested and prepared in the gso ba rig pa tradition to people with little shared cultural context. And yet in this and other moments in Bhutan, while the words of a Tibetan speaker were interpreted in approximate English, the space created for reflection when patterns of speech are not monolingual became productive and meaningful. Beyond world languages and challenges presented by the need for simulta- neous translation, we also had disciplinary tongues to contend with: anthro- pology, ecology, ethnobotany, development, business, biomedicine, and law, Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 236 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 as well as the overarching yet unevenly shared vocabulary of gso ba rig pa, the ‘science of healing’, its theoretical principles, historical background, and key metaphors. This diversity is retained in the essays included herein. Our discus- sion about the uses of medicinal plants and other materia medica not only involve acts of translation across language and discipline, but also across scien- tific, economic, and cultural value systems, as we have alluded to above. The essays of Blaikie and Saxer emerge from a strongly anthropological tradition, both in terms of the extensive fieldwork that undergirds their arguments and in terms of their analytical frames. For example, Blaikie encourages us to con- sider alternative meanings of the concept ‘endangered species’ through an analysis of contemporary am chi practice in Ladakh. His argument is an act of translation in that he asks us to reconsider the intense focus on Himalayan medicinal plants as sites of endangerment from the perspective of am chi themselves. How have particular kinds of am chi praxis become ‘endangered’ by virtue of the increased focus on conservation activities on the one hand and the increasing industrial production of gso ba rig pa formulas on the other? Other papers and presentations address the tricky work of translation across classificatory systems, as well as across the domains of descriptive studies of ecological change and of evaluative studies geared toward the more interven- tion-oriented agendas of conservation and development. The scholarship of Daniel Winkler, Pei Shengji, and Ma Jianzhong illustrate these dynamics. Each essay is informed by long-term in situ engagement with natural and social ecologies across the Himalaya and Tibetan Plateau. Their contributions translate across registers of ethno- and economic botany into the languages of conservation and development. Pei translates decades of work documenting medicinal plants across High Asia into rationales for the creation of new pro- tected areas and reserves in China. Winkler tracks the freakonomics34 behind the yartsa gunbu phenomenon, putting the dynamic nature of rural household economies, cash-based and barter-oriented trade relationships, commodities markets, and official Chinese economic indices, into dialogue with each other—or at least translating the silences between them, when it comes to this unique and pervasive substance. In the appendix we list different species that have been the subjects of cul- tivation trials. The inclusion of these Appendices is itself an effort to make more widely available disparate knowledge about which plants are being cul- tivated, how, where, to what end, and with what outcomes. Yet technical and cultural acts of translation abound, even in these seemingly straightforward lists. Consider the various names for materia medica across Tibetan, Sanskrit, 34 Cf. Levett and Dubner 2005. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 237 Chinese, Latin, and common English, and the diverse epistemologies that underlie these names. Classification systems have long been seminal areas of inquiry for anthropology and ethnobotany/ethnobiology.35 Incommensurate classifications have given rise to much confusion when it has come to deter- mining everything from sustainable harvesting levels to pharmacological sub- stitutions (tshabs in Tibetan) for ingredients that are either not available or prohibitively expensive.36 As such, these species lists are enmeshed in cross- cultural and multidisciplinary debates about provisioning correct Linnaean equivalents for Tibetan and Himalayan plants. Gawai Dorje’s paper addresses exactly this. These species lists are also emblematic of debates about the names of things: from regional variations that surface in an effort to provide defini- tive contemporary examples of plants described in Tibetan medical texts or centuries-old drawings of medicinal plants as represented in sources like Desi Sangye Gyatso’s Blue Beryl,37 to efforts to assign a correct biochemical profile to a particular plant based on laboratory science performed in contexts far removed from the sites in which such plants grow or are harvested and made into medicines. The theme of translation across value systems can be elucidated also through a careful examination of key terms and how they move across sociolinguistic registers. What do words like ‘sustainability’ and ‘conservation’ mean when they are translated into Tibetan? How does the idea of trade—trade regula- tions, trade secrets, and industries—relate to culturally embedded systems of exchange or to more local and regional economies? How does a concept like ‘commodification’, which is so entangled in a net of cultural, historical, and political-economic relations, get unraveled in a foreign tongue? How does ‘potency’ translate across different scientific, disciplinary, and cultural registers? Questions about how the concepts of sustainability and conservation, and the values associated with them, get translated and/or conveyed at local levels are compelling sites of inquiry. The discourses of conservation and sustain- ability have taken root in possibly new and significant ways among many of the world’s populace, including gso ba rig pa practitioners and the communi- ties that harvest, trade in, grow, or otherwise produce and consume Tibetan 35 Durkheim and Mauss 1963 [1903]; Berlin, Breedlove, and Raven 1973; Berlin 1992; Ellen and Reason 1979; Hunn 1975, 1976, 1982; Glover 2005. 36 Glover 2010; Boesi and Cardini 2006. 37 Desi Sangye Gyatso (1653–1705) was the regent of the ‘Great’ Fifth Dalai Lama and an accomplished scholar of gso ba rig pa. The Blue Beryl (Bai dur sngon po) and the eighty paintings that illustrate this medical treatise are among the most significant cultural and medical docu- ments within the history of gso ba rig pa. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 238 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 medicine(s). Yet as powerful as official/international understandings of ‘con- servation’ and ‘sustainability’ may be, these are not the only sites in which meaning is made or the pragmatic work of conscious resource use is under- taken. The Tibetan term that largely is used as an equivalent for ‘conservation’ is srung skyob, a combination of terms that means to protect, safeguard or defend; in fact, srung is the same term in Tibetan for amulet, a protective item that one usually wears around one’s neck to keep harm at bay—particularly harm that can be inflicted by a whole range of nefarious spirits and other forces that dwell in particular places and distinct ways throughout the greater Tibetan landscape.38 The notion of utility does not seem to be a significant part of the Tibetan term. What a linguistic analysis of the term srung skyob seems to indicate is that the Tibetan concept that often gets translated as ‘conservation’ is in some ways more akin to the idea of preservation, to relationships between different classes of sentient beings (human and non-human, animal and vegetal), and to an ethic of resource use that is at times quite intimately if also subtly linked with Buddhist ideals and concepts about ‘right livelihood’, ‘right practice’, and moral imperatives against greed. We see such notions expressed in the papers of Dr Dawa and Kalden Nyima. And, even if we clearly understand that these are ideals, it is still worth noting that this involves a very different conception of ‘nature’ and the meaning underlying concepts such as ‘preservation’ or ‘con- servation’. Notions of ‘sustainability’, by turns, translate in a range of ways in Tibetan language. There is no one equivalent word, at least not in how the concept is translated in practice. Discussions of sustainability in local vernacu- lars produce phrases such as ‘using plants in the right way’ or ‘harvesting so there is enough in the future’. A perusal of the transcript from our panel reveals that at certain points and in strategic, if not always conscious ways, each of us chose to rely on English or Chinese instead of translating such terms, even when these terms were couched within a sentence that was other- wise spoken in another language. Intellectual Property Rights (IPR) is another example of this phenomenon. Such moments exemplify Ortega y Gasset’s insight that translation involves certain choices about what not to interpret. We would add that these choices are made in particular social and political-economic contexts and are often enmeshed in an array of power relations that can often render one interpreta- tion more valid or reliable than others. What counts as evidence of good sourcing? What methods are used to determine the potency of a plant? These instances in which terms are not translated raise issues about what types of 38 Cf. Samuel 1993. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 239 knowledge come to merit translation, however imperfect. Such moments also raise questions about equivalency and alignment. Does the Tibetan cognate phan nus—phan meaning ‘benefit’ and nus referring to ‘potency’—really cap- ture the meaning of ‘efficacy’, either with reference to its lay meaning, the capacity to produce a desired outcome, or in a more constrained biomedical sense of something that produces a specific, reproducible effect under con- trolled experimental conditions? Or, in another sense, does cultivating a few key species really translate into the alleviation of overharvesting pressures on wildcrafted plants? Can such acts of conservation (or industry-driven income generation, depending on how one looks at it) come to stand for ‘sustainable harvesting’ or ‘green’ business? Where do Buddhist concepts of ‘right liveli- hood’ fit into this picture? These and other questions remain open to debate, but we have been grateful for the opportunity to engage them, both in person and on the page. Honouring a friend A final yet crucial note is in order. The panel we organised in Thimphu was dedicated to Yeshi Chödren Lama (1971–2006). Yeshi was one of the 24 peo- ple who lost her life in the tragic helicopter crash in eastern Nepal in 2006, an event that also took the life of Mingma Norbu Sherpa and Chandra Gurung, leading conservationists and the original engineers of ACAP among many others. The crash was a huge loss for scores of people. When Sienna first met Yeshi in 1996, this young Tibetan woman had just returned from Middlebury College in Vermont. Yeshi joined the World Wildlife Fund Nepal Program in 1997, and immediately began working in Dolpo. What began for Yeshi as a project management assignment would quickly turn into a much deeper per- sonal and professional commitment. Her scholarly contributions include a book on medicinal plants of Dolpo that she co-authored in 2001, collabora- tive articles with colleagues at WWF and the UNESCO People and Plants Initiative, and her MPhil thesis at SOAS in London. Her dedicated engage- ment with am chi, local villagers, government representatives, and interna- tional scholars and consultants, and of course her co-workers and supervisors at WWF, straddled high quality scholarship and engaged conservation and development work. Yeshi’s background in anthropology and international studies, as well as her fluency in Tibetan, were huge assets in this process, and deeply appreciated by all the people she worked with in Dolpo, and later with the Himalayan Amchi Association, as well as her later work in the Kanchen- junga area. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 240 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 Yeshi bridged many worlds—worlds represented by all of us who gathered for this panel. She was as much a Tibetan as she was marked by her life in Nepal. She held fast to her family’s history in Tibet and Bhutan even as she made her peace, like so many Tibetans do, with the experience of exile. She was a scholar in the truest sense of the term: inquisitive, skeptical, with a deeply collaborative spirit and a commitment to the exchange of knowledge across cultural and disciplinary borders. She was a practitioner, in all senses of this term: dedicated, filled with duty and devotion to the people with whom she worked. Many of us still mourn her death and strive to continue the work to which she was so committed. And so, this conference was a bittersweet moment for those who knew Yeshi and those who have benefited, directly or indirectly, from her lifework. We hope that the exchange of ideas and experi- ences presented in this special issue will continue to inspire us: to remind us of all we do not know and to keep us working with the spirit of collaboration, respect, and insight that Yeshi embodied. Acknowledgements We gratefully acknowledge support from a Weiss Family Faculty Research/ Conference Grant through the Nelson A. Rockefeller Center for Public Policy and Social Science, and a conference travel grant from the John S. Dickey Center for International Understanding, both at Dartmouth College. We also thank the Trace Foundation and the University of Puget Sound for their sup- port. These grants made possible our panel at the IASTAM Bhutan confer- ence. Additionally, we would like to thank Theresia Hofer for her assistance at every stage of the IASTAM event, and Tsering D. Gonkatsang for his meticulous and thoughtful translation of the three original Tibetan language essays. References Agrawal, A. 2005, Environmentality: Technologies of Government and the Making of Subjects, Dur- ham: Duke University Press. Appadurai, A. 1988, The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Becker, H. 1995, ‘Introduction,’ In Beyond Translation: Essays toward a Modern Philology, Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1–20. Berlin, B., D. E. Breedlove, and P. H. Raven 1973, ‘General Principles of Classification and Nomenclature in Folk Biology’, American Anthropologist 75: 214–42. Berlin, B. 1992, Ethnobiological Classification: Principles of Categorization of Plants and Animals in Traditional Societies, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 241 Boesi, A. and F. Cardi 2006, ‘Tibetan Herbal Medicine: Traditional Classification and Utiliza- tion of Natural Products in Tibetan Materia Medica’, HerbalGram 71: 38–48. Chittenden, H. M. 1915, The Yellowstone National Park-Historical Description, Cincinnati: Stew- art and Kidd Co. www.archive.org/details/yellowstonenati02chitgoog (accessed 14 October 2010). Craig, S. R. and G. Bista 2005, ‘Himalayan Healers in Transition: Professionalization, Identity, and Conservation among practitioners of gso ba rig pa in Nepal’, in Y. Thomas, M. Karki, K. Gurung, and D. Parajuli (eds), Himalayan Medicinal and Aromatic Plants: Balancing Use and Conservation, Kathmandu: WWF Nepal Program, 411–434. Craig, S. R. 2006, On the Science of Healing: Efficacy and the Metamorphosis of Tibetan Medicine, PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY. —— 2010, ‘From Empowerments to Power Calculations: Notes on Efficacy, Value, and Episte- mology’, in V. Adams, M. Schrempf, and S. Craig (eds), Medicine Between Science and Reli- gion: Explorations on Tibetan Grounds, London and New York: Berghahn Books, 215–240. Durkheim, É. and M. Mauss 1963 [1903]), Primitive Classification, Chicago: University of Chi- cago Press. Ellen, R. F. and D. Reason (eds) 1979, Classifications in Their Social Context, San Francisco: Academic Press. Garrett, F. 2009, ‘The Alchemy of Accomplishing Medicine (sman sgrub): Situating the Yuthog Heart Essence Ritual Tradition’, Journal of Indian Philosophy 37, 3: 207–30. Ghimire, S. K., D. McKey, and Y. Aumeeruddy-Thomas 2005, ‘Heterogeneity in Ethnoecologi- cal Knowledge and Management of Medicinal Plants in the Himalayas of Nepal: Implications for Conservation’, Ecology and Society 9, 3: article 6. Glover, D. M. 2005, Up From the Roots: Contextualizing Medicinal Plant Classifications of Tibetan Doctors in Rgyalthang, PRC, PhD dissertation, University of Washington. —— 2010, ‘Classes in the Classics: Historical Changes in Plant Classifications in Two Tibetan Medical Texts’ in S. Craig, M. Tsomo, F. Garrett, and M. Schrempf (eds), Studies of Medical Pluralism in Tibetan History and Society, Bonn: International Institute for Tibetan and Bud- dhist Studies, Contributions to Research on Central Asia Series. Goeury, D. 2010, ‘Ladakh, Kingdom of Sustainable Development? Protecting the Natural Envi- ronment to Protect Identity’, Journal of Alpine Research 98: 109–21. Government of Nepal, Ministry of Forests and Soil Conservation, Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation, www.dnpwc.gov.np (accessed 14 October 2010). Guha, R. 2000, Environmentalism: A Global History, Menlo Park, CA: Longman. Hayden, C. 2003, When Nature Goes Public: The Making and Unmaking of Bioprospecting in Mexico, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Hunn, E. 1975, ‘A Measure of the Degree of Correspondence of Folk to Scientific Biological Classification’, American Ethnologist 2, 2: 309–27. —— 1976, ‘Toward a Perceptual Model of Folk Biological Classification’ American Ethnologist 3: 508–24. —— 1982, ‘The Utilitarian Factor in Folk Biological Classification’, American Anthropologist 84: 830–47. Igoe, J. 2003, Conservation and Globalization: A Study of National Parks and Indigenous Com- munities from East Africa to South Dakota (Case Studies on Contemporary Issues), Wadsworth Publishing. Lama, Y., S. Ghimire, and Y. Aumeeruddy-Thomas 2001, Medicinal Plants of Dolpo: Am chi’s Knowledge and Conservation, Kathmandu: WWF Nepal Program Publication Series. Levett, S. and S. Dubner 2005, Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything, New York: Penguin Books. Lowe, C. 2006, Wild Profusion: Biodiversity Conservation in an Indonesian Archipelago, Prince- ton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 242 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 Nash, R. F. 2001, Wilderness and the American Mind, New Haven: Yale University Press. Pordié, L. 2002, ‘La pharmacopée comme expression de société: Une etude himalayenne’, in Fleurentin, J., G. Mazars, and J. M. Pelt (eds), Des sources du savoir aux médicaments du futur, Paris: Editions IRD–SFE, 183–94. —— 2008, ‘Reformulating Ingredients: Outlines of a Contemporary Ritual for the Consecra- tion of Medicines in Ladakh’, in M. van Beek and F. Pirie (eds) Modern Ladakh: Anthropo- logical Perspectives on Continuity and Change, Leiden: Brill, 152–174. Samuel, G. 1993, Civilized Shamans: Buddhism in Tibetan Societies, Kathmandu: Mandala Book Point. Saxer, M. 2010, Manufacturing Tibetan Medicine: The Creation of an Industry and the Moral Economy of Tibetanness, PhD dissertation, University of Oxford. Scott, J. C. 1998, Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed, New Haven: Yale University Press. Trusty, Teressa. 2010. The Politics of Representing Nature, Culture, and Conservation in Northwest Bolivia, PhD dissertation, University of Washington. West, P. 2006, Conservation is our Government Now: The Politics of Ecology in Papua New Guinea, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Worster, D. 1993, The Wealth of Nature: Environmental History and the Ecological Imagination, New York: Oxford University Press. 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work_jg7gkx4uyraotbufgdt7q47zbm ---- A Transcendentalist Nature Religion religions Article A Transcendentalist Nature Religion Nicholas Aaron Friesner ID Department of Religious Studies, Brown University, 59 George Street, Providence, RI 02912, USA; nicholas_friesner@brown.edu Received: 28 June 2017; Accepted: 20 July 2017; Published: 26 July 2017 Abstract: Scholars of religion have often pointed to the Transcendentalists as progenitors of a distinct tradition of nature religion in the United States. Nevertheless, this work has not fully dealt with the problematic qualities of “nature” in light of growing concerns about the ethical and socio-political implications of human powers in the Anthropocene. This paper presents a brief overview of “nature religion” while focusing on the often uneasy way that Ralph Waldo Emerson is treated in this work. By looking at how Emerson is viewed as a stepping stone to Henry David Thoreau, I argue that it is precisely what the tradition of nature religion finds problematic in Emerson—his strains of recurrent idealism—that allows him to have a more expansive notion of nature as the environments in which we live, while preserving the importance of human moral agency. What follows, then, is a more nuanced position in environmental ethics that is informed by an Emersonian sense of the irreducible tension between being created and being a creator. Keywords: transcendentalism; nature religion; Ralph Waldo Emerson; environmental ethics; environmental justice 1. Introduction Among scholars as well as the general American public, it has long been acknowledged that the Transcendentalists have contributed to a specific tradition of environmental religiosity. Their influence has been variously named, both by those who would distance Transcendentalists like Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau from religious institutions (making theirs a kind of spirituality), and by those who allow that this is a different kind of religious tradition, one less invested in reiterating formal church structures and more in inaugurating a revolution in what religion (here, not opposed to spirituality) will look like in the future. Among scholars of religion, both Emerson and Thoreau have played a major role in the development of what is called a “nature religion” tradition insofar as each articulated a sense of religious reverence for the sacrality of the natural world that is inherited by a long line of readers, many of whom ascribe to them a near-prophetic status. However great its ongoing influence as an analytical category for drawing together a diverse set of religious phenomena under a symbolic engagement with nature, we might wonder whether, as a coherent concept, nature religion stands up to critical scrutiny. For instance, recent scholarship from a range of disciplines has questioned the continuing relevance of the analytic category of “nature” because of its seeming inoculation from an analysis of the effects of social and political power. Taking my cue from these critical reappraisals of the unstated normative undertones of “nature”, the question I will explore in what follows is whether a Transcendentalist sense of “nature religion,” returning to it so-called problematic Emersonian roots, might be better equipped to deal with questions of twenty-first century environmentalism. Thus, my goal is to interrogate one aspect of the legacy of the Transcendentalists for religious thought in the United States, focusing solely on the tangled question of a “nature religion”. However, I will not interrogate the particular historical trajectory presented by the dominant paradigm of nature religion in this essay—and whether its inclusion of certain voices operates to the exclusion of others—but will instead focus on the unraveling of a certain vision of “nature” that lays at its core. Religions 2017, 8, 130; doi:10.3390/rel8080130 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0002-1020-4838 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel8080130 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2017, 8, 130 2 of 18 In fact, what I will argue in the following is that we can see in miniature what is most troubling about “nature” as an ethical category in the traditional move from Emerson to Thoreau as it is represented by the majority of those who have been interested in the connection between nature religion and environmentalism in the past three decades. My contention will be that swirling within the criticism that is often made of Emerson’s proto-environmentalism—i.e., that his idealism prevents him from realizing the true value of nature as something independent of the human, a value that is not merely symbolic and not merely in service of human ethical flourishing—are the tools for an approach to environmental ethics and justice in the present. That is to say, the ambiguity of Emerson’s nature idealism allows him to have a sense in which human power and nature power are intertwined, in which nature is more than the wilderness but stands for the environments in which we live. Consequently, Emerson’s ideal of intimacy with the world preserves a unique sense of human responsibility while rejecting any picture in which human moral activity is autonomous from the environments it occurs. The lineage of the Transcendentalist interest in nature moves away from Emerson on this point, traveling instead through the tradition of nature writing and a more overt celebration of the land. My hope is to draw from Emerson the idea that humans now live in a tension with the world in which we are both creators of and created by own environments. This is one of what Stanley Cavell would call the “unhandsome” aspects of our condition, that when we try to clutch the hardest at our world we tend to lose contact with it the most.1 By turning back to Emerson, my hope is not to privilege Emerson over any other ethical response—as though he sets out something unique on the American intellectual scene. Indeed, there are many indigenous and ecotheological views that come to a similar kind of claim about human responsiveness to the environment, but which start in very different places.2 There are many roads to the place I hope to go. Rather, my hope is to focus on a kind of unconventional Emerson, a figure I believe has been used and misused at the nexus of religion, literature, and environmental thought, all in hopes of offering a view that might have resonance in the twenty-first century. 2. “Nature Religion” and Symbolic “Nature” Although it is still in wide usage in an array of fields, the term “nature” has itself come under criticism for a variety of reasons from many different disciplines. For those working in the field of religion and ecology, “nature” is problematic as a term to the extent that it refers to an individual object of religious concern that is often bound to a particular creation theology separating some autonomous order of “nature” from not-nature. This creation theology need not be explicitly monotheistic, for there are a variety of ways to separate the domains of a created order into two distinct (although perhaps entangled) spheres. The problem is that too often this creation theology is considered a neutral or universalizable descriptor. As Roger Gottlieb among others has written, religion and ecology in its early iterations as a discipline dealt explicitly with the question of how humans are to deal with “creation”, which was more or less equivalent to the term “nature”. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the idea of “creation” in this context uses either an explicit or implicit theological apparatus to preserve the order of nature as a created thing apart from human power. Nature (as creation) was thus viewed as a thing that becomes despoiled by human activity—the human (along with the equally pernicious 1 I follow Tyler Roberts in refining Cavell’s reading of this passage by taking it as an argument for receptivity through acknowledgment of the world (Buell 2003, p. 211). As Emerson puts it in “Experience”: “I take this evanescence and lubricity of all objects, which lets them slip through our fingers then when we clutch hardest, to be the most unhandsome part of our condition. Nature does not like to be observed, and likes that we should be her fools and playmates” (CW 3:29). In this essay, I will use the standard abbreviations for the works of Emerson: The Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson (J) (Emerson 1960–1982); The Early Lectures of Ralph Waldo Emerson (EL) (Emerson 1961–1972); The Collected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson (CW) (Emerson 1971–2013); and The Complete Sermons of Ralph Waldo Emerson (CS) (Emerson 1989–1992). 2 For instance, much of what I will say seems compatible with what Kyle Whyte and Chris Cuomo have recently described as an indigenous ethics of care with regards to the environment, one in which the human caretaker role arguably has elements of what I term a transcendental intimacy (Whyte and Cuomo 2017). Religions 2017, 8, 130 3 of 18 “culture”) coming to exist in disharmony with creation and therefore pitted against it. Nonetheless, not only is “nature” dubious as a universalizable concept, but without some form of creation theology to delimit the separate spheres of human and nature so that each is autonomous in its own way with powers distinct from the other, the idea of “nature” decoupled from a creation theology begins to break apart. Indeed, this decoupling is exasperated by what now seems empirically undeniable: what were once taken to be the categorically distinct spheres of human and nature are no longer viewed as separate realms with separable spheres of power, but mutually constituting, with no idyllic prelapsarian harmony to which we ought to return.3 For many who work in religion and ecology and are worried about how “nature” might provide a false sense of a fully harmonious order, there has been a conceptual change to thinking about the “environment” to avoid the problematic theological overtones of “nature”. Instead, as Gottlieb describes, we must focus our ethical gaze on “a nonhuman world whose life and death, current shape and future prospects, are in large measure determined by human beings” (Gottlieb 2006, p. 5). The conceptual change to talking about environments rather than nature is also meant to acknowledge a fact that now seems undeniable: that we are living in what is now fashionably called the anthropocene, meaning that we are living at a time when human activity and human power have unimaginable impacts on every facet of the Earth.4 This is an acknowledgment that in our twenty-first century, globalized industrial society there is no self-sustaining natural world that stands apart from the influence of human power—and vice versa. This is, first of all, an empirical claim to which we are witnesses through climate science, conservation biology, environmental medicine, as well as with the variety of those who work towards environmental justice, among other and diverse fields. But this has a philosophical resonance as well: that is to say, we are not passive receivers of impressions made on us by the world, but active creators of our experiences, beings that are shaped by socio-cultural systems in conjunction with the physical environments that are also shaped by these systems. The social and the environmental are nearly impossible to disentangle—and that is a central element of what the anthropocene forces us to acknowledge. I should note as well that just as Emerson and Thoreau saw humans as animals, my invocation of the anthropocene is not meant to make a categorical distinction between humans and animals (or any other form of life)—although it does take the human species to be exceptional in the sense that, at the present, human activity has a radical world-altering power and the concomitant moral responsibility that entails, even if this responsibility is not equally dispersed among all members.5 If we admit the logic of the anthropocene, this presents a problem for how we might talk about “experiences” of “nature”, especially those kinds of experiences that form the foundation of “nature religion”. In many ways, the realization that there is no autonomous order of nature not deeply shaped, physically and conceptually, by forms of human power has an analog with the debates about religious experience by scholars beginning in the 1980s with Wayne Proudfoot’s groundbreaking 3 This also becomes a problem for theological naturalists: insofar as there is nothing that is not nature, then nature ceases to mean anything. For instance, the following question seemed to alter radically Robert Corrington’s theological work: “If nature is all that there is, can we even use the word ‘nature’ in a philosophical perspective in which the concept of the ‘non-nature’ makes absolutely no sense?” (Corrington 2002, p. 141). 4 My usage of the “anthropocene” here is meant to follow in the work of Jeremy Davies who presents it as “a way of seeing” that “can work as a shock tactic. To say that the earth has changed so much that a whole new geological epoch has begun is a way of driving home the magnitude of recent damage to the living world.” Rather than promoting a universalism that absolves individual actors of responsibility, or providing a defense of a technocratic global elite as the saviors of our planet, Davies sees the “anthropocene” as a descriptor of a new epoch in geologic time, one that can encompass as well as celebrate the vast plurality of ecological responses to the effects of human power on the life and health of the planet and its organisms (Davies 2016, pp. 194–95). 5 This is, of course, a contentious portrayal of the anthropocene. For one recent criticism of this view, Donna Haraway argues that conceptions of the anthropocene seem to rely on “human exceptionalism and the utilitarian individualism of classical political economies,” which offer up a technocratic and pessimistic solution to environmental problems. She relates this to the “last gasps of the sky gods,” the monotheistic religious traditions that see divinity in a human form that transcends the earthly (Haraway 2016, p. 57). Religions 2017, 8, 130 4 of 18 work. Prior to this period, scholars of religion often treated an individual’s religious experience as a kind of preconceptual access to a world that imprinted itself on the subject independent of that person’s history, culture, or circumstance. Scholars of religion now see this position as woefully misguided. Instead, we ought to think about religious experiences as one way that people find meaning through a particular combination of their history, cultural frameworks, and the experience of physical things in the world.6 Religious experiences always happen in the midst of a complex web of processes that shape them to be what they are. The analogy with nature here should be evident: just as how “nature” once was taken to be an object sui generis that could impress itself upon people apart from their particular contexts, providing a source of normativity for human life that is removed from the social-cultural systems that have (potentially) led us astray, we now understand that there is no such thing out there that is not already mediated—both conceptually and physically—in some way by forms of human power. Consequently, there is no such experience of nature apart from the social frameworks of race, religion, gender, class, nationality, etc., all of which inform how we experience. It is here where we can also witness the move from what is sometimes called first-wave literary ecocriticism to its second-wave successor (Buell 2005). Whereas early forms of ecocriticism tended towards a celebration of the pristine quality of untouched natural lands and promoted efforts to legally, culturally, and biologically preserve those lands from human interference, second wave ecocriticism tends to take a more circumspect view of nature by beginning with the realization that too much focus on the untouched natural lands of the first wave tended to preclude questions about how “nature” is itself produced. In doing so, this second wave focuses on ways of representing environments that include more than just the wilderness, but also toxic waste dumps, the luxuries of ecotourism, and the variety of urban built spaces (Feldman and Hsu 2007, p. 200).7 As ecocritics take this criticism to heart, their work begins to show how “nature cannot be represented as something separate and complete in itself, but rather must be seen in material relation to socially differentiated bodies” (Feldman and Hsu 2007, pp. 205–6). Nevertheless, this thorough critique of “nature”, as a category treated apart from the social and historical forces that shore up its coherence, seems not yet to have been fully brought to bear on work exploring nature religion. Indeed, when Albanese (1990, p. 6) coined the term to refer to that somewhat diffuse collection of forms of religiosity that have a common way of “organizing reality” around a concern for the sacrality of nature, she was more interested in whether this proposed category could hold together as a descriptor of a “religious” phenomenon, as opposed to something quasi-or irreligious. Much of the conversation has followed this lead, asking whether it holds up as an accurate definition of “religion” without either dissolving all quasi-religious phenomena into religion proper or dismissing all phenomena that do not toe a rather narrow theological conception of what can count as religion (Berry 2011). That is to say, of the two constitutive conceptual components of “nature religion”, it has been the “religion” component that has garnered the bulk of scholars’ attention because it seeks to include a diverse array of religious phenomena under a single umbrella. In Albanese’s follow-up work, it is just this problem that draws her attention: she worries that “the appearance of nature religion dissolved almost as soon as it could be identified,” not because there are questions about the boundaries of the category “nature” and the various and diverse meanings it might have, but because she has trouble answering the question of “where does religion stop and something else begin?” (Albanese 2002, p. 23). “Nature” isn’t a problem for Albanese because she treats it as the “reality” in which human experience occurs, a stable point made up of the “forces and factors that delimit the human project—aspects of life over which humans, literally, have no control and before which they must bow” (Albanese 2002, p. 24). There isn’t a discussion of how this reality of “nature” shifts and 6 The classic presentation of this view was given by Proudfoot (1987). For more recent work that extends this view, (see Bush 2014; Taves 2009). 7 In this way, ecocritics are turning to the same environmental phenomena that sociologists pursuing environmental justice, such as David Pellow, have been exploring in recent years (Pellow 2002; Park and Pellow 2011). Religions 2017, 8, 130 5 of 18 morphs depending on how it is conceived, or whether the idea that there are forces outside of human control ceases to be an adequate way of describing nature in the anthropocene where we only have quasi-natural phenomena. As I will show below, Albanese, as well as much of the other nature religion literature, has trouble putting Emerson under the “nature religion” umbrella precisely to the extent to which he seems unsure of “nature” as a fixed reality in which human life participates. The discourse around “nature religion” has generally followed this path laid out by Albanese. For instance, Taylor and Horn (2006, p. 166) define “nature religion(s)” as “umbrella terms for religious perceptions and practices that, despite substantial diversity, are characterized by a reverence for nature and consider nature to be sacred in some way,” with an added sense that it involves “the feeling some people have of being bound, connected, or belonging to nature.” Taylor and Van Horn see this as a move away from efforts to achieve a transcendence of nature. For them, anti-transcendence opens the door to a different kind of nonsupernatualist religion that will inspire environmental action and a “reverence for life” (Taylor and Horn 2006, pp. 179–80). Similarly, Dacy (Dacy 2005, p. 1175) in The Encyclopedia of Religion and Nature describes “nature religion” as “a type of religion in which nature is the milieu of the sacred, and within which the idea of transcendence of nature is unimportant or irrelevant to religious practice.” There is a general tendency toward ecocentrism in these works, which explains the aversion to certain notions of “transcendence”. What is to be transcended is human culture and the problems therein, but not the natural world as the context in which all human thought and activity occurs. Indeed, it is the full-bodied “reality” or “nature” that ensures that “nature religion” can operate as a set of dispersed religious phenomena that all roughly employ a similar sense of the sacrality of a shared referent. Indeed, there isn’t much interrogation of what kind of creation theology would hold this “nature” together, or whether that theology is as shared as it is sometimes made out to be. In this regard, scholarship on nature religion is similar to first-wave ecocriticism. One of the places this commonality comes out most strongly is the tendency to treat Emerson as a stepping stone to Thoreau. When looking at the standard histories of US environmentalism that informs work on nature religion, there is no doubt that Thoreau is the more important figure, the one who inspires the earliest generations of explicitly environmentalist writers and who is credited as being perhaps the first American naturalist. In Thoreau’s work the land speaks to him in often finely attentive ways, ways to which he is more attuned and better at celebrating than the ephemeral-sounding Emerson.8 Indeed, Thoreau’s volumes of natural description and extended natural metaphor are so aesthetically superior to Emerson’s occasional observations that no one would dare put them on the same level. In Buell’s formative volume for understanding the American environmental imagination, he makes Thoreau’s treatment of the personified nonhuman world the central thread of the work, enacting a tradition of poetic animism that provides the bond between ecology and ethics. As Buell (1995, pp. 208–9) rightly describes the dominant paradigm of environmentalism in the US, Thoreau is seen as having a “personal intimacy with nature,” in which an animated Walden functions as “a living presence, not merely a ‘neighbor’ but a mentor, a role model.”9 When Buell offered his updated understanding of ecocriticism in 2005, Thoreau’s importance diminishes as a more global and justice-oriented literature rises to prominence, even though Buell 8 There is still a question (as there is for Emerson as well) of whether the later detailed naturalistic observations of Thoreau witness a religious disenchantment when compared to his earlier, more spiritually enthusiastic writing. As Hodder (2011, p. 473) puts it: “According to this decline narrative, as we might call it, at this watershed moment in his life [his late thirties into his forties]. Thoreau began to abandon his earlier spiritual euphoria, along with his former religious idealism, and devoted himself instead to a narrower set of scientific commitments.” Needless to say, oftentimes the literature that is more concerned with Thoreau’s naturalism as the archetypal environmentalist expression tends to view this as a positive change, rather than an extension of an coherent religious project from the beginning. In general, there is a tendency to “secularize” the prominent Transcendentalists when considering their contribution to the creation of a distinctive literary tradition. For an exploration of this, (see Van Anglen 1998). 9 Buell defends Thoreau’s blatant use of the pathetic fallacy as a means by which to present environmental care with a voice, a way of conceptualizing the environment as sacred on social terms. That is to say, because Thoreau was able to recognize an intimacy with nature through conceptualizing its presence to him in terms of human social relations, he was able to respond to it as though responding to a person—as, in a sense, allowing the things of the environment to speak to him in Religions 2017, 8, 130 6 of 18 hints at ways of bringing Thoreau into this conversation by expanding his concern beyond the strictly naturalistic literature inspired by him.10 Accounts that are more sympathetic to Emerson, such as Gatta (2004), still tend to find the fulfillment of the environmentalist turn in the ecocentric animism of Thoreau. Pitting Thoreau’s “hearty empiricism” against Emerson’s “metaphysical abstractions,” Gatta finds the latter to dwell too much on the idea that humans are creators of the visible world, and that the environment is too often nothing more than the mind’s projection (Gatta 2004, p. 89). Gatta reads Emerson as failing to attend properly to how his understanding of “nature” was historically mediated in those moments when he sensed that he had somehow gotten to the truth of nature by means of a heightened individual experience (Gatta 2004, p. 95). Thus, Thoreau is the one who finds a way of accounting for how human imaginative abilities “half-create” our interaction with a place, avoiding a simple celebration of the pristine and untouched wilderness by portraying the human-environment relationship as one of co-creation (Gatta 2004, p. 131). As Thoreau interprets nature through his carefully crafted empirical observations, he comes to self-consciousness about himself as interpreter. Thus, Gatta finds in Thoreau a less problematic theology of creation that makes the idea of living deliberately in close relation to the natural world an intentional act of acknowledged co-creation. In general, the literature on nature religion reinforces the picture given by the ecocritics, where Thoreau supersedes Emerson by taking significant steps to overcome his anthropic idealism with an ecocentrism that is informed by his scientific naturalism. Albanese’s work is emblematic in this regard, as she attributes to Emerson a confusion between “a view of matter as ‘really real’” and “a view of matter as illusion and unreality”—forcing a dilemma between choosing to view “nature as the embodiment of God” and thus the home for human life, or “transcending” nature “for higher things” (Albanese 1990, p. 82). She even argues that Emerson was aware of this shift from “Nature Major to Nature Minor” and felt the need to apologize for it once he realized that he was stuck in a problem that he was unable to remove himself from (Albanese 1990, pp. 85–87; 2002, p. 67). Thoreau, at least in Albanese’s earlier work, corrects some of what she sees as Emerson’s problem concerning the inherent “reality” of nature, replacing it with a more thoroughly “unchastened embrace of matter” (Albanese 1990, p. 87). Taylor and Horn (2006, pp. 169–70) reiterate this move, claiming that Thoreau and his inheritor John Muir were “far more interested in nature for its own sake than Emerson,” thus making them “naturalists who were more scientifically inclined than Emerson,” portraying their mentor Emerson as more representative of the strain of Transcendentalism that leads to contemporary New Age spiritualities than a deep environmental concern.11 The problem with all these moves from the symbolic “nature” of Emerson to the scientific naturalism of Thoreau is that the juxtaposition between Thoreau and Emerson—the empirical observer versus the metaphysical spiritualist—privileges an empirical model as the primary means by which to understand the environment, which is understood as a nature that exists waiting to be uncovered.12 his own language. He is able to treat Walden as a mentor precisely because he has augmented himself in order to stand in a relationship of intimacy with it. It is through nature’s personhood that Thoreau brings ecology and ethics together. 10 “But to think of the Walden persona, through an environmental justice lens, as struggling with the concerns of poverty, downward mobility, and chagrin at being socially reduced to the equivalent of an ethnic other helps both to define the book’s mental limits—the presumption of the still-comparatively privileged, subsidized Yankee likening his predicament to that of a wandering Native American basket-peddler—and to mark off what makes Walden a more searching ecocultural inquiry than much of the latter-day voluntary simplicity literature partly inspired by it” (Buell 2005, pp. 122–23). 11 Additionally, the three entries in the Encyclopedia of Religion and Nature that deal with Emerson, Thoreau, and the Transcendentalist movement, by Gould (2005), argue that Emerson cared more about nature’s symbolic power than its scientific importance, that Thoreau goes “beyond” Emerson with his scientific naturalism, but also Thoreau goes beyond most of the Transcendentalist movement in general, which she reads as interested in the moral and aesthetic value that “lay ‘behind’ or ‘inside’ external, natural phenomena,” showing their interest to lie more in a symbolic nature than an actually physically existing nature. 12 One could argue that Thoreau’s work pushes back on some of this simply juxtaposition. For instance, his claim in “Walking” that he lives a “border life” should cause us to question the very boundaries that seem necessary for a concept like the “natural”. Religions 2017, 8, 130 7 of 18 We are given the impression that if one is to be environmentally conscious, then he must become a naturalist. Often it seems that the conflation between environmentalism and naturalism is meant to express the rejection of any attempt at human transcendence—whether with a notion of divinity or not—because it would seem to distance one from a concern with nature. While “nature” is acknowledged to be a human construct for this model, it still treats it as though it is a reality somewhere out there awaiting exploration—and, we might add, conquered by a kind of masculinist knowledge of it. Consequently, a picture of nature as pristine wilderness seems to be lurking always in the background for this empiricism, always supplying that which is to be constructed by human cognition. What we lose, then, are the ways that nature is physically constructed by humans, not just conceptually. And the pristine wilderness seems again to run afoul of critiques of creation theology. What such a theology of creation fails to give us is a way of understanding that, for instance, our social and political systems have been inflected by racist ideologies and have formed the environment into a physical instantiation and instrument for the perpetuation of racism. Racialized human systems produced racialized environments. A theology of creation that doesn’t take this into account fails to allow us to attend to the ways that the formation of the environment comes to represent a type of slow violence, to use Rob Nixon’s term, one in which human actions cause changes in the environment which, in disproportionate ways, map onto socially marginalized peoples and cause them violence in long temporal durations (Nixon 2011, p. 2). That is to say, the physical landscape itself becomes the carrier for social injustice, remaking and remapping the environment according to social and political power—and there is no way of escaping this power.13 Let me consider one more preliminary concern before turning to my presentation of Emerson. To recuperate a sense of an Emersonian nature religion that gives us tools for thinking about the ambiguity of the human-environment relationship, we will need a way of understanding how nature religion can find forms of authority that are more than individual projection, that finds authority in the reality of nature even when “nature” is understood as a (partial) product of human power. Take, for instance, a criticism of Emerson made by Lundin (2005) that expresses a discontent with the modernity and the perceived liberalism of an Emersonian religion. In From Nature to Experience, Lundin tracks the loss of a kind of authority offered by the natural world as the locus of God’s revelation, which is replaced by a particularly American sense of the authority of individual experience. For Lundin, this is a story of the decline of religion (or, more appropriately, a certain understanding of Christian orthodoxy) in the face of secularizing pressures, a decline which can be seen in miniature in Emerson’s corpus.14 By turning the locus of authority from nature to experience, Lundin argues, the human becomes the measure of all things, and therefore the measure of nothing. Lundin has a reluctant sympathy for Emerson, who he reads as trying to preserve a thread of moral reality for nature through his doctrine of correspondence, as though Emerson saw the writing on the wall but was helpless to do anything about it. Many readers of Emerson (Lundin singles out Richard Poirier, but we might include Cavellians and Pragmatists of all stripes here as well) have de-divinized Emerson by removing that last thread of moral reality from him, emptying him of all his “metaphysical dimensions” (Lundin 2005, pp. 63, 65). From Lundin’s rhetoric, it is clear that this is a story of cultural 13 As Nixon (2011) notes, to respond to the contemporary situation of slow violence, more than a careful empirical attention to the environment is needed. In fact, the notion of wilderness that too often gets substituted for the environment in some ecocriticism as well as work on nature religion generally serves to obscure these formations of social and political power. Instead, we need creative representations that make visible what often goes invisible—i.e., the forms of environmental change that have disproportionate impacts on the socially marginalized because they occur in non-spectacular ways in ordinary everyday spaces. As Gottlieb (2006) pointed out above, there is no longer a sense of a nature that is not a product of or subject to human power—what we have no not are various and different environments, inflected in various ways by forms of human power and activity, and we need not look too far to find them, but we must make efforts to look. 14 In the short eight-year period from Nature to “Experience,” Lundin sees the crucial moment where American intellectual culture moves away from the authority of (Christian) tradition. This loss of traditional authority represented by the turn to experience would eventually take hold among the American pragmatists, culminating in the evacuation of all forms of non-experiential authority for the ungrounded, endless theorization that he claims to find in Richard Rorty (Lundin 2005, pp. 2–3, 8–9). Religions 2017, 8, 130 8 of 18 decline.15 As Lundin presents it, the loss of authority other than the self is a theological problem, and it is only made worse by an Emersonian theology which, as he conceives it, gives authority to individual experience against the authority of tradition, an authority that cannot be dethroned by anything other than the active self in its self-making activity. And if the active self is the only locus of authority, then there will be little regard for any ethical obligation imposed on the self from outside it—in this case, by one’s environment. In many ways this is one of the longstanding criticisms of Emersonian religion. A version of it is found in Orestes Brownson, the Transcendentalist turned Roman Catholic who departed with Emerson over the latter’s commitment to promoting the moral sentiment as an insight into one’s own soul, rather than seeing that morality required “obeying the command of a power out of him, above him, and independent of him” (Brownson 1991, p. 194). According to this criticism, the Emersonian active self that needs only to obey itself loses the sense of obligation entirely—or, as Brownson put it, morality becomes just “transcendental selfishness” and “pure egotism” (Brownson 1991, p. 196). Oftentimes this became, in Emerson’s day, the claim that Emerson dismissed traditional Christian practice when it seemed personally disagreeable to him, making it so that individual distaste becomes the primary determinate of one’s morality.16 One could offer a similar criticism of Cavell’s work and those inspired by him to the extent that it promotes an Emersonian self that is interested only in its untethered linguistic becoming (Buell 2003; Friedman 2009). Without some strong claimant outside the self that can serve as a source of authority that dampens the individual self, the criticism goes, the self swings too freely, and in the Cavellian case, revels too intently in its own playful creative power. Unfortunately, those who would make this criticism of Emersonian religion often hold a static conception of “authority”—that of a particular theological orthodoxy, either an orthodoxy of the book, church, or spirit. Without that, the criticism would go, there is nothing but the willing of the individual self. With that in mind, we must attempt to swim among these two pressures, neither succumbing to the tendency to defer human power to the power of nature, nor allowing the individual self to assume complete world-making power. Indeed, I will try to show that it is precisely in this tension that Emerson’s work can be informative. Furthermore, if we are to engage in a recuperative project of turning to Emerson for a nature religion that is fit for a twenty-first century understanding of the often tangled and mutually constitutive humans-environments relation, then we will need to be doubly insecure about our conceptual pairing of “nature” and “religion”. Neither stands as a constant grounded by the other: “nature” is the not the universal reality or shared context that collects a diverse set of religious phenomena, and “religion” is not a theologically constant phenomenon that collects diverse notions of nature into a single discourse. Because the scholarly literature had dealt with the latter concern for what is religious about “nature religion, in the next section I focus on just the former of these concerns by giving an account of Emerson as suppling an ideal of intimacy with the world that preserves the sense of human responsibility (not collapsing human agency in the ecocentric moves that have been characteristic of movements in deep ecology), while eschewing complete human autonomy from physical environments (the claim of anthropomorphic approaches to the environment). Through a cauldron of self, community, and environment, various competing senses of authority emerge. This, I claim, is a product of Emerson’s idealism when understood properly. That is, his idealism is not concerned with the mastery of creation through “manipular” means, nor is it about metaphysical abstraction (or, alternatively, transcendence) to the point of disregard for the 15 The last line of his book reinstitutes the kind of authority that he feels has been lost in the liberal turn to experience: “In that silence [of the cross], we may hear a word of abiding comfort, and in this insulted face, we may see an authority that we can indeed call master” (Lundin 2005, p. 202). 16 This claim continues today. For instance, in Barbara Packer’s analysis of the Lord’s Supper Sermon, Emerson rejects the rite because of the “boredom” that he felt towards it “elevat[ing] distaste into a principle of criticism,” which she reads as an instance of religious “indifference” (Packer 2007, p. 9). Religions 2017, 8, 130 9 of 18 physical—rather, it is about a careful acknowledgment of the power of human creativity and the need for that creativity to be wielded appropriately in relation to the very real bonds of the self that normatively bind it. 3. Emersonian “Nature” “Religion” It would be wrong to suppose that Emerson had a single conception of “nature” throughout his career. Indeed, there is a way that he is building his idealist conception of nature throughout his corpus. Accordingly, to make my case that Emersonian “nature” can be helpful for a different kind of nature religion, I will focus on four essays from different periods of his life: Nature (1836), “The Method of Nature” (1841), “Nature” (1844), and “Illusions” (1860). These essays are by no means exhaustive, but when read together, they present some of the fundamental aspects of how Emerson approached nature, as well as many of the elements that scholars have found to be anathema for an environmental concern. My goal, in particular, will be to develop an Emersonian notion of ecstasy in relation to religious piety, and to show how this relates both to the environment and the function of human agency. Although his first book, Nature, stands as perhaps his most well-read exposition of a transcendentalist view of “nature,” it is not without its ambiguities—something that the literature on nature religion has been right to identify. From the beginning of the book we are told that there are two senses of nature: first, the “philosophical” sense that separates Nature (or the “not-me”) from Soul (the human subject); and, second, the “common sense” of nature, which treats it as “essences unchanged by man,” separate from Art, which is the mixture of human will and nature (CW 1:8).17 The glibness of the way these positions are presented, in conjunction with the assertion that the differences between the philosophical and the common senses of nature will cause “no confusion” for his inquiry, already seems to indicate that something sly is happening. It is as if we are led from the outset to be suspicious of this distinction between soul/human and nature, primed to see perhaps how this Cartesian inheritance doesn’t hold up to critical scrutiny. Indeed, the arc of the first main section of the extended essay, appropriated labeled “Nature”, culminates with a subtle rejoinder to those who would treat nature and the human as distinct. We might begin our inquiries with the sense that nature is “the integrity of impression made by manifold natural objects” which the poet has the eyes to see as though an independent witness to a manifold imparting ideas or sentiments according to its own integrity, but we end the chapter with the realization that our “delight” in nature is self-produced, that “Nature always wears the colors of the spirit;” that is, our spirit (no longer just the poet’s), which can be joyful one day and “overspread with melancholy” the next, plays a determining part in dictating how these supposed “essences unchanged by man” are seen (CW 1:9–10). Even the so-called transparent eyeball passage is said to occur “in good health,” prompting us to wonder what such an experience might look like to one in “poor” health (CW 1:9). This, of course, draws attention to the infamous “crack” that generations of scholarship have pointed to as Emerson’s admission that his attempt to weld together the realism of the first five chapters with the idealism of the last two chapters—using his transitional “Idealism” chapter—ends up being a failure. The “Idealism” chapter seems at best to waver in what it aims to do. It gives us the five ways that one might understand idealism (“motion, poetry, physical and intellectual science, and religion”) but ultimately doesn’t seem to favor one over the others. Instead, Emerson discloses that he has “no hostility to nature, but a child’s love to it” and that “all right education” ought to go towards promoting the realization of “man’s connexion with nature” (CW 1:35–36). In fact, the chapter both begins and ends with the importance of the “active” over the “reflective” as a means to respond 17 Emerson’s distinction between me and not-me calls to mind Fichte’s distinction between Ich and Nicht-Ich, which Emerson would most likely have received at second-hand through a combination of Thomas Carlyle, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Victor Cousin, and Frederick Henry Hedge (Greenham 2012, pp. 70–81). Religions 2017, 8, 130 10 of 18 to the “noble doubt” that idealism raises about the existence of the world apart from the human, culminating with the claim that philosophy and virtue cannot simply take the position of watchers in an ideal world, but must marry this “watching” to “doing” (CW 1:30, 36).18 Importantly, it is love that Emerson returns to at the end of the book, excoriating a materialist science and philosophy that seeks only to fill up notebooks with facts about nature, urging the naturalist to attend also to himself and his position in which “the axis of vision is not coincident with the axis of things” (CW 1:43). In the end, then, the naturalist needs not only to “perceive” nature, but must love it as well, love it in such a way that his “thought is devout, and devotion is thought.” Admonishing the cold naturalist not to forget the importance of his love does not strictly solve the idealist-realist division, because it doesn’t tell us the true nature of our subjective influence on an objective world. Nevertheless, this affective dimension of one’s love for nature—one of Emerson’s inheritances from the Romantic tradition and his Aunt Mary Moody—reverberates throughout the corpus. In the essay “Love” from Essays: First Series, Emerson writes that he is pained by the accusation that his lectures have been too intellectual, and thus “unjustly cold to the personal relations” (CW 2:101). In response, he links together three ideas: the sense that “persons are love’s world,” the power of nature to evoke this love, and the impact of love on the “social instincts.” For Emerson, this is a linkage that occurs in youth and reverberates throughout the life of the individual even as she might no longer be able to “see” nature in that youthful way (CW 2:102). What is striking about this essay is Emerson’s usage of a kind of animism to describe how nature can be an object of love that becomes ethically significant. Through this love, “Nature grows conscious.”19 Emerson even evokes the idea of the flower, among other things in nature, as a kind of intelligent being.20 What the essay is concerned with is the “training” for a love that looks for virtue and wisdom everywhere, and uses an affection for the natural world as a place in which to cultivate this virtue and wisdom (CW 2:109). Emerson is clear that there is a current of idealism operating below the surface here: it is not that when one looks on nature with the right eye one sees it as it truly is, but that when one looks on nature with a particular kind of eye for it, then it will become the kind of animated intelligent thing to which we ethically respond. Emerson accepts the Kantian point that we do not see nature as it really is, but he rejects the idea that this empties nature of its ethical power in shaping us. The sin, as Wendell Berry (2000, pp. 7–8) points out, is not that our ideas imprison us, but that we presume “to reduce life to the scope of our understanding,” which “is inevitably to enslave it, make property of it, and put it up for sale.” When we do this, we reduce the “moral complexity” of the world. So far so good, one might say, but that doesn’t do much to answer our worries about the crack between realism and idealism. His 1841 lecture, “The Method of Nature,” goes a long way towards refining his position on just this point. In this lecture, Emerson develops the importance of a position of ecstasy, which he connects with a kind of religious piety and receptivity that stresses both love over knowledge and an “intimate divinity” (CW 1:136). Like many from the period, the lecture intends to argue against a materialist and empirical reduction of nature to merely a tool for human 18 Greenham (2014, pp. 89–90) sees Nature as an attempt to bring together idealism with the active shaping of a “nature” which is not separate from the human: “Nature, at the last, for Emerson, is not something material that exists in opposition to us, in excess of us; nature is that which we are inside and out. This is what Transcendentalism means. It is the discovery of ourselves through the process of giving shape to the natural world.” 19 This is also a common sentiment in the journals. For instance, in a passage related to Nature: “I love the wood god. I love the mighty PAN. Yesterday I walked in the storm. And truly in the fields I am not alone or unacknowledged. They nod to me & I to them” (J 5:179). 20 “Every bird on the boughs of the tree sings now to [the youth’s] heart and soul. The notes are almost articulate. The clouds have faces, as he looks on them. The trees of the forest, the waving grass and the peeping flowers have grown intelligent; and he almost fears to trust them with the secret which they seem to invite. Yet nature soothes and sympathizes. In the green solitude he finds a dearer home than with men.” (CW 2:103). The personification of the flower as having important value for ethical formation is a common thread in Romanticism. Wordsworth (2002, p. 85) writes about the daffodils in The Grasmere Journal: “I never saw daffodils so beautiful they grew among the mossy stones about & about them, some rested their heads upon these stones as on a pillow for weariness & the rest tossed & reeled & danced & seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind that blew upon them over the Lake.” Religions 2017, 8, 130 11 of 18 advancement, a collection of facts cataloged in scientific journals to promote better consumptive practices. Emerson includes the metaphysical philosophers among those who engage in this reduction, since they attempt to analyze and observe nature to come to some ultimate indubitable cause of all things. These intellectual projects are bound to fail because they approach nature in the wrong mood, trying to wield intellectual power over it, as a thing fit for their ways of seeing. To them, Emerson proclaims: “Known [nature] will not be, but gladly beloved and enjoyed” (CW 1:125).21 Trying to “know” nature is related to the grander pretense of humans to suppose that their welfare is the final end that the natural world pursues at all cost: i.e., “to make holy or wise or beautiful men.” To counter, Emerson argues that nature has a “universe of ends,” not all of which aim to the benefit of humans, and as such, its work must be represented as one of “ecstasy”—”that redundancy or excess of life” that is “the genius or method of nature” (CW 1:125, 127). Emerson puts this view into the voice of nature as it speaks to presumptuous human creatures who wish to see themselves as the focus of the world’s development: “my aim is the health of the whole tree,—root, stem, leaf, flower, and seed,—and by no means the pampering of a monstrous pericarp at the expense of all the other functions” (CW 1:126). The pericarp metaphor serves a dual purpose: as the part of the tree that is most often eaten by humans, we would suppose that if the tree were created for human benefit, the pericarp would certainly be comparatively monstrous, drawing resources at the expense of the rest of the tree; however, the pericarp is also the human, that one fruit on a larger tree that feeds it, but not at the expense of everything else. So while we are not “strangers or inferiors” to nature, and “it is flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone,” this does not mean that our being a part of nature ought to bring us comfort (CW 1:123). For to know that the progress of nature aims to the benefit of better humans is to subscribe to a creation teleology that Emerson would say represents human hubris. Emerson believes that certain scientific advances, in fields such as astronomy especially, ought to enlarge how we understand theology so as decenter the human in our understanding of the universe, helping us to move away from those doctrines—he singles out the “theological scheme of Redemption”—that would put the human at the center of the universe’s concern (CS 4:156–57). In keeping with the emphasis on doing, ecstasy is not meant to breed inaction—precisely the opposite. Indeed, one must move from the universals of nature conceived in the reason to particular actions in the world. For the human to have the “ecstatical state” take place within—a kind of mirror of the world without—then one should become the “channel through which heaven flows to earth,” acting in accordance with the demands put upon one by the work that must be done (CW 1:130). This is why one must be “receptive”—a religious posture which Emerson equates to both “piety” and “veneration” (CW 1:130). The implication is not that one needs to have a kind of mystical withdraw in which one receives communication from nature that instructs him on what to do. Quite the contrary. Reception or piety means that one must be an active ethical agent in the world who is seeking always a better and better realization of the needs that must be fulfilled in the present. Importantly, though, one must do this in a particular way: “This ecstatical state seems to direct a regard to the whole and not to the parts; to the cause and not to the ends; to the tendency, and not to the act” (CW 1:131). What Emerson means here is that one cannot simply perform a set of acts and think that he has gotten it right. These acts must be performed with an eye towards the “spiritual” or the “supernatural”—otherwise the acts are just “a cup of enchantments” that seeks after self-satisfaction or the achievement of human ends. Our gods must always be “approached, never touched,” because our acts aspire towards a grander world than we could imagine, where we are overpowered by an enthusiastic love for the world, not a love of a set of some things in it (CW 1:133). This love is opposed to mastery and control, it “looks up and not down; aspires and not despairs” (CW 1:134). It is in this way that Emerson, probably to the chagrin of liberal Unitarians in his own day, can praise the dignity of a fading Puritanism, where “privation, self-denial, and sorrow” were valued 21 There are resonances here with Cavell (2002, pp. 242–43) reading of skepticism. Religions 2017, 8, 130 12 of 18 above all else, and where “A man was born not for prosperity, but to suffer for the benefit of others, like the noble rock-maple which all around our villages bleeds for the service of man” (CW 1:135). Nature’s lesson, according to Emerson, is “intimate divinity,” one which keeps the best parts of Puritan piety and its sense of humble service, but which gets rid of the divorce between “intellect and holiness” and stresses the importance of performance in the world, or taking learning and “reducing” it to practice. With an intimate divinity, among its many meanings, we get the sense of how humans are to shoulder the responsibility of responding to the claims that the world issues to us, without neglecting the special world-making power that the human has. Intimacy is here not an intellectual relationship only, but a relationship of affection, or being drawn up by one’s love to promoting a better world than the present. This world won’t be saved by technology, since the pursuit of mastery through technology, both material and intellectual, leads people to suppose falsely that nature ineluctably aims towards human gain. Nature is in what he calls “perpetual inchoation,” constantly rebuking the human who considers her aspirations to be the final ends of nature, a point which has recently taken hold among environmental ethicists thinking about technology in the anthropocene.22 Furthermore, Emerson is anticipating one of the common criticisms of contemporary ecotheology: that a certain ecological picture of the harmonious functioning of the parts of creation seems to condone wanton cruelty, especially between and among animals, because the virtue of ecological stability depends on the suffering of countless creatures in ways unfathomable to the limited comprehension of humans. Emerson’s response is to say that when confronted with this suffering, we ought to take it as an occasion for a realization of ecstasy, that is, an indication of the overflowing of what we could possibly comprehend about nature. In this ecstatic moment, we check our world-making powers, discovering that there is more out there than what we can manage—and a theology that rationalizes this suffering through a theodicy limits our ability to see the perpetual inchoation of nature. By the time he publishes “Nature” in 1844, the question of how one might come into harmony with this nature had only intensified. What was a young naturalist to do: leave the social world of the town in search of some closer relationship with the natural world, as many of Emerson’s friends had done at both Fruitlands and Brook Farm? For the question of nature religion, we should wonder what kind of worship one might perform—what would it mean to take nature as sacred and therefore direct one’s religious practice towards it. In this sense, Emerson’s later “Nature” essay can be read as a direct confrontation with a nascent back-to-the-land movement among his peers, and for our purposes, it seems to lodge some of the claims that will eventually become most problematic for what I presented above as the nature religion tradition. “Nature” begins with an unsurprising vision of “nature” as a resource that a young sojourner can use to escape the “knapsack of custom” that one finds in cities and human society, where he might find a “sanctity which shames our religions, and reality which discredits our heroes” (CW 3:99). Nature is a god-like judge of all things outside of human culture, carrying an authority to judge that culture and find it wanting (CW 3:100). In other words, nature is simultaneously a refuge outside of the human, and a resource that can correct the human. Some will enter this realm, leaving “villages and personalities behind,” which he likens to a taking of religious vows (CW 3:101). This is the view that Emerson will label natura naturata, or nature passive; it is that created thing that stands apart from the human and which the human represents always in a slightly corrupted way, and by which the human can be measured, like a “differential thermometer” (CW 3:104). Poets and artists praise this nature; naturalists seek it out; it is the realm of unlimited beauty and unfathomable depths. To the chagrin of the young naturalist—and perhaps the whole of the nature religion tradition—Emerson is not finally content with this view. He spends the rest of the essay trying to present an alternative, one that ultimately comes to trouble the very idea of a “nature”. The turn in 22 As Rolston (2017) argues, as we confront the fact of the anthropocene, we ought not to do so with enthusiasm, lest we risk making our world entirely subservient to human flourishing. Religions 2017, 8, 130 13 of 18 the essay occurs when Emerson comes to the realization that “we talk of deviations from natural life, as if artificial life were not also natural” (CW 3:106). Then, with a fell swoop, Emerson breaks down the distinction between nature and human society: Nature who made the mason, made the house. We may easily hear too much of rural influences. The cool disengaged air of natural objects, makes them enviable to us chafed and irritable creatures with red faces, and we think we shall be as grand as they, if we camp out and eat roots; but let us be men instead of woodchucks, and the oak and the elm shall gladly serve us, though we sit in chairs of ivory on carpets of silk. (CW 3:106) This is Emerson’s sense of natura naturans, or efficient nature: the idea that nature is a whole that works in and through the various parts, the human especially, so much so that there ceases to be a distinction between nature and its opposite (here, the artificial, or the opulence of “chairs of ivory and carpets of silk”). One of the few to draw out the environmentalist implications of this move is Anderson (2008), who sees in it the sense that humans are involved in a complex relation of making and receiving with the various environments in which they are situated. By focusing on the importance of natura naturans, Anderson gives a reading of nature as not a passive recipient of human action, but as an agency that runs through the human, “doing, creating, making, moving.” As Anderson puts it, “Nature is now not an objective environment but a creative environing” (Anderson 2008, pp. 154–55). This way of understanding the relationship between the human and the environment rejects the supposition that agency is an either/or: either the human is the active creative agent and nature the canvas, or nature is the active creative agent who merely works through the passive human. The former would lead to the Baconian view of nature as an instrument of human ends, one which White (1967) attributed to the dominance of a certain Christian understanding of the mastery of nature; the latter resembles a form of deep ecology that rejects entirely the constructive special agency of humans because of the intuition that nature is a kind of nondistinct unity (see Fox 1984). These extremes are, of course, well-worn in conversations in environmental ethics, and it is now common to search out some middle or alternative way. Emerson’s model is one such alternative. Anderson rightly focuses on the line quoted above, where Emerson reminds us to “be men instead of woodchucks.” What this means is that we accept that we have a kind of agency that is part of nature’s agency: “We are this aspect of nature, and we become ‘not ourselves’ if we slip into the state of mere witnesses of nature’s judging perfection” (Anderson 2008, p. 155). There is a sense here that Emerson is trying to escape two problems, which I identified at the end of the previous section: first, not succumbing to the tendency to defer human power to the power of nature, while, second, not allowing the individual self to assume complete self-making power.23 To fall prey to the first problem is to insist that humans are merely another iteration of nature, and the highest good is that one return to a sense of the pristine created order of nature, camping out and eating roots. To do this would be to relinquish any claim to the world-making power that humans have both collectively and individually.24 But to go in the other direction, by supposing that humans are somehow distinct from and therefore entirely separate from nature, is to promote the worst kind of egoism for Emerson, an egoism that only drives the materialist and consumerist aspects of culture that make the world a commodity to be cataloged, processed, and exploited. For Emerson, we ought neither to deflate our agency to the agency of our environments, nor should our agency become entirely independent from the environments in which we live, work, and play. These environments are not complete—they are “systems of approximations,” which are always changing in part due to human power, as well as reasons that humans only faintly 23 Greenham (2014, p. 90) rightfully puts it this way: “Emerson is of nature only insofar as he makes nature, and as nature’s creator he does not share in its limitations but expresses through it the shaping power of his divinity.” 24 You might say that it negates the possibility of ethical agency entirely. As Mooney (2009, p. 215) puts it: “If you reject the notion that ‘I am the doer’ in every sense, you reject the possibility of a philosophy of human action, and you lose all experiential purchase for reflection on reality as sustaining responsibility in an inexpugnable sense: namely, the possibility of responding, of our responding, in a way that is not arbitrary. Abstractly stated, man is a finite center of response.” Religions 2017, 8, 130 14 of 18 understand. We thus ought to see ourselves as “encamped in nature, not domesticated,” wielding our world-making power in ways that are attentive to the very real connections that we have with the natural world (CW 3:110). It is both to honor the way that nature works through the human, while preserving the sense that humans have creative abilities to shape and reconfigure nature. For Anderson, to do this we need the notion of an “acquaintance” with nature: “One must engage nature directly to know by acquaintance; this is the enduring relevance of wilderness to human beings” (Anderson 2008, p. 156). The idea of acquaintance requires that the active self and the not-me of nature (in the language of Nature) work together through reciprocity, transaction, and integration, assuming “an attitude that is at once receptive to nature’s language and open to human possibility” (Anderson 2008, pp. 158–59). Whereas “The Method of Nature” focused on ecstasy, in “Nature” Emerson focuses on excess: both nature and the human have a kind of excess that prevents them from being set, from being a stable thing to which we can refer. Consequently, as for “men and women” as well as “silent trees,” there is “always a referred existence, an absence, never a presence and satisfaction” (CW 3:112). Those who might wish to set themselves aright by bringing themselves in accord with nature discover that when they go looking for it, they will discover that they are “not near enough to his object” because “Nature is still elsewhere” (CW 3:111). But rather than despair of this, Emerson reminds us that this is precisely what ethics requires. As his is a perfectionism, it must always look out on a distant horizon. “The meeting of the sky and the earth,” looked at from the smallest hill to the highest mountain, inspires action even as we are unable to get nearer to it. We are thrown back to the impermanence of our own ideas, of the work that must continually be performed without end, as the creatures we are. Thus, Emerson can say towards the end: “Nature is the incarnation of a thought, and turns to a thought again, as ice becomes water and gas. The world is mind precipitated, and the volatile essence is forever escaping again into the state of free thought. Hence the virtue and pungency of the influence on the mind, of natural objects, whether inorganic or organized” (CW 3:113). With the flowing impermanence of nature, Emerson affirms his moral perfectionism, which depends on a constantly extended horizon, and now has its mirror in how we experience “nature”. Let me end this section by turning to “Illusions,” the final essay of The Conduct of Life from 1860. In many ways, “Illusion” presents the culmination of Emerson’s idealism, directly dealing with the way that the human constitution—and the lack of awareness that we have of how our own powers determine how the world is present to us—amplifies the question of the environment. He sums this up with a rather poignant example: “At the State Fair, a friend of mine complained that all the varieties of fancy pears in our orchards seem to have been selected by somebody who had a whim for a particular kind of pear, and only cultivated such as had that perfume; they were all alike” (CW 6:9.9). The problem is that we do not know ourselves yet, and this makes it so that “Our conversation with Nature is not just what it seems” (CW 6:9.5). We cannot take our experiences of nature to be unmixed: “In admiring the sunset, we do not yet deduct the rounding, coördinating, pictorial powers of the eye” (CW 6:9.5). Emerson even reiterates that sentiment that he had given in Nature, that our joy is not the world’s job, but it is something that we inscribe on the world, that colors it in certain ways. Or as he says, recalling his earlier essay, “Life is an ecstasy.” (CW 6:9.6). As such, it isn’t imperative that one strike out into the wilderness to find home, to leave the cities and towns that perpetuate the problems of human society; instead, the only “stays and foundations” that we have are “a strict and faithful dealing at home, and a severe barring out of all duplicity or illusion there” (CW 6:9.17). Read this way, with an emphasis on home and the practical activities performed therein, “Illusions” is not a grand statement about the unreality of our environments, but a constant reminder not to be looking elsewhere for the source of our activities in the world. Ecstasy returns again as the position in which we check human hubris, relinquishing that theology that would make us more than what we actually are, but never reducing the human to just a power of the world for fear that this would annul agency altogether. Religions 2017, 8, 130 15 of 18 4. Conclusions As I hope is coming into focus, there is a way that Emerson’s “nature” resembles more what we would now call “environment” because it seeks to avoid the totalizing of the not-human into a coherent and sound whole. Instead, it stresses the importance of the effects of human power in shaping nature—both our idea of nature, as well as the actual physical reality of nature—while stressing that the human is always intimately made by the environments in which we live. This is simultaneously a call to action and a call to humble oneself, to do the work that the human has the power to perform, while not supposing that the human has a special relationship for the benefit of nature. But more than anything, Emerson’s confusion for the reality or illusion of nature is not unintended—it is part of the very ethos of ecstasy that he is hoping to inspire. When the nature religion tradition seeks to relinquish the tension between the dual ways that the human can relate to the surrounding environments, it domesticates the relationship and loses aspects of what Emerson believes is powerful about it: that our experience in the world isn’t systematically coherent, but involves always a kind of doubleness.25 Furthermore, too often ethics stops before we get to practice—constructing a conceptual ideal but not saying how this might function within a set of ordinary social practices, the practices in which we are made and remade into the kinds of beings that we are and want to be. For Emerson, one of his essential question is: how ought religious institutions, which often coordinate the practices of a community, be reformed to better express higher ethical ideals. At certain moments, he goes so far as to say that “church” is just another word for “education” (EL 3:287). The fullest expression of this idea comes in The Conduct of Life, which seeks to describe in abstract ethical terms how the ordinary activities of people should be oriented towards their ethical development. Here, Emerson doesn’t specify exactly which practices people ought to take up, but rather, he gives the general rubric under which we ought to think about those practices if the goal is to make religious worship more carefully attuned to pressing ethical demands. What, then, can we say about an Emersonian Nature Religion? For many decades Emerson had been arguing that science and religion were more closely aligned than most of his contemporaries had thought. In fact, he rejected the idea that they were merely compatible for the idea that they were coming upon the same territory when properly understood. This meant rejecting both the idea that religion is concerned with the supernatural (or, that which is above scientific investigation) and the idea that science has no bearing on human moral becoming (in other words, he does not keep fact and value distinct). The goal, rather, is to allow scientific advances to have moral consequences. As he writes: “The religion which is to guide and fulfil the present and coming ages, whatever else it be, must be intellectual. The scientific mind must have a faith which is science” (CW 6:6.51). He then predicted what he thought this might be like: “There will be a new church founded on moral science, at first cold and naked, a babe in a manger again, the algebra and mathematics of ethical law, the church of men to come, without shawms, or psaltery, or sackbut; but it will have heaven and earth for its beams and rafters; science for symbol and illustration; it will fast enough gather beauty, music, picture, poetry” (CW 6:6.52). There are two important pieces to note. First we see Emerson’s long insistence that religious institutions be primarily focused on the moral lives of their members by being willing to let go of what Emerson saw as antiquated ecclesiastical rituals—this is his intentionally arcane reference to shawms, psaltery, and sackbut. These will be replaced by a church that is fully situated in and of the world, with “heaven and earth for its beams and rafters,” without reference to any other. It will take on science as “symbol and illustration,” meaning that its core content is represented by the actual investigation of our world in conjunction with our moral reflection on it (here, moral science and natural science are brought together). This church includes the production of and reflection upon representational material (“beauty, music, picture, poetry”) all of which express human ideals. This is, 25 One of the best expositions of this doubleness and its importance for ethical considerations of the self, see (Smith 2009). Religions 2017, 8, 130 16 of 18 of course, part of a continual practice in which representations must be environmental. In Cavell’s words, it is the community in search of achieving the ordinary. But this church doesn’t require an escape into untouched nature.26 It is a church of the community where it is located, for the people of that community, not, we might say, for woodchucks. It would seek to instill a sense of receptivity and piety in people, a meditation on the ecstasy of the environment that checks human hubris. But one can imagine that its “science” is not that of just the naturalist, but as much that of the investigating toxins surrounding the garbage dump, or the antibiotic resistant bacteria. Its goal is to shape the kinds of agents who can marry this knowing to doing, since as Emerson tells us, this is what it means to be truly learned (CW 1:136). Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References Albanese, Catherine L. 1990. Nature Religion in America: From the Algonkian Indians to the New Age. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Albanese, Catherine L. 2002. Reconsidering Nature Religion. Harrisburg: Trinity Press International. Anderson, Douglas R. 2008. Emerson’s Natures: Origins of and Possibilities for American Environmental Thought. In New Morning: Emerson in the Twenty-first Century. Edited by Authur S. Lothstein and Michael Brodrick. Albany: State University of New York Press, pp. 151–60. Berry, Evan. 2011. Nature Religion and the Problem of Authenticity. In Inherited Land: The Changing Grounds of Religion and Ecology. Edited by Kevin J. O’Brien, Richard Bohannon and Whitney Bauman. Eugene: Pickwick Publications. Berry, Wendell. 2000. 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Wordsworth, Dorothy. 2002. The Grasmere and Alfoxden Journals. Edited by Pamela Woof. Oxford: Oxford University Press. © 2017 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction “Nature Religion” and Symbolic “Nature” Emersonian “Nature” “Religion” Conclusions
work_jjfnibxm35bknm2x4bfi4ebw7q ---- the case for a world lake vision 1 The Case for a World Lake Vision* Thomas J. Ballatore** and Victor S. Muhandiki International Lake Environment Committee, Kusatsu, Shiga, Japan *Accepted for publication in Hydrological Processes as of 4 October 2001. **Correspondence to Thomas J. Ballatore, International Lake Environment Committee, 1091 Oroshimo-cho, Kusatsu, Shiga, Japan 525-0001. E-mail: tom@mail.ilec.or.jp tel: +81-77-568-4567 fax: +81-77-568-4568 Abstract We regard the creation of a World Lake Vision as essential to achieving the sustainable management of the world’s lakes. In this paper, we discuss the value of lakes, how those values have historically led to changes in watershed land-use and population, and how those changes have resulted in stresses on lakes that impair their value. Current approaches to lake management at both the local and international level are examined and their shortcomings are highlighted. We illustrate how a World Lake Vision, along with the individual lake visions it promotes, can redress the shortcomings of current lake management approaches. Details of the World Lake Vision and the process of its creation are put forth. We end with a critique the World Water Vision presented at the 2n d World Water Forum in March 2000 from the perspective of lakes and conclude that, in its current form, the World Water Vision cannot provide an adequate guide for sustainable lake management. Keywords lake management; sustainability; World Lake Vision; individual lake visions; World Water Vision Introduction Lakes 1 are key components of our planet’s hydrological cycle. Additionally, they provide important social and ecological functions while storing water and supporting significant aquatic biodiversity. Much of the earth’s available fresh water is contained in lakes. Saline lakes, while not a primary source of fresh water, also have many valuable attributes. Despite their crucial importance, most lakes are undervalued and therefore face stresses resulting from inappropriate mana gement. These problems occur in developed as well as developing countries. Many efforts to protect lakes from stresses have been undertaken; however, problems remain, some even threatening the existence of certain lakes (e.g. Lake Chad, Aral Sea). Moreover , although scientific knowledge concerning the causes and effects of stresses on lakes has grown rapidly, effective management policies have lagged; in most cases, the values of lakes have not been fully considered by policymakers. 1 For simplicity, we use the term lake to refer to both natural and artificial lakes. 2 This paper explains why a new, global approach to lake management, the World Lake Vision, is necessary to improve the state of the world’s lakes. Such a vision will be an effective way of bringing scientific knowledge and stakeholder interests into the policy-making process while raising awareness of the value of lakes. The most comprehensive global-scale vision on water to date, the World Water Vision (Cosgrove and Rijsberman, 2000), provides a framework for global freshwater management for international agencies and national governments alike. It does not, however, adequately address the concerns facing lakes. This paper considers the uses of the world’s lakes and the numerous stresses impairing such uses. We examine current lake management approaches and discuss why they have been inadequate for many lakes. Then, we propose the World Lake Vision as a means of achieving sustainable 2 lake management3. We end with a critique of the World Water Vision, focusing on its consideration of lake issues. Value of Lakes To understand the value of lakes, try to imagine a world without them. In terms of water supply alone, lakes are invaluable as the source of approximately 90% of the world’s available liquid surface fresh water (derived from Shiklomanov, 1993). Additionally, lakes are precious repositories of biodiversity. Even saline lakes are of great value, not the least for their role in supporting ecological and hydrological functions. It is useful to have a systematic way of considering the many values that lakes provide. The World Bank, in its new Environmental Strategy (World Bank, 2001), divides the value of water and water-based ecosystems into the following four categories: • Direct Values (consumptive and non-consumptive use of resources); • Indirect Values (ecosystem functions and services); • Option Values (premium placed on possible future uses and applications); • Non-use Values (intrinsic significance). Based on these categories, we examine the major types of lake values below. Direct Values. The most obvious direct use of lakes is as source of drinking, irrigation and industrial water. The Laurentian Great Lakes contain 20% of the world’s available freshwater and serve as a drinking water source for over 24 million people (National Research Council, 1992). Even relatively small Lake Biwa (volume = 17 km3) in central Japan supports the activities of over 13 million people in the Kyoto-Osaka- Kobe conurbation (Nakamura, 1995). Furthermore, lakes and rivers have also been used 2 We follow the definition of sustainable development put forth by the Brundtland Commission in 1987: “Sustainable development is that which meets all the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs.” 3 Some may claim that res ervoirs are inherently unsustainable. In this paper, we neither address that issue, nor the issue of decommissioning dams. The World Commission on Dams, in a recent report (World Commission on Dams, 2000) succinctly deals with these and other reservoir -rel ated issues. 3 as a means of transportation. Additionally, some natural and most artificial lakes are harnessed for power. Fishing, along with aquaculture, provides protein and employment for many people. Lakes are also well known as foci of recreation. Many lakes serve as a breeding ground for migratory waterfowl. For example, Mono Lake in California is an essential feeding stop on the way to wintering grounds in South America for tens of thousands of phalaropes (Hart, 1996) and is an essential stop for thousands of photographers, both amateur and professional. Indirect Values. Lakes can effectively absorb large inflows of water during floods, thereby moderating damage downstream. For example, the volume of the Tonle Sap in Cambodia increases dramatically during the flood season, effectively channeling the flood waters into an established basin (United Nations Environment Programme, 1994). Lakes often have a moderating influence on local climate due to the relatively high heat capacity of water. Decreases in lake size, such as has occurred in the Aral Sea, can have adverse impacts on local climate. Also, the method of waste disposal pioneered in Europe, namely the transport of wastes in water through sewers, has been adopted in many watersheds, with lakes acting as sinks for wastewater discharges. They provide dilution of waste, and in exorheic (open) basins, a way to send the waste elsewhere. Option Values. Lakes are repositories of biodiversity. The ancient lakes in Africa are home to hundreds of endemic species. Besides the direct benefits of biodiversity known today, it is possible that future values may be large. Hence, one value of preserving lakes is to keep options open for many different kinds of future needs, including preservation. Non-use Values. Henry David Thoreau went to Walden Pond to think. Others go to lakes to meet friends, relax, or to simply enjoy the grandeur of nature. Lakes can also provide a region with a collective symbol of culture. Furthermore, many lakes are sacred sites for religious and spiritual activities. In addition, simply knowing that a particular lake exists and has clean water carries a particular value. For instance, some people may be interested in the preservation of a particular lake, even though they may never expect to see it first hand. Stresses on Lakes It is the immense value of lakes, outlined above, that draws people to live, work and play in their watersheds. Ironically, the consequent changes in population and land-use inevitably lead to stresses that impact the lakes themselves, thereby decreasing the values that drew people in the first place. Because of their long retention times and the complexity of their ecosystems, lakes are particularly vulnerable to stress. Table I (at end of document) summarizes the main stresses on lakes, their causes, effects and an example for each. Much work has already been done reporting on the state of the world’s lakes. For example, based on a comprehensive survey of 217 lakes around the world carried out by the International Lake Environment Committee (ILEC) and UNEP (1995), Kira (1997) conclude d that lakes were facing five major problems, namely lowering of water -level, siltation, acidification, toxic contamination 4 and eutrophication, all of which alone or in concert lead to adverse effects on aquatic ecosystems. Other works that give an overview of the various stresses on the world’s lakes include National Research Council (1992), UNEP (1994), Dinar et al. (1995), Ayres et al. (1996), Nakamura (1997) and Duker (2001). Lake Management Today Given the magnitude of stresses impairing the value of lakes around the world, it is not surprising that many management responses have been undertaken. In this section, we will outline what has been done to address lake problems and discuss why those measures have not been completely successful. Current Approaches Laws and Regulations. Many countries have codified laws promoting environmental protection. These laws provide a statutory framework for the regulation of industrial and domestic discharges to water -bodies. Laws concerned with lakes in particular also exist at the international (e.g. Boundary Waters Treaty between US and Canada), national (e.g. Lake Law of Japan), and local (e.g. Lake Kasumigaura Eutrophication Prevention Ordinance) levels. Furthermore, direct bans on certain products such as phos phorus-containing detergents have been implemented in many watersheds. Pollution Control. Effluent regulations often lead to the introduction of sewage treatment facilities for both industrial and domestic sources. In some cases, treated sewage is diverted out of the lake’s watershed (e.g. Lakes Tahoe and Washington). Diffuse pollution resulting from agricultural, forestry, and urban land-use impairs most lakes. Governments often provide incentives to farmers to implement nonpoint runoff control (e.g., Best Management Practices in the US) but diffuse pollution remains a large problem. International agencies such as DANIDA (Danish International Development Agency), JICA (Japan International Cooperation Agency), SIDA (Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency), the World Bank and the Global Environment Facility (GEF) have provided funding and expertise for direct pollution control measures in many developing countries. Restoration Measures. Lake sediments are sometimes dredged to remove either toxic compounds or nutrients from the system. Liming has been employed in the treatment of acidified lakes. Biomanipulation is sometimes used to accelerate the recovery of a lake’s ecosystem. Rehabilitation of littoral communities, such as the conservation and reintroduction of reed beds, has also taken place. The Reed Colonies Conservation Ordinance for Lake Biwa has required that existing colonies (only 120 ha in 1990 compared to 280 ha in 1953) be maintained and that new colonies be introduced (Ohkubo, 2000). Research. The fields of limnology, hydrology, and water resources management have generated a substantial body of knowledge on the processes occurring within lakes, their watersheds, and on lake management in general. Lake modeling efforts have contr ibuted greatly to the development of an integrated ecosystem theory (Jorgensen, 5 1997). Great strides have been made in ecohydrology, many with important implications for lake management (Zalewski, 2000). Academic societies such as SIL (Societas Internationalis Limnologiae) and ASLO (American Society of Limnology and Oceanography) have long promoted research and its dissemination. Data Collection and Assessment. Governments sponsor the collection of data on the state of lakes within their borders. Many citizens also undertake lake monitoring activities and submit information to public databases. Comprehensive data compilation efforts, such as the ILEC-UNEP World Lake Database (1995) have been prepared and have shed light on the types of problems facing lakes. Additionally, the GEMS/Water program assembles data on water quality provided by over 100 national governments. A new program of the GEF, the Global International Waters Assessment (GIWA), will also be monitoring and assessing many problems of concern to lakes. Information Sharing. The sharing of experiences and ideas concerning lake management among citizens, governments and scientists is the goal of many conferences and workshops. Electronic forums on lake management issues have been established and allow participants to discuss their concerns with others. Education. Educationa l activities, such as training programs, school excursions, and the creation of resource materials have played an important role in teaching concerned stakeholders about lake iss ues. For example, all fifth-grade students living in the Lake Biwa watershed spend one day and night on the lake measuring water quality, identifying flora and fauna, etc. as part of a school program called “The Floating School” (Kawashima, 1998). Advocacy. Citizens concerned with either a specific lake or lakes in general have formed non-governmental organizations that have a range of activities. The Mono Lake Committee was instrumental in stopping the City of Los Angeles from diverting freshwater inflows to Mono Lake. International NGOs like ILEC, LakeNet, Living Lakes , and NALMS (North American Lake Management Society) have been advocates for sustainable lake management around the world. Shortcomings of Current Approaches Despite the approaches discussed above, stresses that impair the use of lakes remain and lakes continue to be degraded. In short, most of the world’s lakes are still not sustainably managed. Several reasons why the counter -measures to date have not been entirely effective are as follo ws. Lack of Awareness. There is a lack of information and awareness on the full value of lakes at key decision-making levels. At the global level, the most conspicuous example of the marginalization of lakes is the World Water Vision (Cosgrove and Rijsberman, 2000). Even though lakes make up approximately 90% of the world’s available surface liquid fresh water, they are markedly absent from the World Water Vision itself. A quick check of the World Water Vision’s index reveals multiple entries for groundwater, reservoirs, rivers, and wetlands yet there is no mention of lakes. This omission is also evident in the text of the Vision and is discussed in detail below. At the 6 local level, lack of awareness of the values of a lake also occurs, especially in developing countries, where meeting basic needs often out-weighs long-term preservation of a lake. It may not be immediately obvious to a fisherman on the shores of Lake Malawi, nor more obvious to the foreign aid worker attempting to show him how to increase his catch, the value of the lake’s biodiversity. At all levels, a lack of education has left the general public with insufficient understanding of lake issues. Lack of Integrated Responses. All of the current approaches to lake management suffer from fragmentation to various degrees. The boundaries of laws (political jurisdiction) rarely coincide with the boundaries of watersheds. This situation is common for most lakes because local and/or national borders were rarely drawn with the watershed in mind; indeed, in the days when bridges were difficult and expensive to build, rivers, and the lakes they flowed into and out of often were set as the political boundaries and many, if not most, of those political boundaries still exist. Pollution control efforts ar e seldom comprehensive, focusing instead on easily controlled point- sources. Direct restoration efforts, such as top-down biomanipulation of the food web are invariably accompanied by bottom-up responses, many of which are difficult to predict and control (Kasprzak, 1995). Poorly planned dredging carries the risk of degrading a lake further in the short run by stirring up nutrient-rich benthos. There is a marked gap between scientists and policy-makers: the findings of the former are rarely translated into the language of the latter. Many local and national governments, along with researchers, are active in collecting data on the state of individual lakes and the stresses on them; however, efforts to assemble these diverse sources of data on the internationa l scale lack coordination and result in significant overlap (e.g. GEMS/Water, GIWA, and ILEC databases). Furthermore, the disparity in resources between the developed and developing world means that even basic data are unavailable from poorer countries. Often the data that are available are of unknown reliability and in format hard to integrate into other assessments. Finally, a high degree of fragmentation exists among international organizations advocating sustainable lake management through information sharing, education, and advocacy. For example, significant overlap exists among the international activities (conferences, workshops, educational programs, etc.) carried out by ILEC, LakeNet, Living Lakes and NALMS. Lack of Conflict Resolution. Conflicts are part and parcel of lake management. Upstream-downstream conflicts over the use of lake water were significant in the history of many lakes. With lakes in particular, conflicts can exist at the same place and time: consider the conflict between commercial fishing and oil exploration in the Caspian Sea. Conflicts across time are profound and common. For example, the desire to exploit a lake in the short-term (e.g. maximize fish catch) is often in conflict with the goal of long-term sustainable management (e.g. preserve biodiversity). Despite the pervasiveness of conflict in lake settings, institutions and methods intended to promote conflict resolution are usually nonexistent. Many lakes are international water bodies, yet the special issues this entails are rarely recognized at the local or regional scale. For example, after the break-up of the Soviet Union, the Aral Sea became an international lake (Kazakhstan, Kyrgystan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan share the watershed) but at the same time the institutional framework to deal with the lake’s management was lost. Increasing conflict over water use for irrigation and hydropower 7 is one of the main reasons for the present wastage of large volumes of water in the desert areas of the Aral Sea Basin (Jansky and Nakayama, 2001).4 Lack of Meaningful Participation. Groups directly affected by lake management decisions are often not consulted. The displacement of large numbers of people resulting from reservoir construction is an extreme example of how a group can be marginalized in the decision-making process. In many cases, particular groups have gained a disproportionate influence in setting the management plans for certain lakes, precluding the participation of others. For example, the Japanese Ministry of Construction promoted extensive projects for the development of Lake Biwa including lakeshore road construction (Nickum, 1998) often neglecting the impact such projects had on water quality. Toward a World Lake Vision In this paper, we propose the creation of a World Lake Vision as a comprehensive way of dealing with the shortcomings of the current approaches to lake management. We see the creation and implementation of the World Lake Vision as a crucial step forward on the road to the sustainable management of the world’s lakes. In this section we define what the World Lake Vision is and how it addresses the current failings in lake management. Outline of World Lake Vision A vision embodies a long-term set of goals and a plan for how to achieve them. It can exist merely in someone’s head (e.g. our plans for our families) or be a formal written document (e.g. World Water Vision and Framework for Action). For a vision to be achievable, it must be realistic. Visions can have different scopes. For lakes, two different scales are important. First, there are individual lake visions, such as Lake Biwa’s “Mother Lake 21 Plan” (Shiga Prefectural Government, 2000) or UNESCO’s “Water-related Aral Sea Basin Vision” (UNESCO, 2000). Individual lake visions set out a long-term management plan for a given lake. Because the authority to implement such a plan lies at the local level, individual lake visions are essential in achieving effective changes in lake management. Second, there can be an over-arching, global- scale vision encompassing all lakes. We refer to the global-scale vision that we are calling for as the World Lake Vision. It will be a written document that outlines principles for sustainable lake management and raises the profile of lakes on the international agenda. It will serve as a guide for the creation of individual lake visions, yet at the same time, it will be informed by existing individual lake visions. An outline of the document is given in Figure 1 (at end of document) Details of the World La ke Vision document itself will emerge during its creation—a process already initiated by ILEC and other organizations. Nevertheless, at this point, we can note the following: 4 Some may argue that the collapse of the Soviet’s institutional framework to manage the Aral Sea was actually good for the lake because that previous institution greatly contributed to crises the Aral Sea faces today. Nevertheless, until recently, the five countries sharing the Aral Sea did not have a means of managing the lake jointly. 8 • It must start with a visionary statement, i.e. something that captures the imagination of decision makers and the general public about the importance of lakes and the problems facing them; • It must highlight the values of lakes and provide a framework for analysis of those values; • It must clearly state the scientific basis for the stress on lakes and their causes in easy-to-understand terms; • It must provide universally acceptable principles of lake management. We expect these principles to include a focus on the special nature of lake ecosystems, the importance of integrating lake management on multiple scales, the need for meaningful participation among affected stakeholders, the need for more education, and the need for increased conflict resolution; • It must give case studies illustrating the application of the principles and how they have led to sustainable lake management. It must also illustrate how the lack of or misapplication of the principles has led to problems; and, • It must provide guidelines on the implementation of the principles for individual lakes, i.e. how to create and implement individual lake visions and management plans. There must be a template for an individual lake vision itself as well as a checklist of actions needed to successfully implement a management plan. The written document will probably be between 50 and 100 pages and follow the outline given in Figure 1. It will be written in an easy-to-understand language. To have legitimacy, the World Lake Vision must be widely shared; that is, all concerned stakeholders must have meaningful input into the process. We expect a series of regional workshops along with gatherings at pre-scheduled international meetings along with an electronic forum to be sufficient. The document is intended, in general, for anyone concerned with lake management, but will specifically target individual lake managers and international organizations dealing with lakes. ILEC is expected to continue taking the lead as coordinator of the vision process. Many international lake organizations have expressed strong support for the development of the World Lake Vision. Several international organizations with large roles in the water field are also lined up to promote the process through related projects. The vision development process is expected to culminate at the 3rd World Water Forum in Kyoto in 2003. How the World Lake Vision Can Solve Shortcomings of Current Approaches If a World Lake Vision like the one outlined above comes into existence, then it will be able to address the shortcomings of the current approaches to lake management. Lack of Awareness. The process of creating a shared vision, as well as the final document itself, is designed to raise awareness among all stakeholders. We expect that international organizations dealing with lakes or water in general, along with individual lake organizations and managers, will come away with an increased awareness of the value of lakes. By providing principles, cases and guidelines, the World Lake Vision will promote the creation of individual lake visions and management plans, which in turn foster increased awareness at local levels. 9 Lack of Integrated Responses. The World Lake Vision itself cannot be expected to cause the realignment of all the world’s political boundaries to coincide with watersheds. Nevertheless, it will promote the creation of organizations like the International Joint Commission (Laurentian Great Lakes) with authority to implement integrated management plans. The World Lake Vision will also bridge the gap between scientists and policy makers by making a case for lakes, bas ed on science, yet put forward in an easy-to-understand format. The main problem is not a lack of scientific knowledge of lakes, but rather the limited role that knowledge currently plays in lake management. The vision process will require a coordinated effort to pull together existing data on the state of the world’s lakes. It will also call for international funding to assist developing countries to collect high quality, relevant and uniform data tailored to meet the needs of lake managers. Finally, the process of making the World Lake Vision will focus the efforts of all organizations in the field on a common task, thereby alleviating the overlap and fragmentation that currently exists. Lack of Conflict Resolution. The World Lake Vision will highlight that conflicts are an inherent part of lake management; it will call for increased conflict resolution efforts. It will expand the focus from the traditional upstream-downstream point of view to include international lake issues as well. If individual lake visions are developed according to the guidelines of the World Lake Vision, then key conflicts will be exposed in the individual lake vision-building process. The airing of conflicts is the first step toward their resolution, though the conflicts themselves may not be fully resolved. Lack of Meaningful Participation. To manage a lake sustainably, a long-term set of goals and a plan to achieve them must exist. To be widely shared, this vision must have meaningful participation from all stakeholders. The Wor ld Lake Vision and the individual lake visions it promotes will explicitly call for the extensive and effective participation of all concerned groups. Critique of the World Water Vision Visions on the global-scale dealing with water already exist. Of particular importance is the World Water Vision produced by the World Water Council (Cosgrove and Rijsberman, 2000) and presented at the World Water Forum in March 2000. It aimed to provide a vision for global water management, yet we conclude that it is an inadequate guide for the sustainable management of lakes.5 The World Water Vision was a direct response to the freshwater crisis currently affecting billions of people around the world. In short, the population explosion, along with pressures from development such as urbanization and industrialization, has put enormous pressure on the world’s limited freshwater supply. In many parts of the world, people do not have access to enough fresh water to meet basic needs. Additionally, improper sanitation means tha t the water they do have is often contaminated, leading to millions of deaths each year. The World Water Vision is a vision of “a world in which all people have access to safe and sufficient water resources to meet their needs, 5 It is probably also an inadequate guide for the management of individual rivers and aquifers; however, in this paper we restrict our critique to lake issues. 10 including food, in ways that maintain the integrity of freshwater ecosystems (Cosgrove and Rijsberman, 2000).” Its companion document, the Framework for Action (Global Water Partnership, 2000b), provides a plan for how to achieve that vision. As such, the documents are well designed to meet their goals; however, the term “World Water Supply Vision” would have perhaps been more appropriate than World Water Vision. In particular, the World Water Vision calls for the implementation of integrated water resources management (IWRM) (Global Water Partnership, 2000a) to meet its objectives. It proposes that IWRM can be achieved by: • Involving all stakeholders in integrated management; • Moving to full-cost pricing of water services for all human uses; • Increasing public -funding for research and innovation in the public interest; • Recognizing the need for cooperation on integrated water resource management in international river basins; and, • Massively increasing investments in water. Can the World Water Vision and the above -recommended actions resolve the four problems we stated regarding the current state of lake management? The immediate reaction of the participants in the ILEC Session of the World Water Forum was a clear “No” (Ballatore, 2001). In the wake of the Forum, several issues have become clear. First, the World Water Vision does little to raise awareness of lake issues; in fact, by marginalizing lakes, it probably lowers them on the international agenda thereby decreasing awareness rather than raising it. The call for full-cost pricing of water services is relevant to water supply concerns, but all of the services lakes provide need to be valued, not necessarily priced. Second, the World Water Vision makes a strong call for the implementation of IWRM in several places including the first and fourth actions given above. Indeed, many of the principles of IWRM will become principles of the World Lake Vision. The need for integration of all areas of lake management is obvious, yet the World Water Vision does not spell out how such integration can take place in the lake setting 6. Third, the fourth action above cites the need for cooperation in international river basins. While international upstream-downstream conflicts must be solved, lakes also require the resolution of conflicts among users in the same watershed and over time. This point, as well as a means of promoting conflict resolution, is absent from the World Water Vision. The World Lake Vision, by calling for individual lake visions, will create a framework for bringing all parties toge ther to at least “agree to disagree.” Finally, the first action given above makes a strong and laudable call for participation of all stakeholders in the decision-making process. This has been lacking in lake management and we completely agree with the World Water Vision on this point. Nevertheless, it is clear that the World Water Vision does not comprehensively and adequately address the four major problems that exist with current lake 6 In fact, the World Water Vision itself was fragmented into various sectors such as Water for People, Water for Food, Water and Nature, etc. An adequate integration of these issues, although important and obvious within the lake context, did not occurred. 11 management. Unfortunately, a lake manager trying to promote the sustainable management of a lake by coordinating the creation of an individual lake vision and management plan would find little to go on in the World Water Vision. In the end, by failing to promote the sustainable management of lakes, the World Water Vision je opardizes its own goal of achieving world water security, a goal that is dependent on the sustainable management of all water resources, including lakes. Conclusion Lakes are valuable; lakes are stressed. The dilemma of how to alleviate the stresses in order to protect the values has faced lake managers in particular and society in general for ages. The result of this long experience with lake management has undoubtedly slowed the degradation of these valuable resources; nevertheless, many lakes are facing severe crises—most are unsustainably managed. Some lakes, such as the Aral Sea and Lake Chad, are in danger of disappearing altogether. In this paper, we have argued that a World Lake Vision is necessary to surmount the shortcomings of current management approaches. We have shown how current policies are plagued by a lack of awareness of the value of lakes and the stresses on them, by a lack of integrated responses in all facets of lake management, by a lack of effective conflict resolution, and by a lack of meaningful participation of those affected by management decisions. We have illustrated how a World Lake Vision can be used to overcome these failings. In particular, the World Lake Vision will raise awareness of the value of lakes directly at the international level through the process of its creation and indirectly at the local level by fostering the development of individual lake visions. These local visions are the workhorses of sustainable lake management, yet they have never had comprehensive guidelines to assist in their creation or a global effort to champion them. The World Lake Vision will fill this gap. Importantly, the World Lake Vision can be expected to lead to increased integration of all aspects of lake management as well as increased conflict resolution. Furthermore, a shared vision, whether it is global or local in scale, must be created through the meaningful participation of all stakeholders. We find that the World Water Vision presented in March 2000 at the 2nd World Water Forum is an inadequate, incomplete guide for the sustainable management of the world’s lakes. In its current form, it serves to lower the profile of the world’s lakes and fails to provide a guide for those seeking how to manage lakes sustainably. Given the momentum created by the World Water Vision at the international level, we feel that the World Lake Vision is an idea whose time has come. Acknowledgements We thank Masahisa Nakamura for extensive discussions on the ideas contained in this paper: the good ones are his. Wayland Eheart, James Nickum, Richard Robarts and William D. Williams provided comments on an early draft. We have benefited greatly from the stimulating discussions at two recent workshops on the subject of the World Lake Vision held at ILEC headquarters (January and September 2001). The ideas contained in this paper do not necessarily reflect those of our organization. 12 References Ayres W, Busia A, Dinar A, Hirji R, Lintner S, McCalla A, Robelus R. 1996. Integrated Lake and Reservoir Management: World Bank Approach and Experience. World Bank Technical Paper No. 358. World Bank: Washington, D.C. Ballatore T. 2001. Lake Biwa and the world’s lakes. Water Policy 3(4): S205-S207. Cosgrove WJ, Rijsberman FR. 2000. World Water Vision : Making Water Everyone’s Business. Earthscan Publications Ltd: London. Dinar A, Seidl S, Olem H, Jordan V, Duda A, Johnson R. 1995. Restoring and Protecting the World’s Lakes and Reservoirs. World Bank Technical Paper No. 289. World Bank: Washington, D.C. Duker L. 2001. A literature review of the state of the world’s lakes and a proposal for a new framework for prioritizing lake conservation work . LakeNet Working Paper Series, No.1. LakeNet: Annapolis, Maryland. Global Water Partnership. 2000a. Integrated Water Resource Management. Global Water Partnership, TAC Background Paper No. 4. GWP: Sweden. Global Water Partnership. 2000b. Towards Water Security: A Framework for Action. GWP: Sweden. Hart J. 1996. Storm Over Mono. University of California Press: Berkeley. International Lake Environment Committee and United Nations Environment Programme. 1995. Data Book of World Lake Environments: A Survey of the State of World Lakes. ILEC: Kusatsu, Japan. (Available online at http://www.ilec.or.jp/database.html) Jansky L, Nakayama M. 2001. Environmentally sustainable development program of the United Nations University: Towards the international water systems program in 2002-2003. Japan Society of Hydrology and Water Resources 14(6): in press. Jorgensen SE. 1997. Integration of Ecosystem Theories: A Pattern. Kluwer: Dordrecht, The Netherlands. Kasprzak P. 1995. Objectives of Biomanipulation in Guidelines of Lake Management: Biomanipulation in Lake and Reservoir Management, no. 7. DeBernardi R, Giussani G., eds. International Lake Environment Committee and United Nations Environment Programme: Kusatsu, Japan. Kawashima, M. 1998. Shiga Project for Environmental Education in Guidelines of Lake Management: A Focus on Lakes/Rivers in Environmental Education. Jorgensen SE, 13 Kawashima M, Kira T, eds. Japanese Environment Agency and International Lake Environment Committee: Kusatsu, Japan. Kira T. 1997. Survey of the State of World Lakes in Guidelines of Lake Management: The World’s Lakes in Crisis, no. 8. Jorgensen SE, Matsui S, eds. International Lake Environment Committee and United Nations Environment Programme: Kusatsu, Japan. Nakamura M. 1995. Lake Biwa: Have sustainable development objectives been met? Lakes and Reservoirs: Research and Management 1(1): 3-29. Nakamura M. 1997. Preserving the health of the world’s lakes. Environment 39(5): 16- 39. National Research Council. 1992. Restoration of Aquatic Ecosystems. National Academy Press: Washington, D.C. Nickum JE. 1998. Transacting a Commons: Lake Biwa Comprehensive Development Pla n in Water, Culture and Power. Donahue J, Johnston B, eds. Island Press: Washington, D.C. Ohkubo T. 2000. Lake Biwa in Water Pollution Control Policy and Management: The Japanese Experience. Okada M, Peterson S, eds. Gyosei: Tokyo. Shiga Prefectural Government. 2000. Mother Lake 21 Plan: Lake Biwa Comprehensive Conservation Plan. Shiga Prefectural Government: Otsu, Japan. Shiklomanov IA. 1993. World fresh water resources. In Gleick, PH, ed. Water in Crisis: A Guide to the World’s Fresh Water Resources. Oxford University Press: New York. United Nations Environment Programme. 1994. The Pollution of Lakes and Reservoirs: UNEP Environment Library No. 12. United Nations Environment Programme: Nairobi. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. 2000. Water-related Vision for the Aral Sea Basin. UNESCO: Paris. World Bank. 2001. Making Sustainable Commitments: An Environmental Strategy for the World Bank . World Bank: Washington, DC. World Commission on Dams. 2000. Dams and Development: A New Framework for Decision-Making. Earthscan Publications Ltd: London. Zalewski M. 2000. Ecohydrology: the scientific background to use ecosystem properties as management tools toward sustainability of water resources. Ecological Engineering 16(1): 1-8. 14 Table I. Stresses on lakes, their causes and effects with examples Stress Cause Effect Example Biological Exotic species Natural, intentional, or unintentional introduction Food web changes, loss of biodiversity Nile perch, Lake Victoria Pathogens Fecal contamination from domestic and livestock sources Waterborne diseases Cryptosporidiosis outbreak (1993), Lake Michigan, Milwaukee, USA Chemical Eutrophication Excessive nutrient input Algal blooms, excessive macrophyte growth, loss of transparency, taste and odor compounds, algal toxins Lake Dianchi Acidification Acidic precipitation, direct input of acidic effluent Ecosystem degradation Many lakes in Canada and Northern Europe Toxic contamination Industrial effluents, agricultural and urban runoff, atmospheric deposition Toxicity to fish and disruption of endocrine system, bioaccumulation in fish increases risk to humans and other predators DDT and PCB contamination, Laurentian Great Lakes Salinization Diversion of inflow, discharge of saline waters from irrigated lands, runoff of salts from deforested land Ecosystem degradation, loss of freshwater supply Lake Toolibin Physical Water level decline Diversion of inflow, over- withdrawal of water Secondary salinization, ecosystem degradation Aral Sea Siltation Soil erosion from cultivation and deforestation Decrease in lake volume and flood control capacity, destruction of aquatic habitats Tonle Sap Structural impacts Lakeshore developments (e.g. embankments, weirs, roads) Destruction of littoral communities Lake Biwa Climate variability Natural and anthropogenic Changes in hydrological balance of lakes Caspian Sea Ultraviolet Radiation Ozone layer destruction Mortality and reproductive problems in aquatic biota Cascade Lakes, Oregon, USA 15 Figure 1. Interrelationships between the World Lake Vision and Individual Lake Visions World Lake Vision 1. Visionary Statement 2. Values of Lakes 3. Stresses on Lakes 4. Principles for Lake Management 5. Cases of Implementation of Principles 6. Guidelines for Implementation of Principles contribute principles and cases provide guidance International Organizations Individual Lake Management Plans Individual Lake Visions influence policy provide guidance
work_jlgxcsxn7rc3jo7j4oco4x6pou ---- Contents World Journal of Immunology Volume 5 Number 3 November 27, 2015 IIWJI|www.wjgnet.com ABOUT COVER AIM AND SCOPE Editorial Board Member of World Journal of Immunology, Terry Lichtor, MD, PhD, Associate Professor, Department of Neurosurgery, Rush University Medical Center, Wilmette, IL 60091, United States World Journal of Immunology (World J Immunol, WJI, online ISSN 2219-2824, DOI: 10.5411) is a peer-reviewed open access academic journal that aims to guide clinical practice and im- prove diagnostic and therapeutic skills of clinicians. WJI covers a wide range of subjects including: (1) autoimmune diseases such as type 1 diabetes, multiple sclerosis, rheumatoid arthritis, systemic lupus erythematosus, thyroiditis, myasthenia gravis, in both humans and animal models of disease, with an interest on as- pects including the etiology, pathogenesis, mechanisms of disease induction, maintenance and progression; (2) tumor immunology including immunosurveillance, immunoediting and immunotherapies in animal models and in humans; (3) clinical immunology in humans and animal models including mechanisms of disease, regulation and therapy and immu- nodeficiencies; (4) innate immunity including cell subsets, receptors and soluble media- tors, complement and inflammation; (5) adaptive immune mechanisms and cells including soluble mediators and antibodies; (6) immune cell development, differentiation, matura- tion; (7) control mechanisms for immune cells including immune tolerance and apoptosis; (8) immune cell interactions and immune cell receptors; (9) immunological methods and techniques; (10) immune cell activation including cell signaling pathways, biochemical and pharmacologic modulation studies; (11) infection; (12) different modalities of vaccination including gene therapy; (13) hypersensitivity and allergy; (14) transplantation. 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I-III Editorial Board EDITORS FOR THIS ISSUE Responsible Assistant Editor: Xiang Li Responsible Science Editor: Fang-Fang Ji Responsible Electronic Editor: Xiao-Kang Jiao Proofing Editorial Office Director: Xiu-Xia Song Proofing Editor-in-Chief: Lian-Sheng Ma Xiu-Xia Song, Vice Director World Journal of Immunology Room 903, Building D, Ocean International Center, No. 62 Dongsihuan Zhonglu, Chaoyang District, Beijing 100025, China Telephone: +86-10-85381891 Fax: +86-10-85381893 E-mail: editorialoffice@wjgnet.com Help Desk: http://www.wjgnet.com/esps/helpdesk.aspx http://www.wjgnet.com PUBLISHER Baishideng Publishing Group Inc 8226 Regency Drive, Pleasanton, CA 94588, USA Telephone: +1-925-223-8242 Fax: +1-925-223-8243 E-mail: bpgoffice@wjgnet.com Help Desk: http://www.wjgnet.com/esps/helpdesk.aspx http://www.wjgnet.com PUBLICATION DATE November 27, 2015 COPYRIGHT © 2015 Baishideng Publishing Group Inc. 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ONLINE SUBMISSION http://www.wjgnet.com/esps/ FLYLEAF NAME OF JOURNAL World Journal of Immunology ISSN ISSN 2219-2824 (online) LAUNCH DATE December 27, 2011 FREQUENCY Four-monthly EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Antonio La Cava, MD, PhD, Professor, Depart- ment of Medicine, University of California Los An- geles, Los Angeles, CA 90095-1670, United States Seung-Yong Seong, MD, PhD, Professor, De- partment of Microbiology and Immunology, 103 Daehag-no, Jongno-gu, Seoul 110-799, South Korea EDITORIAL OFFICE Jin-Lei Wang, Director INDEXING/ABSTRACTING November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3| RNA polymerases in plasma cells trav-ELL2 the beat of a different drum Sage M Smith, Nolan T Carew, Christine Milcarek Sage M Smith, Nolan T Carew, Christine Milcarek, Department of Immunology, School of Medicine, University of Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh, PA 15213, United States Author contributions: Smith SM and Carew NT contributed equally to this work; Smith SM and Carew NT reviewed literature and wrote text; Milcarek C suggested the theme to be reviewed, reviewed literature, wrote text, and served as principal investigator for primary data. Supported by The National Science Foundation grant MCB- 0842725; National Institutes of Health shared resources Grant No. P30CA047904 to the University of Pittsburgh Cancer Institute; and internal funding from the School of Medicine and Department of Immunology. Conflict-of-interest statement: The above-mentioned authors hereby declare to have no conflicting interests, including but not limited to commercial, personal, political, intellectual, or religious, related to the work submitted. Open-Access: This article is an open-access article which was selected by an in-house editor and fully peer-reviewed by external reviewers. It is distributed in accordance with the Creative Commons Attribution Non Commercial (CC BY-NC 4.0) license, which permits others to distribute, remix, adapt, build upon this work non-commercially, and license their derivative works on different terms, provided the original work is properly cited and the use is non-commercial. See: http://creativecommons.org/ licenses/by-nc/4.0/ Correspondence to: Dr. Christine Milcarek, PhD, Professor of Immunology, Department of Immunology, School of Medicine, University of Pittsburgh, 200 Lothrop St., Pittsburgh, PA 15213, United States. milcarek@pitt.edu Telephone: +1-412-6489098 Fax: +1-412-3838096 Received: June 26, 2015 Peer-review started: June 27, 2015 First decision: July 28, 2015 Revised: October 23, 2015 Accepted: November 13, 2015 Article in press: November 17, 2015 Published online: November 27, 2015 Abstract There is a major transformation in gene expression between mature B cells (including follicular, marginal zone, and germinal center cells) and antibody secreting cells (ASCs), i.e. , ASCs, (including plasma blasts, splenic plasma cells, and long-lived bone marrow plasma cells). This significant change-over occurs to accommodate the massive amount of secretory-specific immunoglobulin that ASCs make and the export processes itself. It is well known that there is an up-regulation of a small number of ASC-specific transcription factors Prdm1 (B-lymphocyte-induced maturation protein 1), interferon regulatory factor 4, and Xbp1, and the reciprocal down- regulation of Pax5, Bcl6 and Bach2, which maintain the B cell program. Less well appreciated are the major alterations in transcription elongation and RNA proce- ssing occurring between B cells and ASCs. The three ELL family members ELL1, 2 and 3 have different protein sequences and potentially distinct cellular roles in transcription elongation. ELL1 is involved in DNA repair and small RNAs while ELL3 was previously described as either testis or stem-cell specific. After B cell stimulation to ASCs, ELL3 levels fall precipitously while ELL1 falls off slightly. ELL2 is induced at least 10-fold in ASCs relative to B cells. All of these changes cause the RNA Polymerase Ⅱ in ASCs to acquire different properties, leading to differences in RNA processing and histone modifications. Key words: Interferon regulatory factor 4; Antibody secreting cells; B cell differentiation; ELL2; Secretory- specific antibody; B-lymphocyte-induced maturation protein 1; OCA-B; Super elongation complex; Xbp-1; Mammalian target of rapamycin © The Author(s) 2015. Published by Baishideng Publishing Group Inc. All rights reserved. Core tip: B cell differentiation to antibody secreting cells is a highly regulated, complex process facilitated by factors such as interferon regulatory factor 4, Blimp-1, REVIEW 99 Submit a Manuscript: http://www.wjgnet.com/esps/ Help Desk: http://www.wjgnet.com/esps/helpdesk.aspx DOI: 10.5411/wji.v5.i3.99 World J Immunol 2015 November 27; 5(3): 99-112 ISSN 2219-2824 (online) © 2015 Baishideng Publishing Group Inc. All rights reserved. World Journal of ImmunologyW J I November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com OCA-B, Xbp1, and mammalian target of rapamycin. This results in a switch in immunoglobulin mRNA pro- cessing from the membrane-bound to the secretory- specific form, occurring when ELL2 releases RNAP-Ⅱ pausing during transcription elongation and causes exon skipping and proximal poly(A) site choice. Smith SM, Carew NT, Milcarek C. RNA polymerases in plasma cells trav-ELL2 the beat of a different drum. World J Immunol 2015; 5(3): 99-112 Available from: URL: http://www. wjgnet.com/2219-2824/full/v5/i3/99.htm DOI: http://dx.doi. org/10.5411/wji.v5.i3.99 INTRODUCTION If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears….Henry David Thoreau. B cells mature in the bone marrow, having under gone a series of DNA rearrangements to produce the uniquely rearranged immunoglobulin (Ig) molecules (H2L2) on their surfaces, the B cell receptor (BCR). Also on the B cell surfaces are: CD79 alpha and beta Ig coactivators for the BCR; CD19, which acts as a co receptor with BCR; CD21, the complement receptor 2 for C3d; pattern recognition receptors like Tolllike receptors 2 and 4; and MHCClass Ⅱ molecules. The mature B cells travel to the lymph nodes or the spleen and reside in niches awaiting stimulation. Upon stimulation the B cell radically alters its program of gene expression and “hears a different drummer”, turning into an antibody producing factory. If the B cells reside in and are stimulated in the marginal zone by Tindependent antigen engagement of the BCRs, through the tolllike receptors, or Ig plus C3d, they will differentiate into antibody secreting cells (ASCs) with a high probability of differentiating into shortlived plasmablasts. Activated marginal zone ASCs persist for only a few days after activation. They die rapidly either through an inability to deal with internal reactive oxygen species formed because of the large amount of secretoryspecific antibody molecules they produce and/or because they fail to upregulate receptors for survival signals. B cells that initially travel to the follicles require a more complex set of reactions in order to be stimulated by antigen. Engagement of the B cell surface CD40 occurs via contact with T cells carrying surface CD40 Ligand (CD154). Secretion of cytokines including interleukin (IL)2, 4, and 5 by T cells further activates the B cells. CD40 is a member of the tumor necrosis factor superfamily of receptors and engagement results in B cell activation, isotype switching, and somatic hypermutation upon passing through a germinal center. Those B cells then differentiate into ASCs or memory cells. The CXCR4+ ASCs from B cells stimulated in follicles can home to specific CXCL12+ niches in the bone marrow and become longlived ASCs. Long life for ASCs depends on soluble factors like BAFF and APRIL made by the bone marrow stroma and a touch of autophagy to repair damage in the endoplasmic reticulum (ER)[1]. TUNING UP THE BAND How individual activated B cells choose between divi sion, death, ASC development and class switching is unknown, and the molecular basis of this heterogeneity is still a mystery[2]. The relationship between the short lived cycling plasmablasts and the longlived ASCs also remains unclear. The longlived ASCs have the highest Blymphocyteinduced maturation protein 1 (Blimp1) expression, which might then explain the decreased levels of cmyc and proliferation in them[3]. We add ressed these issues more fully in a recent review[4]. Regardless of the source of the B cells (MZ or FO) the activation pathways to ASCs share a number of transcription factors that alter the expression pathways and pave the way to secretion of antibody. Several genes have been implicated in both the activated B cell transcriptional network and the ASC network, such as interferon regulatory factor 4 (Irf4) and Pou2af1 (OCAB); meanwhile, ELL2, cFos, Prdm1 (Blimp1) and Xbp1 are implicated only in the ASC network[5]. Of these, only ELL2, Irf4 and Pou2af1 (OCAB) have been shown to act directly on the Ig genes. Irf4 plays a central role in B cell to ASC differentiation Irf4, also known as Pip, is unique amongst many others within its class of Irfs. Irfs have important roles within the immune responses. Irf1 and Irf2 were the first Irfs to be recognized for their novel immunomodulation and hematopoietic effects. Studies of Irfs prompted later discovery of other members in this class. The class now includes Irf3, Irf4, Irf7 and Irf8[6,7]. Irf4 was discovered via analysis of the specific Etstranscriptions factors it interacts with; Irf4 binds to PU.1, an Etstranscription factor, and together they form a functional ternary activ ating complex[8]. B cells experience classswitching recombination along with particular changes to cellular Ig specific tran scription factors due to Irf4 regulation. The formation and changes to the germinal center are most highly observed when centrocyte levels are decreased and Ig specific transcription factors become abundant. The progression from germinal center maintenance to germinal centerspecific transcription is the final step in the B cell cascade before differentiation can occur. Irf4 meditated differentiation directs B lymphocytes to become memory B cells or ASCs[9]. ELL2, a transcription elongation factor discussed below, is highly expressed in ASCs vs B cells, and Irf4 binds to the ELL2 promoter to induce high levels of ELL2 mRNA[10]. When Irf4 is conditionally knocked out, germinal center formation is profoundly compromised[11]. The proximate cause of the Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells 100 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com differentiation from B lymphocyte to ASC is Blimp1. When Blimp1 is upregulated, the cell is directed to differentiate. With further observation, the ultimate cause is, in fact, Irf4. Irf4 upregulation causes the downstream increase of Blimp1 via PU.1, Irf4 ternary complex activation. This suggests Irf4 is the major orchestrator of B cell to ASC differentiation. Originally, Irfs were thought to have all bound to a shared constitutive DNA consensus sequence, but later Irf4 and Irf8 were shown to have much lower affinities to these standard DNA sequence motifs. Due to the lower DNA binding affinity of Irf4 and Irf8, Ets transcription factors are required to facilitate their DNA binding. Irf4 and Irf8 share similar Etstranscription factor protein binding domains, and therefore the same Etstranscription factors are used by both of them. Ets transcription factors PU.1 and SpiB have been shown to bind to specific DNAbinding motifs that then recruit Irf4 and Irf8[12]. PU.1 and SpiB both promote binding to the 3’ enhancers of κIg and λIg light chains. Since both Irf4 and Irf8 are recruited by these factors, there is competition between the two similar Irfs. The outcomes of the Irf competition are starkly different, since B cell to ASC transition will not occur with an abundance of Irf8[13,14]. Irf4 and Irf8 not only compete for the Etstranscri ption factors, but also promote expression for repressors of the other’s factors. In doing so, high levels of Irf8 would prompt decreased levels of Irf4, causing greater expression of Irf8dependent genes. Irf8 dependent genes include Bcl6 and Pax5, which are high in B lymp hocytes. Irf8dependent genes repress Aicda and Blimp1 expression, which are products of Irf4dependent transcription[15]. With increased Irf4, the exact opposite occurs, where Irf4dependent genes such as Aicda and Blimp1 are expressed. This in turn represses Irf8 dependent gene transcription. Irf8 dependent gene Pax5 is repressed by Blimp1, which is a negative transcription regulator in B lymphocytes. Presence of Blimp1 represses Pax5 and cmyc. Repression of cmyc ceases cellular proliferation and causes an overall reduction of surface IgM[16]. The repression of Pax5 results in Xbp1 activation, which causes an increased production of unfolded protein response (UPR) components[17]. Irf4 has also been shown to drive Zbtb20 expression in B cells. Zbtb20, also known as Zfp288, DPZF and HOF, is a complex Bcl6 homologue that is a tramtrack, bric àbrac, and zinc finger protein[18,19]. Ectopic expression of Zbtb20 induced terminal B cell differentiation to ACS. Along with promoting differentiation, Zbtb20 expression in plasma cells induces cell survival and blocks cell cycle progression. Zbtb20 is directly downstream and regulated by Irf4, and acts independently of Blimp1[20]. Blimp-1 is required for ASC differentiation Blimp1 is encoded by the Prdm1 gene and plays a crucial role in the differentiation of B cells to ASCs, and thus the switch from expression of membrane bound antibody molecules to secreted antibody molecules[21]. The human homolog, PRD1BF1, was discovered by Keller and Maniatis[22] by isolating a clone from a cDNA library encoding a protein that binds to the PRD1 site of the βIFN promoter. Its ORF presents krüppellike zinc finger DNAbinding motifs as well as proline and acidic regions resembling those of other known transcription factors, which indicates that Blimp1 is a transcriptional regulator[23]. Blimp1 mRNA expression is low in B cells and only present in late stages of differentiation[23]. Through Northern blots, it has been seen that Blimp1 accumulation increases 5fold in cells stimulated with IL2 and IL5. B cells transfected with Blimp1 mature, although not all the way, to a point of exhibiting qua lities of early ASCs[23]. It was further shown that upon knocking out Blimp1, secretion of Ig was severely reduced or failed[24]. Regardless of the levels of Blimp1, however, B cells will not differentiate in the absence of Xbp1[25], and B cells lacking Blimp1 are unable to normally induce Xbp1 mRNA as well as unable to normally process the Xbp1 protein[26]. This shows that Blimp1 acts upstream of Xbp1 in the development of ASCs[25]. B cells deficient in Blimp1, transfected with Blimp1 on a retrovirus, were able to secrete IgM, but Blimp1/ cells transfected with Xbp1 were not, proving that Xbp1 is not able on its own to drive differentiation if Blimp1 is absent, thus indicating that Blimp1 plays additional roles in plasmacytic differentiation[26]. Blimp1 blocks transcription of a large set of genes[27]. Cmyc is known to block terminal B cell differenti ation[28]. Ectopically expressing Blimp1 in preB cell lines represses c-myc promoter activity[29] and causes deacetylation of histone H3 associated with the c-myc promoter[30]. By analyzing DNA microarrays after indu cible expression of Blimp1, it was shown that Blimp1 represses genes associated with progression of the cell cycle as well as synthesis and repair of DNA[27]. Blimp1 was also shown to repress the gene expression program involved in B cell identity[27]. Blimp1 represses Pax5[27], which is known to repress Xbp1[31]. This indicates that Blimp1 induces expression of Xbp1 by repressing its repressor, Pax5[32]. It has also been shown that Blimp1 represses the transcription elongation factor ELL3. When the ELL3 promoter was cloned, cotransfection with Prdm1 significantly repressed activity in B lymphocytes[33]. Blimp1 was also seen to shut down Ig class switching by repressing expression of genes required in this process as well as inhibiting signals that serve to activate switch region Ig transcription[27]. Shaffer et al[27] showed that Blimp1 participates in a negative feedback loop with BCR and Bcl6. BCR signaling restrains terminal differentiation of B cells by suppressing Blimp1, while expression of Blimp1 was reciprocally shown to block BCR signaling via the downregulation of its components[27]. Bcl6 is required for the differentiation of Germinal Center B cells[34]. 101 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells THE DOWNBEAT: OCA-B STARTS THE MARCH TO IG SECRETION OCA-B aids Ig expression. OCAB, aka Pou2af1, BOB.1, Bob1, OBF1, or OBF.1, acoactivator from B cells that increases Ig promoter transcription, was discovered by Luo et al[40] using the fractionation by ionexchange chromatography of an oligonucleotide matrixbound fraction. They isolated a novel B cell coactivator of Oct1 and Oct2. Binding of OCAB to the octamer sequence of IgH is indirect and facilitated by Oct1 and Oct2 DNA binding[41] and as depicted in Figure 1. Oct1 and Oct2 contain POU domains, POU1 and POU2, respectively[42]. These POU domains are sufficient to mediate the interaction between Oct1 and Oct2 with OCAB[41]. OCAB has been shown to have no effect on the initial transcription of Ig genes, or play a role in the development of early B cells; however, mice deficient in OCAB nonetheless exhibited impaired immune response[43]. Blimp1 also represses Bcl6, while overexpression of Bcl6 represses Blimp1 and thus ASC differentiation[35]. This feedback loop provides very tight control over the decision of a B cell to become an ASC, for while Bcl6 is expressed in a GC B cell, expression of Blimp1 and thus plasmacytic differentiation is blocked, but as soon as Blimp1 is activated, Bcl6 is repressed and differentiation begins[27]. It was also shown that Irf4 deficient cells were unable to differentiate and lacked expression of Blimp1, indicating that Irf4 directly activates the expression of Blimp1[36]. In addition to Irf4, cFos also influences Blimp1 expression. A proto oncogene, cFos is a transcriptional regulator that operates on DNA in an indirect fashion via its interaction with other transcriptional activators, such as cJun[37]. Ectopic expression of cFos with cJun induces Blimp1 expression[38]. H2cFos B cells, once stimulated with LPS, were found to proliferate at a higher level than normal B cells after LPS stimulation and induced enough Blimp1 for terminal differentiation[39]. 102 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Figure 1 Transcription of Igh with alternative enhancer interactions. Oct-1 and -2 bind to the octamer sequence; OCA-B binds to Oct-2 and with TF105 (purple oval), a TFIID variant that is part of the basal transcription complex including TBP (yellow). Mediator (large teal complex) is a large complex of proteins that facilitates binding of RNAP-II to INR. Factors in Mediator like cdk8/cyclin C phosphorylate RNAP-II at ser-5 in the CTD consensus 7-mer for initiation. Then P-TEFb (cyclinT and cdk9, green oval) phosphorylates the ser-2 position of the CTD repeats of RNAP-II. Many genes have stalled polymerases awaiting the SEC, which contains ELL2 (purple hexagon) and P-TEFb[60]. Phosphorylation of the CTD by ser-5 and ser-2 is high near the Igh promoter[61]. The other members of the SEC are shown in gray. Differential transcription elongation occurs due to the potential interaction of the Igh enhancers. Cμ enhancer (annotated Eμ) interacts with promoter of Igh. A: In the first case, classical transcription of Igh can occur due to interaction between the promoter and enhancer, depicted by double arrow, without large-scale chromosomal looping; B: In the second case, along with promoter-enhancer interactions, Cμ enhancer has been hypothesized to interact with the 3’ Cα enhancer (3’ Eα), causing chromosomal looping. CTD: Carboxyl-terminal domain; SEC: Super elongation complex; TBP: TATA-binding protein; P-TEFb: Positive elongation factor b. OCA-B POU1 POU2 Oct-1Oct-1 Octamer TATA TF105 Mediator SECpTEFb ELL2 RNAPII VDJ E μ Cμ C δ C γ 3 C γ 1 C γ 2C γ 2a b C e C α 3'E α OCA-B POU1 POU2 Oct-1Oct-1 OCTAMER TATA TF105 MEDIATOR SECpTEFb ELL2 RNAPII VDJ E μ Cμ C δ C γ 3 C γ 1 C γ 2 b C γ 2a C e C α 3' Eα A B Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells OCAB increases the effectiveness of Oct1 and Oct2 activity on Ig promoters[40]. Ectopically expressing OCAB stimulates transcription of an IgH promoter in a HeLa nuclear extract[40]. Oct2 mutants with deletions in one of the two activation domains were generated and were shown to have a reduction of ability to stimulate an artificial octamerdependent promoter[41]. Several observations surrounding the phenotypes of OCAB/ mice made by Kim et al[44] help reveal more information involving its function. Knockouts are able to produce the same levels of IgM mRNA and protein as the WT mice, as well as produce normal numbers of mature surface IgM+/IgD+ splenic B cells[44]. The cells had slightly reduced levels of proliferation following LPS stimulation, but the proliferative response to stimulation by antiIgM crosslinking was greatly reduced a res ponse that was almost completely rescued to WT level when IL4 was added[44]. These results suggest that B cell differentiation and expression of IgM is not affected by knocking out OCAB, and LPS and IL4 pathways are for the most part intact. But these mice produce reduced serum levels of secondary Ig isotypes; the numbers of surface Igexpressing cells and IgG2b, IgG3, and IgG1 secreting cells are not different between the knockout and WT. The rates of secretion per cell, however, are much lower in the OCA-B/ mice, suggesting that the knockouts are able to undergo the isotypeswitching processes, but are incapable of efficiently expressing these switched Ig genes. Interestingly, knockout mice lack splenic germinal centers as well as germinal centers in lymph nodes[45]. There was also seen to be an increase in OCAB expression in normal germinal center B cells[45]. Mice deficient in OCAB also displayed a 24 fold decrease in splenic B cells, which suggests that it is required for splenic B cell maturation[43]. While there was a reduction in levels of mature B cells, cells of early differentiation stages remained unaffected[43]. OCAB has been demonstrated to repress the development of the transitional Syndecan1int cell by decreasing the divisionbased rate of differentiation[46]. In later B cell development, OCAB is required to promote differen tiation into cells that exhibit high rates of Ig secretion[46]. This role of OCAB in plasmacytic differentiation is in part due to its interaction with Blimp1. OCAB/ cells do not express Blimp1 in vitro in response to CD40L and IL4, and the genes that Blimp1 is known to repress, such as Pax5 and Bcl6, are consequently expressed at high levels in these differentiating knockout cells[46]. In addition to its interaction with Blimp1, OCAB has also been shown to regulate immunosuppressive miRNA expression by the conserved octamer motif in the promoter of miR146a[47]. In the absence of OCAB, expression of miR146a and miR210 is greatly reduced, an interesting finding considering both have been found to suppress NFκB signaling[47]. A comparison of the > 100 sequences of promoter regions for Igh Ⅴ regions in the mouse genome shows only the simple consensus of an octamer binding sequence (ATGCAAT) and an INR or initiation region[48]. Some Igh genes contain, while some lack, a TATA box, which would be bound by TBP and basal transcription factors. OCAB interacts with TAF105, a lymphocyte variant of TFIID[49], and is upregulated in ASCs[50] (see Figure 1). The deletion of either TAF105 or OCAB alone in vivo does not block Ig secretion[51,52]. Meanwhile, a set of enhancers [3’ Igh (alpha) enhancers, HS14] are found far downstream of the whole Igh gene cluster with long range effects for heavy chain class switching and VDJ recombination[53,54]. Our studies and those of others with transfected Igh genes showed full regul ation of the secretory vs membrane alternative RNA processing choice with constructs that lacked the HS14 enhancers but retained the Emu/EH enhancer, see for example[5558]. The Ig heavy chain EH/Emu enhancer stimulates transcription from functional promoters in B lymphocytes[53] but not other cell types. The EH/Emu enhancer region most likely loops back to the promoter and communicates with it as shown in Figure 1; it contains binding sites for the indicated transcription factors. It appears that for squelching of lymphocytespecific transcription in nonlymphoid cells, the binding of the repressive nuclear factorμNR to the Igh enhancer prevents nuclear matrix attachment by interfering with the positively acting matrix attach ment region proteins such as MARBP1, which drive transcription in B cells[59]. Igh 3’ enhancerbound OCAB and promoterbound TFIII mediate promoterenhancer interactions, in both cis and trans, that are important for Igh transcription. This suggests an important function for OCAB in Igh 3’ enhancer function in vivo that may be important for high levels of secretoryspecific mRNA production[60]. THE UPBEAT: ELONGATION SETS THE TEMPO OF THE MARCH FOR IG SECRETION Antibody molecules are first expressed on the surface of maturing B cells as membrane spanning receptors for immunogens and are known as the B cell receptor or BCR. Engagement of the BCR by cognate antigen on a mature B cell leads to activation of transcription and cell growth as described above. After the activation process, the premRNA transcribed from the rearranged Ig heavy chain gene is alternatively processed to produce the secretoryspecific form of Igh mRNA, reviewed in[4]. Not only is there a shift to use of the proximal poly(A) site but also a large increase in the overall amount of mRNA, with a less than 2fold increase in RNAPⅡ loading on the gene[61]. This indicates that RNA processing increases the quality and the quantity of the mRNA made from the Igh locus. The transition in Igh mRNA processing serves as a hallmark for the differentiation of the B cell to a plasma blast or an ASC and is a harbinger of major changes in cellular architecture and transcription allowing the Ig protein to be secreted[62]. The RNA polymerase in 103 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells the ASC is traveling to the beat of drum different from that in a B cell. Transcription elongation sets the tempo and acts as the drum major. ELL factors equip RNAP-Ⅱ for elongation All three members of the ELL gene family, 1, 2, 3, are involved in transcription elongation in the super elongation complex, SEC, see Figure 2. ELL1 was cloned from multiple lineage leukemia cells when its COOH terminal half was found to be a fusion partner with MLL, a histone H3 K4 methylase[63]. Based on the available literature, ELL1 may play its biggest role in DNA repair and small RNA synthesis[64,65]. Other family members were cloned because of their homology to ELL1. ELL3, at 397 amino acids long, differs in sequence from ELL1 and ELL2 (602 and 633 amino acids respectively) and lacks the central disordered region depicted in Figure 3, but retains the majority of the NH2terminal productive elongation domain and the occludin homology/p53 interacting domain. Both ELL1 and ELL3 have been shown to sequester p53 and abrogate its activities[66,67]. ELL2 was not tested for this activity. ELL3 was first described as testis specific[68], but subsequently it was shown to play a role in the epithelialmesenchymal transition[69] and to mark enhancers in ES cells, priming for future gene activation[70]. ELL2 replaces ELL3, which predominates in embryonic cells[69] and B cells; ELL3 levels are diminished after stimulation to ASC diffe rentiation even in ELL2 conditional knockouts[62] see Figure 4. Its role in B cells is as yet undefined. ELL1 was unable to substitute for ELL2 in driving proximal poly(A) site choice in the Igh locus[71]. ELL1 and 2 differ primarily in the sequence of the disordered region starting at amino acid 292 in Figure 3. Thus each ELL can be expected to have unique interactions and functions in transcription elongation based on its unique sequences. For example, Mediator subunit 26 drives the association of ELL1 with snRNA gene promoters[72]. Using yeast twohybrid assays, we have shown that conserved portions of the central disordered, proline rich regions of ELL1 and 2 bind specific proteins[73]; the absence of this region in ELL3 dictates that it will have different associations. We have shown that ELL2 modifies the RNA polyme rases in ASCs[10,61,71]; this causes RNAPⅡ to traverse the genes in a manner that is unlike that in a B cell and hence the RNAPⅡs in ASCs “travel to the beat of a different drum”. ELL2 has important and now well established roles in releasing paused RNAPⅡ in Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV) infection and in multiple myeloma[4,74]. There is a > 6fold rise in the level of ELL2 ASCs (see Figure 4)[10,62,71,73,75], mediated by the Irf4 transcription factor[7678]. There is also a increase in ELL2 mediated by Blimp1 expression[76]. We showed that ELL2 drives alternative RNA processing [exon skipping and first poly(A) site choice] to influence the expression of the secretoryspecific form of Igh mRNA at the expense of the membrane form[10] diagrammed in Figure 5A. This occurs because more mature mRNA results from every pass of the RNAPⅡ; processivity is increased by ELL2. Studies of the ELL2 promoter (1142 to + 154) show Irf4 and NFκB p65 responsive sites[62], cyclic AMP response elements, and binding sites for the viral oncoprotein Tax made in HTLV infection[79]. In the SEC, ELL2 associates with the positive transcription factor PTEFb, AFF4, and other proteins found in fusions with MLL in cancer that facilitate H3K4 methylation[80], see Figure 2. In the case of model ASCs vs B cells, more ELL2 and PTEFb are recruited to the RNAPⅡ on the identical Igh gene; there is a correspondingly higher level of ser2 phosphorylation of the carboxylterminal domain (CTD) of RNAPⅡ nearer the promoter[61,71]. The scope of modifications of the histones on the Igh gene is different from that seen in B cells and ASCs. We saw more H3K79 di and trimethylation as well as H3K4 methylation 3’ of the internal heavy chain enhancer in ASCs, which is indicative of a more open chromatin configuration[71] (see Figure 5). H3K79 methylation has also been linked to alterations in splicing[81]. All of these changes in chromatin would favor use of promoter proximal poly(A) sites, like that of the secretory Igh poly(A) site and skipping of the splice sites that would be necessary for the production of the Igh membrane encoding form of Igh. Ironically, an elongation factor causes the production of a shorter Igh mRNA. Our Bcell specific ELL2 conditional knockout mice (ell2loxp/loxp CD19cre/+aka ELL2cKO)[62] exhibit normal numbers of splenic B cells but curtailed primary and secondary humoral responses both in NPficoll and NPKLH immunized animals. In ELL2 cKO mice relative to ELL2+/+ animals: CD138+/ B220 lo ASCs in spleen were reduced; there were fewer IgG1+ anti body producing cells in the bone marrow (i.e., long 104 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Figure 2 Components of the super elongation complex. ELL2 is part of the super elongation complex important for releasing RNA polymerase Ⅱ from pausing. Cdk9 phosphorylates the ser-2 of the heptad repeats in the carboxyl- terminal domain of RNAP-Ⅱ, negative elongation factor negative elongation factor, and DRB sensitive factor the DRB-sensitive factor, which becomes activated. ELL2: Eleven lysine rich leukemia protein 2; Cdk9: Cyclin dependent kinase 9. AF4/Aff1 pTEFb EAF2 ELL2 ENL/ AF9 Cdk9 Cyclin T Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells lived plasma cells); splenic B cells stimulated by LPS ex vivo were ¼ as likely to produce B220loCD138+ cells (ASCs) than from control splenic Bcells. The “pseudo ASCs” that arise in the ELL2 cKO have a paucity of secreted Igh, and distended, abnormal appearing ER by electron microscopy. The amounts of Ig kappa, activating transcription factor 6 (Atf6), BCMA (Tnfrsf1), BiP, Cyclin B2, OCAB, and Xbp1 mRNAs, unspliced and spliced, are severely reduced in the ELL2 cKOs[62]. Thus we showed that ELL2 is essential for antibody synthesis and export. The complex expression pattern of the three ELL family members in B cells and ASCs both in ELL2+/+ and the ELL2/ conditional knockouts is shown in Figure 4. The knockout of ELL2 influences its own and ELL1 mRNAs but not that of ELL3, which declines following LPS stimulation to ASCs regardless of the presence of ELL2[62]. The super elongation complex acts at active genes A combination of genomewide highthroughput sequ encing methods and drug treatments that inhibit PTEFb have suggested that PTEFbdriven release of paused RNAPⅡ from promoterproximal regions to begin productive elongation is a widespread and necessary step in transcription. Studies have shown that inhibition of PTEFb, and by extension SEC, that prevents RNAP Ⅱ release, blocks almost all transcription[9,29,30]. Thus, all active genes experience a potentially ratelimiting pausing step in the transcription cycle and require SEC activity for gene body transcription. However, this pause step causes a significant accumulation of promoter 105 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Figure 3 Protein structure of ELL2 vs ELL3. ELL2 contains three domains the common ELL protein family domain the disordered region and the occludin homology domain. The central disordered region is missing in ELL3 and the amino acid sequences vary in other regions as well. ELL: Eleven-nineteen lysine rich leukemia protein; pfam: Protein family; Paf1: Polymerase associated factor 1. B cell B cell ELL2-/- ASC ASC ELL2-/- 0 50 100 150 200 250 ELL1 ELL2 ELL3 Amount relative to HPRT Figure 4 Expression of ELL1, 2 and 3 varies between B cells and antibody secreting cells. The expression of the mRNA for the three factors was measured by RT-QPCR relative to HPRT in both wild type mice and mice lacking ELL2 in their B cell compartment. HPRT: Hypoxanthine phosphoribosyltransferase; ASC: Antibody secreting cell; RT-QPCR: Reverse transcriptase quantitative polymerase chain reaction; ELL: Eleven-nineteen lysine rich leukemia protein. Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells ELL pfamELL2 292 532 633 Occludin High Low 192 Interacts directly with Paf1 350 Stimulates productive elongation1 Sequence Conservation Disordered regions Missing in ELL3 1 proximally paused RNAPⅡ only at a subset of active genes in untreated cells (40%70%, depending on the method and cell type)[3,9,29,3133]. Presumably SEC activity is simply not limiting on the remainder of genes that do not show accumulation of paused RNAPⅡ. This finding indicates that a pausing and SECdependent release step could become a ratelimiting and potentially regulatory step at all active genes[82]. Transcription and RNA processing are controlled in cells by the cooperating processes of modifications to the CTD of RNAPⅡ, addition of elongation and RNA processing factors to the RNAPⅡ complex, and by chromatin modifications[83]. Negative elongation factor (NELF) and DRB sensitive factor (DSIF) are recruited to an RNAPⅡ when it pauses just after initiation of transcription. DSIF is composed of the highly conserved Spt4 and Spt5 subunits, which have been shown to have unique parts to play at different phases of Ig class switch recombination[84] and in germinal center B cells[85]. NELF is found only in paused metazoan, not yeast tran scription complexes[86]. Recruitment to the paused RNAPⅡ of PTEFb, composed of cyclin T and cdk9, and its associated factors like ELL into a super elongation complex[87], results in phosphorylation of DSIF and the 106 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Igh sec >> mb plasma cell -7 9 TA TA V: J2 EH se cp A CH 1 IV S PA m b3 ' Ga str in Ac tin K79me1 K79me2 K79me3 25 20 15 10 5 0 % I P C Igh sec = mb B cell *** K79me1 K79me2 K79me3 25 20 15 10 5 0 % I P -7 9 TA TA V: J2 EH se cp A CH 1 IV S PA m b3 ' Ga str in Ac tin B Igh gene and mRNA products TATA V:J2 J4 5' Secretory-specific mRNA Membrane-specific mRNA EH CH1 CH2 sec pA sec + 200 IVS M1 pAmb3' M2 Mb pA CH3 alt splice An An A Figure 5 Igh gene has a different pattern of H3K7methylation in B cells vs antibody secreting cells. Distribution of histone H3K7me is enhanced in the region downstream of the internal Igh enhancer in plasma cells (ASCs). The 11 kb Igh gamma 2a gene is identical in the B and PC (hybridoma) lines and located in the intact Igh locus. A: Location of probes used in QPCRs. Cells were fixed and chromatin IP performed with the indicated antibodies specific to the individual K79 methylations; B: The B cell line A20; C: The plasma/hybridoma line AxJ which is an ASC. ASCs: Antibody secreting cells; QPCR: Quantitiative polymerase chain reaction; IP: Immunoprecipitation. Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells ser2 of the carboxylterminal end of RNAPⅡ. NELF is also phosphorylated by PTEFb, releasing it from the now elongationcompetent RNAPⅡ complex. It is clear from studies with HIV tat and tar that recruitment of PTEFb with ELL2 also facilitates interactions of the fivesubunit polymerase associated factor (paf) with RNAPⅡ; paf then recruits the polyadenylation factors[88]. This would favor promoter proximal polyadenylation. Studies using RNAPⅡ mutants or drugs to slow elongation show that reduced transcription rates are coupled with alternative exon inclusion while speeding up the polymerase causes exon skipping[89]. In addition, transcription factors have been shown to control the use of alternative exons and control splicing patterns, presumably by differentially setting up the RNAPⅡ complex or its elongation rate[90]. Effects of altered RNAP-Ⅱ on other genes Using deep mRNA sequencing, the knockdown of ELL2 by siRNA in a plasma cell line was shown to influence several other genes besides Igh secretory specific mRNA processing, namely several splicing factors, cyclin B2 (Ccnb2), and the B cell maturation antigen (Tnfrsf17) aka BCMA. Long term survival of plasma cells is impaired by the lack of BCMA in a knockout mouse[91]. But loss of BCMA alone in / mice does not alter humoral responses (Tindependent or Tdependent) nor the formation of shortlived plasma cells, yet loss of ELL2 in mice does[62]. Benson et al[92] saw changes in splicing in a number of genes involved in mRNA processing; this would have had other far reaching secondary effects beyond that of ELL2 on transcription. Dissociating the direct vs indirect effects of ELL2 is key to understanding its role in changing the RNAPⅡ and RNA processing patterns on a given gene in ASCs. In the ELL2 conditional knockout mice we saw not only reduced Igh processing to the secretoryspecific form, but also deficiency in light chain mRNA synthesis and decreased expression of UPR genes, especially in Xbp1. We also saw changes in the splicing of some ELL2 target genes as illustrated in the Sashimi plot shown in Figure 6 for Xaf1, a gene involved in apoptosis of cells[93]. Elongation factors like ELL2 not only change RNA processing patterns but they also increase the proces sivity of RNAPⅡ[94]. As a consequence, they can cause higher production of mature mRNA from a precursor and boost mRNA yields without increasing RNAPⅡ loading. For example, using a cyclin B2 promoter, addition of ELL2 cDNA had a greater than 7fold enhancement in the luciferase reporter systems relative to a Blimp1 promoter[62]. It is also worth noting that many of the genes in primary B cells affected by the loss of ELL2 after stimulation to ASCs are genes expressed at high mRNA abundance (Atf6, BiP, Igh, IgL, Pou2af1, Xbp1), genes for which efficient premRNA to mature mRNA processing would be important. Interestingly, in the ELL2 knockout, there was a 5fold decrease in the expression of Pou2af1 (OBF1/ BOB1/OCAB) mRNA, a putative downstream target of Xbp1[95]. We also saw that ELL2 could enhance luciferase yields from a promoter carrying the UPR elements, so the effect on Pou2af1 could be direct as well as indirect through decreased Xbp1. THE UPR: SUPPLYING THE BACK BEAT FOR IG SECRETION The increase of ELL2 in ASCs drives alternative RNA processing and leads to an increase in secretory Igh mRNA[10]. The substantial amount of Ig chains being produced must first be processed efficiently into anti bodies by the ER. Differentiating B cells adapt to the added stress of processing the increased amount of antibody by inducing the UPR, a signaling cascade prompted by ER stress that upregulates ER chaperone and folding enzymes expression (reviewed in[96]). Even after initiation of terminal B cell differentiation and efficient elongation take place, regulators of the UPR and alleviators of ER stress are needed to ensure that successful ASC development occurs. Xbp1 regulates UPR for ASC differentiation In mature ASCs, the ER response is unique from that seen in other cells[97]. The UPR in many cells typically has three arms, the Ire1/Xbp1 pathway, an Atf6 path way, and the PERK pathway[98]. But PERK knockout mice secrete normal amounts of Ig, while PERK protein expression is not changed significantly between B cells and ASCs[99,100]. In addition, Atf6 is not necessary for the development of ASCs; thus when B cells are stimulated to secrete antibody, the primary pathway for ER remodeling appears to reside in the Ire1 to Xbp1 pathway[101]. Aggregation and then auto phosphorylation of Ire1 causes it to acquire the ability to specifically cleave and then splice Xbp1 mRNA; the newly spliced Xbp1 RNA species encodes a novel Xbp1 protein with transcri ptional activity on its own promoter and other UPR promoters containing the UPR element UPRE[99]. In an Xbp1 conditional deletion, the mice show defects in ASC development[25] and low levels of secretory Ig[102]. But it has been argued that the consequences of Xbp1 deletion alone are relatively mild[103]. ASCs are 107 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Figure 6 Sashimi plot depicting exon skipping. Xaf1 Sashimi plot obtained from RNA-Seq of ELL2 WT (red track) and cKO (blue track) antibody secreting cell samples. This plot demonstrates the exon skipping of exon 4 occurring in the cKO. The arcs indicate splice junction reads, with the thickness of the arc correlating with the number of junction reads spanning the two exons being connected by the arc. cKO: Conditional knockout; RNA-seq: RNA sequencing; WT: Wild type. Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells present in normal frequencies in resting and immunized animals, and Ig secretion is reduced but not eliminated in conditional Xbp1 knockouts. Thus the gene regulatory program controlling ASC differentiation may proceed relatively normally in the absence of Xbp1[103]. On further analysis, the low levels of Igh mRNA in Xbp1/ mice result from the 8fold increased levels of Ire1P over control; the highly abundant Ire1P cleaves the Igh mu secretory mRNA[104]. This is a process similar to the previously described pathway[105] in which Ire1P can act to cleave its own mRNA, as well as other RNAs in a process called regulated IRE1dependent decay[106]. Only Xbp1 mRNA is spliced, not cleaved, by Ire1P to form a new functional RNA[107]. A double deletion of Xbp1 and Ire1 restores IgM secretion by inhibiting Ig mRNA degradation[104]. Mutations in the Ire1 nuclease function cause only a 2fold reduction in Ig secretion[108]. Taken together, this leads to a conclusion that some Ig secretion can occur without the unusual cleavage and splicing of Xbp1 and there may be other proteins that allow for the upregulation of the UPR besides the spliced mRNA encoded Xbp1. As we discussed above, ELL2 has a role in enhancing the transcription of other UPR proteins through the UPR element[62] thereby linking production of the Igh secretory mRNA and the build up of the UPR. Activation of the mammalian target of rapamycin (mTOR) pathway can also bypass Xbp1 for Ig secretion[109]. mTOR bypasses Xbp1 for ASC differentiation and Ig secretion mTOR is a vital serine/threonine kinase with two known subunit complexes, mTORC1 and mTORC2[110]. Much of the known function of mTOR, primarily in complex one, shows major roles in cellular proliferation[111] and Ig secretion[112]. The main function of mTORC1 is to recognize nutrient levels and mitogenic signals, and with these trigger cellular growth and proliferation. mTORC2 differs as it is nutrient independent and is activated by growth factors[113]. Within its pathway is the tuber sclerosis complex (TSC), which is an inhibitory complex of mTOR. TSC presents itself in two forms, TSC1 and TSC2. The two forms come together as a heterodimeric complex[114,115]. Akt, a protein kinase, is responsible for phosphorylation of TSC2 and is activated after LPS stimulation[115]. The release of TSC complex inhibition induces mTOR via BCR stimulation. The reversion of TSC1 inhibition of mTORC1 is responsible for protein synthesis in LPSactivated B cells, which is coupled with substantial ER stress[116]. ER stress can activate the UPR, restoring ER stability, or possibly lead to autophagy or apoptosis[117]. During B cell differentiation to ASC, ER remodeling is substantial and exclusively facilitated by the Xbp1 UPR pathway. Skipping of the Xbp1 pathway has been shown to allow B cells to viably differentiate into longlived ASCs that only secrete small amounts of Igs[103,104]. It was shown that the ER morphology was highly compromised in the Xbp1 knockout after ASC transition. The successful transition, even with compromised ER morphology, from B cell to ASC was shown to be due to the positive regulation of mTOR[109]. Looking directly at mTOR, inhibition of mTORC1 in mice induces macroautophagy[118]. When activated, mTORC1 promotes cell growth and protein synthesis. Along with mTORC1, TSC1 ablation ex vivo resulted in cell death of developing ASCs[116]. The production of a TSC1 KO, Xbp1 KO and TSC1/Xbp1 DKO has allowed for complete analysis of mTORC1 outcomes independent of parallel pathways. TSC1 KO promoted ASC differentiation with increased mTOR activity along with an unexpected increase in Ire1. Pertaining to the antibody secretion of the ASCs, the expected reduc tion of IgM and IgG1 levels in the KOs and DKO was observed. A marked increase of IgA titers in the serum of the DKO was also observed. This correlates with the novel finding that mTOR activation can bypass Xbp1 for antibody secretion. To assess the effect of TSC1 KO on the ER, the DKO and the Xbp1 KO were compared after LPS stimulation. It was clear that the double knockout had a less compromised ER, suggesting that mTOR activation and its directed UPR play a crucial role in ER maintenance and remodeling[109]. CONCLUSION The modification of RNAPⅡ elongation by ELL2 in ASCs is dramatic with farreaching consequences. It is important to further study the direct effects that this modification is having on transcription of Igh and on expression of other ASC genes. What else occurs as a result of RNA polymerases traveling to the beat of a different drum? The significance of understanding these systems lies in the foundation of the correct production and processing of antibodies, a vital part of immune response. Further study will allow for an expanded breadth of understanding concerning this complex system as well as great advances in diagnosis and therapy for autoimmunity and immunedeficiency diseases. REFERENCES 1 Pyo JO, Yoo SM, Ahn HH, Nah J, Hong SH, Kam TI, Jung S, Jung YK. Overexpression of Atg5 in mice activates autophagy and extends lifespan. Nat Commun 2013; 4: 2300 [PMID: 23939249 DOI: 10.1038/ncomms3300] 2 Nutt SL, Hodgkin PD, Tarlinton DM, Corcoran LM. 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work_jma5eujgo5cmjitqwvpapfware ---- FISCHER‐TINÉ | 113 IZSAF 02/2017 Eradicating the ‘Scourge of Drink’ and the ‘Un‐pardonable Sin of Illegitimate Sexual Enjoyment’: M.K. Gandhi as Anti‐Vice Crusader Harald Fischer‐Tiné1 Abstract: This essay highlights an oft‐neglected facet of M.K. Gandhi’s political work by scrutinizing the anti‐colonial icon’s extended engagement in campaigns against alcohol, narcotics, prostitution and a number of other ‘vices’ between 1906 and 1948. It argues that, while the Mahatma’s anti‐vice crusades definitely were part and parcel of his vision of ‘inner swaraj’ (or: self‐control) as a necessary pre‐ condition for national independence, they cannot be understood by situating them merely in narrow national or colonial contexts. As is demonstrated, Gandhi was constantly drawing on (and simultaneously contributing to) the ideological and methodological repertoire of a flourishing transnational, indeed, global, network of temperance and purity activists that had been in the building since the mid‐ nineteenth century and cut across a wide political, social and religious spectrum. Hence, a close analysis of Gandhi’s fight against intoxication and debauchery on the Indian subcontinent does not only shed new light on the formation of Indian mass‐ nationalism in early 20th century, it also enhances our knowledge of one of the first world‐spanning ‘advocacy groups’. According to conventional historiographical wisdom, the crusade against alcohol, opium and immorality in late nineteenth and early twentieth cen‐ turies was largely a Euro‐American phenomenon, a middle ground and melting pot for evangelical missionary zeal, ‘white man’s burden’‐ imperialism, social hygienic reform agendas and early forms of the orga‐ nized women’s rights movement.2 To be sure, such a conceptualization of 1 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: This article is based on a talk given at the AHA convention in Denver, CO on January 5th 2017. It draws on and expands some thoughts that I have first articulated in the introduction to a book on global anti‐vice activism which I have co‐ edited with Jessica Pliley and Robert Kramm, (Pliley et al. 2016: 1–29). I should like to thank David Courtwright for his encouraging comments after the Denver talk, Bernhard Schär for his incisive comments, Maria Framke for bringing me in touch with IZSAF and Martina Andermatt for diligently preparing the manuscript for publication. 2 There is a copious literature on anti‐vice campaigns that originated in Europe and North America. See, for instance, Hunt 1999; Cox 2007; Walkowitz 1982; Tyrell 1991; Valverde 2000; Lodwick 1996; Padwa 2012; Donovan 2006. ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’ | 114 02/2017 anti‐vice activism allows for its interpretation as a transnational phenome‐ non, but one whose operational centre and ideological roots materialized in the West. This essay sets out to complicate this slightly euro‐centric picture presented by much of the available literature on anti‐opium campaigners, temperance activists and purity crusaders. It does so by pointing to the fact that anti‐vice agendas had become a truly global occurrence by the turn of the 20th century that transcended religious and cultural boundaries as well as the infamous divide separating the colonizing imperial powers from the colonized world. The case study focuses pars pro toto on the most promi‐ nent temperance campaigner from the Indian sub‐continent, showing that the globalization of the anti‐vice agenda and methods of propagating can‐ not be understood in terms of a simple North‐South diffusion of protestant norms and values. Rather, historical actors from colonial territories and their idiosyncratic methods and ideological repositories also began to exert an influence on anti‐vice discourses and campaigns in the West. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi (1869–1948) is one of the handfuls of political leaders from this formerly ‘colonized World’ who has become an iconic figure all over the globe. Admittedly, he is mostly not known today as an ardent crusader against the unholy trinity of drugs, drink and debauch‐ ery in the first place, but rather as a spokesman and symbol of anti‐colonial nationalism. In other words, Gandhi spent the last three decades of his life challenging precisely the kind of imperial world order that was being moral‐ ized by imperial administrators and Christian missionaries in Asia, Africa and the Pacific. Yet, at the same time, Mohandas Gandhi started to cultivate a quasi‐religious obsession with health, bodily purity and moral perfection that seems astonishingly close to the concerns of many Western purity cru‐ saders. It made him engage in active campaigning against the very same evils targeted by Protestant temperance activists until his death and he even authored several books solely concerned with questions of health, substance abuse, diet and control of the body (cf. Gandhi 1923; idem 1948; idem 1949; cf. also Alter 2000). Born in the small coastal town Porbandar in the western Indian region of Gujarat, Gandhi was exposed to the cultural influences of the regional vari‐ ety of Vaishnava‐Hinduism and Jainism during his childhood. Their manifold differences notwithstanding, both religious strands converged on the prin‐ IZSAF FISCHER‐TINÉ | 115 IZSAF 02/2017 ciples of strict abstinence, vegetarianism, and their aspirations towards very high moral standards often articulated in terms of sexual discipline. There can hardly be any doubt that this had a durable impact on young Gandhi (Jordens 1998: 6). Interestingly, the years he subsequently spent as a stu‐ dent of law in London (1888–1891) even significantly reinforced his rigid moral principles (Brown 1999: 72–3). Unlike many of his Indian fellow stu‐ dents in the imperial metropolis, many of whom were apparently suscepti‐ ble to ‘immoral influences’ (Fisher, Lahiri & Thandi 2007: 129), Gandhi ap‐ parently was never tempted by the pubs, music‐halls and brothels of late Victorian London. As Leela Gandhi (2006: 67–76) and others (cf. Arnold 2014: 37–40; Guha 2014: 36–54; Hunt 1978: 30–40) have discussed at great length, the future Mahatma preferred to spend his time instead with Eng‐ lish members of the vegetarian and temperance movements. His rigid anti‐ alcohol stance was further confirmed during the two decades of his resi‐ dence in South Africa (1893–1914). Both among the local black working classes as well as among the Indian indentured labourers (or coolies, in im‐ perial parlance) whom he represented as a lawyer in those years, he could witness with his own eyes the ways in which the ‘terrible scourge of drink […] ruined people morally, physically, economically’ and ‘destroyed the sanctity and happiness of the home.’ (Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi [henceforth CWMG] Vol. 76: 8). When commenting on the situation in India later, Gandhi made it clear that he considered the ‘drink evil’ not to be ‘a national vice’ (CWMG Vol. 29: 335). Like many of his contemporaries (Rich‐ ards 2002: 407–8), he understood alcohol abuse and alcohol addiction pri‐ marily as an emanation of the evil influence of Western civilization which imperial expansion helped to spread to places like South Africa and the Indian subcontinent. The supposedly imported vice of drink must have been all the more hateful for the Mahatma after his eldest son Harilal Gandhi (1888–1948) developed severe alcohol addiction during the 1910s and 1920s in reaction to growing tensions with his father and the death of his first wife (Dalal 2007).3 The fact that Harilal—obviously owing to his drink‐ ing problem—also became a gambler and started to display a penchant for the company of prostitutes made things even worse in the eyes of his aus‐ 3 Harilal Gandhi’s tragic life story has also become the subject of a Bollywood drama (Feroze Abbas Khan’s Gandhi, my Father, released in 2007). ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’ | 116 IZSAF 02/2017 tere father. Notwithstanding his own family tragedy, Mohandas K. Gandhi continued to portray Indian society as being largely intact and innocent because in his mind alcohol had barely any roots in pre‐colonial South and Southeast Asian cultures (Gandhi 1976a: 224–5). In his view, this was partly due to the perceived moral superiority of the major religions in the region Hinduism, Buddhism, Sikhism and Islam all of which rejected intoxication. At the same time, however, he also invoked the authority of modern sci‐ ence by putting forth the well‐rehearsed environmentalist argument that ‘climatic conditions’ in the region were ‘totally opposed to the drink habit’ (Gandhi 1976f: 225; cf. also idem 1976g: 226). It is noteworthy that Western go‐betweens, who shared Gandhi’s cri‐ tique of ‘industrial civilization’, mediated his first major initiative to collec‐ tively resist such evil influences (Nigam 2013: 74). While being a regular guest in the Theosophist circles of Johannesburg, dominated by expats from Europe, Gandhi met the architect Herman Kallenbach, who had been raised and educated in East Prussia (Lev 2012: 1–9). As a practicing gymnast and bodybuilder who had received physical instruction at the hands of his com‐ patriot and world‐famous strongman Eugen Sandow (Watt 2016: 74–99), Kallenbach shared Gandhi’s obsession with disciplining the body and con‐ trolling dangerous physical appetites of all kinds (Lelyveld 2011: 88–91). Together they founded the experimental rural commune at Tolstoy Farm in 1910, where Gandhi would refine his method of Satyāgrah (passive re‐ sistance) that he had developed a few years earlier in Natal and that he would later deploy to great effect after his return to India (Hunt & Bhana 2007). The rigid prohibition of alcohol, strict vegetarianism, and the thor‐ ough policing of sexual chastity prevailing in the small political ashram near Johannesburg are thus not only remindful of similar experiments by adher‐ ents of the Lebensreform movement that developed more or less simulta‐ neously in Europe and the Americas, but also show that vice‐control and physical self‐optimization formed central elements in the training of would‐ be political elites (Alter 1996 and Valiani 2014: 507–8).4 It should be men‐ tioned that there was a strong gender dimension in this Gandhian optimiza‐ tion project, as he held the view that ‘procreation and consequent care of 4 For an insightful account of the anti‐vice regime in the ashrams Gandhi was running later in India see also Sarkar 2011: 187–191. FISCHER‐TINÉ | 117 IZSAF 02/2017 children’—tasks he deemed to be the part of the natural duties of wom‐ en—‘were inconsistent with public service’ (Taneja 2005: 66) and the politi‐ cal elites thus trained ultimately tended to be all male. Like many Christian crusaders against alcohol abuse, the opium trade or the state regulation of prostitution, (and perhaps also owing to the woes caused by the dissolute behaviour of his son Harilal), Gandhi firmly believed in what can be termed the domino theory of vice. He assumed that alcohol consumption, which he considered the root of all evil, almost inevitably led to sexual debauchery, smoking, gambling and other forms of immoral and harmful behavior. Interestingly, Gandhi linked the rapid global spread of what he regarded as specifically Western forms of vice to the invention of the steam as a locomotive power of great velocity. In his oft‐quoted anti‐ modern manifesto Hind Swaraj (or Indian Home Rule)—ironically written on board a steam ship en route from London to South Africa in 1909 (Suhrud 2014: 154–5)—Gandhi made it a point that he regarded railways as a sinis‐ ter Western invention that would only serve to ‘propagate evil’ whereas ‘good travel[ed] at snail’s pace’ (Sharma & Suhrud 2010: 41; see also Nigam 2013: 79–80). In the light of the fact that he would later on constantly rely on the railway and the steamboat to further his political agenda and social reform projects, such a statement seems somewhat ironic. Yet, it once more underlines that Gandhi’s anti‐vice attitude converged with his staunch anti‐Westernism, which in turn drew on the arguments of cultural pessimist intellectuals and religiously minded conservatives in Eu‐ rope and North America, who equated ‘Western civilization’ with a new kind of ‘hedonistic modernism’.5 This modernism, they feared, would erode societies and families with its ‘values of instant gratification, pleasure and egoistic individualism’ (Sulkunen & Warpenius 2000: 425). Given these ideological affinities, it is hardly surprising that the Mahatma put the fight against drink as a potent symbol of the alien and corrupt character of Brit‐ ish colonial rule not only prominently on the agenda of the Indian National Congress from 1920 onwards, but that he also repeatedly collaborated with 5 For a definition and contextualization of ‘anti‐Westernism’ see Aydin 2007: 37–8. It has often been observed that Gandhi’s ideology as it crystallized in South Africa in the first decade of the twentieth century was crucially influenced by the reading of authors like Lew Tolstoy, John Ruskin, Henry David Thoreau and Edward Carpenter (see Hyslop 2011: 42). ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’ | 118 IZSAF 02/2017 Christian temperance agencies. I will come back to this point in the final section. Early Gandhian strategies to implement the anti‐vice agenda in national‐ ist politics included temperance campaigns among the ‘drinking classes’ (i.e. the usual subaltern suspects: industrial workers, low castes, and ‘untoucha‐ bles’), as well as the boycott and picketing of foreign liquor stores. As early as 1924, Gandhi, who was a great admirer of the infamous 18th Amendment (i.e. prohibition legislation) in the United States, had announced an even more radical strategy to fight the ‘drink devil’, when he wrote: ‘Not that we shall ever make drinkers sober by legislation, but we can and ought to pe‐ nalize […] the drink habit by closing all liquor shops and […] make it as diffi‐ cult as possible to indulge in it.’ (CWMG Vol. 29: 334). As soon as the Con‐ gress was in power on the provincial level in the late 1930s, local govern‐ ments promulgated laws of prohibition, thus alienating considerable seg‐ ments of the local population (Colvard 2014; Fahey & Manian 2005). There is by now a copious literature on the class antagonism underlying the poli‐ tics of drinking in late colonial India. In the logic of Gandhi and other aspir‐ ing nationalist elites, the subalterns could only be convinced to give up their vicious habits through harsh legal intervention. Needless to say, such an agenda often clashed with the subaltern classes’ claims of autonomy over their bodies and leisure practices (Menon 2015; see also Hardiman 1985). While Gandhi constantly insisted on the necessity to ‘wean the laboring population and the Harijans from the curse’ through legal intervention (CWMG Vol.72: 131), it is less well‐known that his class‐prejudice also cut in the other direction. Gandhi often rebuked the Indian aristocracy and mem‐ bers of the High Society for being negative role models. In 1929, for in‐ stance, he caustically remarked about a dinner given in honour of the vice‐ roy in Delhi’s classy Chelmsford Club that the event proved to what extent ‘educated Indians who lead public opinion’ were drawn into the ‘satanic net’ of drink: ‘All but one or two Indians drank Champagne to their fill. When Satan comes disguised as a champion of liberty, civilization, culture and the like, he makes himself almost irresistible. It is therefore a good thing that prohibition is an integral part of the Congress programme.’ (Gan‐ dhi 1976d: 266). FISCHER‐TINÉ | 119 IZSAF 02/2017 Following the logic of the ‘domino theory’, i.e. entangled character of vices, Gandhi soon extended his crusade against mood‐altering substances also to opium, an intoxicant which many associated with Asian rather than Western societies: The criticism leveled against alcohol applies equally to opium, although the two are very different in their ac‐ tion. Under the effect of alcohol, a person becomes a rowdy, whereas opium makes the addict dull and lazy. He becomes even drowsy and incapable of doing any‐ thing useful. The evil effect of alcohol strikes the eyes everyday [sic!], but those of opium are not so glaring. Any one […] wishing to see its devastating effect should go to Assam or Orissa. Thousands have fallen victim of this intoxicant, in those provinces. They give one the impression on living on the verge of death (Gandhi 1948: 36). Opium’s spread to what Gandhi called the ‘immoral trade’ organized first by the East India Company and later by the Government of British India per‐ fectly lent itself to a forceful critique of the depraved character of ‘Western civilization’ in its British imperial avatar, particularly once the international political pressure on the British to stop their opium dealings started grow‐ ing significantly in the early 1900s (Emdad‐ul‐Haq 2000: 69–95; McAllister 2000: 43–102). Quite predictably, therefore, the Indian National Congress under Gandhi’s leadership used its media as well as international political platforms such as the League of Nations to put considerable pressure on the British to prohibit the opium trade (Framke 2013). However, his pro‐ tracted anti‐opium crusade did not target solely the colonial administration. The Mahatma also campaigned in the villages of the regions implicated in opium production, consumption and trade, attempting to convince peas‐ ants that they should stop cultivating poppy and persuade the opium smokers to quit their habit. Considering the striking discursive affinities between the evangelical and anti‐imperial opposition to the consumption of intoxicants, it is rather unsurprising that a Christian comrade in arms supported the Indian nationalist leader’s anti opium campaign. Charles Freer Andrews, Anglican clergyman and long‐time friend and supporter of the nationalist cause, accompanied Gandhi on his tour in Assam, published many articles and pamphlets against opium trade and consumption, and ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’ | 120 IZSAF 02/2017 even served on a Congress Committee of Inquiry into the effects of opium use by the population of India’s North‐Eastern province (Andrews 1926; idem 1925; see also Kour 2014: 145). Interestingly, the fight against opium apparently also inspired Gandhi’s crusade against cigarette smoking. In a speech delivered to College students in Madras in 1927, the Mahatma warned his audience about the dangers of nicotine addiction in evocative terms: ‘Cigarette smoking is like an opiate and the cigars that you smoke have a touch of opium about them. They get to your nerves and you cannot leave them afterwards’ (Gandhi 1976e: 397). In the light of this rigid anti‐tobacco stance, it is understandable that he considered it an outright humiliation when an inventive cigarette manufac‐ turer introduced the new label ‘Mahatma Gandhi’ in 1921, containing his portrait on the package (CWMG Vol. 22: 198). The logics of the domino theory led Gandhi also to criticize practices that were not directly related to the consumption of mood‐altering substances. He wrote about a dozen articles on the disastrous effects of gambling and race‐horse betting, vices he considered to be ‘more difficult to deal with than drinking’ (CWMG Vol. 23: 97). The puritan leader of the Indian inde‐ pendence movement displayed particular missionary zeal when it came to the castigation of illicit sex and prostitution. Indian historian Ajay Skaria has shown that the figure of the veshya (prostitute) was an important meta‐ phoric trope in Gandhi’s discursive repertoire (Skaria 2007). However, the Mahatma’s preoccupation with prostitution was not restricted to the level of figurative speech. He was also concerned about the social reality of the existence of hundreds of thousands of ‘fallen sisters’ in India, a fact he per‐ ceived as a ‘matter of deep shame’ and ‘blot of the nation’ (CWMG Vol. 45: 457). Much like in the case of opium and alcohol, Gandhi outsourced the blame for this ‘tremendous and growing evil’, to the West in general and British colonial rule in particular. He described the imperial metropoles Paris and London as well‐known global centres of debauchery, ‘seething with the vice’, while simultaneously expressing his conviction that prostitu‐ tion in pre‐colonial India had been confined to a minuscule élite. Conse‐ quently, immorality in the past had not been ‘so rampant as now’, when the popularity of brothels was supposedly responsible for the ‘fast undoing the youth of the middle classes’ (CWMG Vol.32: 104), whom Gandhi be‐ FISCHER‐TINÉ | 121 IZSAF 02/2017 lieved to be ‘afflicted by syphilis and other unmentionable diseases’ (Gan‐ dhi 1923: 60). In a remarkable statement made in an article published in his mouth‐ piece Young India in the summer of 1925, Gandhi summed up the pivotal importance of an encompassing war on all different facets of vice for India’s political struggle for self‐rule concluding with a stunning lament: If I had the power of persuasion, I would certainly stop women of ill‐fame from acting as actresses, I would prevent people from drinking and smoking, I would cer‐ tainly prevent all the degrading advertisements that disfigure even reputable journals and I would most de‐ cidedly stop the obscene literature and portraits that soil the pages of some of our magazines. But alas, I have not the persuasive power I would gladly possess (CWMG Vol. 32: 104). Given the lack of the necessary persuasive (let alone legislative) power, the only solution for Gandhi consisted in protracted and concerted anti‐vice campaigns that would gradually bring about the emergence of an ‘intelli‐ gent, sane, healthy, and pure public opinion’ (CWMG Vol. 32: 104). The growth of such a ‘pure’ public opinion alone, he felt, would be able to keep the manifold perils emanating from vicious habits and threatening the na‐ tion‐in‐the making at bay. Given such lofty goals, it is somewhat ironic, but certainly not atypical for anti‐vice crusaders, that their fight against carnal temptations at times contributed to their own individual pleasure gain in ways that could cast serious doubts on their moral integrity.6 In the case of Gandhi, recent research has provided ample evidence of the fact that his own ‘chastity experiments’ included sleeping next to and bathing with na‐ ked women that might well have been his granddaughters (Parekh 1999; see also Adams 2010). The example of Gandhi’s nationalistic puritanism is instructive, primarily because it adds new layers of complexity to our understanding of the broader phenomenon of global anti‐vice activism. Clearly, the fight against the social diseases and vicious habits neither was a purely Western occur‐ 6 British Prime Minister William Gladstone, for instance, regularly stalked the lanes of Victo‐ rian London seeking to reclaim street prostitutes from a life of vice with a zeal that raised quite a few contemporaries’ eyebrows (cf. Fisher 1998: 10–12). ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’ | 122 IZSAF 02/2017 rence nor was it the prerogative of Christian reformers, early feminists, and paternalist imperialists. As we have seen, non‐Western elites could add their own critiques by seamlessly integrating the agitation for the abolition of prostitution and the prohibition of alcohol and drugs as part and parcel of their emancipatory political struggle. That being said, it would be mis‐ leading to posit the existence of an autonomous ‘indigenous’ temperance and purity ideology that would be exclusively embedded in Asian religious traditions existing completely isolated from these Western groups and the anti‐vice discourses they deployed. To be sure, Gandhi occasionally invoked the teachings of sacred Indian scriptures like the Bhagvadgītā or the pre‐ cepts of Hindu sages like Tulsidas and Chaitanya in his pamphlets against alcohol, opium and ‘the unpardonable sin of illegitimate sexual enjoyment’ (Gandhi 1923: 59), thereby establishing links to local cultural traditions. Yet, his anti‐vice agenda remained crucially moulded by the manifold contacts, exchanges and interactions with individuals and organizations from the west and a creative appropriation of their respective knowledges, discours‐ es and methods. Let me illustrate my main argument with a few examples of discursive borrowing and active collaboration with Western anti‐vice activists other than the well‐documented interactions with Kallenbach and Andrews. It is striking that Gandhi found allies throughout the wide spectrum of anti‐vice campaigners. Apparently, it made no difference to him whether they were missionaries, medical men, or social hygienists, as long as they promised to support his political agenda or provide ideological ammunition in the strug‐ gle for self‐purification. Thus, in 1934, for instance, the Mahatma gave a speech at the Bangalore Temperance Association, thereby using one of the oldest institutional platforms for anti‐alcohol agitation that existed in India ― the BTA was founded by Chris an Missionaries in the 1830s.7 A few years earlier he had addressed a huge meeting organized by the Burma Women’s Christian Temperance Union in Rangoon (CWMG Vol. 45: 236–240), where the chair of the meeting, announced him as ‘India’s greatest temperance advocate’. Other Western anti‐vice organisations, too, attempted to recruit Gandhi, who had become a global celebrity by the mid‐1920s, as a collabo‐ 7 The founding date 1837 is mentioned in Journal of the American Temperance Union 1837: 187. FISCHER‐TINÉ | 123 IZSAF 02/2017 rator. In the summer of 1924 William McKibben the founder of the Seattle based organization White Cross, wrote a long letter to the Congress leader trying to win his support. The organisation orchestrated a protracted anti‐ opium campaign. It had been established two years previously to save the world from ‘The Coming Narcotics Armageddon’, as one of their pamphlets had it (The Coming Narcotics Armageddon 1923). As a matter of course, Gandhi was in full sympathy with this agenda and immediately reassured McKibben that ‘the White Cross may rely upon India’s co‐operation in its noble work.’ (Gandhi 1976b: 371). The extent to which a consciousness of the global ramifications of the anti‐vice struggle characterizes the Mahatma’s propaganda campaign is indeed striking. As already indicated, Gandhi frequently referred to the prohibition experiment in the United States in appreciative terms. Even more importantly, the publications of Western anti‐vice campaigners were regularly recycled in speeches and writings. As early as 1906, he reprinted an entire article by Dr. Cortez, a French medical expert, on the ‘Evils of To‐ bacco’ in his journal The Indian Review published from South Africa (CWMG Vol. 5: 197). He stuck to this method of pastiche for decades. Thus, for ex‐ ample, he quoted extensive passages from the American journalist and anti‐opium campaigner John Palmer Gavit’s report on the Geneva Opium Conferences in an article published in 1926 under the title ‘Drugs, Drink and Devil’ (Gandhi 1976c: 376–78). Earlier he had also written a series of articles summarizing the French social hygienist Paul Bureau’s book Indiscipline des moeurs.8 Bureau’s book castigated birth‐control and advocated chastity instead—an agenda that must have been logically appealing to an ardent believer in brahmacharya as the only panacea for various kinds of evils. In the last article of this series, Gandhi appealed to the Indian youth to ‘treas‐ ure in the hearts the quotation with which Mr. Bureau’s book ends: The future is for the nations who are chaste!’. Along similar lines, a piece pub‐ lished in Harijan9 in the late 1930s contained a long excerpt from George Catlin’s influential textbook Liquor Control, published in New York in 1931 (Catlin 1931; see also Room 2005: 925–7). In this case Gandhi used the 8 The articles were later re‐published as a separate chapter in Gandhi 1947: 8–38. For a brief discussion cf. also Parel 2006: 141f.; Tidrick 2007: 342; Alter 1996: 8–10. 9 Harijan was a journal that especially targeted India’s untouchable population. ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’ | 124 IZSAF 02/2017 quote in order to proof scientifically that alcohol consumption was danger‐ ous even in frigid zones, implying, of course, that it was outright lethal in the tropics (CWMG Vol. 72: 166). These are only a few examples that can help elucidate to what extent the ‘glocalized’ or ‘pidginized’ variety of anti‐vice activism that crystallized in South Africa and India was made over by the exchanges and dialogues characteristic of the age of imperial globalization.10 Although it might sound strange, then, at least for the purpose of this essay, it is not enough to un‐ derstand M.K. Gandhi only as an Indian nationalist or Hindu social reformer. No doubt, ideas of purity, chastity and sobriety were pivotal for his vision of the Indian nation in the making. At the same time, however, it has become clear that the Mahatma’s vision was crucially shaped by the multi‐faceted, transna‐ tional and transcultural anti‐vice ecumene of which he was a member. Harald Fischer‐Tiné is Professor of Modern Global History at ETH Zürich. His most recent monograph is: Shyamji Krishnavarma: Sanskrit, Sociology and Anti‐ Imperialism (London and Delhi, 2014). He has also (co)‐edited ten anthologies, the most recent of which is Anxieties, Fear and Panic in Colonial Settings: Empires on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (Houndmills and New York, 2017). His articles and book reviews have appeared in many journals including the American Histori‐ cal Review, Comparative Studies in Society and History, Modern Asian Studies and the Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History. Harald Fischer‐Tiné can be reached at harald.fischertiné@gess.ethz.ch. BIBLIOGRAPHY Adams, Jad 2010. Gandhi: Naked Ambition. London: Quercus. Alter, Joseph 1996. “Gandhi’s Body, Gandhi’s Truth: Nonviolence and the Biomoral Imperative of Public Health”, in: Journal of Asian Studies 55 (2): 311–314. Alter, Joseph 2000. Gandhi’s Body: Sex, Diet and Politics. Philadelphia: Uni‐ versity of Pennsylvania Press. 10 For the concept of epistemic pidginization in a colonial constellation see Fischer‐Tiné 2013. 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work_jqv2t74nqzhrnj4vcuf2mzhndu ---- OP-OJLS140018 1..16 http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk Original citation: Brownlee, Kimberley, 1978-. (2014) Freedom of association : it's not what you think. Oxford Journal of Legal Studies. ISSN 0143-6503 Permanent WRAP url: http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/62129 Copyright and reuse: The Warwick Research Archive Portal (WRAP) makes this work of researchers of the University of Warwick available open access under the following conditions. This article is made available under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 (CC BY-NC 4.0) license and may be reused according to the conditions of the license. For more details see: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ A note on versions: The version presented in WRAP is the published version, or, version of record, and may be cited as it appears here. For more information, please contact the WRAP Team at: publications@warwick.ac.uk http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/ http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/62129 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ mailto:publications@warwick.ac.uk Oxford Journal of Legal Studies, (2014), pp. 1–16 doi:10.1093/ojls/gqu018 Freedom of Association: It’s Not What You Think Kimberley Brownlee* Abstract—This article shows that associative freedom is not what we tend to think it is. Contrary to standard liberal thinking, it is neither a general moral permission to choose the society most acceptable to us nor a content-insensitive claim-right akin to the other personal freedoms with which it is usually lumped such as freedom of expression and freedom of religion. It is at most (i) a highly restricted moral permission to associate subject to constraints of consent, necessity and burdensomeness; (ii) a conditional moral permission not to associate provided our associative contributions are not required; and (iii) a highly constrained, content- sensitive moral claim-right that protects only those wrongful associations that honour other legitimate concerns such as consent, need, harm and respect. This article also shows that associative freedom is not as valuable as we tend to think it is. It is secondary to positive associative claim-rights that protect our fundamental social needs and are pre-conditions for any associative control worth the name. Keywords: freedom of association, intimate association, social needs, social rights, freedom of expression, freedom of religion 1. Introduction Freedom of intimate association with family members, friends and acquaint- ances is not what we tend to think it is. It is not, as John Stuart Mill thinks, ‘the right to choose the society most acceptable to us’. 1 Nor is it, without significant qualifications, what the US Supreme Court describes as the * Associate Professor of Legal and Moral Philosophy, University of Warwick. Email: k.brownlee@warwick.ac.uk. For helpful feedback, I thank audiences at the Warwick Centre for Ethics, Law and Public Affairs research seminar, the Monash Law School staff seminar, the University of Tasmania Philosophy seminar and the University of Pavia Political Theory seminar. For written comments on this material, I am grateful to Christopher Bennett, Emanuela Ceva, Jonathan Floyd, Daniel Groll, Robert Jubb, Christoph Ortner, Thomas Parr and Adam Slavny. I thank Thomas Parr for his research assistance. I thank the Leverhulme Trust for a Philip Leverhulme Prize and the Independent Social Research Foundation for a Fellowship to work on the ethics of sociability. 1 John Stuart Mill, On Liberty (first published 1859) ch IV. � The Author 2014. Published by Oxford University Press. This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/), which permits non-commercial re-use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. For commercial re-use, please contact journals.permissions@oup.com Oxford Journal of Legal Studies Advance Access published January 27, 2015 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ protection of our choices to enter into and maintain certain intimate human relationships as a fundamental element of personal liberty. 2 Nor does it entail in any general sense the right to exclude. 3 Contrary to these standard liberal positions, intimate associative freedom is neither a general moral permission to associate or not as we wish nor a content-insensitive moral claim-right that protects us in behaving wrongly when we do so. 4 Both as a permission and as a claim-right, associative freedom is highly constrained and content-sensitive. As such, it differs from the other personal freedoms with which it is usually lumped such as freedom of expression and freedom of religion, which are largely content-insensitive claim-rights that do protect us in behaving wrongly within their domains. Associative freedom is also not as valuable as we tend in liberal societies to think it is. Although considerable associative control is necessary for self- respect, wellbeing and the cultivation of judgement, nevertheless it is not the most important associative right we have. Our fundamental associative interests ground more important positive claim-rights. These are, first, the right to have intimate associates (not necessarily of our choosing) during periods of abject dependency and risk of abject dependency and, second, the right to have minimally adequate opportunities to cultivate intimate associations when we are not abjectly dependent. These positive protections are necessary pre- conditions for any meaningful associative freedom worth the name. As such, they not only limit our moral permissions to associate or not as we please, but also trump our moral claim-rights to refuse to associate. Appropriate state institutions cannot fully guarantee these positive protections because, first, it is part of the nature of intimate associations that they tend to require more investment, care and persistence than state provisions can secure and, second, such institutions are hostage to people’s willingness to perform their functions. But, of course, state institutions can go some way to filling basic associative gaps, and can do much to assist (or impede) people in carrying out their personal associative duties. 2 This paraphrases Justice Brennan in Roberts v United States Jaycees 468 US 609, 618 (1984). ‘Our decisions have referred to constitutionally protected ‘‘freedom of association’’ in two distinct senses. In one line of decisions, the Court has concluded that choices to enter into and maintain certain intimate human relationships must be secured against undue intrusion by the State because of the role of such relationships in safeguarding the individual freedom that is central to our constitutional scheme. In this respect, freedom of association receives protection as a fundamental element of personal liberty. In another set of decisions, the Court has recognized a right to associate for the purpose of engaging in those activities protected by the First Amendment - speech, assembly, petition for the redress of grievances, and the exercise of religion. The Constitution guarantees freedom of association of this kind as an indispensable means of preserving other individual liberties.’ 3 Compare with Amy Gutmann’s statement that ‘The freedom to associate necessarily entails the freedom to exclude’. Amy Gutmann, ‘Freedom of Association: An Introductory Essay’ in Amy Gutmann (ed), Freedom of Association (Princeton University Press 1998) 11. 4 The distinction between intimate associations and collective or expressive associations is drawn by Justice Brennan in Roberts (n 2) 620. Justice Brennan characterizes the boundary between intimate associations and expressive associations in terms of the properties of intimate associations—their small size, selectivity and seclusion. Cited from Seana Valentine Shiffrin, ‘What is Really Wrong with Compelled Association?’ (2005) 99 Northwestern L Rev 839. 2 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , , 3 , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ 2. Intimate Associations Intimate associations contrast with collective, expressive and political associ- ations like unions and clubs, which necessarily have some further purpose as outlets for the expression of shared values or pursuit of shared goals, and whose members’ freedom (or not) to be exclusive tends to dominate discussions of associative rights. 5 Collective associative rights are undoubtedly important, but they’re not the focus of the present analysis. 6 Intimate associations need not exist for any further expressive, cultural, aesthetic or political purpose. They can exist for their own sake, and they are distinguished by their interactions, persistence and comprehensiveness. Let’s take each feature in turn. Interactions are a constituent element of, and necessary prerequisite for, intimate associations. People are a ‘family’ in name only if they never interact with each other. 7 But, of course, interactions also occur outside of associations. We chat with the grocery store clerk when we pay for our milk, but we do not have an intimate association with her. Moreover, the interactions of intimate associates tend to be of a particular kind marked by interest and investment, if not care, concern and love. People are a ‘family’ in little more than name if their interactions are principally hostile or brutal. Intimate associations also persist over time, and mere interactions do not. If mere interactions do persist, they tend to bleed into associations. Our relation with the grocery store clerk develops into an association once we’ve chatted with her week after week. Similarly, the relations between people who know each other very little, such as a group of strangers who become trapped 5 Seana Shiffrin offers some plausible reasons to question a sharp dichotomy between intimate associations and collective associations, notably, that both are sites in which members’ thoughts and ideas are formed and the content of their expressions is generated and germinated rather than merely concentrated and exported. Shiffrin (n 4). Similarly, Larry Alexander argues that, although associations can be classified as intimate, political, expressive, creedal, hobby-based, recreational, commercial and so on, nevertheless many, if not most, associations fall into more than one category. For instance, social clubs are venues for close friendships, recreation and commerce. See Larry Alexander, ‘What is Freedom of Association, and What is its Denial?’ (2008) 2 Soc Phil & Pol 1. Finally, Rob Jubb has suggested in correspondence that it may be better to think of associations as lying along a continuum from more impersonal and instrumental associations to more intimate and affective associations. I grant that these views are credible, but even so, paradigmatically, intimate associations differ from collective associations in that, unlike the latter, they need not have some further purpose beyond associating to motivate their existence. 6 I put aside the question of whether my analysis of intimate associative rights can be extended to collective associations. Since intimate associations are fundamentally important to our lives as human beings in a basic way that is not obviously true of collective associations, it is unlikely that an analysis of the former would apply without modification to the latter. 7 Thomas Parr has suggested to me that people might be a family in more than name even if they never interact provided that they are always prepared to interact when a member needs assistance. In reply, I think this might make these people members of a clan, but not a family in its paradigmatic sense. A clan in this sense is not well characterised as an intimate association; it is at best an abstract association. Freedom of Association 3 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , , , , 5 , , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ together in a mine for an extended period, morph into intimate associations as they come to depend on each other for continued survival. Finally, intimate associations are comprehensive. They are often a core focus of our lives, marked by emotional and material commitment. Many of our fundamental moral roles are structured around intimate association. The roles of parent, grandparent, spouse, friend, partner, son, daughter, cousin, nephew, niece, uncle and aunt are all animated by the associative relationships that give them their distinctive moral responsibilities. 8 People who lack intimate associations may give either mere interactions or collective associations the meaning that others give to their intimate associ- ations. But, neither mere interactions nor collective associations are well suited to perform this function since mere interactions are momentary and often insignificant to the other participants, and collective associations aim to further whatever shared interests animate them, which can conflict with the interests of the people who imbue them with intimate meaning. 9 Other distinguishing features of intimate associations, such as their small size, selectivity and seclusion, derive from their interactivity, comprehensive- ness and persistence. 10 Given the time and commitment required for intimate associations, they are necessarily few in number. Our positive decision to associate intimately with persons A–F entails that we not associate intimately with persons G–Z. And, given that typically we wish to invest our energies well, we tend to be selective about the people with whom we form intimate associations. But, of course, such selectivity is not always possible. We cannot select our biological relations, and yet those are often the closest associations we have. 11 Our associative activities come in two forms. The first are the positive acts of forming and maintaining associations. The second are the negative acts of refusing to form and refusing to maintain associations. Associative freedom encompasses both of these forms of activity. It encompasses whatever options 8 Emanuela Ceva has suggested to me that comprehensiveness does not apply to our acquaintances. This is true for, say, our passing nod to a colleague in the hall. But, that kind of connection is like our friendliness to the grocery store clerk. It is not an acquaintance in the sense meant here. Acquaintances fall short of friendships and loving family relationships, but are richer than incidental contacts. Think of Jane Bennett’s statement about Mr Bingley in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice once Bingley goes to London and Miss Bingley leads Jane to believe he doesn’t care about her. Jane says to Elizabeth: ‘He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all.’ She has deep feelings for him, but both propriety and social constraints on their contact make it unfitting for her to think of him as a friend or as a romantic possibility without any sign that he will continue to pay addresses to her. 9 I do not mean to imply that intimate associations cannot conflict with members’ interests. They can. But, it’s not the case that the animating purpose of such associations is to pursue interests other than those of the member parties. I thank Rob Jubb for prompting me to clarify this point. 10 See n 4. 11 This shows that it would be a mistake to think intimate associations are, by nature, voluntaristic and require that members be able to join and leave at will. A more credible view of intimate associations is akin to that underpinning Dworkin’s account of associative or communal obligations, better known as role obligations, which are ‘. . . the special responsibilities social practice attaches to membership in some biological or social group, like the responsibilities of family or friends or neighbours’. Ronald Dworkin, Law’s Empire (Harvard University Press 1986) 196. For the rest of this article, the term ‘association’ refers to intimate associations. 4 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , , , 5 ' paper http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ we have to come together or not with others to form bonds of mutual attachment as well as whatever options we have to maintain or dissolve those bonds once they are formed. The question is: how expansive are these options? And what kinds of rights are they? To flesh out the nature and parameters of associative freedom, let’s locate these positive and negative options within the familiar Hohfeldian conceptual territory that we navigate in moral and legal philosophy to talk about rights. 12 What follows is, in the first instance, a discussion about moral permissions and moral claim-rights, including socially enforceable moral claim-rights that get their teeth from familial expectations, social norms and peer pressure. This discussion has implications for legally enforceable claim-rights, but that analysis lies beyond the scope of the present paper. 13 3. Permissions We might think that, if our associative freedom includes anything, it includes a Hohfeldian moral permission to act. 14 Having such a moral permission means having no moral duty not to act. In terms of complete associative freedom, it would mean that it is both morally permissible for us to form and maintain associations with others as we please and morally permissible for us not to form or maintain associations with others as we please. A complacent, unreflective liberal take on free association embraces both of these permissions. For instance, Mill can be read as endorsing both of them when he says that we are not bound to seek the society of any one of whom we have an unfavourable opinion and instead have a right to avoid it ‘for we have’, as quoted above, ‘a right to choose the society most acceptable to us’. 15 12 In this discussion, I focus on the credentials of associative freedom as a Hohfeldian permission and a Hohfeldian claim-right. Associative freedom can also be cashed out as a power and an immunity. Hohfeldian powers track what is possible for us to do. A Hohfeldian power is the ability to create or remove Hohfeldian categories (ie claims, duties, permissions, no-claims, powers, immunities, disabilities and liabilities). Immunities track our protections from others’ exercise of such powers. As a power, associative freedom is the power to create or remove our own or others’ associative duties, claims, etc. As an immunity, it is the protection from such powers. The simplest exercise of the power is to create associative duties for ourselves and associative claims for others. In marrying someone, I exercise my associative powers to create new duties for myself and new claims for my spouse. Yet, my powers to do this are intertwined with my spouse’s powers to do the same; neither of us has these powers (morally speaking) without the other’s consent, but the other’s consent doesn’t necessarily secure these powers for us. Also, we each retain a power of sorts to remove some of the other’s new associative claims— through divorce—but again that typically requires consent. Moreover, in divorcing, we cannot remove all of the other’s newly acquired claims. One of us may have to pay alimony, and we will have to share custody of the children. We each have residual immunities from the other’s power to remove our associative claims. As this case shows, our associative powers and immunities are constrained by context, others’ associative interests, consent and burdensomeness. 13 The discussion of social needs and rights will tend to slide quickly into a discussion about how we regulate society because, unlike other needs such as material needs, social needs are necessarily intersubjective; they’re about giving people access to social connections and social inclusion. That quickly leads to a discussion about how we set things up as a society so that people can more or less easily establish, sustain and further social connections. 14 To avoid confusion, I shall not use a ‘liberty’ to refer to a Hohfeldian privilege or permission. 15 Mill (n 1) ch IV. Freedom of Association 5 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , ' , , -- -- , , 2 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ In other words, we have no duty to associate with any person with whom we do not wish to associate and we have no duty not to associate with any person whom we favour and whose society is most acceptable to us. 16 Mill’s view is patently false. We do not have a permission to choose the society most acceptable to us for many reasons the simplest being that our own society may not be most acceptable to those whose society is most acceptable to us. A slightly less complacent, but still unreflective, liberal take on free association recognizes that whatever general moral permission we have to associate depends on our particular permissions to associate with particular people, and those particular permissions are hostage to various constraints including consent, the type of association, and its burdensomeness. This liberal take maintains, however, that our negative permissions to refuse to associate are fundamental, absolute and prior to any positive permission or claim to have associates. The standard thought is that the freedom to associate necessarily entails the freedom to exclude. But, our permissions not to associate are also hostage to numerous constraints such as necessity, the type of association, burdensomeness, pre-existing commitments and collective responsibility. Let’s flesh out each of these constraints on our positive and negative options. Starting with consent, if Eve wishes to be Adam’s associate, but Adam does not wish it, then often Eve has no moral permission to form or maintain an association with him. Adam’s consent matters even when his society is most acceptable to Eve. 17 But, luckily for Eve, not all of our associations must have mutual consent to be permissible. Indeed, some associations lacking it are not just permissible but obligatory. Think of parents and young children. If Abel is a young child and Eve is his mother, she does nothing wrong ceteris paribus in having an intimate, mother–child relationship with him even though he is unable to consent to it. Indeed, she has a moral duty to maintain the association since without parental care Abel will fail to develop. So, here Eve not only has a moral permission to associate with Abel, but has no moral permission not to associate with him ceteris paribus even if his society is not most acceptable to her. 18 16 There is an ambiguity in Mill’s discussion. Mill can be read as endorsing both of these permissions or he can be read as rejecting the first permission to form associations as we please since he goes on to say that we may have a duty to caution others against associating with a person of whom we disapprove, ‘if we think his example or conversation likely to have a pernicious effect on those with whom he associates’, and, by implication, presumably, we too may have a duty not to associate with the unfavourable person for the same reason. This duty not to associate clashes with the idea that we have the right to choose the society most acceptable to us, which includes the society of those who may have a pernicious effect on us. 17 In fact, in such cases, it is not even possible for Eve to form an association since there is no mutual attachment but instead active detachment from Adam and, therefore, what she is trying to make cannot be created. 18 One argument against compelled association is that it will interfere with the emotionally expressive purposes of the association, that is, the expression of affection between the parties. This argument, while not trivial, is less forceful than the argument that people require at least minimal access to intimate association even when it lacks the emotional connections we would wish to have in such associations. 6 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , , ' http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ More interestingly, some associations are permissible, if not obligatory, even when neither party consents. Think of the associations among the 33 men in the 2010 Copiapó mining accident in Chile that trapped them underground for 69 days. Since they necessarily depended on each other for their collective survival, they had to form intimate associations regardless of whether they each favoured the others’ society. These examples show that necessity can constrain our negative permission not to associate by making an association obligatory. But, necessity does not always make non-consensual associations obligatory. For example, it is not obligatory (in any straightforward sense) for a girl, Lalit, to marry the man of her parents’ choice, Ali, even when her tribe’s survival depends on it. Suppose that unless Lalit marries Ali their tribe will die out, as there are no other people of childbearing age and no other accessible tribes that they can join. Even so, the type of association and its burdensomeness matter, and an under-age, forced marriage is overly burdensome and, of course, a gross violation of Lalit’s rights to physical security, movement, marriage choice and so on. By contrast, it might be obligatory for Lalit to be friends or at least to be friendly with Ali when her tribe’s survival depends on it since a friendly relation is not usually overly burdensome. That said, when a non-consensual association lacks necessity, this doesn’t always make the association optional for the non-consenting party (or impermissible for the consenting party). Think of a friendly little boy, Kevin, who follows his grumpy, retired neighbour, Mr Gustafson, around because his parents are always working. The relation is important, but not necessary to Kevin’s health and survival since he does have a family and he could find other neighbours to follow. And yet, Mr Gustafson has some duty to associate with him given Kevin’s vulnerability and need for a parental figure as well as his own proximity and awareness of Kevin’s situation. Again, the reasons for the duty have to do with the type of relation and its burdensomeness. The relation is important to Kevin and not particularly onerous for Mr Gustafson. But, of course, even severe burdensomeness doesn’t always remove the duty to associate. It may be very burdensome for Eve to continue her relationship with her son Abel if he’s psychologically unstable or wanted by the police. But, that doesn’t in itself remove her duty to associate with him. The intimate bonds between parent and child generate special duties that override many other considerations, partly because the relation is so important for the child. Similarly, Mr Gustafson might still have a duty to associate with Kevin even if the relation becomes very burdensome, given his ability to avert the harm to Kevin that would come from neglect. Now, although mutual consent is often a condition for permissibility, it’s not a guarantee of permissibility. Some consensual associations are morally impermissible. The reasons relate once more to the type of association and its burdens. Freedom of Association 7 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ The burdens of some consensual associations lie in the parties’ positions relative to each other. For example, a boss has a moral duty not to have a sexual relation with an employee, and a teacher with a student, and a president with an intern because, even if the intimate association is voluntary, it has hierarchical contours. The subordinate party is not well placed to assess the relation, may be harmed by it, and is vulnerable to domination during it and afterward. 19 The burdens of other types of associations lie in the parties’ positions in relation to people outside the association. Think of Romeo and Juliet. Or, think of Robert Bolt’s play A Man for All Seasons, which presents a friendship between Thomas More and the Duke of Norfolk. Once More is under suspicion for treason, he ends the friendship ‘for friends’ sake’. The Duke resists, but More persists. It would be impermissible for More to maintain an association that puts his friend in danger. That said, it wouldn’t be impermissible for the Duke to maintain the association. Indeed, it might be obligatory for him to do so despite More’s objection, which shows that there can be an asymmetry in people’s permission to associate with each other. More’s case also shows that there is a difference between intimate associations and the underlying commitments that tend to sustain them. In ending their friendship ‘for friends’ sake’, More and the Duke do not alter their regard for each other, but only the practical expectations each may have of the other. Finally, the burdens of associations can fall not only on the participants, but also on non-participants. The president’s affair with an intern affects not only the intern, but also the president’s spouse, children, allies, political party, and constituents. The president’s duty not to form that association rests not only on its hierarchical contours, but also on duties to other associates. Similarly, Eve has a duty to her son Abel not to adopt too many other children since she couldn’t be a good mother to them all. Together, these points show that, contra both Mill and the less unreflective liberal view, first, we have no general moral permission to choose the society most acceptable to us and, second, when we are in morally obligatory associations, we have no general moral permission not to associate. Therefore, our associative freedom, whatever it is, is not a Hohfeldian permission to associate or not as we please. At this point, the defender of the less unreflective liberal view might observe that we still have a general moral permission to associate in the abstract sense that it is morally permissible, in principle, for us to have associations. This is correct, but it has little content. The general permission to have associations 19 Of course, the relation between parent and child is hierarchical and can pose distinctive risks to the child for that very reason. But, that non-egalitarian quality is inescapable for much of childhood and, typically, its risks are vastly outweighed by the benefits of the relation. 8 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ is meaningless without particular permissions to have particular associations with particular people. If a person’s possible associations were all impermissible ones, then she would have no meaningful permission to associate. The defender of the less unreflective liberal view might then focus on the option not to associate and argue that if we extricate ourselves from our obligatory associations by patiently waiting for our existing associations to end and judiciously refraining from forming new ones, then we are free of associative duties to choose permissibly not to associate with anyone. By discharging our pre-existing associative duties, we gain a general moral permission not to associate at all, and that permission follows from our moral permission not to associate with any particular person. In the words of Henry David Thoreau on a solitary life: If you are ready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife and child and friends, and never see them again; if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man; then you are ready for a walk. 20 However, this too is mistaken. Even when we carefully avoid forming associative bonds, we do not have a general moral permission not to associate. The reason for this is that each person has certain fundamental, positive associative claim-rights. Claim-rights generate duties for other people that are either negative duties not to interfere or positive duties to assist, or both. Where such rights-correlated duties exist, the duty bearers have no moral permission to act other than as the duties require. The positive associative claim-rights that curtail our moral permissions not to associate include as noted at the outset, first, rights to have associates (not necessarily of our choosing) during periods of abject dependency or risk of abject dependency and, second, rights to have meaningful opportunities to form associations when we are not abjectly dependent. Let’s start with abject dependency. The most obvious period of abject dependency is childhood. For the newborn baby and the young child, it does not make sense to talk about associative freedom, but it does make sense to talk about acute associative need. Children have positive claim-rights to the comprehensive, persistent, interactive (and caring) relations that make intimate associations, first, because they have special claims to an ‘open future’. 21 Without intimate associations, their prospects for a decent or flourishing life radically diminish. 22 Second, children also have claims of dignity and respect as developing autonomous beings. Much of the meaning in our choices comes from our relations with others and, therefore, respect for our autonomy entails respect for our essentially social nature as human beings. 20 Henry David Thoreau, ‘Walking’ (first published 1861, Project Gutenberg EBook #1022 2010). 21 See Joel Feinberg, Freedom and Fulfilment (Princeton University Press 1994) 82. 22 See, for example, SM Liao, ‘The Right of Children to be Loved’ (2006) 14 J Pol Phil 420. Freedom of Association 9 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from ' ' http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ The other obvious periods of abject dependency in our lives are those of acute incapacitation such as old age and severe impairment. We have positive claim-rights to have intimate associates (not necessarily of our choosing) during these periods on the same grounds of respect for our dignity, sociality, autonomy, and future prospects however modest they may be. We may also have such rights on grounds of desert, based on our past associative contributions. When we are not abjectly dependent or at imminent risk of abject dependency, we have no positive right to have intimate associates just as we have no positive right to have a child. 23 But, we do have positive rights to have minimally adequate opportunities to cultivate associations as well as negative rights not to be rendered abjectly dependent through, for example, coercive or incidental social deprivation. 24 Without the protection of meaningful opportunities to associate, there can be no meaningful notion of associative freedom. Protection of such opportunities secures our fundamental associative interests. To see the force of positive associative claim-rights, all we need to do is ask: ‘What if everyone chose not to associate with this person?’ 25 In the case of a baby, child or other abjectly dependent person, the impact of isolation is immediate and extreme. In the case of a non-dependent person, the impact is less extreme in the short term, but sets up conditions for an extreme impact, if not abject dependency, since the empirical evidence indicates that we deteriorate mentally, emotionally and physically when we are chronically acutely lonely and socially isolated, in the same way that we deteriorate when we are chronically hungry, fearful or in pain. Like hunger, fear and pain, chronic loneliness causes an anxiety-inducing physiological threat response known as the ‘fight or flight’ response. It is associated with numerous health risks including obesity, Alzheimer’s disease, high-blood pressure, reduced immunity, reduced capacity for independent living, alcoholism, depression, suicide and mortality in older adults. 26 Bracketing for now the proposal that people’s basic associative needs be met through state institutions (see Section 4), we may conclude that positive associative claim-rights generate associative duties for us, collectively, to ensure that everyone’s basic associative needs are met. This limits our moral permissions both to not associate at all and to not associate with certain persons when our associative contributions are required. This does not mean 23 At most, we have a positive right to try to have a child and to be provided some assistance in that effort. 24 Kimberley Brownlee, ‘A Human Right against Social Deprivation’ (2013) 63 Phil Q 199. 25 In a related paper, I explore a number of each-we dilemmas of sociability, starting with the question ‘What if everyone chose not to associate with a person?’, which bring into sharp relief the tension between individual associative control and acute associate need. Kimberley Brownlee, ‘Ethical Dilemmas of Sociability’ (in progress). 26 John T Cacioppo and William Patrick, Loneliness: Human Nature and the Need for Social Connection (Norton 2008); and J Decety and John T Cacioppo, Handbook of Social Neuroscience (OUP 2011). 10 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , , , , , s http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ we have a duty to associate with any particular person. Rather, it means that if a person with associative needs either has special claims on us, such as our own dependent, or her fundamental needs cannot be met by others, then we have a duty to associate with her. By contrast, we have no such duty if a person who has no special associative claims on us simply wishes to associate with us rather than with someone else who is available. Consequently, at most, we have a conditional permission not to associate that depends on, first, other people honouring each other’s positive associative claim-rights and, second, our own dissociation neither undermining our capacity to offer associative contributions in future nor rendering us abjectly dependent on others’ associative contributions. Moreover, even when our associative contributions are not required, we have persisting associative duties, first, to concern ourselves with whether others’ associative needs are being met and, second, to contribute our associative resources to the common pool as required to ensure that others’ associative needs are met. Now, even though we have no general moral permission not to associate, we may have a moral claim-right not to associate that protects us when we act wrongly by refusing to honour these associative duties. Such a claim-right is intuitively compelling since, as David Miller notes, ‘we have a deep interest in not being forced into association with others against our wishes’, 27 even if we’re wrong to avoid the association. Let’s see, therefore, how well associative freedom can be cashed out as a Hohfeldian claim-right. 4. Claim-Rights of Conduct A claim-right of conduct secures a protected sphere of autonomy of action with which interference by others is justifiably restricted and of which positive protection by others may justifiably be expected. 28 That protected sphere secures a space for us to act unencumbered in ways that may be morally objectionable. This is one reason why moral rights of conduct are not moral permissions: what they protect may be morally impermissible. But, despite the protection they afford, rights of conduct do not immunise us from criticism when we exercise them to act wrongly. For instance, although our freedom of expression defeasibly protects us from interference when we make highly offensive racist jokes, it does not immunise us from criticism for doing so. Now, if associative freedom is a claim-right of conduct, what is the protected sphere of action that it secures? Just as there is an expansive, mistaken, liberal account of associative permissions, so too there is an expansive, 27 David Miller, National Responsibility and Global Justice (OUP 2008) 210–11, cited in Sarah Fine, ‘Freedom of Association is not the Answer’ (2010) 210 Ethics 338, 343. 28 See Joseph Raz, The Morality of Freedom (Clarendon Press 1986). Freedom of Association 11 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ mistaken, liberal account of associative claim-rights. One iteration of it can be found in human rights documents such as Article 20 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which states that: (1) Everyone has the right to freedom of peaceful assembly and association; and (2) No one may be compelled to belong to an association. 29 What goes unnoticed is that these two sections of the Article conflict with each other. If (2) is true, then (1) can be at most the freedom to try to form peaceful assemblies and associations. We can have no right to succeed in associating with others if no one may be compelled to associate with us. And, if (1) is true—that we have rights actually to associate (and not merely to try to associate)—then (2) is false since (1) requires that it be permissible, in principle, to compel others sometimes to associate with us. It turns out that both (1) and (2) are false. As we saw in the previous section, it is sometimes permissible to compel association, and therefore (2) is false. And, as we will see in what follows, in a general, content-insensitive form, (1) is also false since it is a mistake to align associative freedom with other claim-rights of conduct, such as freedom of expression and freedom of religion, which do provide a largely content-insensitive protection of our personal choices. Freedom of expression gives us defeasible, content-insensitive moral protec- tion to say, write, draw, film and display things that are objectionable. Some argue that freedom of expression does not extend to defamation or hate speech, but a true blue liberal like Mill holds that freedom of expression is content- insensitive (excepting incitement to violence), and is in good standing even when our expression is harmful. Similarly, freedom of religion gives us defeasible moral protection to engage in objectionable practices, though the scope of that freedom is not wholly content-insensitive. As John Rawls argues, religious protection does not extend to human sacrifice: ‘If a religion is denied its full expression, it is presumably because it is in violation of the equal liberties of others.’ 30 Nevertheless, the scope for religious freedom granted in many places is more expansive than the protection of everyone’s equal liberties would allow. In the UK, for example, despite the harm it causes, parents can refuse on religious grounds to let their newborn baby be given a blood transfusion. In many US states, religious parents are exempt from child abuse and child neglect laws when they 29 The conjunction of ‘association’ with ‘assembly’ suggests that this Article applies in the first instance to non-intimate, collective associations. (Commentaries on the drafting of the UDHR confirm that political associations, such as trade unions, were uppermost in the drafters’ minds.) But, I take it that this unspecified notion of associative freedom should be extended, broadly unaltered, to intimate associations since no other Article in the UDHR protects non-familial, intimate connections such as friendships. In subsequent agreements, such as the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, freedom of assembly and freedom of association are enumerated under different Articles, and one explanation given for this is that freedom of association includes private informal contacts. See Martin Scheinin ‘Article 20’ in Guðmundur Alfreðsson and Asbjørn Eide (eds), The Universal Declaration of Human Rights: A Common Standard of Achievement (Martinus Nijhoff 1999). 30 John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (Harvard University Press 1971) 205–8, 370. 12 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , -- -- , ' http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ deny their child standard medical care, and they are equally exempt from the requirement that their children receive public education or its equivalent. Some libertarian thinkers not only toss associative freedom into the same pot as freedom of expression and freedom of religion, but view the latter freedoms as examples of the former, and indeed as examples that demonstrate the priority of the negative option to dissociate over the positive option to associate. Concerning expression, Loren Lomasky argues that the realisation of free speech incorporates some form of semantic association, and that prior to a liberty to speak one’s mind there must be ‘a permission to desist from echoing the words that issue from the commanding heights of pulpit or palace’. That is, freedom of speech is no less fundamentally a freedom not to give utterance to objectionable phrases than it is to give declaration to one’s own beliefs and attitudes. Speech rights are, then, associational and, in the first instance, negative. 31 And, on religion, Lomasky argues that, insofar as freedom of religion is understood as ‘the struggle of individuals to secure adequate scope to practice their faith alongside others who espouse similar convictions, this is a mode of positive freedom of association’. However, these confessional congregations cannot begin to get underway until there is acknowledged a negative freedom to dissociate from the established church. . . To follow a preferred path to salvation was to eschew incompatible routes. Thus, freedom of religion is, in the first instance, a negative entitlement [to dissociate]. 32 Lomasky is mistaken about the priority of negative freedoms of expression and religion over positive freedoms of expression and religion. For the negative option to dissociate from Religion A to exist, there must be a pre-existing positive option to be a member of Religion A. We cannot leave associations of which we were never allowed to be members. Similarly, for the negative option not to parrot the words of others to exist there must first be the positive option to learn the language, concepts and expressions that make both imitative and original expression possible. We cannot speak at all without having access to the tools of speech. Hence, the positive protection of access is necessarily prior to whatever negative options we have to turn away from it. This does imply that freedom of expression and freedom of religion have associative aspects, but it does not imply that they are associative freedoms. It is a mistake to list off associative freedom in the same breath as the freedoms of expression and religion because, unlike the latter two freedoms, associative freedom does not give us a largely content-insensitive, defeasible protection to act in morally objectionable ways. We can see this by reviewing the different 31 Loren Lomasky, ‘The Paradox of Association’ (2008) 25 Soc Phil & Pol 182, 183. 32 ibid. Freedom of Association 13 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from ' ' , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ impermissible associations discussed in Section 3. We have claim-rights to form a few of these associations, but not most of them. First, our associative claim-rights do not protect us in forming friendships with non-dependent people who have no wish to associate with us. As noted in the case of Adam and Eve, Adam’s consent matters when Eve wants to be his friend. Her associative claim-rights of conduct do not protect her in hounding him with the aim of being his friend. The same is true in the case of Lalit, who refuses to be Ali’s friend even though it could save her family. She may well have a duty to be his friend, but Ali has no claim-right that she do so. He has no right of conduct to force his company on her. The associative duties that Adam, Lalit and we have correlative to everyone’s positive associative claim- rights do not translate, absent special claims, into duties to associate with particular people. Second, our claim-rights do not protect us in having associations that are otherwise very burdensome on either our would-be associates or third parties. For instance, our associative claim-rights do not protect us in forming unequal and harmful associations such as an adult’s sexual relation with a child or a father’s sexual relation with his daughter or a spouse’s relation with their partner in a forced marriage. Associative claim-rights may protect a teacher in forming a sexual relation with her student or the president with an intern, but not without a lot of explanation that will undoubtedly refer to consent. Consent matters not only for permissibility when it does make associations permissible, but also for the proper parameters of our claim-rights to act wrongly. Consent also does the moral work in other types of impermissible intimate associations, such as More’s friendship with the Duke. Given the morally uncomplicated, admirable nature of friendship, the interests we have in friendships, and the mutual commitment that More and the Duke have to their friendship, associative rights of conduct are well designed to protect More if he wishes to continue the friendship despite its risk to the Duke. The risk to the Duke is similar to the risk that a highly contagious mother poses to her baby when she wants to continue to be his primary carer. Yet, in the mother’s case, consent cannot do the moral work since the baby is unable to consent to the harm. Consequently, conflicting intuitions arise about the mother’s rights. On the one hand, we might think she has no moral right to sustain the association since the baby cannot consent. On the other hand, we might think that, given the morally uncomplicated, admirable nature of mothering and the inestimable value of the baby being loved, the mother has a moral right to sustain the association despite the risks to her baby. Equally morally ambiguous cases include our claim-rights to have associ- ations that are burdensome for non-participants. Suppose the president’s affair with someone is morally impermissible only because of its burdens for non-participants such as the president’s spouse and children whose home life 14 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ is damaged by the association. Presumably, the president’s claim-rights do protect that association. By contrast, suppose More’s friendship with the Duke is a threat not only to the Duke’s life, but to his children’s lives. In that case, More’s (and the Duke’s) claim-rights do not protect the association. The difference in the two cases lies in the severity of the burdens. Together, these cases show that our claim-rights protect some wrongful associations, but not many, since the nature of our relations matter greatly, which is why the positive claim-right to associate is much more limited than the other personal freedoms with which it is usually aligned. By contrast, there are no such restrictions on the negative claim-right not to associate. In its negative form, our associative right of conduct is like our freedoms of expression and religion. It gives broadly content-insensitive protection of our decisions not to associate when we have a moral duty to associate. For example, it protects Eve in refusing to associate with her son Abel, Mr Gustafson in refusing to associate with Kevin and Lalit in refusing to be friendly with Ali. It also protects More in refusing to remain friends with the Duke (though that act is more right than wrong, and hence doesn’t need a claim-right to protect it). That said, such negative claim-rights are defeasible. They can be overridden by the duties with which they conflict. Given the fundamental importance of the associative claim-rights discussed above—to have associates when we are abjectly dependent and to have opportunities to form associations when we are not abjectly dependent—the negative claim-right to refuse association is overridden when those competing positive claim-rights cannot reasonably be met through other means. A critic might object that our fundamental associative interests can always be met through other means, namely, by setting up appropriate state institutions, which then leave intact individuals’ claim-rights to decide to associate or not as they wish. 33 In reply, state institutions cannot fully satisfy our fundamental associative needs for several reasons. First, as noted in Section 1, intimate associations are marked by persistence, comprehensiveness and emotionally invested interactiv- ity, all of which are more demanding than what state provisions can typically secure. So, even though, in principle, paid employees can provide the emotional connection and caring support of intimate association, the practical realities of institutional operations make it unlikely that employees could sustain the persistent, proximate and comprehensive interactivity that makes for an intimate association. Second, to the extent that state institutions can meet some of our basic associative needs, they can do so only insecurely because their continued operation is contingent on people’s willingness to assume their offices. If no 33 I thank Thomas Parr for highlighting this objection. Freedom of Association 15 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , -- -- s , , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ one is willing to assume the office of caregiver, nurse or community supporter for an isolated person, then that person’s associative needs go unmet. This is analogous to the abortion stalemate in the USA, where women have a moral and legal right to reproductive control, but seemingly fewer and fewer doctors are willing to perform abortion procedures. That stalemate shows that we shouldn’t complacently assume that someone’s rights will be satisfied when we establish appropriate institutions. Hence, the moral burden of meeting people’s basic associative needs remains with us as individuals. 5. Conclusion This article has shown that, contrary to standard liberal thinking, intimate associative freedom is neither a general moral permission to associate or not as we please nor a content-insensitive moral claim-right akin to the other personal freedoms with which it is usually listed. It is at most (i) a limited permission to associate subject to constraints of consent, necessity and burdensomeness; (ii) a conditional permission not to associate provided our associative contributions are not needed; and (iii) a highly constrained, content-sensitive claim-right that protects only those wrongful associations that honour other legitimate concerns such as consent, need and basic respect. This article has also shown that associative freedom is not as fundamental as it is presumptively taken to be. It is secondary to positive associative claim-rights that both protect our fundamental social needs and are pre-conditions for any associative control worth the name. 16 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , paper , , , , paper http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/
work_jrk5zlisi5ea5a4deesgii4y4a ---- e11:27 ETHICS IN SCIENCE AND ENVIRONMENTAL POLITICS Ethics Sci Environ Polit Vol. 11: 27–30, 2011 doi: 10.3354/esep00114 Published online June 1 This is an especially challenging time for discussions of serious action to address climate change in the United States. As Lemons & Brown (2011) explain, the scientific and ethical case for serious reductions in greenhouse gas emissions is compelling. They provide a summary of recent scientific reports indicating the importance of having an emissions peak in the very near future and a decline sharply thereafter in order to reduce the risk of destabilizing climate change. They also point out that global climate change raises ethical issues because, while developed countries bear most of the responsibility for increased greenhouse gas emis- sions, people in developing countries will suffer the most. The effects of climate change are ‘potentially catastrophic’ for many of the world’s poor (FAO 2011). Because most of the increase in atmospheric green- house gas concentrations comes from outside any par- ticular country, and because there is not yet an effec- tive international legal structure to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, ‘ethical appeals are necessary to moti- vate governments to take steps to prevent their citizens from seriously harming foreigners’ (Lemons & Brown 2011, p. 7). Still, ethical appeals and strong scientific evidence have not been enough to motivate action. Recent events, including the global economic recession, the public release of hacked climate scientist emails from the University of East Anglia, the failure of the United States to adopt climate change legislation and the 2010 US midterm elections, have made it much harder for those arguments to be heard, much less to be addressed civilly. Within the community of people who are working to address climate change, there has thus been considerable soul searching about how to pro- ceed more effectively. The suggestion by Lemons & Brown (2011) — that climate and environmental scien- tists and the public consider whether non-violent civil disobedience should be used to promote action on climate change — comes in the context of these recent events. Their suggestion should be considered as part of an approach that does not rely on any single action, but rather on a great number and diversity of actions. Two points seem particularly important and are discussed below. (1) CLIMATE CHANGE MITIGATION HAS NOT YET BECOME A BROAD SOCIAL MOVEMENT According to Brownlee (2009), non-violent civil dis- obedience is characterized ‘by the seriousness, sincer- ity and moral conviction with which’ those who use civil disobedience breach the law, by the desire of those involved to condemn and draw public attention to a particular law or policy, and by acts of disobedi- ence that are carried out in full view of the public. Non-violent civil disobedience is one of many forms of protest or dissent, including lawful protest, conscien- tious objection, radical protest, and revolutionary action. Another form of protest or dissent occurs when government officials refuse to enforce a particular law (Brownlee 2009). Non-violent civil disobedience is not ordinarily an isolated act; it is done as part of a social movement or to inspire or instigate the creation of such a movement. It does not appear that there is a broad public move- ment demanding government action on climate change in developed countries of the kind that has existed for other social causes. We have not seen, for example, a massive demonstration by hundreds of thousands of people at the National Mall in Washing- © Inter-Research 2011 · www.int-res.com*Email: jcdernbach@widener.edu COMMENT Can the battle against climate change become an effective social movement? John C. Dernbach* Widener University Law School, 3800 Vartan Way, PO Box 69381, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania 17106, USA OPENPEN ACCESSCCESS Ethics Sci Environ Polit 11: 27–30, 2011 ton, DC, or elsewhere. On its homepage, the website www.350. org says that ‘we are building a global move- ment to solve the climate crisis,’ but its rallies around the globe have each been much smaller. While polling data tend to show public support for government action, responding to a poll is hardly the same as par- ticipating in a social movement. At least one author has suggested that those advocating action on climate change have relied too much on powerful and well- connected political figures and environmental leaders, and have not done enough to engage public support (Pooley 2010). Climate change seems different from other issues that have led to social movements in that nearly everyone in developed countries has some responsi- bility for greenhouse gas emissions. In many other social movements, there has been a recognizable dif- ference between, say, those who owned slaves and those who did not, between victim and perpetrator. Although many of those active on climate change have worked toward carbon neutrality in their per- sonal lives and in their work, it is probably fair to say that most of those who are active in developed coun- tries are not carbon neutral. In fact, it is not even clear how a particular individual or organization could be entirely carbon neutral, except by acquiring carbon offsets for all of the goods and services they use to more than compensate for the carbon impact of those goods and services. There are simply too many unresolved methodological issues about carbon accounting to be sure, except in some unusual cases, that one is genuinely carbon neutral. So it is more dif- ficult to organize a social movement within devel- oped countries that is based on a clear and easily understood distinction between the ‘relatively guilty’ and the ‘relatively innocent.’ A second challenge in creating a social movement is that climate change is less visible, less tangible, more in the future, and harder to clearly identify than other problems around which social movements have been organized. Even catastrophic events, like those caused by Hurricane Katrina in 2005 or the Pakistan floods in 2010, are simply events that appear to have been made worse by increased greenhouse gas concentrations, not events that were caused entirely by human- induced climate change. In contrast, the modern envi- ronmental movement, which began in the 1960s with the publication of ‘Silent spring’ (Carson 1962), was based on public unhappiness with the all-too-visible effects of pollution and waste—including the decline of bird life and obviously polluted air and water—that could not be attributed to any other cause. One can thus conclude that there is a growing public movement in developed countries to address climate change, but it is still relatively small. There is also, it should be said, a significant opposing movement, funded largely by fossil fuel interests and their allies. This opposing movement has had considerable success in creating public doubt and confusion about both cli- mate science and the legal and policy options that are available to address climate change. A recent book by Appiah (2010) suggests an interest- ing but so far unrealized possibility for creating a social movement in developed countries to address climate change. Appiah (2010) argues that some of the most important moral revolutions in recent years have come about because people see a particular action as not merely morally right but also as bringing honor or esteem to those who support that action, and shame or loss of esteem to those who do not. Upper or privileged classes supported some practices, such as dueling (Europe, United States) or foot binding (China), until these practices no longer brought esteem but instead brought ridicule or shame. While there were long- standing arguments that these practices were immoral or wrong, those arguments were ultimately not suc- cessful until they were linked with loss of honor or social esteem. Could Appiah’s (2010) insights help support a public movement to address climate change? In developed countries, there is a tendency for the wealthiest people to consume more than poorer people, and for that con- sumption to be a source of higher status. Higher status tends to be linked to bigger cars, bigger houses, and more property and other luxuries. Imagine, in contrast, that being carbon neutral, or having a small ecological footprint, is seen in developed countries as a source of honor or esteem, and that high consumption is a source of ridicule or shame. That change in perception could provide the basis for a moral revolution on climate change, but we seem to be a long way from that point at present. The path to a social movement to address climate change may be clearer for developing countries. The ethical claim is that people in developing countries, who have the least responsibility for increased green- house gas emissions and the fewest resources to address or adapt to climate change, are bearing and will continue to bear the brunt of adverse climate change impacts. Developing countries are increas- ingly well organized and vocal at the annual meet- ings of the Conference of the Parties to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, including Copenhagen in 2009 and Cancún in 2010. There are enormous differences in wealth and carbon impact among people in individual developed coun- tries. In addition, the tremendous growth in Gross Domestic Product and carbon dioxide emissions in China and India has begun to make the distinction between developed and developing countries less 28 Dernbach: Climate change as a social movement clear. Still, differences between developed and devel- oping countries in per-capita emissions, impacts, and ability to address impacts provide some foundation for a social movement in developing countries to address climate change. That possibility should be of enormous concern to leaders and citizens in devel- oped countries. (2) PROTESTS AGAINST POWER PLANTS MAY (OR MAY NOT) BE THE BEST APPROACH TO INSTIGATE A SOCIAL MOVEMENT The key example of non-violent civil disobedience cited by Lemons & Brown (2010) — the 2007 protest at the Kingsnorth coal-fired power plant in England in which activists were arrested on charges of trespass and damage to property after they climbed the plant’s smokestack — serves as a useful and important starting point for a discussion. However, it also raises some cautionary flags. The most natural and direct understanding of civil disobedience is refusal to obey a law that is believed to be unjust; in 1846, Henry David Thoreau was jailed for not paying a poll tax that was used to fund Fugitive Slave Law enforcement as well as a war in Mexico with which he disagreed. The laws relevant to climate change tend to be different. While it is difficult to get along in modern society without causing or contribut- ing to greenhouse gas emissions, few if any laws require such gases be emitted. There is a considerable tradition of non-violent civil disobedience being used indirectly, as it was in the Kingsnorth case, to break laws with which the protesters do not disagree (tres- pass, property protection) in order to protest against something they object to (carbon dioxide emissions). Yet this is not quite the same, and may not be as com- pelling, as disobeying a hypothetical law that requires greenhouse gas emissions. The necessity defense is also problematic. Most obviously, the successful assertion of a necessity defense means that the action in question is no longer civil disobedience; the action is legal. As already noted, lawful protest is another means of protesting or dissenting from a particular policy, but it is not the same as non-violent civil disobedience. In addition, it is quite difficult to succeed with the necessity defense. The defense is available in English law ‘when a defendant commits an otherwise criminal act to avoid an imminent peril of danger to life or seri- ous injury to himself or towards somebody for whom he reasonably regards himself as being responsible’ (Regina v. Shayler, [2001] EWCA Crim 1977 [63], [2001] 1 W. L. R 2206 [2228]). Yet, the defense succeeds only rarely. Most famously, a court in 1884 upheld the murder conviction and rejected the necessity defense of 3 shipwrecked and starving sailors who killed and ate the cabin boy (Regina v. Dudley and Stephens, [1884] 14Q.B.D. 273). (The rules in American law are similar; Pearson 1992.) While the necessity defense persuaded a jury to acquit the defendants in the Kingsnorth case, it did not persuade a judge in a similar 2007 case. In that case, at least 10 people trespassed on the site of the Ratcliffe on Soar coal-fired power plant in the United Kingdom with the intention of disrupting operations at the plant. Some of the protesters chained or otherwise attached themselves to machinery or other equipment. The court found that they targeted this particular plant because it is a large emitter of carbon dioxide and because they were genuinely concerned about the effects of climate change. In fact, the protest resulted in a slight decrease in electricity generation from the plant for several hours. The court analyzed the neces- sity defense, element by element, and held it to be inapplicable (Regina v. Glass 2008). The first requirement for the necessity defense is that ‘the defendants’ actions were necessary, or rea- sonably believed by them to have been necessary for the purpose of avoiding or preventing death or serious injury to themselves or another or others.’ (Regina v. Glass, [2008] M.C. (Nottingham) [39] (25 February 2008)). The court held that this requirement was not met because a reduction in operation at the plant for several hours was highly unlikely to have any effect on climate change. Even though the defendants gen- uinely believed that climate change is a serious issue, and the judge accepted the seriousness of the climate change science, the court found that they could not reasonably have believed they were actually prevent- ing death or serious injury to others. The court also found that the second requirement, ‘that necessity was the sine qua non of the commission of the crime,’ (Regina v. Glass, [2008] M.C. (Notting- ham) [47] (25 February 2008)) was not met. The court found that the defendants were not impelled by the claimed necessity to commit the crime; they were con- cerned by climate change in general and were aware of the publicity their actions would generate. Third, the court held that the defendants did not meet the requirement that ‘commission of the offence, viewed objectively, was reasonable and proportionate, having regard to the evil to be avoided or prevented.’ (Regina v. Glass, [2008] M.C. (Nottingham) [48] (25 February 2008)). The court based its conclusion on the information and analysis already provided. ‘Reason- able people may take action to limit their own ‘carbon footprint’ and may campaign for more urgent action by governments, but attempting to stop a large power sta- tion from functioning is, in my judgment, a step too far 29 Ethics Sci Environ Polit 11: 27–30, 2011 for the reasonable person.’ (Regina v. Glass, [2008] M.C. (Nottingham) [51] (25 February 2008)). This decision — by a judge in the Nottingham Magis- trates’ Court in the United Kingdom — is almost cer- tainly not the last word on the effect of the necessity defense on the climate change issue. However, it sug- gests what those who engage in non-violent civil dis- obedience are well aware that they risk (even invite) real consequences for their actions. It is thus important in considering such actions to be aware of how the legal rules actually work, and not simply to be hopeful that they will always work in a favorable way. As Lemons & Brown (2011) acknowledge, there are also political risks to non-violent civil disobedience. Protests such as that at the Kingsnorth coal-fired power plant draw attention to the issue of climate change, but they also enable opponents to point out that the elec- tricity for a great many people (perhaps even some of the protesters) comes from this plant. Such protests thus run the risk of alienating a substantial percentage of the population as well as inviting critics to assert that the protesters are hypocritical. These and other political risks could be overcome with proper planning of a protest event, but they are quite real. Finally, Lemons & Brown (2011) are not clear about who should consider engaging in this kind of civil disobedience. In the abstract for their paper, they suggest that environmental and climate scientists do so. In the text of the paper, however, they suggest that all citizens have that responsibility. The latter view is preferable because the climate change is a public issue, and not an issue for any one group or profession. While I respect and admire Dr. James Hansen, who played a key role in the Kingsnorth case described by Lemons & Brown (2011), it is not clear that this is the best role for all scientists to play, or even a role that they are generally and uniquely equipped to play. CONCLUSION Non-violent civil disobedience is one of many possi- ble tools that should be considered to help build a social movement to address climate change. The real issue for J. Lemons and D. A. Brown, in my view, is the need for effective political action to address climate change. Their paper (Lemons & Brown 2011) may be understood as an effort to help provoke a dialogue on the best way to do that. This in itself is a significant contribution. The shape of that movement — and the exact role that non-violent civil disobedience, lawful protest, or other actions should play in it — require serious consideration. LITERATURE CITED Appiah KA (2010) The honor code: how moral revolutions happen. WW Norton, New York, NY Brownlee K (2009) Civil disobedience. In: Zalta EN (ed) The Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy. Available at http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2010/entries/civil- disobedience/ Carson R (1962) Silent spring. Houghton Mifflin, New York, NY FAO (Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations) (2011) Climate change and food security in the context of the Cancún agreements. Available at www.fao. org/news/story/en/item/54337/icode/ Lemons J, Brown DA (2011) Global climate change and non- violent civil disobedience. Ethics Sci Environ Polit 11:3–12 Pearson JO (1992) ‘Choice of evils,’ necessity, duress, or similar defense to state or local criminal charges based on acts of public protest. American Law Reports, 5th edn 3:521 Pooley E (2010) The climate war: true believers, power bro- kers, and the fight to save the earth. Hyperion, New York, NY Regina v. Dudley & Stephens (1884) Queen’s Bench Division 14:273 Regina v. Glass (2008) Nottingham Magistrates’ Court Regina v. Shayler (2001) House of Lords. 1 WLR 2206 30 Editorial responsibility: Darryl Macer, Bangkok, Thailand Submitted: January 31 2011; Accepted: February 15, 2011 Proofs received from author(s): April 30, 2011 cite1:
work_jsptyo4herfxjcgdnv6qvhkema ---- The Digital Health Scorecard: A New Health Literacy Metric for NCD Prevention and Care INNOVATIONS & CONCEPTS gSOLUTIONS j The Digital Health Scorecard: A New Health Literacy Metric for NCD Prevention and Care Scott C. Ratzan*,y, Michael B. Weinberger*, Franklin Apfelz, Gary Kocharian*,x New Brunswick, NJ, USA; New York, NY, USA; and Somerset, United Kingdom ABSTRACT According to the World Health Organization, 3 out of 5 deaths worldwide are due to common, chronic conditions, such as heart and respiratory diseases, cancer, and diabetes. These noncommunicable diseases (NCDs) are linked to multiple lifestyle risk factors, including smoking, the harmful use of alcohol, and physical inactivity. They are associated with other “intermediate” risk factors, such as elevated body mass index (BMI), hypertension, hyperlipidemia, and hyperglycemia. Taking action to reduce these 7 risk factors can help people protect themselves against leading causes of death. All of these risk factors are measurable and modifiable, but globally available, cost-effective, and easy-to-use outcome metrics that can drive action on all levels do not yet exist. The Digital Health Scorecard is being proposed as a dynamic, globally available digital tool to raise public, professional, and policy maker NCD health literacy (the motivation and ability to access, understand, communicate, and use information to improve health and reduce the incidence of NCD). Its aim is to motivate and empower individuals to make the behavioral and choice changes needed to improve their health and reduce NCD risk factors by giving unprecedented access to global data intelligence, creating awareness, making links to professional and community-based support services and policies, and providing a simple way to measure and track risk changes. Moreover, it provides health care professionals, communities, institutions, workplaces, and nations with a simple metric to monitor progress toward agreed local, national, and global NCD targets. From *Johnson & Johnson, New Brunswick, NJ, USA; yMailman School of Public Health, Columbia Univer- sity, New York, NY, USA; zWorld Health Communi- cation Associates, Somerset, United Kingdom; xDepartment of Cell Biology and Neuroscience, Rutgers University, New Brunswick, NJ, USA. Corre- spondence: M. B. Wein- berger (MWeinbe1@its.jnj. com). GLOBAL HEART © 2013 World Heart Federation (Geneva). Published by Elsevier Ltd. VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 ISSN 2211-8160 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/ j.gheart.2013.05.006 Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. A total of 57 million deaths occurred worldwide during 2008; 36 million (63%) were due to non- communicable diseases (NCDs), principally cardiovascular diseases, diabetes, cancer, and chronic respiratory diseases. Nearly 80% of these NCD deaths (29 million) occurred in low- and middle-income countries [1]. Moreover, future prosperity is challenged with a cumulative output loss estimated at $47 trillion over 20 years [2]. In September of 2011, the United Nations (UN) convened a high-level meeting to “address the prevention and control of NCDs worldwide” [3]. Government leaders gathered there endorsed a Political Declaration that called for a wide- ranging set of actions; this is only the second time in history that the UN General Assembly has taken such a global initiative on a health issue (the other being HIV/ AIDS in 2000). Building on this Declaration, the World Health Assembly passed a resolution in 2012 calling for an action plan to achieve a global target of a “25% reduction in premature mortality from NCDs by 2025” [4], with mul- tistakeholder response to address modifiable risk factors, targets, and a monitoring mechanism to track progress. The World Health Organization (WHO) Global NCD Action Plan 2013-2020 is to be presented to the World Health Assembly in May 2013. The WHO has identified “best buys” (high impact, lower cost interventions) related to modifiable risk prevention and care. Simple, cost- effective tools to raise awareness and track progress GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 toward the adoption of these “best buys” on both indi- vidual and system levels are necessary for curbing the rise of NCDs and preventing further rises in mortality. KEEPING IT SIMPLEeCHECKLISTS AND SCORECARDS In their book Simple: Conquering the Crisis of Complexity, Alan Siegel and Irene Etzkorn challenge the rise in complexity of our everyday experiences, regarding everything ranging from “tax forms to medicine bottles” [5]. They quote Henry David Thoreau in their urgency to “Simplify, simplify” [5] to meet the ever-demanding complexities of the 21st century. System complexity has been identified as a major “naviga- tional” obstacle and challenge to people’s NCD health literacy [6] (the motivation and ability to access, understand, assess, and use information to improve health and reduce the incidence of NCD [7]). Successful approaches to simplifi- cation have been adopted in multiple industries (e.g., the airline industry, engineering, construction) with the use of simple tools that have raised awareness of safety and risk issues and thereby saved lives. A checklist is an intuitive, practical, easy-to-use tool that highlights critical actions to be taken [8]. In the medical field, such a tool was used for safe central line placement in intensive care units (ICUs). The incident rate ratio for central line infections in some hospitals was nearly halved by the implementation of this checklist in their ICU [9]. Stemming from this initial work, the WHO 171 mailto:MWeinbe1@its.jnj.com mailto:MWeinbe1@its.jnj.com http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.gheart.2013.05.006 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.gheart.2013.05.006 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ TABLE 1. Recommendations for preventing chronic disease NIH AHA Mayo Maintain blood pressure within normal range X X 120/80 mm Hg X 120/80 mm Hg Keep proper weight X X X BMI <25 Exercise more X X �150 min/ week X �150 min/ week Quit smoking X X X Eat a healthy diet X X Reduce blood cholesterol X <200 mg/dl Manage diabetes X Limit alcohol to moderate amounts X X NIH, National Institutes of Health; AHA, American Heart Association; Mayo, Mayo Clinic; ACC, American College of Cardiology; HMS, Harvard Medical School; LDL, low-density lipoprotein; HDL, high-density lipoprotein; BMI, body mass index. Table adapted from Miron-Shatz T and Ratzan S [21]. j gSOLUTIONS 172 developed other patient safety checklists, which built upon various industry models. The 90-second Surgical Safety checklist, for example, is a 1-page, 19-item tool, the use of which has led to dramatic reductions in surgery-related complications and deaths [10]. More recently, the WHO has developed a pilot edition of a Safe Childbirth Checklist to address the 2.6 million stillbirths and 3 million newborn deaths that occur each year [11]. A scorecard is similar to a checklist tool in that it lists key components necessary for achieving an overall goal. The difference is that a scorecard yields a score that becomes a standardized metric for users to assess identified conditions on a linear scale. Various expert groups have called for scorecard development in the NCD area. The World Economic Forum (WEF) Global Agenda Council, for example, has identified the NCD epidemic as one of the 4 key global economic threats and has called for the development of a ‘‘health and well-being footprint’’ [2] that serves as a scorecard for risk as a way of capturing global attention and action. It is proposed as a way to ‘‘help measure the contribution of the public and private sectors and individual behaviors to health and well-being, to help identify opportunities to manage the causes of chronic diseases at the key levels of impact and to serve as a yard- stick of progress in delivering change’’ [2]. Similarly, the Institute of Medicine (IOM) convened a September 2009 workshop on “Promoting Health Literacy to Encourage Prevention and Wellness,” in which the idea to develop a scorecard tool for disease prevention was articulated [12]. Applying scorecards for improved performance Individual scorecards were originally used in business management and quality improvement programs. One major use of scorecards within management organizations comes in the form of the Balanced Scorecard (BSC). The BSC was founded by Robert Kaplan and David Norton of the Harvard Business School in 1992 in an attempt to create a “measurement for driving performance improve- ment” [13]. Their idea was based on the familiar assertion by “prominent British scientist, Lord Kelvin that ‘if you cannot measure it, you cannot improve it’” [13]. The BSC incorporates various operational and financial metrics to create a “more robust measurement and management system” [13]. This model is now incorporated in various business and management quality control systems. Scorecards are being incorporated into health care as well. The D5, for example, represents the 5 goals a person with diabetes needs to achieve to reduce risk of heart attack or stroke. This is an example of an all or nothing scorecard where all 5 points must be met to achieve the D5 score [14]. This simplified method of scoring was posited by Donald Berwick and Thomas Nolan in order to get better diabetes outcomes, in an attempt to “[raise] the bar and [illuminate] excellence in a social enterprise” [15]. Another important use of scorecards is for risk analysis and evalu- ation. In the Queen Elizabeth II Health Sciences Center (Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada), a preoperative scorecard was developed to predict inhospital mortality from redo cardiac operations. By using previous mortality data, “a parsimonious logistic regression model was developed” [16], which was then used to create the scorecard. This clinical tool takes into account key risk factors like age, current procedure type, type and number of previous procedures, and renal failure. The total number score derived from these risk factors then correlates to the percent risk of mortality. This scorecard builds upon GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 TABLE 1. continued ACC HMS Jiao et al. (2009), Mozaffarian et al. (2009) Patterson et al. (2007), Cleary et al. (2006) X X <120/80 mm Hg X X X BMI <25 X X �150 min/ week X X X X X X X X X Reduce LDL, Increase HDL X <200 mg/dl X Control LDL X Keep fasting blood sugar <100 mg/dl X X gSOLUTIONS j mortality data to allow for a more exact assessment of procedure candidates in order to reduce mortality in high- risk patients [16]. Other more general health scorecards have been developed and are currently available free online. The American Heart Association and American Stroke Associ- ation developed My Life Check�, which incorporates Life’s Simple 7� Action Plan. This online scorecard asks users to register basic information and then guides them through 20 questions on biometrics, diet, and lifestyle choices [17]. It includes detailed questions on nutrition but does not include a component asking about alcohol use. Similarly, the World Health Professions Alliance (WHPA) drafted a recto verso “Health Improvement Card” that assesses 4 key biometric values (BMI, fasting blood sugar, cholesterol, and blood pressure) and 4 lifestyle choices (diet, tobacco use, alcohol use, and physical activity). While this paper-based tool does not yield a final score, it does utilize a “green, yellow, red” color scheme to indicate health factors that need to be addressed [18]. A simplified version of this tool is available for use online [19]. The development of the Digital Health Scorecard As early as the year 2000, the concept of a scorecard for evaluating chronic disease and raising health literacy was developed and disseminated. In the 2000 National Library of Medicine/Medical Library Association Leiter Lecture, an idea was put forth for developing a simple, modern (21st century), digitized health record, comprising 6 or more factors necessary for health [20]. At that time, the proposed factors included blood pressure/heart rate, BMI, and cholesterol levels, as well as a number of behavioral and GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 preventive measures. The concept was based on the idea that “reporting of numbers and health status could generate dialogue and health-seeking behavior and be integrated with technology” [20,21]. In 2009, there were proof-of-concept meetings with various organizations at which early paper drafts of the current Digital Health Scorecard were presented (then titled “Take Caree7 Steps for Better Health,” and later “Know Your Numbers”). Meetings and conferences included the United Nations Economic and Social Council (ECO- SOC) annual ministerial review in Beijing, the World Health Communication Associates (WHCA) Geneva roundtable on the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), the IOM roundtable on Health Literacy, the Council of Foreign Relations, and, in 2010, the Oxford Health Alliance annual summit. An early draft of this scorecard was introduced as a health literacy tool in the IOM Workshop Summary “Promoting Health Literacy to Encourage Prevention and Wellness” [12]. The IOM-commissioned paper for this workshop on integrating health literacy into primary and secondary strategies envisioned this tool as “a simple (parsimonious), but big idea” to be “some sort of galvanizing index that captures health and wellness” and to “facilitate individual and system monitoring of health literacy” [7,22]. More recently, there were advancements in the devel- opment of a more rigorous proof-of-concept and a prototype for the scorecard. In 2011, collaboration between Johnson & Johnson (J&J) and graduate students at Carnegie Mellon University established a proof-of-concept thesis paper for the scorecard, Design, Implementation and Go-To-Market Strategy for the Digital Health Scorecard: A Social Marketing Approach to Health Literacy [23]. This was conducted through a course under the direction of Rema Padman, PhD, Professor of Management Science & Healthcare Informatics at the Heinz 173 j gSOLUTIONS 174 School of Public Policy. The collaboration also yielded a directional proof-of-concept as to how a web-based tool might function.Basedontheoutcomesand feedbackreceived through this work, J&J developed a more polished interface design and an iPad-based fully-functional prototype. This initial prototype for the Digital Health Scorecard was preliminarily dubbed “ScoreMyHealth,” and was pre- sented for feedback in a number of forums in 2012. These included presentations and breakout sessions at TEDMED and the National Aeronautics and Space Administration Human Health and Performance Centre (NHHPC) work- shop mHealth: Smart Media and Health, Applications Benefiting Life in Space and on Earth. One of the key gaps identified in the initial scorecard model was the differential impact of the selected risk factors on one’s overall health. Further, it became apparent during these early trial sessions that the Digital Health Scorecard would need to account for the frequent occurrence that many users were unaware of their precise biometric values. Based on this feedback, significant improvements to the usability and validity of the scorecard as a wellness and risk prevention tool were made. These included developing and incorporating a weighting formula and the development of creative options for users who did not know specific values. These approaches were validated and improved upon through review meetings with epidemiology and health communi- cation experts at the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine and Columbia University’s Mailman School of Public Health. This current article reviews the rationale and meth- odologies used to develop the Digital Health Scorecard, a tool for addressing patient, personal, consumer, and global health needs. This includes an overview of how the limited set of health risk factors were selected, the devel- opment of a scoring algorithm and weighting system, and a review of initial user testing data. The aim of the Digital Health Scorecard is to provide a key measure, a “digital health score,” which can help educate and motivate people and patients to take action on the behavioral and biometric factors that drive personal risk for developing chronic disease. In so doing, the Digital Health Scorecard also aims to help systems on all levels better face the daunting health and economic burden stemming from the rising prevalence of chronic disease in both developing and developed nations. METHODOLOGY Selecting risk factors The scorecard asks 7 key questions about one’s health based on evidence-based risk factors that contribute to NCDs, disability, and death. The risk factors selected are as follows. � Overweight/obesity (BMI) � Physical inactivity � Tobacco use � Harmful alcohol use � Elevated blood pressure � Elevated total cholesterol � Elevated blood glucose These 7 health risk factors were selected based on WHO and other data that indicate a correlation between these risks and NCD incidence, prevalence, associated disabilities, and death. The November 2012 WHO report, based on a formal meeting concerning the global moni- toring framework for the prevention and control of NCDs, identified the above 7 factors as key behavioral and bio- logical risk factors from a set of 25 possible indicators “to monitor trends and to assess progress made in the imple- mentation of national strategies and plans on NCDs” [24]. Selecting these risk factors and assigning healthy ranges also drew on evidence and published recommendations from various health and research organizations (Table 1). Formula, algorithm, and weighting The overall health score is calculated on a scale of 0 to 100, with 100 being the optimal score. Although alternative scales were considered, the consensus from expert review groups suggested that the relative meaning of scores on a 0-100 scale is implicitly understood by the general public because that scale is commonly used. The application uses a simple formula and is driven substantially by 2 variables that are dependent on user input (Figure 1). This formula is based on a system of demerits in which the user starts with a perfect score and loses points (P) based on subop- timal biomarker levels and/or lifestyle behaviors. The P value for each of the 7 risk factors is dependent on the risk factor range (present, partially present, or not present) of the individual (Table 2). The second variable used in score determination is weighting (W). While P is assigned based on 1 of 3 static values for each factor, as indicated in Table 2, the potential W value changes among the 7 risk factors. The value of W determines the proportionate contribution of a given risk factor to the overall health score. Whereas the P variable is aligned to well-accepted risk factor ranges, the W variable represents an innova- tion and contributes to the novelty and validity of this algorithm. The weighting system and P values were initially determined using data from the Global Burden of Disease Study 2004, published in a comparative risk analysis (CRA) in 2009 by the WHO [1] (Table 3). The W values are inserted into a modifiable system in the Digital Health Scorecard software that allows for updating of numbers based on new research and data. The most recent W values used (in a Brazilian version of the scorecard launched on World Health Day in April 2013) utilized new data from The Global Burden of Disease Study 2010, published in the Lancet in December, 2012 [25]. By using Global Burden Of Disease (GBD) study data (including now available country-specific data), there is a consistent CRA method- ology for each update (and country customization) of the GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 FIGURE 1. Health score formula. gSOLUTIONS j scorecard; i.e., the methodology used by Ezzati et al. in their CRA, which is a component of the GBD study [25,26]. As indicated in Table 3, the specific GBD data that was used for developing the weighting system was based on disability adjusted life years (DALYs), as this metric not only incorporates number of life years lost, but also the number of healthy-living years lost due to chronic diseases. For the initial scorecard launch, specific high-income country numbers were used from WHO region America A, which comprises primarily the United States and Canada. Because there is overlap in mortality, morbidity, and NCDs between given risk factors like tobacco use and high blood pressure, consideration was given for those risk factors comprising 50% of the weighting; using the speci- fications of Ezzati et al. [25,26]. Additional weighting considerations were also made for the bivalent nature of alcohol risk curves and the increased alcohol risk for women, consistent with the CRA methodology conducted by Rehm et al. [27] from the same GBD study 2004. Only relative risk of diseases was used in the formulation of the weighting algorithm. Descriptive features and final computations With the computational components in place, additional features for calculating the score and final design compo- nents were implemented. The questions and visuals selected to get input from individual users were developed utilizing TABLE 2. Risk factor ranges Risk Present BMI >30 or <18.5 Cholesterol >240 mg/dl total Blood Glucose >125 mg/dl Blood Pressure >139 systolic Alcohol Consumption >4 drinks/day (m) >3 drinks/day (f) Smoking Yes Physical Activity <30 minutes 3 times per week BMI, body mass index. GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 published health literacy and cultural competency standards [6]. One key learning from early prototype reviews was the need to account for situations in which subjects do not know some or all of their biometric values. It was observed by the authors that although individuals often did not know precise values, there were multiple reasons why this occurred. In some cases it occurred because the individual had not had a recent primary care physician physical, including blood analysis. In other cases, such an exam had occurred but the individual did not have ready access to their biometric data and could not recall it; however, of this group, a significant number knew which risk factors their healthcare provider had warned them about and conversely those factors for which no concern was expressed. This being the case, the Digital Health Scorecard was adjusted to enable individuals to respond “I don’t know” and select the statement that best reflects them, as follows: i. I’ve had a check-up in the past year (including blood work) and was not advised that I have [health risk factor]. ii. I’ve had a check-up in the past year (including blood work) and was advised that I have [health risk factor]. iii. I’ve not had a check-up in the past year. The first statement is correlated to the same P value as “risk not present,” whereas the second and third statements correlate to “risk present.” In the case of the third state- ment, it was considered that not having had a check-up in the past year was as much a concern as actually having the risk factor because it indicates a lack of knowledge about (and perhaps a lack of interest in regular assessments of) one’s health. Information about each of the 7 risk factors is collected on different screens. The Digital Health Scorecard app then uses the data to calculate a final health score using the previously described algorithm and its weighting system (Figure 2). As the figure illustrates, in reporting back the collected data, each health risk factor is placed into 1 of 3 color-coded categories: good (green), caution (yellow), and at risk (red). When individual score components are deemed “caution” or “at risk,” the app provides a hypertext link to additional information on how to improve upon Risk Partially Present Risk Not Present 25-30 18.5-24.9 200-239 mg/dl total <200 mg/dl total >99 mg/dl <100 mg/dl 120-139 systolic �119 systolic 3 drinks (f) 3-4 drinks (m) 0-2 drinks X No 30 minutes 3 times per week �30 minutes 5 times per week 175 TABLE 3. Ranking of selected risk factors: 10 leading risk factor causes of disability adjusted life years by income group (high- income countries) Rank Risk Factor DALYs (millions) Percentage of total 1 Tobacco use 13 10.7 2 Alcohol use 8 6.7 3 Overweight and obesity (high BMI) 8 6.5 4 High blood pressure 7 6.1 5 High blood glucose 6 4.9 6 Physical inactivity 5 4.1 7 High cholesterol 4 3.4 8 Illicit drugs 3 2.1 9 Occupational risks 2 1.5 10 Low fruit and vegetable intake 2 1.3 DALYs, disability adjusted life years; BMI, body mass index. Table adapted from World Health Organization [1]. j gSOLUTIONS 176 that health factor and one’s overall health. For the purpose of the inaugural U.S.-based release, the hypertext links lead the user to www.healthfinder.gov and www.cdc.gov for these information resources. Additional options to customize links to reputable sources are envisioned (e.g., National Cancer Institute mHealth based Smoking Cessa- tion Program). Another key feature was incorporated as a result of prototype feedback. The authors observed that when users received their health scores, they often asked how their score would have varied had they answered the questions differently. To this end, the app was modified to offer a “what if” modeling capability. Upon receiving a health score, the individual can now select “what if” and see how the score changes when different answers are offered. For example, a user can model the impact of losing “XX” FIGURE 2. Scorecard app final results screen pictured on a pounds (or “XX” kilos in the metric version), cutting back on alcohol consumption, or quitting smoking, etc. DISCUSSION Technology platforms The Digital Health Scorecard application was introduced on the Windows 8 platform, in coordination with Micro- soft, on October 23, 2012. Following this launch—taking advantage of early feedback—were versions for other major consumer technology platforms, including iOS, Android, and web browser. In all cases, there is no cost to users to download or utilize the app. The intent is to ensure that individuals have free access to the tool on their technology platform of choice; consumer preferences across these platforms will be carefully monitored. Though there may be populations that prefer traditional browser-based tools, it is believed that given the growing dominance of mobile technologies, consumers will ultimately prefer to access the app on phone and tablet platforms. As such, the largest investment of both resources and time has gone into these modalities. Mobile versions present obvious advantages, enabling users to input and access data wherever they may be: home, a doctor’s office, a health fair, a pharmacy, or with friends and family. The app does not require a continuous data connection, so the absence of cellular data or Wi-Fi does not prevent use; however, if the user is connected, data such as the final health score with linkage to age, gender, and zip/postal code can be aggregated. All versions of the Digital Health Scorecard, regardless of platform, can upload data from each session to a central Microsoft Azure cloud-based database (except when data connectivity is absent, as previously noted). At no time is any personally-identifiable information captured and stored; however, the aggregated data does include basic demo- graphic identifiers including age, gender, and zip/postal code (mobile apps will provide additional GPS data). As n Android phone. GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 http://www.healthfinder.gov http://www.cdc.gov gSOLUTIONS j such, basic reporting and analytic capabilities have been enabled for research purposes. In designing the user experience, based on user feed- back, minimization of the time required to receive a health score was considered paramount. Initial observation suggests that a user who knows her/his biometrics can receive a health score in as little as 3 minutes. Users who do not know their biometrics and therefore must navigate the secondary questions regarding prior conversations with healthcare providers (as described previously) may require about 5 minutes. Equally important in the design of the digital experience was the creation of a user interface that is visually comforting and technologically forward without impeding access or ease of use. Experts in user interface design were employed and leveraged extensive experience in the creation of mobile-friendly digital landscapes. The interface takes a user though the 7 required biometric and behavioral data elements, making extensive use of soothing, aspirational, and/or contextually-relevant back- ground imagery, along with health literate terminology. The formally released versions of the Digital Health Scorecard app benefited greatly from feedback gained by prototype users at TEDMED and other events. There are a number of platform-specific capabilities that have been implemented and that will be measured over time. The Windows 8 and web-browser based versions enable users to print a report that can be used to facilitate conversations with healthcare providers. For the mobile versions of the app, the developers implemented the ability to e-mail a similar report to a healthcare provider, friends/family, or even to oneself in order to be printed at a later time. These mobile versions also incor- porate social media features, although actual scores are not shared through such services (specifically, Facebook and Twitter). Mobile versions of the Digital Health Scorecard were built to take full advantage of touch technology. As such, most data inputs are made using visual touch controls, such as slider controls and selection buttons; even in the browser-based version. The entire app can be experienced without the need to type in data using on-screen keyboards, with one notable exception: the demographics collection screen requests users to type a postal code. This particular data element, however, is an optional field and can be skipped at the user’s discretion. The Windows 8 and browser-based versions of the application serve as hybrids in that they run both on mobile tablets as well as on desktop/laptop computers. Given the growing demand for touchscreen computing even on nonmobile devices, the app was built to always favor touch, though it works equally well using a traditional mouse and keyboard equipped computer. Studies suggest that disparities do exist with Internet and mobile phone usage [28]. These studies also suggest a shift in which platforms are used to access the Internet: users across demographic groups are eschewing the GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 ownership of computers (desktop, laptop, etc.) and going directly to mobile phones [28]. The integration of the Digital Health Scorecard to mobile devices such as mobile phones and tablets could prove useful in increasing digital health access to distinct population groups. Future considerations We realize that this scorecard and the resulting health score will not be a perfect metric for NCD prevention. This is a relatively simple assessment of health risk when compared to the complexities of the human body. We recognize that there are important risk factors related to health and wellbeing that are not addressed by this appli- cation, such as family histories, diet, immunizations, preventive procedures, and emotional health and well- being, among others. Furthermore, the GBD estimates used in preparing the weighting for the algorithm are based on CRA “clustered risk factors” analysis. As such, this data is acquired through meta-analysis of large population groups and is also subject to assumptions. There have been arguments against the correlation of such data to individual health as a predictor of risk. A cohort study could provide more exact data to be linked to the algorithm’s weighting; however, such studies are limited by their highly specific nature and variance in methodology. The GBD estimates are available for multiple geographic regions (including low- and middle-income areas around the world) and ensure that the data for all risk factors are acquired and assessed using the same methodology. This, in turn, assures consistency for the assessment of all risk factors for users of the Digital Health Scorecard. Even so, the highly dynamic nature of the programming of this app allows for future changes as more appropriate and better quality studies come up. The data that serve as the basis for the scorecard are based on peer-reviewed CRAs conducted by some of the world’s best public health institutions united under the initiative of the GBD studies. One of the innovative aspects of the Digital Health Scorecard relates to “democratizing” this data and making it practically available for use by individuals in their daily lives. While the scorecard is limited to 7 key risk factors for health, we believe the factors chosen are most easily identifiable and measurable by users. The risk factors chosen were ranked by the WHO and others as among the highest for causes of NCD-related disability, mortality, and morbidity. In our attempts to create a simple and accurate 7-step tool, it was decided that measurements such as diet would be more complicated to recall and record and could contribute to discrepancies. As for mental and emotional health, there is no significant data at this time available from the GBD study source linking those risk factors to NCDs—chronic disease being the primary focus of this scorecard. Although there is a focus on chronic disease, the scorecard is not intended to be a diagnostic tool or 177 j gSOLUTIONS 178 a predictor of specific diseases. Instead, it is intended to be a simple application, in the style of a checklist, that high- lights health risk factors that could contribute to the development of NCDs. The scorecard provides just one number, thus establishing a metric for an individual’s overall health risk from 7 key factors, which can enable them to better comprehend these risks. While the metric is the innovation for action, the app also provides explana- tions and linkages to evidence-based resources to improve one’s score and improve health literacy. The “what if?” function allows for the user to interact with the medium, for mental modeling, to incite and support appropriate behavioral action. In this way, the scorecard can also be used as a health literacy tool that makes general users, consumers, and patients more aware of the important areas of their health that need to be focused on and addressed. We hypothesize that (and will track whether) Digital Health Scorecard use will prove to be an impetus for people to consult with their physicians on areas of concern, have more regular check-ups, and increase their use of community support services. Moreover, this metric, when aggregated, can also be used and interpreted on a variety of levels—from community to global—to identify critical problems in population health and galvanize multisectoral responses ranging from employer initiatives to government-sponsored educational and service provision focused on addressing identified population risks. Since its launch through the Microsoft Windows 8 app store in October of 2012, the Digital Health Scorecard has been used more than 25,000 times. It is receiving favorable reviews on the Windows Store app page. This launch version of the scorecard has been presented at public events, including the mHealth 2012 summit in Wash- ington, D.C., and the IOM health literacy meeting at the New York Academy of Medicine. Subsequently, versions for Apple iPhone/iPad and Google Android phones have been released into their respective app stores. The most recent versions have been integrated with social networking websites, Facebook and Twitter, allowing for more user connectivity and awareness. SUMMARY The potential reach and impact of this novel health literacy tool is significant. With planned technological and country-specific updates, more users will have the chance to access and complete and use the Digital Health Score- card to enhance their personal NCD health literacy. They will also be able to share and compare their “digital health score” with family members, peers, and even their own physicians. Current plans call for presentations of the scorecard at numerous health-related conferences and events. Through these initiatives and with continuing language and data updates, we are hoping that the Digital Health Scorecard will reach many more users globally. A variety of research plans aim to see how the “digital health score” correlates with actual burden and how the scorecard can be used in different settings (e.g., workplace wellness programs, clinical trial recruitment, and community public health campaign planning). While we believe this new metric can advance NCD prevention and care, it is not seen as a stand-alone entity. It does not replace the support and information provided by physicians and other health care providers. It needs to be well linked to other community-based infor- mation and evidence-based support services (e.g., smoking cessation hotlines, physical activities, and nutrition services). While it does not cover all levels of a person’s health and wellbeing, this application will allow people to assess the level of their risk for chronic disease and also track it over time. More importantly, it will highlight for individ- uals where they need to improve to reduce their risks and provide them with resources to achieve this goal. By providing just one number, users will be able to better visualize and judge their health-risk status. In addition to this, health professionals and policy makers, by aggregating results, will have a new source of data to assess and understand population health, as well as to identify key health areas that could be addressed to avert the dire consequences of the projected crippling health and finan- cial consequences from NCDs. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The authors thank Fikry Isaac, MD, at Johnson & Johnson, Dean Linda Fried, MD, MPH, at Columbia University Mailman School of Public Health, Rema Padman, PhD, at Carnegie Mellon University Heinz School of Public Policy, and Michael Hodin, PhD, at The Council on Foreign Relations. Conflict of interest statement: Financial support for the Digital Health Scorecard and associated research was provided by Johnson & Johnson. Scott Ratzan was employed at Johnson & Johnson as Vice President of Global Health at the time that the research was conducted. Michael Weinberger is employed at Johnson & Johnson and serves as Director, Marketplace Innovation. Gary Kocharian is an intern at Johnson & Johnson, serving as a global health researcher. Franklin Apfel is the Managing Director at World Health Communications Associates, which contracted with Johnson & Johnson to provide scientific and implementation support. REFERENCES 1. World Health Organization. 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work_jy5ye7uvyfa73mzpoeroyfz5bq ---- 10841_2006_9018_11_1-web 47..59 Abstract Studies of conservation biology involving tiger beetles have become increasingly common in the last 15 years. Governments and NGOs in several countries have considered tiger beetles in making policy decisions of national conservation efforts and have found tiger beetles useful organisms for arguing broad conservation issues. We trace the evolution of the relationship between tiger beetle studies and con- servation biology and propose that this history may in itself provide a model for anticipating developments and improvements in the ability of conservation biol- ogy to find effective goals, gather appropriate data, and better communicate generalizations to non-scientific decision makers, the public, and other scientists. According to the General Continuum of Scientific Perspectives on Nature model, earliest biological studies begin with natural history and concentrate on observations in the field and specimen collecting, fol- lowed by observing and measuring in the field, manipulations in the field, observations and manipu- lations in the laboratory, and finally enter theoretical science including systems analysis and mathematical models. Using a balance of historical and analytical approaches, we tested the model using scientific studies of tiger beetles (Coleoptera: Cicindelidae) and the field of conservation biology. Conservation biology and tiger beetle studies follow the historical model, but the results for conservation biology also suggest a more complex model of simultaneous parallel developments. We use these results to anticipate ways to better meet goals in conservation biology, such as actively involv- ing amateurs, avoiding exclusion of the public, and improving language and style in scientific communi- cation. Keywords Cicindelidae Æ Conservation biology Æ History Æ Models Æ Tiger beetles Introduction The early 20th Century Spanish philosopher, George Santayana, is credited with the quotation, ‘‘Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’’ Although easily dismissed as a trivial aphorism, is it possible that this statement constitutes a testable hypothesis that we can use to understand and antici- pate advances in sciences such as conservation biol- ogy? Conservation biology is a field with too few years of experience to have engendered broad interest in its past (Zirnstein 1996; Meine 1999; Siemann 2003). However, its history together with that for longer- established supporting fields, such as systematics, genetics, wildlife management, and ecology, may hold critical information for developing future directions and goals for conservation biology. Faced with con- stant shortages of funding to adequately gather infor- mation and conduct studies, lessons from history may be useful as another set of tools in the quest for meeting these goals (Maienschein 2000; Gaddis 2004). CXLV, Studies of Tiger Beetles D. L. Pearson (&) School of Life Sciences, Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ 85287-4501, USA e-mail: dpearson@asu.edu F. Cassola Via F. Tomassucci 12/20, I-00144 Rome, Italy J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 DOI 10.1007/s10841-006-9018-9 123 B E E T L E C O N S E R V A T I O N Are we doomed to repeat history? A model of the past using tiger beetles (Coleoptera: Cicindelidae) and conservation biology to anticipate the future David L. Pearson Æ Fabio Cassola Received: 23 September 2005 / Accepted: 20 December 2005 / Published online: 7 November 2006 � Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2006 In a search for patterns within the history of scientific studies, historians have analyzed several fields from physics (Nye 1996) to biology (Killingsworth and Palmer 1992). Are there steps common to all scientific en- deavor? What recognizable patterns of change take place, and what are the significant factors causing the changes? How can they best be compared? Apart from satisfying intellectual curiosity, a solid understanding of patterns in the development of science could prove useful for conservation biology in many ways. It could: (1) help determine priorities for funding agencies, (2) enable biologists to better communicate with and inform non-scientific decision makers, (3) focus individual re- searcher goals, (4) prepare cooperative research agen- das, (5) formulate more reliable and efficient models for management and conservation goals, and (6) help anticipate problems that can then be ameliorated. Methods The historical model History does not lend itself to experimental repeat- ability (Gould 1989), and thus tests of patterns in his- tory rely on alternative methods. One of the most reliable techniques for answering pertinent historical questions and testing for patterns is by using insights from one field to tell us something about another—a process called consilience by historians. In so doing, we can make sense of the past and perhaps anticipate the future (Gaddis 2004). Within biology, such patterns have been proposed for understanding the historical progression of human cultures. Important causes with consistent outcomes across unrelated cultures include environmental factors (Rolett and Diamond 2004), plant and animal domestication (Diamond 2002), dis- ease (Acemoglu et al. 2001) and food production (Hibbs and Olsson 2004). Along the same lines, one general model of the his- tory of science proposed to anticipate historical pat- terns in biology is the General Continuum of Scientific Perspectives on Nature (GCSPN) (Killingsworth and Palmer 1992). According to the GCSPN, earliest bio- logical studies begin with natural history and concen- trate on observations in the field and specimen collecting, followed by observing and measuring in the field, manipulations in the field, observations and manipulations in the laboratory, and finally enter the- oretical science, including systems analysis and mathe- matical models. What is not clear is whether each of these chapters in the development of science can be identified as a chronological step or phase, or even more controversial, whether each step has identifiable and quantifiable characters that can be used to estimate the maturity of the field of study (Farber 2000). In addition to these uncertainties, this model has other constraints. As with all models, simplification is an acceptable aspect of their use as long as the results are interpreted within these limitations. Also, similar to many ecological and landscape studies, using time intervals that are too small or too large can obscure important patterns. Finally, sociological, economic, and psychological forces can be more crucial in affecting models of temporal changes than generally realized, but these factors often are difficult to incor- porate into general models. With these assumptions in mind, Battalio (1998) listed a series of specific char- acters that would demonstrate historical steps within the GCSPN model: (STEP 1) Descriptive natural history and search for new species predominate (STEP 2) Now an experimental science rather than a natural history model (STEP 3) Power is transferred from expert amateurs to trained professional scientists, and graduate training for employment in the field has become available (STEP 4) Systematics no longer dominant, and re- search focused more on theoretically complex issues with extensive use of graphs and statistical inference in publications (STEP 5) Formation of research teams and increasing evidence of socialization, such as use of acknowledg- ments sections, associations of peers, and co-authored publications (STEP 6) Technical terminology and methodology so refined they now limit the audience that can fully comprehend them (Fig. 1). Test subjects The history of entomology provides a rich and varied set of potential subjects to test the model. However, Fig. 1 Linear progression of steps in GCSPN model in which each step replaces the former one 48 J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 123 because of the myriad and often independent histories of various insects groups within entomology (Sorensen 1995), we felt that an initial test of the GCSPN model would be more manageable by using a single group. Tiger beetles (Coleoptera: Cicindelidae) provide a relatively discrete taxonomic unit whose history is well documented (Pearson and Cassola 2005). The tiger beetles are a small but distinct group of over 2600 species whose biology is also well known (Pearson and Vogler 2001). These beetles are attractive, fast-flying and fast-running insect predators that occur in many diverse habitats around the world. Many of the same characteristics of tiger beetles that have generated considerable interest among amateurs and professional biologists have also contributed to their increasing role in conservation studies. Most important among these characteristics is the ease with which most species can be found and identified in the field, their habitat specificity, and their value as indicators of habitat health and of biodiversity. Also, because they have been well-collected and studied, their past and present distributions are known sufficiently to evaluate historic trends of decline in range or abundance (Desender et al. 1994; Knisley and Fenster 2005). In addition, we will use the history of the field of conservation biology as a test subject. With a combi- nation of narrative and comparative analysis, we pro- pose to compare these two histories to test the validity of the model. Finally, we pursue the possibility that if the resultant pattern of steps conforms to the GCSPN model, can the model and its assumptions be used to anticipate and direct future steps in conservation biology? Results Step 1: Descriptive natural history and search for new species predominate As claimed by the GCSPN, much of the earliest history of conservation biology revolved around documenta- tion of species, in this case their extinctions. In the late 18th Century, American authors Ralph Waldo Emer- son and Henry David Thoreau influenced the devel- opment of Transcendentalism, a philosophy associated with nature. Through their writings, preservation of nature and wilderness became a powerful, novel doc- trine. In the midst of manifest destiny and impressions of inexhaustible resources, the unexpected disappear- ance of once abundant species, such as the Passenger Pigeon, and near extinction of the American Bison, first made extinction seem a real possibility, and the causes of extinction of individual species became an important area of study for the nascent field of con- servation biology. Because of an extensive knowledge of taxonomy and distribution starting with Linné (1758), tiger bee- tles lent themselves to early studies of declining pop- ulations and extinctions. As such, several species and populations of tiger beetles became some of the first insects declared legally endangered or threatened with extinction. Pearson et al. (2005) estimate that at least 33 (15%) of the 223 named species and subspecies of tiger bee- tles in Canada and the United States may be declining at a rate that justifies their consideration for inclusion on the US Fish and Wildlife Service’s List of Endan- gered and Threatened species (Fig. 2). However, at present, only four of these are officially listed by the federal government, and several others are under consideration for listing. In addition, several other countries (Belgium, Canada, Germany, Great Britain, Lithuania, The Netherlands, South Africa and Sweden), at least 24 individual states and provinces within the United States and Canada, and international NGOs (World Conservation Monitoring Centre and IUCN) have developed lists of endangered and threa- tened species that include tiger beetles. Few insects are well-enough known globally to document these types of population decline. Because of the rich collections of tiger beetle specimens avail- able for study, however, the disappearance of species from former parts of the range can be authenticated. From these historical records, some long-term changes in the environment can also be deduced (Nagano 1980; Desender and Turin 1989; Desender et al. 1994; Yarbrough and Knisley 1994; Kamoun 1996; Trautner 1996; Berglind et al. 1997; Diogo et al. 1999; Knisley and Hill 2001; Richoux 2001; Sikes 2002; Goldstein and Desalle 2003; Horgan and Chávez 2004; Mawdsley 2005). Thus, tiger beetles help offer a window into our past and can provide insight as to where protective measures are needed (Babione 2003). Step 2: Now an experimental science rather than a natural history model For tiger beetle studies, the major intellectual advance during the last half of the 18th Century was an often- conflicting attempt to place the growing number of species into a natural array of groupings. By moving from pure description to evolutionary questions, these attempts at phylogenetics were also some of the first signs of a change into an experimental paradigm (Barrow 1998). With more species known, better J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 49 123 chances for comparisons, and greater competition for research subjects among the increasing number of experts, tiger beetle systematists ventured into more sophisticated areas of research. Field naturalists such as A.R. Wallace and H. W. Bates often collected tiger beetles wherever they traveled. Emergent but signifi- cant ideas about behavior, ecology and evolution also grew from their experiences of collecting and observ- ing these beetles. The German medical doctor, Wal- ther Horn, became the greatest authority and acknowledged specialist of the tiger beetle family, working almost solitarily for more than 50 years. Although predominantly taxonomic in nature, his articles began, later in the 1900s, to incorporate experimentally testable ideas of habitat, biogeography and intraspecific variation (subspecies). Besides reconstructing the past, tiger beetles are useful for conservation in other ways. Because of political, sociological and economic pressures, conser- vation policy and research are under pressure to pro- duce quick results. This pressure is so pervasive, and the time, money and personnel to do the work are so limited that conservation biology is called a ‘‘crisis discipline,‘‘ in which risk analysis has become a major element (Maguire 1991). A common approach to resolving these problems has been to use indicator taxa as test organisms that purportedly represent other taxa in a complex environment. By focusing studies on a small but representative subset of the habitat or eco- system, patterns of habitat degradation and population losses can be more quickly and clearly distinguished (Noss 1990). Unfortunately most taxa suggested for use as indi- cators have been selected primarily on the basis of their public appeal (Pearson 1994). The consequences have cast doubt on the general usefulness and accuracy of bioindicators in conservation policy-making. For instance, among animal taxa, most studies using indi- cator taxa have relied on vertebrates, especially those ‘‘species of high public interest’’ (USDI 1980). Verte- brates, however, tend to be relatively long-lived, have low rates of population increase, long generation times, and comparatively low habitat specificity (Murphy et al. 1990), all of which tax the time and finances for proper investigation. As a result, there is a trend now to rely more and more on arthropod species, especially insects, instead of, or in addition to, vertebrates as appropriate indicator taxa (Pyle et al. 1981; Kremen 1992; Samways 1994; McGeoch 1998). Tiger beetles have been used throughout the world to test and develop better guidelines for choosing bioindicators (Holeski and Graves 1978; Schultz 1988; Bauer 1991; Pearson and Cassola 1992; Rivers-Moore and Samways 1996; Kitching 1996; Rodrı́guez et al. 1998; Cassola and Pearson 2000; Cassola 2002; Arndt et al. 2005). First, the category of bioindicator is determined (Kremen et al. 1993). Will it be used for monitoring (Greenberg and McGrane 1996), in Fig. 2 Controlled area in Santa Cruz Co., California, to protect the officially endangered Ohlone Tiger Beetle (Cicindela ohlone) Photo courtesy Univ. Calif. Santa Cruz Grounds Dept. 50 J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 123 inventory (Lees et al. 1999), as an umbrella (Mitter- meier et al. 2004), or some other type of model organism? Then a claim is made that a species or taxon, such as tiger beetles, is ideal as a bioindicator in a specific category. That leads to tests of whether this proposed indicator taxon meets the demands of widely accepted logistical and biological criteria for ideal indicators within each category. A useful bioindicator taxon should have characteristics such as stable tax- onomy, well-known biology and readily observed and manipulated (Brown 1991). More recently, it has be- come evident that even when chosen carefully, a single taxon is unlikely to be adequate. Seldom will a single taxon reflect accurately an entire habitat or ecosystem (Ricketts et al. 1999). Choosing a suite of indicator taxa from different trophic levels or different subhab- itats within the area of interest probably produces better data on which to base rational and informed biological and policy decisions. Nevertheless, each of the suite of candidates should be vetted experimentally to determine its appropriateness for that specific use as a bioindicator. Step 3: Power is transferred from expert amateurs to trained professional scientists, and graduate training for employment in the field has become available In the late 1800s, the first conservation organizations, such as the Audubon Society and the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, were formed with both pro- fessional and amateur participants. In the next few decades, the work of these professionals and amateurs created many conflicts, such as the benefits of specimen collecting and use of common names. Little by little, professional academicians and government employees with advanced degrees, such as Aldo Leopold and Rachel Carson, took over the study and communica- tion of conservation problems. In 1985 the Society for Conservation Biology was established, and by 2000 it had 5100 professional members. Conservation studies that involve insects have become more common (Bossart and Carlton 2002) in recent years, often focused by international insect organizations, such as the Xerces Society for the Conservation of Inverte- brates. In 1997 the Journal of Insect Conservation was launched in conjunction with the British Butterfly Conservation Society. By this time additional national societies dedicated to the conservation of insects had been formed in Asia, Europe and North America. Along with journals focused on this area, graduate programs and salaried positions as conservation biol- ogists, many of whom use insects as test organisms, became established, and the leadership and predomi- nance of professionals became more and more obvious. For tiger beetles, the near monopoly of a single expert, Walther Horn, had great influence on the direction of studies. Beyond his tight control of tiger beetle taxonomy, however, a few other professional biologists began to publish scientific articles using tiger beetles as test organisms for geological history (Wickham 1904), ecology (Shelford 1907), and behav- ior (Shelford 1902). The use of tiger beetles in con- servation did not begin until the late 20th Century (Pearson and Vogler 2001), and some potentially divisive problems, such as the development of common names, were less disruptive among amateur and pro- fessional tiger beetle workers (Pearson 2004) than with other groups, such as birds, butterflies and dragonflies. Even more subtly, professionalization of scientific articles, including those for conservation biology and tiger beetle studies, is reflected in its evolving language, writing styles, and grammar. Linguistic analysis of journals and scientific articles shows consistent changes that indicate levels of expertise and establish levels of authority, further separating professionals from ama- teurs. Some examples of changing words include adverbs that show degrees of reliability, such as ‘‘undoubtedly’’ and ‘‘possibly,’’ induction, such as ‘‘must’’ and ‘‘evidently,’’ identification of hearsay evi- dence, such as ‘‘it seems’’ and ‘‘apparently,’’ reserva- tions of deduction, such as ‘‘presumably’’ and ‘‘could,’’ and hedges, such as ‘‘approximately’’ (Chafe 1986). In addition, professional science writers use distinctive writing devices that include reduced use of personal pronouns, reliance on passive voice, a decrease in the number of simple sentences, the presence of technical terminology, an emphasis on reliability of evidence, and the use of citations (Lakoff and Johnson 1980). Carter (1990) also showed that although professionals rewriting scientific articles for semi-popular or popular consumption tend to write in broader generalities and use methods more similar to amateurs, they retain a concept of domain-specific knowledge that distin- guishes them from the style of amateurs. Step 4: Systematics no longer dominant, and research focused more on theoretically complex issues with extensive use of graphs and statistical inference in publications Among tiger beetles, in areas other than taxonomy, the 1960s saw a relatively small increase in articles published on behavior, ecology, morphology, bioge- ography and ecology (Pearson 1988). But starting in the 1980s, physiological studies of tiger beetles J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 51 123 emerged (Dreisig 1980; Hadley et al. 1988; Gilbert 1997; Hoback et al. 2000; Okamura and Toh 2004). In the 1990s, genetics studies began to appear (Galián et al. 1990; Proença et al. 2002), and by this time, these and other non-taxonomic publications constituted 85% of the articles on tiger beetles with statistical proce- dures and graphs. One area in which tiger beetles were at the forefront of more complex conservation biology studies was in the statistical application of assumptions of depen- dence among data points. In initial comparisons of species patterns across regions and countries, Pearson and Cassola (1992) claimed that among the tested attributes of tiger beetles as an ideal bioindicator was a high correlation between their species numbers and those of other groups. If one goal is to establish con- servation areas with the highest species diversity, tiger beetles were very useful because where you found more of them you also found more of other species like birds and butterflies. But tiger beetles, at the right season, could often be surveyed in a few weeks whereas birds took years to survey adequately in the same area. In addition, it was easy to train students and local workers to observe and sample tiger beetles, but training these same people to observe other taxa, such as birds and butterflies, was an enormous undertaking. Thus, one could argue that tiger beetles are logistically useful and biologically appropriate candidates to help represent entire habitats or ecosystems for species inventories. A major problem, however, was the misapplication of a common simplifying component in statistical tests used by many biologists (Carroll and Pearson 1998a). In virtually all traditional statistical tests, a datum from one point in space or time is assumed to not influence or affect any another datum in the analysis obtained from a different point in space or time (independent). If, however, the data are dependent (often called autocorrelated), and many subsequent studies show that many if not most biological data are likely to be dependent, the resultant analysis may be faulty or misleading (Carroll and Pearson 2000). Many researchers now apply more appropriate statistics, such as geostatistics (Cressie 1991), in conservation biology that avoid the assumption of independence. Tiger beetles were among the first taxa using these modern analytical techniques (Carroll 1998; Pearson and Car- roll 1998; 1999; Carroll and Pearson 1998b, Pearson and Carroll 2001). In addition to pioneering statistical analyses, tiger beetles also were used in early applications of molec- ular analysis for geographical implications of conser- vation. For instance, the subdivision of lineages of the tiger beetle species, Cicindela dorsalis, in Florida between the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean, can be detected only with molecular markers. How- ever, the fact that species of several taxa on one side of a barrier are consistently different from those on an- other is highly significant for conservation (Pearson and Vogler 2001). These regions of distinctive genetic overlap can reflect historical events in evolutionary time (Crandall et al. 2000; Goldstein et al. 2000; Satoh et al. 2004). By incorporating an evolutionary time scale, we not only gain another valuable factor to in- clude in our conservation planning, but it also makes us aware that areas chosen for protection require man- agement goals focused not just on 10, 20 or even 100 years, but for much longer into the past as well as the future (Schwartz 1999; Barraclough and Vogler 2002). Step 5: Formation of research teams and increasing evidence of socialization, such as use of acknowledgments sections, associations of peers, and co-authored publications Conservation biology has quickly moved from single and often isolated researchers such as Leopold and Carson to a predominance of interactive researcher teams. Among tiger beetle studies, there is consider- able evidence for similar changes on a broad level, some of them apparently caused by the appearance of field guides and general books on the biology of tiger beetles beginning in the 1990s (Knisley and Schultz 1997; Leonard and Bell 1999; Acorn 200l; Choate 2003; Pearson et al. 2005; Pearson and Shetterly 2006). Before this time, only individuals with time and inter- est to search through often obscure journals and arcane terms could acquire the basic knowledge and identifi- cation skills to do research using tiger beetles. More specific evidence of socialization is in co-authored publications. In one of the first general reviews of tiger beetle biology (Pearson 1988), only 23% of the cited articles were co-authored. Twelve years later in a book on general tiger beetle biology (Pearson and Vogler 2001) 40% of its citations were co-authored. In 1969, an informal correspondence among tiger beetle enthusiasts developed into a journal called ‘‘Cicindel- a.’’ Another indicator of socialization showed advances within this highly specialized journal. In the 1970s only 2% of its articles had acknowledgments sections; in the 1980s, 26% had these sections; and in the 1990s, 83% of them did. Similarly, the complex nature of modern conserva- tion biology research necessitates more and more research teams. For instance, many modern conserva- 52 J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 123 tion biologists working on rare and endangered species now rely heavily on molecular markers (Avise 1994; Galián and Vogler 2003) to distinguish species and populations within species. The importance of con- serving intra-specific variation is reflected in the U.S. Endangered Species Act, which calls for the conser- vation of ‘‘independent population segments’’. This makes conservation of distinct populations within a species a legal requirement, and involves coordination of field biologists, laboratory technicians, lawyers, and politicians. This coordination of effort is obvious in many areas of conservation biology, and recently has also become a dominant theme in tiger beetle studies (Knisley and Hill 1992; Vogler et al. 1993; Moritz 1994; Vogler and Desalle 1994; Vogler 1998). Some promising future uses of tiger beetles have direct ramifications for conservation biology, and most of them will involve teams that are interdisciplinary. These areas include climate change (Ashworth 2001), reintroductions (Omland 2002; Brust 2002; Knisley et al. 2005), habitat reclamation (Hussein 2002), habi- tat management (Omland 2004) and location of con- servation reserves and parks (Mittermeier and Mittermeier 1997; Desender and Bosmans 1998; Andriamampianina et al. 2000; Pearson and Carroll 2001; Mittermeier et al. 2004). Step 6: Technical terminology and methodology so refined they now limit the audience that can fully comprehend it Although communication with amateurs and the public is a stated goal of the developing cadre of professional conservation biologists, growing reliance on increas- ingly complex technology and terminology, mathe- matical models, sophisticated statistics and computer programs have excluded many amateurs and even some professionals in related fields. For tiger beetles, the rapidly growing use of highly sophisticated disciplines, such as molecular biology, statistical modeling, and satellite imagery have intro- duced many technical words and concepts. This jargon, in turn, can quickly limit comprehension to a narrow array of associated professionals. As measured in terms of scientific discourse, this trend includes increasing length and number of published articles, increasing sentence complexity, use of multi-word noun phrases, as well as narrowly defined technical terms. It is also well advanced among tiger beetle workers, especially in complex fields, such as molecular studies (Galián et al. 1990; Morgan et al. 2000; Proença and Galián 2003; Goldstein and Desalle 2003; Pons et al. 2004) and mathematical modeling (Carroll and Pearson 2000; Van Dooren and Matthysen 2004). Paradoxically, although the often-growing com- plexity of terminology and methodology used in advanced studies of tiger beetles may have excluded most amateurs and many traditional taxonomists, ecologists and behavioral researchers, it appears to have attracted others. For instance, molecular biolo- gists and mathematical modelers seeking appropriate systems on which to apply their technology have used data from tiger beetles with little previous knowledge of the animals themselves. Also, when the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service listed several tiger beetle species as endangered or threatened, economists, sociologists, foresters, politicians, land owners and members of many unrelated fields, who had little or no previous interest in these taxa, suddenly needed to know about them. At this point in the march of scientific history, the exclusion of tiger beetle amateurs from complex molecular and statistical studies, while lamentable is not debilitating. However, for conservation biology, just as the field of study reaches a high level of sci- entific rigor that knowingly will exclude many partici- pants, it simultaneously reaches a point where it must communicate with a growing number of essential participants. Many of these participants are unlikely to comprehend the message or be able to interpret the results of the increasingly complex but more reliable scientific effort. The legislators, judges, lawyers, teachers, and reporters who are critical for imple- menting policy decisions may not be able to under- stand the data and generalizations upon which they are basing their decisions. These apparently mutually exclusive goals and effort are potentially debilitating. Discussion Do the histories of tiger beetle studies and conservation biology follow the model? Both tiger beetle studies and conservation biology show patterns of change over their history consistent with the GCSPN. However, conservation biology has done so at a velocity that often blurs the progression. Studies of tiger beetles took hundreds of years to arrive at Step 6 and in the last 25 years have become greatly entwined with conservation biology. Conservation biology took less than a century to reach this level, and most of the steps were passed in the last 20 years (Primack 2002). J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 53 123 Although the GCSPN model appears to have broad relevance as shown in its application to the brief his- tory of conservation biology, the rapid advance of this field has apparently obscured some imperfections of the model along the way. Two significant questions need to be answered if the model is to be reliably ap- plied to conservation biology planning. (1) Are the steps deterministic and inevitable or are they mutable tendencies? Because the major goal of conservation biology is to protect biological diversity while providing for sustainable human needs (Primack 2002), it often seeks to change the outcome of environmental, economic and socio- logical trends, such as those associated with extinction and habitat destruction. If the general patterns of the GCSPN model represent tenden- cies that lend themselves to peremptory changes, the model can be used to anticipate problems and implement useful changes to better meet the goals of conservation biology. On the other hand, if the general patterns of the GCSPN model represent inevitable results, the changes funda- mental to conservation biology goals are unlikely to be accomplished using these general steps of science development (Myers 1989; Eldredge 1998). (2) Is each step of the model dependent on the pre- vious step, and if so, how well-developed must a step be before the subsequent step can be initi- ated and developed? For instance, academic and government support for naming and revising taxa and basic studies of natural history has been in decline for decades and is unlikely to reverse course. As crisis managers, conservation biolo- gists are often forced to make studies on taxa, natural communities and habitats that have severely incomplete foundations of knowledge, such as taxonomy and natural history (Wilson 2000; Hopkins and Freckleton 2002; Dubois 2003; Giangrande 2003). In terms of the GCSPN, the temptation is to yield to the pressures of crisis management and justify a leap from Step 1 to Step 4 or 5 with, perhaps, insufficient investment in the intermediate and supportive steps. Such a problem evidently occurred with the devel- opment of the use of bioindicators in the 1980s and 1990s. Several conservation biologists urged that these surrogate taxa be chosen carefully with predetermined ideal characteristics for a particular use and habitat or ecosystem (Brown 1991; Pearson and Cassola 1992). Unfortunately, many subsequent articles advocating taxa as bioindicators ignored or failed to adequately justify the choice of bioindicators based on predeter- mined criteria such as reliable taxonomy and basic natural history knowledge. As a result, the credibility of these poorly qualified taxa was challenged, and support of the entire concept of bioindicators quickly diminished (Lawton et al. 1998; Schwartz 1999; Andelman and Fagan 2000; Dale and Beyler 2001). In the same vein, the U.S. federal Endangered Species Act (ESA) was authorized in 1973. During its tenure, it has engendered considerable controversy, and its future is uncertain (Czech and Krausman 2001). Although property rights, conflicting economic inter- ests, and politics have contributed to many of the controversies, testimony to U.S. congressional com- mittees (Legislative Hearing on H.R. 2829 and H. R. 3705, 20 March 2002) by both conservation advocates and the Assistant Secretary for Fish and Wildlife and Parks place much of the blame for shortcomings of the ESA on poor scientific standards and lack of adequate independent scientific review of endangered species listings. For instance, in one official list of 36 species planned to be delisted in 1999 by then Secretary of the Interior, Bruce Babbitt, five species were already extinct by that time, four were based on taxonomic errors, and ten had been originally listed because of data errors. In this case 53% of these species should not have been on the endangered list in the first place, and a lack of scientific information was to blame (B. Babbitt, pers. com.). A powerful and sophisticated legislative policy assumed that conservation biology was at Step 4 or 5 in the GCSPN, even though Steps 1 and 2 were not sufficiently established to support an advance on to subsequent steps. What uses does the GCSPN provide for identifying and attaining conservation biology goals? One important role of the application of the GCSPN model to conservation biology is in providing a context so that we can focus on pertinent questions. At what points should funding agencies support specific efforts? Are there better periods than others in which to attract young recruits to maintain or increase interest in spe- cific taxa or fields such as conservation biology? Can or should dominance by a single individual or small clique be avoided? Will professional biologists exclude the expert amateurs, or will they be able to cooperate? A second use of the GSCPN is in recognizing broader philosophical problems. For instance, histori- ans of science have shown how cultural differences within national or between regional organizations 54 J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 123 often dampen paradigm changes in the general area of study (Browne 1996). Can our model illuminate factors such as this and thus avoid intellectual imperialism? Can ideas and hypotheses spread quickly throughout the network, or will resistance to change and other barriers make communication ponderous? Is there a Step 7 in our GCSPN model? Finally, these preliminary results from comparisons of tiger beetles and conservation biology highlight some specific actions that can be taken immediately. For instance in the area of communication between technical and popular audiences, a basic conservation biology goal, should or can we avoid or ameliorate Step 6? (1) Three simple changes in writing style and edito- rial format could make communication easier across a spectrum of readers. First, the abstract and summary of an article can be written in a style that simplifies complex concepts for non-profes- sionals (Gopen and Swan 1990; Knight 2003). Second, for many non-scientific readers, citations in parentheses may become a barrier that disrupts comprehension, a possibility rarely addressed or tested by scientific authors (Rudolph 2003). Using less obtrusive superscript numbers to key cita- tions is one simple change that might broaden communication. This format is already used in several prestigious journals, such as Science, Nature and Trends in Ecology and Evolution. Third, even though metaphors are central to how we think about things, especially when explaining complex concepts to the uninitiated (Short 2000), the editors of some journals, such as Conservation Biology, explicitly discourage authors from using metaphors. Encouraging the use of suitable met- aphors to enhance communication might prove more appropriate (Chew and Laubichler 2003). (2) Although administrators and professional col- leagues may demand publications in peer- reviewed journals for promotion and tenure, less prestigious methods for communicating results to the public, such as newspaper and magazine articles, books, and web sites, must receive more than a tacit blessing. (3) Even though most professional conservation biologists lack the talent or time to communicate with the public as well as Rachel Carson, Jared Diamond, Aldo Leopold, or E.O. Wilson, there are talented science writers, such as David Qua- men, Jonathan Weiner and Peter Matthiessen, who can make complex scientific writing com- prehensible and attractive to a wide range of the public who have little or no science background. Cooperating with these types of writers, even though credit may be diluted, could disseminate critical information effectively to a wider audi- ence. (4) Descriptions of new species of tiger beetles, nat- ural history observations, geographical distribu- tions, and seasonal records of occurrence and dispersion, as in many taxa, have by default been turned over largely to expert amateurs. However, not all professionals accept the resultant data as reliable. Recently the British social critics, Charles Leadbeater and Paul Miller (2004), identified a rapidly-growing involvement of ama- teurs in science from astronomy to medicine that is not fully recognized or utilized. These investi- gators are a new breed of largely self-trained experts or professional amateurs (Pro-Ams) who, using modern technology, such as the Internet, are producing significant innovations and discov- eries in a wide range of fields. Both the govern- ment and professionals need to facilitate the contributions of Pro-Ams and be prepared to share the stage with them. Conclusions As is typical of model-testing, results often reveal exceptions, unforeseen data, and other anomalies. One accepted procedure in the face of such problems, is to incorporate these unexpected results into a more gen- eralized and useful model. From results of our pre- liminary consilience tests of the GCSPN, several changes are evident that would make the model more useful. For instance, the history of tiger beetles shows that productive researchers can be working simulta- neously in several if not all the steps, especially at later times in the history of a scientific field. Thus it might be more accurate to consider the steps as benchmarks in a continuum rather than linear chronological progres- sions or irreversible advances. Also, even within well- defined taxa, amateur and professional lines of change appear to diverge into parallel lines rather than follow a single evolving line of science used in the original model (Battalio 1998) (Fig. 1). These parallel lines often have cross lines of influence and varying levels of communication. The different lines each may have their own characteristic benchmarks (Fig. 3). It is also obvious that broader fields, such as conservation biol- ogy, build on the work of contributing areas of interest and incorporate their histories rather than follow an independent disciplinary track. Thus, in these suc- J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 55 123 ceeding fields, the velocity of change along the time continuum could be expected to be faster and with entire groups of lines converging. To better understand the model, future tests are needed to clarify not only its patterns but the causes of the patterns. Consilience comparisons of the history of additional taxa or disciplines are one obvious approach. Do all taxa and fields follow the same sequence of steps? Do some histories reveal accelerated progress through certain steps and not others? Accumulated similarities and differences among these histories will provide opportunities to look for their causes. Do factors such as species numbers, their conspicuousness, economic importance, number of investigators, and level of re- search funding influence patterns and advances in the progression of steps within a field? With an under- standing of various combinations of characteristics that might cause differences in development or speed of change, we would be in a better position to understand and apply the model. Among insects, taxa such as ants, cerambycid beetles, scarab beetles, butterflies, dragon- flies, and termites would be good candidates for test organisms (New 1984; 1991; 1998; Gaston et al. 1993; Samways 1994; 2005). Comparisons of the history of fields such as wildlife biology, population genetics, and landscape ecology could also be enlightening. With some immediate solutions and the promise of even more important long range solutions made possi- ble by examinations of historical models, such as the GCSPN, we can be encouraged that conservation biology can make use of its history and learn from it. For instance, Leadbeater and Miller’s thesis indicates that with conscious effort the diverging model in Fig. 3 might morph eventually into a model with converging lines, at least between amateurs and early steps in the professional progression of changes. With improve- ments in the model and future tests of the process of science itself, we may have the best chance to develop foresight, learn from history, and better know if and what changes can be made to better reach our goals. We need not be doomed to repeat history, and even more positively, it may well be that, ‘‘We know the future only by the past we project into it’’ (Gaddis 2004). Acknowledgements We are indebted to J. Alcock, K.R. John- son, C.B. 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A model of the past using tiger beetles \(Coleoptera: Cicindelidae\) and conservation biology to anticipate the future Abstract Introduction Methods The historical model Test subjects Fig1 Results Step 1: Descriptive natural history and search for new species predominate Step 2: Now an experimental science rather than a natural history model Fig2 Step 3: Power is transferred from expert amateurs to trained professional scientists, and graduate training for employment in the field has become available Step 4: Systematics no longer dominant, and research focused more on theoretically complex issues with extensive use of graphs and statistical inference in publications Step 5: Formation of research teams and increasing evidence of socialization, such as use of acknowledgments sections, associations of peers, and co-authored publications Step 6: Technical terminology and methodology so refined they now limit the audience that can fully comprehend it Discussion Do the histories of tiger beetle studies and conservation biology follow the model? What uses does the GCSPN provide for identifying and attaining conservation biology goals? Conclusions Acknowledgements References CR1 CR2 CR3 CR4 CR5 CR6 CR7 CR8 CR9 CR10 CR11 CR12 CR13 Fig3 CR14 CR15 CR16 CR17 CR18 CR19 CR20 CR21 CR22 CR23 CR24 CR25 CR26 CR27 CR28 CR29 CR30 CR31 CR32 CR33 CR34 CR35 CR36 CR37 CR38 CR39 CR40 CR41 CR42 CR43 CR44 CR45 CR46 CR47 CR48 CR49 CR50 CR51 CR52 CR53 CR54 CR55 CR56 CR57 CR58 CR59 CR60 CR61 CR62 CR63 CR64 CR65 CR66 CR67 CR68 CR69 CR70 CR71 CR72 CR73 CR74 CR75 CR76 CR77 CR78 CR79 CR80 CR81 CR82 CR83 CR84 CR85 CR86 CR87 CR88 CR89 CR90 CR91 CR92 CR93 CR94 CR95 CR96 CR97 CR98 CR99 CR100 CR101 CR102 CR103 CR104 CR105 CR106 CR107 CR108 CR109 CR110 CR111 CR112 CR113 CR114 CR115 CR116 CR117 CR118 CR119 CR120 CR121 CR122 CR123 CR124 CR125 CR126 CR127 CR128 CR129 CR130 CR131 CR132 CR133 CR134 CR135 CR136 CR137 CR138 << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /None /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (None) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (ISO Coated) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Error /CompatibilityLevel 1.3 /CompressObjects /Off /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJDFFile false /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Perceptual /DetectBlends true /ColorConversionStrategy /sRGB /DoThumbnails true /EmbedAllFonts true /EmbedJobOptions true /DSCReportingLevel 0 /SyntheticBoldness 1.00 /EmitDSCWarnings false /EndPage -1 /ImageMemory 524288 /LockDistillerParams true /MaxSubsetPct 100 /Optimize true /OPM 1 /ParseDSCComments true /ParseDSCCommentsForDocInfo true /PreserveCopyPage true /PreserveEPSInfo true /PreserveHalftoneInfo false /PreserveOPIComments false /PreserveOverprintSettings true /StartPage 1 /SubsetFonts false /TransferFunctionInfo /Apply /UCRandBGInfo /Preserve /UsePrologue false /ColorSettingsFile () /AlwaysEmbed [ true ] /NeverEmbed [ true ] /AntiAliasColorImages false /DownsampleColorImages true /ColorImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /ColorImageResolution 150 /ColorImageDepth -1 /ColorImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeColorImages true /ColorImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterColorImages false /ColorImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /ColorACSImageDict << /QFactor 0.76 /HSamples [2 1 1 2] /VSamples [2 1 1 2] >> /ColorImageDict << /QFactor 0.76 /HSamples [2 1 1 2] /VSamples [2 1 1 2] >> /JPEG2000ColorACSImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /JPEG2000ColorImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /AntiAliasGrayImages false /DownsampleGrayImages true /GrayImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /GrayImageResolution 150 /GrayImageDepth -1 /GrayImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeGrayImages true /GrayImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterGrayImages true /GrayImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /GrayACSImageDict << /QFactor 0.76 /HSamples [2 1 1 2] /VSamples [2 1 1 2] >> /GrayImageDict << /QFactor 0.15 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /JPEG2000GrayACSImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /JPEG2000GrayImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /AntiAliasMonoImages false /DownsampleMonoImages true /MonoImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /MonoImageResolution 600 /MonoImageDepth -1 /MonoImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeMonoImages true /MonoImageFilter /CCITTFaxEncode /MonoImageDict << /K -1 >> /AllowPSXObjects false /PDFX1aCheck false /PDFX3Check false /PDFXCompliantPDFOnly false /PDFXNoTrimBoxError true /PDFXTrimBoxToMediaBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXSetBleedBoxToMediaBox true /PDFXBleedBoxToTrimBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXOutputIntentProfile (None) /PDFXOutputCondition () /PDFXRegistryName (http://www.color.org?) /PDFXTrapped /False /Description << /DEU /ENU >> >> setdistillerparams << /HWResolution [2400 2400] /PageSize [2834.646 2834.646] >> setpagedevice
work_k3gvqd3vyjg5fnhsujgc7debyu ---- Spring 2010 69 Mac Wellman and the Language Poets: Chaos Writing and the General Economy of Language Keith Appler Shake the flour can, get the particles. You lift the rod one inch too far, and the core’s crazy, you’re plastered on account of the ceiling. —Mac Wellman’s Cellophane By the time Marjorie Perloff would write the foreword to the 2001 Cellophane: Plays by Mac Wellman, she would note that, in addition to Bertolt Brecht, Samuel Beckett, Sam Shepard, and Harold Pinter, Mac Wellman also “recalls . . . the language poets–Bruce Andrews, Charles Bernstein, Steve McCaffery–who are his contemporaries.”1 Wellman, a prolific experimental playwright, has corresponded with Bernstein at least since 1977,2 and among Wellman’s extensive bicoastal associates is the Language poet Douglas Messerli, founder of Sun and Moon Press of Los Angeles. Wellman, described as a “language” writer by New York Times reviewer Mel Gussow in 1990,3 is identified as a Language poet in 2008 by Helen Shaw in her foreword to Wellman’s third major play collection. Shaw writes that Wellman “has been the deconstructionists’ mountaintop; he has read the very choppy tablets given down by the Black Mountain gang and the Language Poets (he is one). But he also returns to us [in the theatre] with their message.”4 Shaw’s identification of Wellman as a Language poet in no way diminishes his importance in the theatre, although his first plays were radio plays adapted from his poetry, and his dramatic works, always off-beat, suggest his “poetical” preoccupation with producing unconventional and emphatically non-didactic effects through linguistic and theatrical means. His plays have appeared in New York and on the West Coast since the late 1970s, when he was quickly successful in winning grants and awards for his plays, as well as forming important theatre relationships. The one with En Garde Arts director Anne Hamburger led to the site-specific plays Crowbar, at the Victory Theatre on Broadway, and Bad Penny at Bow Bridge, in Central Park. Wellman and composer David Lang collaborated on The Difficulty of Crossing a Field. Collections of Wellman’s plays have been published by major Keith Appler teaches at the University of Macau and writes on plays and institutionality in the 1980s and 1990s. 70 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism academic presses, among them Johns Hopkins University Press and University of Minnesota Press. His prominence as a playwright rose in the mid- to late 1980s with bicoastal productions and important notice in the New York Times and in American Theatre magazine, and publication in Yale’s Theater journal of his first manifesto (“The Theatre of Good Intentions”) attacking middlebrow theatre. The study which follows focuses on two of three plays associated with an experiment in “bad writing,” Cellophane and Terminal Hip, that stand apart in Wellman’s always-experimental drama as his most sustained use of nonsense to produce non-meaningful effects. Less will be said about Three Americanisms, the third play in the bad-writing series, which takes a new direction. However, all three of these plays demonstrate Wellman’s strong affinity with Language poetry, which emerges most clearly in them just as deconstruction and chaos theory are becoming conversant with one another. While the Language poets, who emerged in the late 1970s, are a heterogeneous group,5 they have tended to be politically progressive, theory-driven, and modernist in their self-definition. This modernism registers in Charles Bernstein’s 1992 declaration that “[w]e can act: we are not trapped in the postmodern condition if we are willing to differentiate between works of art that suggest new ways of conceiving our present world and those that seek rather to debunk any possibilities of meaning.”6 At the same time, the Language poets eschew binary and linear thinking, and have absorbed deconstruction in their poetry and their theories. By way of a notion of the deconstructive “general economy” of language, Bernstein and McCaffery agree that forms of expression (letters, words, images, sounds, gestures–language in its materiality) are of a completely different order from the institutions (contents of expression) in which they are situated or the official narratives (forms of content) with which their writing is engaged. These ideas derive from Georges Bataille and also from the Copenhagen linguist Louis Hjelmslev.7 Bernstein and McCaffery agree that meaning elides the materiality of expression to “refer to” (or to produce the look of) a stable order of reality and that in the postmodern, as power’s meaningful repetitions (or reifications) have saturated everyday life, they must resist power by reasserting the materiality of expression. Unless poetry resists reproducing the “natural” correspondence of expression with content, it would be, like ideologically complicit academic verse,8 part of the problem. Bernstein’s goal is, he writes, “to throw a wedge into this engineered process of social derealization.”9 The Language poet’s goal for cognition and understanding has been, George Hartley explained in 1989, “baring the frame” of the “production of meaning through the syntactical organization of force.”10 Wellman is equally committed to asserting the materiality of expression in Spring 2010 71 its spoken, written, and theatrical forms. He wrote in 1984 that “[a]rtists and thinkers of our time are engaged in a war against . . . the tyrannical domination of meanings so fixed, so absolute, as to render the means of meaning, which is to say the heart and soul of meaning, a mere phantom.”11 Wellman, Bernstein, and McCaffery all have resisted the institutions of their genres while producing, as a kind of surplus value, a powerful affect that can be simultaneously alienating and absorbing for readers and spectators, at least for those who are not merely alienated by the strangeness of some of their work. In ordinary life, affect is an unformed feeling that lasts for half a second: it takes a half second for a stimulus response to form affect into an emotion and a direction within the frames of perception and meaning.12 One effect of Language writing is to extend that half second for the duration of the performance. The Language writer achieves this when his or her forms of expression keep the spectator at the border between meaning and nonsense. In ways that I will develop below, this is the border where meanings that leap into view are overwhelmed by meanings and nonmeaning in the next instant. This is the border between meaning, formed as a restrictive economy and lost in an instant, and the general economy of language. The relationship between the general economy as a flow of language expression is staged in this model as a relationship of nonrelation with a restrictive economy, which constrains that flow of expression according to the contents of expression, understood as expressive modes and conduits that conform to forms of content, understood as the ideological order. Meaning expresses that ideological order and, as expression, recedes into the background as language refers itself to objects in the world. However, a practice that exploits the gap between expression and the ideological order to foreground the nonrelation of expression to this order is one that returns expression to the general economy and leaves the spectator at its threshold in an affective state of intensity. The affective state of intensity can be apprehended, as I will show in comparing two of Wellman’s plays, Cellophane and Terminal Hip, to Language poetry. But beyond describing the state itself we enter immediately into a host of problems accounting for the connections, if any, among authorial intentions, audience response, and critical interpretation. My purpose here is to explain the production of the affective state, but it is also to engage, if tentatively, with the theories that inspire these uses of language. With the Language poets, Wellman among them, this requires elaborating some important theoretical linkages. Wellman’s embrace, in the early 1990s, of chaos theory is compatible with the deconstructive language practices so far described, if we are to understand the singular enunciation as a convergence of different systems (forms of expression, contents of expression, and forms of content) in relations of nonrelation. The convergence of these systems forms a complex interaction of constraints, producing new potential for variation within a more complex system. Theoretically this convergence of constraints and 72 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism potentials, in the singular enunciation, produces unpredictable effects, potentially at different scales. N. Katherine Hayles writes that deconstruction and chaos theory, deriving as they do from the same episteme, had come, by the early 1990s, into productive conversation with one another.13 It is no surprise then that Wellman, a fellow traveler of the Language poets, should make his “chaos theory turn” at this moment, especially as he was, like Tom Stoppard, under the influence of James Gleick’s 1988 book Chaos: Making a New Science.14 Hayles’s point about the cultural importance of chaos at the time had to do with its appropriation, by cultural critics and artists, as a new way of conceiving and deconstructing the edifices of power. For artists and critics (if not for scientists), the ideas associated with chaos theory gave new credibility to nonrational and nonlinear ways of conceiving the world.15 William W. Demastes, writing of the “theatre of chaos,” remarks that “chaos as a paradigm is revolutionary because it asks us to see the world from a different metaphorical stance. It is the metaphor that hits the mark in ways others to varying degrees have not. In fact, often chaos is quite literal and not metaphorical at all.”16 But here I will say that in drama, it is not the metaphorical chaos allegories like Stoppard’s Arcadia and Wellman’s Cat’s Paw, but Wellman’s chaotic, nonmetaphorically effective plays Cellophane and Terminal Hip that, owing to the interplay of expressions and contents, present the chaotic phenomena upon which chaotic Language writing is to be theorized. Theoretically, our route through the Language poets is the straightest route from Wellman’s language practice, consisting in the production of affective intensity, to an understanding of the relevance of his invocations of chaos theory. The Radioactivity of Language There is, of course, no escaping meaning, and even cognate lexemes are “radioactive” with meanings, including connotations, which carry their emotional charge. In discussions of poetic nonsense in the last decade many have begun, as does Perloff, with reference to Gertrude Stein, for whom “nonsense” is not the absence of meaning, but the frustration of a total system in which some meanings are advanced and others repressed. Perloff writes, “But words, as even Gertrude Stein recognized, have meanings, and the only way to MAKE IT NEW is not to pretend that meaning doesn’t exist but to take words out of their usual contexts and create new relationships among them.”17 When the Language poet James Sherry complains that poetry’s “old forms are radioactive with the half- lives that constructed them,’”18 or when, in a similar vein (referring to Bernstein’s “business poems”), Perloff writes that “the pieces of the puzzle are always already contaminated, bearing, as they do, the traces of the media discourses . . . in which they are embedded,”19 “radioactivity” is understood as the toxicity of words, official discourses, and outmoded forms. One cannot detoxify language; one can, Spring 2010 73 however, exploit this toxic radioactivity by raising its kinetic level. Although Bernstein is no ideologue, he understands ideology as highly useful for producing what he would consider nonideological effects: he writes that “[i]deology . . . everywhere informs poetry and imparts to it, at its most resonant, a density of materialized social being expressed through the music of the work as well as its multifoliate references.” The connotations–investments and repudiations– surrounding culturally and/or politically freighted buzz words and scare words carry their histories with them: they are radioactive with those histories and lend their intensities to the musical flow of language. That Bernstein values mostly the intensification of fragmentary ideological reference is registered in his statement about the poetry scene of the early 1990s: “[t]he state of American poetry can be characterized by the sharp ideological disagreements that lacerate our communal field of action, making it volatile, dynamic, engaging.”20 For Wellman, ideological meaning is also, in itself, “worthless, as are the foundations of knowledge.”21 In the early 1980s, Wellman appears to have un- derstood reification in its larger ideological forms even as he filled his plays with small breaks in the flow of the action, including non sequiturs and other surprises. Ideology was associated in these earlier plays with characters whose modes of thought, owing to the reifications in society, were not fully engaged with reality. Wellman himself explains that his 1983 Bad Infinity was the conclusion of a five- play series (including Energumen, Diseases of the Well-Dressed, The Professional Frenchman, and The Self-Begotten)22 in which he was interested in contemporary “logic,”23 and we see that this final play features a more or less static Chekhovian lineup of “thinkers”: the affectless (postmodern) artist John Sleight; the messianic Megan; the sentimental bourgeois murderer Ramon; Deborah, a spirit of negation; and Sam, the anarchosocialist (modernist) artist. A countersign to this postmodern disengagement from history was the philosopher Hegel. In Wellman’s plays of the early 1980s, the Hegelian dialectic (dialectics in its “nonideological” form) does not operate well, owing to the reifications Bernstein and others have identified. If in Hegelian terms “spirit” must engage with history as necessity in order to transcend itself in a new synthesis, then history must be available in some more concrete way. Wellman, describing his work as “affective fantasy,” blames “a refusal to accept any kind of dialectic in the workings of society” for “the strange malaise in our playwriting.”24 This is an aspect of a simulacral condition Wellman thematizes as the Hegelian “bad infinity” where, owing to postmodern reifications, spirit (desire, creativity) can get no traction in its nonencounter with history (or necessity): the synthesis of the dialectical process does not take place.25 Or, more in keeping with Bernstein,26 Wellman’s dialectic may correspond more fully with Theodor Adorno’s negative dialectics. According to Adorno, a “successful work . . . is not one which resolves objective contradictions in a spurious harmony, but one which expresses the idea of harmony negatively by embodying the contradictions, 74 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism pure and uncompromised, in its innermost structure.”27 In this case, while there is no escape from the bad infinity of the modern world, art may, through means of embodiment that eschew meaning, offer a more vital engagement with the bad infinity of postmodern reification. Hartley writes that “[i]t is the achievement of many Language poets to think beyond the stalemate of the paradigmatic question [of meaning and ideology] and to pose poetry as an exploration of the syntagmatic. . . . The role of poetry thus shifts from denying to revealing, unveiling, discovery.”28 It is their achievement, that is, to exploit the radioactivity of language, which, for Hartley, is to engage “dialectically” with the individual sign and sequence of signs to produce from these a “negative” but ultimately affirmative complexity. Extending his concern with dialectics into the writing of work more like Language poetry itself, Wellman took up, a year later in 1984, his experiment in “bad writing,” which carried on for over two years29 alongside the writing and production of plays like Dracula (1987) and Whirligig (1988). The bad-writing experiment resulted in Cellophane and Terminal Hip, and a later third play, Three Americanisms, which is the only one of the three indebted to Gleick’s book. The bad-writing plays, essentially Language poems, are the clearest connection between Wellman’s art and that of the Language poets. In ways I will develop, they are the most chaotic of his plays, so much so that only the most provisional interpretations may be offered by one always fearful of “[b]ark[ing] up the wrong tree.”30 For example, provisional interpretation might suggest that the combination, across the field of writing from which Cellophane and Terminal Hip derive, of the Eliotic wasteland, Whitman’s self-song in the grass, Roethke’s “fragile” “Edenic pastoralism,”31 and no doubt other intertexts besides suggests a tortuous relationship between the self and nature, a troubled connection to the poetic tradition, and even the old affirmation, across a field of garbage (environmental, cultural, political). By way of the ubiquitous letters “X” and “Y” (almost always readable as syntax’s x-axis and grammar’s y-axis, respectively), the writing and reading of poetry, including the violence of interpretation to the poem’s syntactical flow, are also suggested. To focus briefly on the individual plays, a reading of Terminal Hip may justify Wellman’s claim that he was seeking religious meaning, but not in the West. Terminal Hip may owe its “structure” (or vague mimicry of signs that, read together, recall a narrative, perhaps the “ghostly narrative” Wellman mentions32) to Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” in Leaves of Grass, a poem structured in turn on the career of Christ. Wellman told David Savran that, in the bad-writing plays, he “wasn’t trying to make any sense or tell a story” but that he “found certain patterns emerging. I found a sort of lofty poetic line developing that reminded me of Whitman.”33 While in the play’s conclusion “a panda ghost sinks to the center of the world and sits there and sings,” several pages earlier he has recalled the crucifixion (Whitman’s “Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me. / I Spring 2010 75 troop forth replenish’d with supreme power . . .” [969-70]) when he writes: How he on X feigned Y, hounded the Savior all his days, inspired his Xification, got Him no gumballs, derided him in His final agony, gambled for His garments at the foot of the cross, the whole kit and kaboodle. Philip Botely shows symptoms of X. Philip Boxley has not been vaccinated against hypofluvia. We see here the appropriation of Christ’s passion to “X,” which is identified, never more clearly than here, with syntactical “hypofluvia” or flow. Then, back at the beginning of the poem-play, there are lines like “Men like signs. Signs make sense of things” (Whitman’s “Or I guess [the grass] is a uniform hieroglyphic” [106]). And moving forward, as does Whitman’s speaker (“It is time to explain myself—let us stand up” [1134]): “Gotta move sideways, all balled up like so. . . . Moving sideways to escape detection.” And there is, of course, the pervasive hint of betrayal (Whitman’s “They have left me helpless to a red marauder” [635]): “Pay off X in the name of Y, advance career through artful changes.”34 Like that of Terminal Hip, the conclusion of Cellophane also echoes the conclusion of another poem to alert one retrospectively to other quotations and echoes: this time it is T. S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” (“We have lingered in the chambers of the sea / By sea-girls wreathed in seaweed red and brown” [129-30]). Wellman writes: “Limos in limo heaven, with little limo wings./Burning limos, in limo holocaust O aer./Dreaming limos at the bottom of the sea. In the first part, “From Mad Tomatoes,” there is a dramatic structure consisting of the speaker, generally identified by the verb form “am”; a “you,” which “am” berates and lectures (Prufrock’s “Let us go then, you and I” [Line 1]); and the “labernath,” which is a powerful liar. “Wow that labernath!” the speaker says, and “Who as has the labernath him do all,” but the labernath cannot be trusted: “You go aks at him labernath. / They tell you some crowe. / They tell you some indeed crowe.” The labernath may be associated with “at cat,” which seems to me to suggest a condition of displacement, dissonance, and alienation, a common condition (“We all was / At cat”) which might have been avoided: “it mighta could if we all hadda been / of one mind.” Perhaps owing to the labernath and the condition of being at cat, the “Mad Tomatoes” denouement seems to consist of Eliot’s dead crossing London Bridge, not in “Prufrock” but in The Waste Land: “The X’s. / The Y’s. / Came across in and out. / All / At cat like they knew,” and the upshot is “Longtime looksee allatime at zero am.” Is this the zero-degree of the “affectless” postmodern world? Meanwhile language becomes thematized by the play of binaries. At cat as “not once at dog am,”35 suggesting the Saussurean description of binary signifiers and its legacy in poststructural difference: in contradiction to “at dog,” “at cat” forms a signifier; as a singular 76 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism signified, “cat” is distinguished from the pack animal signified by “dog”: we are operating on social and linguistic levels, and perhaps others besides, to suggest a condition of—what, anomie? Entropy? Postmodernity? Countercultural failure? The breakdown of the Cold War consensus? The nature of a Language poem? Signs are selected and arranged to evoke questions about patterns of meaning, but these questions go unanswered. Cellophane’s next part, “From Hollowness,” continues to gesture toward meanings relating to environmental damage and also to a loss of meaning and spirituality. With respect to the American landscape, this section is filled with scenes of devastation and, in Part 2, it is hard not to associate the polluted river, “Cellophane wrapers all the way to the bank,” not only with the Thames of The Waste Land, but also with the Cuyahoga River flowing into Lake Erie through Cleveland (“Heaps of industrial hooha all the way, yeah! To the bank. Yeah!”), Wellman’s home town, which was so filled with chemicals that in 1969 it caught fire (“All the same on fire shall have did am. / By the dump all the way to the bank”). Here it is easy to see the slide from effects (dumps, river fires) to causes (industrialization, banks). With respect to the cultural and the political, “labernath” is a highly ambiguous figure, which could refer to the Borgesian labyrinth or the Language poem. “From ’S Sake,” the play’s third part, suggests that God, the author-god or god-the-subject is missing. However, for the first time in Cellophane, we encounter the word “I,” both in reference to Jesus (“I am the way, Jesus said, and the light and the life”) and in reference perhaps to the speaker: “I don’t know who I am. . . . I am thoroughly at sea in the weariness of prolonged political emptiness.” This mode is much more confessional and metacritical if we keep our focus on a linguistic relationship between X and Y: “[a] well-oiled insoluable conundrum transfixes X in the name of Y while down the road some man is trying to find Y′ in the crowe’s eye strange.” That is, a personal resolution can be effected by being the man down the road looking for meaning in the crow’s eye, here Y-prime or a meaning displaced from the meaning offered by power. Or, on the contrary, the man may encounter the lying “crowe” which turned up earlier in the play. Associated with expression’s escape from power, here there may be an affirmation of the syntactical: “For X belongs”: “X to Y / X′ to somewheres they told of once in error. . . . X upon the uncharted road. / X on the move forever the blue the gasp the.” Parts 3 and 4 introduce a “he” and “she” and, by the beginning of Part 5 (right on schedule?), “am” seems to be, or to have become, “Fortune’s basket case”36—to echo what Megan, in The Bad Infinity, refers to as Romeo and Juliet’s “old-hat dead language.”37 In other words, there seems to be some struggle involving a man and a woman and perhaps even a crisis. But those outlines appear only erratically, if at all. Spring 2010 77 The Paragram and the General Economy To the foregoing remarks about Cellophane and Terminal Hip, Bernstein would say that “[t]he obvious problem is that the poem said in any other way is not the poem”: . . . think only of the undercurrent of anagrammatical transformations, the semantic contribution of the visual representation of the text, the particular associations evoked by the phonic configurations. These features are related to the “nonsemantic” effects that Forrest-Thomson describes as contributing toward the “total image-complex” of the poem.38 Here Bernstein is describing what Steve McCaffery calls the “paragram” as a form of expression: For while assignable to a certain order of production [content of expression], value, and meaning [form of content], the paragram [does] not derive necessarily from an intentionality or conscious rhetoricity and seem[s] an inevitable consequence of writing’s alphabetic, combinatory nature. Seen this way as emerging from the multiple ruptures that alphabetic components bring to virtuality, meaning becomes partly the production of a general economy, a persistent excess, nonintentionality, and expenditure without reserve through writing’s component letters. There is no transparency to language and meaning, and the production of meaning, owing to forms of, and even contents of, expression, is always already partly engaged in the production of nonsense, or the flow of the general economy of language. Or again as McCaffery puts it, the paragram is that aspect of language which escapes all discourse and which commits writing unavoidably to a general economy and to the transphenomenal paradox of an unpresentability that serves as a necessary condition of writing’s capacity to present. All of this suggests a constitutional nonpresence in meaning itself.39 78 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism Because the production of meaning is always also the production of elements and effects that are nonmeaningful, there is no meaning that is not also paragrammatic to a certain degree. The Language poets in their texts and performances and Wellman in his plays—the bad-writing plays especially—are merely directing their energies more than usual to the paragrammatic aspect of language and performance. Again, an interpretive descriptive procedure elides the actual process of reception, reading, and spectatorship. This process is chaotic, at least until the text is brought to order through the exercise of reading strategies. I will suggest that Wellman’s lines have an important affinity with Bernstein’s poetic practice. McCaffery quotes a 1979 text by Bernstein, which, while less readable than Wellman’s text, operates in a similar way: Ig ak abberflappi. mogh & hmog ick pug eh nche ebag ot eb v joram lMbrp nly ti asw evn dictcr ot heh ghtr rties. ey Ancded lla tghn heh ugrf het keyon. hnny iKerw. in VazoOn uv spAz ah’s ee ‘ook up an ays yr bitder guLpIng sum u pulLs. ig jis see kHe nig MiSSy heh d sogA chHooPp & abhor ih cN gt eGulfer ee mattripg40 Perloff tells us that, in Bernstein’s business poems, the enemy is the media and all systems of data processing that “suppress ‘redundancy’ or ‘noise’” in favor of a totalitarian monologism. Faced with the mechanical binarism and routinization of computer systems, a Language poet like Bernstein will create a linguistic and cultural countercurrent. Perloff writes, The poetic function, in this scheme of things, subordinates the informational axis (language used as a pure instrument of efficient communication) to what we might call the axis of redundancy, “meanings” now being created by all those elements of reference that go beyond the quantifiable communication of data from A to B.41 The informational axis, like the grammatical axis, is subjected, in this kind of Language poetry, to the noise axis, which corresponds to the syntagmatic. In McCaffery’s reading of Bernstein’s poem, whatever this text tries to mean is accompanied by a great deal of waste that, to the degree that it is not useful or recuperable as meaning, exemplifies the general economy of language. To begin with, this text is sufficiently “English” so that it is not completely separate from a restrictive economy, which is an economy of energy conservation and exchange. With respect to the form of expression, there is, in the materiality of the words Spring 2010 79 and word cognates, certain resemblances that loop back to meaningful language forms. Here we recognize the word “abhor” and cognates of other ordinary words, and the more words we recognize the greater our urge to interpret (to form, that is, our own restrictive economies). To do so we would then have to sift through the relentless lexical and typographical anomalies. Starting perhaps with “abhor,” meanings would accumulate, perhaps to the point where we might hazard an overall interpretation. The text baits us in our interpretive habit, and much of the interest and even pleasure of the text is registering the suspicious “words” that even suggest a cryptography and a cipher, lexemes like “dictcr” “‘ook up,” “guLpIng,” “MiSSy,” and so forth. McCaffery himself focuses on “in VazoOn uv spAz” as “‘invasion of space.’”42 But of course McCaffery’s point is that meaning’s advance and withdrawal prevents “all certainty of meaning.” As McCaffery puts it, the text displays a regulating, conservational disposition that limits and organizes the independent letters, pushing them toward the word as a component in the articulated production and accumulation of meaning, and the other disposition that drives the letters into nonsemantic material ensembles that yield no profit. Language’s dispositions tend in different directions, first toward meaning as a restrictive economy and second toward its nonmeaningful productivity, the general economy, which arises at the very instant it is trying to mean. The lure of interpretation may keep us interested; however, McCaffery’s point is that, while lexemes and lexical cognates, or typography, may “mean” at the particle level, the passage does not communicate a message but instead effects overall the “general rematerialization of language.” McCaffery writes, for example, that “Capitalization here serves no grammatical purpose but is simply a fortuitous registry of eruption at the meeting of the linguistic sign with its unincorporatable materiality.”43 That eruption is the appearance in our field of reading and interpreting of that in language writing which is unassimilable, impermeable, but also irrepressible: it is the infusion of the general economy into our own reading practice. Affectively, what happens is suggested by Bernstein in his description of the poems of Leslie Scalapino: it is the rhythm created by permutating the attentional beams, the chordal patterns created by her serial scannings, that create the musical coherence that takes the work beyond any distancing or dislocating devices that serve to build it. The refusal to be absorbed in any single focus on a situation gives way to a 80 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism multifocused absorption that eerily shifts, as an ambiguous figure, from anxious to erotic to diffident to hypnotic. The eerie shifts—ambiguity, anxiety, eroticism, diffidence, hypnosis—are all responses of an affective kind, any one of them too inchoate to describe as an emotion. The goal of Language poetry of this kind is to maintain an affective flight along the border between meaning and the general economy, even as it erodes the border. Bernstein says “the reader stays plugged into the wave-like pulse of the writing. In other words, you keep moving through the writing without having to come up for ideational air; the ideas are all inside the process.”44 As we have seen, Wellman’s bad-writing plays demonstrate or feint toward meaning repeatedly and even repeat the same gesture, but meaning is never fully produced. There is the intensity of recognition in the meaning that comes into view, and the intensity of its immediate withdrawal, what Wellman means in referring to the “pulled punch”: he writes that “[a]n incomplete action figures forth a shadow, or limb, that completes itself variously—like the flinch response to a pulled punch—in the imaginary space of an audience member’s consciousness.”45 The unkept promise of the incomplete proposition is a residual question or mystery. In this testimony, the incoherence of the signs and the theatrical effects lead to a spectatorly absorption over the course of the performance in the ephemeral impressions made by repetitions and other recognitions over time. Wellman’s “pulled punch” describes the gesture in which, in lieu of recognition and understanding, the spectator experiences the affective intensity of meaning denied or deferred and supplanted, in the next instance, by a different feint toward meaning. Bernstein identifies the affects produced this way as “absorption” and “impermeability”: the first, absorption, he writes, is “engrossing, engulfing / completely, engaging, arresting attention, reverie / attention intensification, rhapsodic, spellbinding, / mesmerizing, hypnotic, total, riveting, / enthralling: belief, conviction, silence.” The second, impermeability, includes “artifice, boredom, / exaggeration, attention scattering, distraction, / digression, interruptive, transgressive, / undecorous, anticonventional, unintegrated, fractured, / fragmented” and so forth. These affects form, Bernstein says, poetry’s “outer limit” and its “inner limit”: in other words, they are constraints on poetic response in the relative absence of meaning. In the relative absence of meaning, absorption and impermeability’s “intersection,” interface, or phase space is, Bernstein says, “flesh,”46 and in this way he suggests that the individual’s recourse is to bodily rhythms, with which absorption and impermeability are involved. As limits, these affects form the range of affect’s variability over the course of a reading or a spell of spectatorship: they form the bounds of chaos along a line running parallel with the flow of the general economy. In this chaotic system, meaning’s emergence and withdrawal can contribute to either absorptive or impermeable effects. Meaning Spring 2010 81 is essential as an intensifier so long as its subordination to the nonmeaningful production of affect can be maintained. McCaffery and Bernstein theorize the affective flow produced by Language poetry in terms of the forms of expression of the general economy of language and the reader’s contrasting dispositions toward and away from meaning. The Language poet agitates language with a cascade of meaningless and radioactive expressions that together sustain for a time an affective, rather than meaningful or emotional, intensity. The result is an affective and wasteful flow which develops only when power is prevented from enforcing a relation of nonrelation between expression, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, official discourse, including narratives and generic codes. Meaning forms when expression corresponds transparently with official discourse. Meaning forms when, owing to this transparency, an enunciation, always a pragmatic singularity, is made through repetition to appear to transcend its moment to take the form of truth. Language poetry reverses this process by denying expression its transparency, by supplanting repetition and the illusion of transcendence with variation in a series of enunciations, each a singular occasion for the contrastive dispositions toward and away from meaning with absorptive and alienating effects. These dispositions produce a flow of affect, owing to the recurrent pulled punch of meaning, which erodes the border between the general and restrictive economies. Writing to the General Economy and Writing to Rule This interplay between the general economy and a restrictive economy is the theoretical basis for a nonmetaphorical description of chaos writing offered by McCaffery and assented to by Bernstein. But what is gained, then, by identifying Language writing with a nonlinear complex system? Bernstein is—and is not— “suggesting that poetics, or poetry, is a chaotic system.” He writes that poetry is produced by, and complexly related to, a chaotic system. Poetry “charts the turbulent phenomenon known as human being, must reflect this in the nonperiodic flow of its ‘chaotic’ prosody.” Poetry, “in its most ecstatic manifestation,” is indeed a chaotic or “nonlinear dynamic system.” As a chaotic system, poetry is “constrained . . . controllable not in its flowering but in the progression toward chaos or move backward out of it: perhaps this is the narrative of a poem that poetics can address.”47 At most, Bernstein suggests that a chaotic prosody is set going by a combination of aesthetic and referential features, but its “flowering” is beyond apprehension, to say nothing of analysis. What actually goes on in the consciousness of a reader or spectator, once he or she has reached the “flinch” plateau under the incessant impact of pulled punches, is unknown. If this affective flight of language is unknowable, this fact would have important implications for understanding the relationship of chaos theory to a reading of Wellman’s plays. At the moment when he turns to chaos theory, 82 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism Wellman writes of the plays’ “fractal” nature.48 In terms of the affective process just described, 1) the (always singular) enunciation, “radioactive” with meaning, is affectively intense more than it is meaningful; 2) owing to the chaos of the meanings of the enunciation, the whole ideological order (form of content) is not repeated. What is repeatable, with variation, is the degree of chaos; 3) the repetition of a degree of chaos (the fractal)49 is always the repetition of the constraints on the singular enunciation, which include the form of content (the ideological order) and the contents of expression (rhetoric, grammar, body, voice, gesture, theatrical production, institutionality) imposed upon the enunciation. Expression is the most variable, while in each new enunciation, the same constraints are operative: the fractal degree of chaos, with some variation from enunciation to enunciation, is maintained. This degree of chaos, registered as affective intensity, is the degree of openness in the relation of nonrelation between expression and content. There is no way to measure this degree, except, perhaps, by wiring spectators to medical equipment to arrive at some kind of somatic signature. We infer from science that this degree of chaos, whatever it is, is self- similar from enunciation to enunciation, and from scale to scale, beginning with the (corrupted) lexeme and continuing to include the play itself. That the degree of chaos, as an aspect of reception, is unmeasurable is certainly suggested when Hayles herself makes no attempt to measure it. Hayles stresses the importance of “recursive symmetries”50 and the manner in which constraints feed back into each step in the writing and reading processes. She writes of the fundamental importance of ethics in the opening or closing of the writing procedure.51 Yet she never goes further in her description of chaos than to say that the text, in a given phase, is or is not complex. I have suggested that the Language poets, and Wellman in Cellophane and Terminal Hip, exploit the gap between expression and content to give materiality back to expression and to resist the suppression of expression in the service of meaning and power. The reader’s and spectator’s dispositions toward and away from meaning maintain an affective intensity. There is, in fact, no part of this model that is knowable except the features of the text or performance, although, as has been noted, Bernstein feels that poetics can describe in general the way that chaos in poetry comes into being. Wellman writes to the general economy in his bad-writing plays of the late 1980s and early 1990s: Cellophane, Terminal Hip, and to a great degree in Three Americanisms. He writes to rule in plays such as Cat’s Paw (1995). Spring 2010 83 A well-known example of writing to rule is offered by Perloff in Radical Artifice (1991), in which she discusses performances of John Cage’s Lecture on the Weather, once in 1984 in California and again in 1989 in Maryland. Perloff discusses both Cage’s procedure and her observation of the audience’s unconscious, somatic group response to the inclement “weather” to which Cage subjected it. Perloff, in ways implicitly unacceptable to McCaffery and Bernstein, suggests that the effects she describes were caused by the operation of Cage’s procedure. His goal, according to Perloff, was to bypass the law in the name of “discovery” because, as he says, “Of all professions the law is the least concerned with aspiration. It is concerned with precedent, not with discovery.” Using a “strictly planned mathematical system,” Cage extracts passages from the writings of Henry David Thoreau. Cage desires to use Thoreau’s writings, in Perloff’s words, to “[pay] homage to the qualities of American ingenuity, pragmatism, and good sense epitomized for Cage in the person of Thoreau” while avoiding the law (“precedent”) in the form of meaning. By employing a mathematical system for selecting texts from Thoreau, except for selecting the archive on which this system operates to begin with, Cage effaces himself and confounds the law’s operation through him, in the form of interpretation, aesthetic response, and so forth. As Perloff explains, the fixed rule of this mathematical system helped Cage to evade himself as a human system so that Thoreau’s language could be offered to an assembly of other people with diminished mediation. Perloff writes that the performance of Lecture on the Weather “functions as a ‘strange attractor’ or ‘unpredictable system’” so that, she continues, “[t]he performance . . . is not about [does not represent] the weather; it is weather.” Perloff writes, “the ‘lecture’ on the weather turns the simulated event into a real one, causing the audience to take shelter from the cruel elements.” In California, she says, the audience, arranged in some disorder in the space, responded to the storm in an interesting way. She reports that “[b]y the time the storm ‘broke,’ lightning flashes appearing on the large screen in the form of briefly projected negatives of drawings by Thoreau, the audience had become something of a football huddle. Everyone wanted to join together to get out of the storm.”52 Here the question is not so much the audience’s behavior, but how much a mathematical procedure had to do with it. Certainly Cage, in Perloff’s account, took every measure, within the rules he made, to eliminate himself from the equation as a subject, and Perloff describes the audience less as subjects, than as a statistical mass—a “huddle.” Yet the causal connection between Cage’s procedure and the group response to ordinary stimuli remains vague and probably insupportable. After all, the mathematical procedure used in arranging Thoreau’s writings cannot determine how spectators process Thoreau’s language in its radioactivity. McCaffery takes issue with the tendency of a rule, as a writing procedure, to maintain the author-subject as author of the 84 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism rule and agent of its implementation. Of Ron Silliman’s similarly procedural poem Ketjak, McCaffery writes, What is striking . . . is the work’s double orientation toward, on the one hand, a textual production through a “random” economy or a free play of signification . . . and on the other hand an accumulative, preservational movement committed to the noncontamination of a transcendental “procedure” that seems precisely modeled on the Hegelian aufhebung [sublation, transcendence, or synthesis] and permits the structure to foreground itself as a first-order attention. There is in the authorship, in other words, no erosion of the borders between the general economy and the procedure, which, as a transcendent fabrication, in theory would not really achieve the subject’s effacement or dissolution of self-consciousness. In other words, from the standpoint of authorship, it is a restrictive economy, one that does not deliver the consciousness of the spectator to the affective nonmeaning of the general economy. A page earlier, McCaffery writes that “[c]rucial in Hegel’s argument is the inviolable, irreducible status of self-consciousness itself. Transgression and the negative in the Hegelian system do not risk the loss of the subject.” Regarding Cage, McCaffery groups him with Silliman, noting that “[t]his Hegelian aspect applies to most instances of procedural writing.”53 It is suggested, then, that the encounter between the general economy and a mathematically sustained, “Hegelian” restrictive economy does not risk the subject as author in the writing. If Cage’s Lecture on the Weather did indeed, through the performance’s absorptive and impermeable effects, risk the subjectivity of the spectator, the mathematical procedure or rule may have operated for Cage mostly as an especially disciplined form of bad writing. Nor is the subject, either of author or spectator, at risk in Wellman’s Cat’s Paw: A Meditation on the Don Juan Theme.54 Begun in 1995 and first staged in 2000, Cat’s Paw is written according to rule even as it produces self-similarity as a metaphor. Like Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia (1993), the playwright’s intentions are clearly heuristic, so that, where chaos is concerned, the play serves more as a model of certain chaotic principles than, like the bad-writing plays, as an actual means of producing chaos. Arcadia was, Demastes tells us, “the first mainstream theatre product consciously designed to be a ‘chaos’ play.” Stoppard’s play is said to be arranged on the principle of fractal self-similarity, which means that the same fractal shape or formula occurs on different scales. Plays written on this principle are thought to be formally nonlinear to suggest the chaotic lives and feelings of individual persons. Concerning Arcadia, Demastes writes, “In the play, we have instances of self-similar repetition between 1809 and 1993, between Spring 2010 85 leaf and park, between the formation of Thomasina’s leaf and Bernard’s Byron story, between Septimus’s hermit project and Valentine’s computer calculations.” That is, the parallels are apparently significant. Demastes continues: “[e]ven the algorithmic graphing of the leaf (the smallest-scale system in the play) finds self- similar parallels in the very nonlinear, seemingly chaotic structure of the play (the largest scale system).”55 But for all the talk of mathematics, Demastes is correct to point to the metaphoricity of this kind of play. Dramaturgically, such a chaos play seems to involve fashioning parallels for the mind, the principal excitement being in contemplating this new chaos paradigm. Wellman’s Cat’s Paw is also a meditation on fractal self-similarity and, while Wellman more or less follows a rule he has made for himself, the play is one of the more realistic and linear plays in his oeuvre. Although this is a Don Juan play, Wellman’s self-imposed rule is that no men will appear in the play and that the women will not discuss men in the play. Men, especially as agents of abuse of women, are a present absence, introduced most apparently through references to experiences so traumatic for the women (occurring in Bermuda, Caracas, and Singapore), that they are the last thing the women wish to talk about. The parallels between traumas and the vertical, gravity-prone settings in which these scenes take place (the observation decks of the Empire State Building and of the World Trade Center; the fist of the Statue of Liberty, where Jo takes her daughter Lindsey by evading the guards; and the hallway of the court building during a hearing on Jo’s trespass the scene before) provide a linear restaging of similar conflicts among characters. Lindsey, too young to have had her Don Juan event, is brimming with Young Republican aspiration, while the adult women, systemically complicated by their Don Juan events, range in dispositional polarity from the paranoid Jane to her ex-hippy mother, who embraced her Don Juan moment in a conscious pursuit of depravity. “Depravity,” she says, “was my object.”56 Jane’s mother is sufficiently self-aware to observe that she is herself “unself-similar”57 and thus unlike her self-similar daughter, who wears men’s clothes and who, ironically, seems much more constrained in her artsy New York City milieu than her mother is in Iowa. Jane’s mother says, “I feel rich and full and large with hopefulness, blood, and a sense of true being.” Even in her depravity she was, she says, “true to my nature, and to the clothes I wore.”58 The suggestion seems to be, not that Jane’s mother is free from constraint, but that her fractal evolution (variation in repetition) has been different from that of anyone else in the play, which makes her in that dramatic context capable of radically troubling her daughter and the worldview with which she is associated. Again, the play presents chaos mostly as a metaphor, the no-man rule notwithstanding. Conclusion: Back to the Theatre More relentlessly than Cat’s Paw and many other plays, Cellophane and 86 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism Terminal Hip constrain the body by greatly reducing extra linguistic theatrical potential in order to exploit the radioactivity of language. These plays were part of another Wellman experiment. If Wellman may have been in some sense a Language poet all along, the bad-writing experiment brought the poet fully out of the closet. He chose not to take this particular form very far. I have tried here to describe the nonmeaningful exploitation of the radioactivity of language, and, provisionally, its production of an affective state of intensity. Of course the style can be frustrating to those insistent on meaning. “When Terminal Hip appeared in 1992, a Los Angeles Times reviewer concluded, “it may be hip, but why bother and who cares?”59 Yet eight years later, a second Los Angeles reviewer wrote that there “emerges [a] different kind of sense . . . if you concede the all-but-futile battle of trying the parse [the] monologue for linear semantic content, and instead let Wellman’s recurring imagery and the carefully crafted mood shifts in James Martin’s staging guide the experience.”60 They know that they often must preach to the converted. McCaffery writes that “THE TEXTUAL INTENTION PRESUPPOSES READERS WHO KNOW THE LANGUAGE CONSPIRACY IN OPERATION.”61 This raises important questions about the institutional constraints on artistic power. The butterfly effect of avant-gardism has yet to be conclusively established. Meanwhile, I hope I have shown that in the 1990s the Language poets inhabited the same discursive formation as deconstruction and chaos theory, two isomorphic systems. All three were in some sense radioactive, i.e., complex mutual intensifiers, especially for those who needed to appropriate them to imagine an escape from the postmodern. The radioactive or theoretical relation of nonrelation characterizing this discursive (or antidiscursive) formation of expression (Language poetry, deconstruction, chaos theory) engaged with postmodern forms of content to express the impulse to escape. This escape entailed no physical relocation but productive engagement (if that were possible) with the bad infinity of reified postmodern culture. Bernstein’s “poetics” tells us that Language poetry, in the end, exists “to provoke response and to evoke company.”62 The modesty of the Language poets’ claims is striking, as is the note of piety, because nothing is guaranteed. Meanwhile, Wellman’s theatre remains, in its affective intensity, a “theatre of wonders.”63 Notes 1. Marjorie Perloff, Foreword, Cellophane: Plays by Mac Wellman (Baltimore: PAJ, 2001) xi. 2. The register of Bernstein’s papers, 1962-2000, at the University of California, San Diego (Mandeville Special Collections Lib., Geisel Lib., mss. 0519, 10 Sept. 2009 ) indicates that the archive contains correspondence from Wellman between 1977 and 1993, as well as his unpublished paper submitted for the L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Book. 3. Mel Gussow writes that “Language is reaffirming itself in the American theatre, and the harbingers are Mac Wellman, Eric Overmyer and David Ives. In a reaction against the recent emphasis Spring 2010 87 on performance art, they value words—the polysyllabic as well as colorful vernacular. In common, their dialogue has an imaginative intellectual base. By intention, these plays begin with a rational impulse, seem to be written intuitively and generally end at recognizable destinations, but the journey can be outrageous—a trip to a Xanadu of the mind” (“Playwrights Who Put Words at Center Stage,” New York Times 11 Feb 1990: H:5). 4. Helen Shaw, “Foreword: Mac Wellman and Things of the Devil,” The Difficulty of Crossing a Field: Nine New Plays by Mac Wellman (Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2008) vii-xii. 5. George Hartley, Textual Politics and the Language Poets (Bloomington: Indiana U P, 1989) 6. 6. Charles Bernstein, A Poetics (Cambridge, MA: Harvard U P, 1992) 92, emphasis in original. 7. Steve McCaffery, in “Writing as a General Economy,” Artifice and Indeterminacy: An Anthology of New Poetics, ed. Christopher Beach (Tuscaloosa: U of Alabama P, 1998), quotes Bataille’s definition of a general economy as that which “‘makes apparent that excesses of energy are produced [that] can only be lost without the slightest aim, consequently without meaning’” (201). With regard to Hjelmslev, McCaffery writes that he “is one of several contemporary linguists who distinguish language as a system from its material support in sound and ink. . . . As its material support, sound and ink are separable from the signifying process, but at the same time the process is unsupportable without it. In light of this one could consider language’s materiality as meaning’s heterological object, as that area inevitably involved within the semantic apparatus that meaning casts out and rejects” (203). 8. Hartley writes that Language writing stems from “the rejection of the dominant model for poetic production and reception today [1989]–the so-called voice poem[, which] depends on a model of communication that needs to be challenged: the notion that the poet (a self-present subject) transmits a particular message (‘experience,’ ‘emotion’) to a reader (another self-present subject) through a language which is neutral, transparent, ‘natural’” (xii). 9. Bernstein 3. 10. Hartley 96. 11. Mac Wellman, “The Theatre of Good Intentions,” Performing Arts Journal 13.3 (1984): 59. 12. Brian Massumi, in “The Autonomy of Affect,” Cultural Critique 31 (Fall 1995), explains the missing half-second: “Experiments were performed on patients who had been implanted with cortical electrodes for medical purposes. Mild electrical pulses were administered to the electrode and also to points on the skin. In either case, the stimulation was felt only if it lasted more than half a second: a half a second, the minimum perceivable lapse. If the cortical electrode was fired a half-second before the skin was stimulated, patients reported feeling the skin pulse first. The research speculated that sensation involves a ‘backward referral in time’–in other words, that sensation is organized recursively before being linearized, before it is redirected outwardly to take its part in a conscious chain of actions and reactions. Brain and skin form a resonating vessel. Stimulation turns inward, is folded into the body, except that there is no inside for it to be in, because the body is radically open, absorbing impulses quicker than they can be perceived, and because the entire vibratory event is unconscious, out of mind. Its anomaly is smoothed over retrospectively to fit conscious requirements of continuity and linear causality” (89). He continues that “the half-second is missed not because it is empty, but because it is overfull. . . . Will and consciousness are subtractive” (90, emphasis in original). 13. N. Katherine Hayles, Chaos Bound: Orderly Disorder in Contemporary Literature and Science (Ithaca: Cornell U P, 1990) 176. 14. Wellman not only borrows terms and concepts from Gleick in writing Three Americanisms, but his epigraph to the play quotes from Gleick, Cellophane: Plays by Mac Wellman (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U P, 2001) 186. Meanwhile, Tom Stoppard acknowledges his debt to Gleick in writing Arcadia in an interview with Mel Gussow (American Theatre [Dec. 1995]: 25). Stoppard said, “I thought that quantum mechanics and chaos mathematics suggested themselves as quite interesting and powerful metaphors for human behavior.” 15. Hayles 184. 16. William W. Demastes, Theatre of Chaos: Beyond Absurdism, into Orderly Disorder (Cambridge: Cambridge U P, 1998) 10. 17. Marjorie Perloff, The Poetics of Indeterminacy: Rimbaud to Cage (Princeton: Princeton U P, 1981) 75. 88 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism 18. Hartley 72. 19. Marjorie Perloff, Radical Artifice: Writing Poetry in the Age of Media, new ed. (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1994) 197. 20. Bernstein 2, 1. 21. Interview with Shawn-Marie Garrett, Theater 27.2-3 (1997): 91. 22. Mac Wellman, Cellophane: Plays by Mac Wellman (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U P, 2001) 60. 23. Mac Wellman, “Poisonous Tomatoes: A Statement on Logic and the Theater,” The Bad Infinity: Eight Plays (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U P, 1994) ix. 24. Wellman, “The Theatre of Good Intentions” 66, 65.. 25. Eric Overmyer explains the bad infinity as “a flawed system, which replicates itself forever” (“Mac Wellman’s Horizontal Avalanches,” Theater 21.3 [1990]: 55–56). Wellman, Overmyer writes, explores a number of such systems: geopolitics, fashion, economics, international banking, crime, criticism, media, language, and the theatre itself, or rather, the conventions of the conventional theatre. A Bad Infinity if ever there was one. (56) And yet, Overmyer also says I find Wellman’s work occasionally frustrating, as if he is pursuing an ideology of obfuscation, a strategy of deliberate inaccessibility in order to escape the received ideas of the theatre. But when I connect with his work, I understand it as I understand poetry, on a deep, cellular level. Much in life is unexplained, unexplainable, mysterious. So are Wellman’s plays. (56) In Overmyer’s discussion we see an odd tension between his philosophical explanation of Hegel’s phrase and his critical and affective responses to Wellman’s work. If a bad infinity has no productive engagement with anything but itself, wouldn’t the journey into the mysterious and unexplainable (operating on a deep cellular level) lead away from the flawed conventions operating in the bad infinities Overmyer identifies? Mightn’t it lead to a fuller engagement with history? 26. Bernstein describes a “strategy of tactics” with which “to think through . . . the relation among formal, antiaccommodationist, group-identified, cultural, regional, and gender-based poetic tactics so that they form a complementarity of critiques, projected onto an imaginary social whole in the manner of a negative dialectics” (164). Negative dialectics is Adorno’s response, Hartley writes, to his understanding that, owing to commodification and reification in modern life, “there is no positive Aufhebung [Hegel’s synthesis, sublation, or transcendence] of the dialectic” (58). In place of Absolute Spirit’s teleological unfolding through Spirit’s engagement with necessity, there is a bad infinity in which opposing objects remain in antagonistic juxtaposition because each object is itself self-contradictory. Each object has been set loose, by reification, from its referent in History to become a signifier/signified and has no absolute positivity with which to engage its other. Poetic tactics can foreground these contradictions or aporias with meaningful and nonmeaningful effect. The “imaginary social whole” Bernstein mentions is a projection that results from innumerable poetic encounters. If one can imagine it, there is a negative whole or totality that stands in opposition to its positive counterpart. 27. Quoted in Hartley (58). 28. Hartley 77. 29. Wellman, Cellophane 151. 30. Mac Wellman, Terminal Hip, The Bad Infinity: Eight Plays (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U P, 1994) 263. 31. Cary Nelson, Our Last First Poets: Vision and History in Contemporary American Poetry (Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1982) 47. 32. Wellman, Cellophane 152. 33. Personal Interview with David Savran, American Theatre (Feb. 1999): 19. 34. Terminal Hip 277, 270, 259, 267, 269. Spring 2010 89 35. Cellophane 184, 159, 156, 153, 158, 159, 154. 36. Cellphane, 160, 161, 168, 169, 166, 170, 157. 37. Wellman, The Bad Infinity 72. 38. Bernstein 16, 11. 39. McCaffery 206, emphasis in original. 40. Qtd. in McCaffery, “Writing as a General Economy” 211, emphasis added. 41. Perloff, Radical Artifice 187. 42. McCaffery, “Writing as a General Economy” 211-12. 43. 210-12. 44. Bernstein 81, 60. 45. Mac Wellman, “A Chrestomathy of 22 Answers to 22 Wholly Unaskable and Unrelated Questions Concerning Political and Poetic Theater,” Theater (Mar./Apr. 1993): 43. 46. Bernstein 29-30, 66, 86. 47. 167. 48. Interview with Shawn-Marie Garrett 88. 49. N. Katherine Hayles writes that “[a]n important difference between fractal and Euclidean geometry is the scale-dependent symmetries of fractal norms” (165). Hayles further explains that “[s] caling, as Mandelbrot uses the term, does not imply that the form is the same for scales of different lengths, only that the degree of ‘irregularity and/or fragmentation is identical at all scales’” (166). 50. 13. 51. In Hayles’s discussion of the novels of Stanislaw Lem she explains “his belief that literature must be about something other than textuality if it is to engage ethical questions” (121). Yet ethics as reference to the things of the world and adjudicating right and wrong would seem to be a second-order operation. The first-order operation is to create a space for writing by establishing a dialectic between “chance”–Hayles’s equivalent of the form of expression–and necessity, understood as referential “resistances” (121) to expression. This is “a dialectic that ceaselessly renews itself, wresting rational explanations from the enigmatic silence of the text even as it opens fissures within the text which subvert those explanations” (120). 52. Perloff, Radical Artifice 22-27. 53. McCaffery 209, 208, 209. 54. Mac Wellman, Cat’s Paw: A Mediation on the Don Juan Theme, Cellophane: Plays by Mac Wellman (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U P, 2001) 337. 55. Demastes 85, 102. 56. Wellman, Cat’s Paw 353. 57. 349. In the three-play sequence of the bad-writing plays, Three Americans is, as I suggested at the beginning, a transitional play in that it mostly retains the chaotic aspects of Cellophane and Terminal Hip while incorporating a new discourse of chaos theory and a gesture perhaps toward metaphorical self-similarity, suggested, as in the later play Cat’s Paw, by way of clothes. Three Americanisms, three poems pulled together in 1993 into one performance with three monologues, opposes the body to clothing, and, just as Jane’s mother tells her she should be ashamed of her clothes, it is the clothing of Second Man and First Woman of which they are ashamed. First Man is not ashamed of his clothes, perhaps because he is too chaotically preoccupied with staying alive. First Man, “A strange man,” citing fractal pattern and fractal properties, says, “I am caught forever on a Sierpinski carpet in a region infinitely sparse, infinitely many.” “The pointed hat,” he says, “is my American destiny.” Knowing what to do, he runs, he says, “as fast I can, with all my stuff in a red bandanna.” Second Man, “a bit more well-heeled,” is also less frantic and more apologetic: “I put on someone’s clothes not mine. / The clothes cling to my human nakedness. I am ashamed.” He has been complicit, he seems to be saying (referring again to Whitman), with the fact that “Grasses grow up and while away unexamined”; and, because America refuses to “approve the cut part” of the U.S. Constitution “about dancing–drunk–in the forest at night, howling before strange gods, all before sun-up, in strange hats, aglow?” he proclaims (Romeo and Juliet again) “A pox on all your houses, you.” Second Man is succeeded by First Woman, dressed in “dark clothes, perhaps in mourning,” who speaks of keeping one’s head down owing to a “wall of flying debris.” In contrast to her clothes and her dim view of Second Man, she says, “Being happy is my secret weapon in the war of all against all.” 90 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism Echoing, or prefiguring, Jesus H. Christ, the young African American woman in Sincerity Forever, she makes statements like “If the shoe fits, there’s something radically wrong with you, you loathsome, misnormal dickhead.” Yet her “feminist” spleen, too, resolves itself into the confession that the clothes she wears are not hers, and she is “ashamed” of this ideological betrayal of her “human nakedness” (Three Americanisms 187-205). 58. Wellman, Cat’s Paw 349, 353. 59. Philip Brandes, “Language Unravels in ‘Terminal Hip,’” Los Angeles Times 10 Nov. 2000: F26. 60. Nancy Churnin, “It May Be Hip But Why Bother and Who Cares,” Los Angeles Times 15 June 1992: F1. 61. Qtd. in Bernstein 64. 62 164. 63. The phrase “theatre of wonders” belongs to a collection of plays, Theatre of Wonders: Six Contemporary American Plays, edited by Wellman, which appeared from Sun and Moon Press (Los Angeles) in 1985. The collection contained plays by Len Jenkin, Jeffrey Jones, Des McAnuff, Elizabeth Wray, and Mac Wellman.
work_kaxsqdx77jgnpn42s4gdd3nomm ---- humanities Article There’s No Nostalgia Like Hollywood Nostalgia Thomas Leitch Department of English, University of Delaware, Newark, DE 19716, USA; tleitch@udel.edu; Tel.: +1-302-239-4100 Received: 15 September 2018; Accepted: 18 October 2018; Published: 19 October 2018 ���������� ������� Abstract: This essay argues that the complexities of the nostalgic impulse in Hollywood cinema are inadequately described by Svetlana Boym’s particular description of Hollywood as “both induc[ing] nostalgia and offer[ing] a tranquilizer” and her highly influential general distinction between restorative and reflective nostalgia. Instead, it contends that Hollywood departs in important ways from the models of both the restorative nostalgia established by the heritage cinema and Great Britain and the reflective nostalgia commonly found in American literature. Using a wide range of examples from American cinema, American literature, and American culture, it considers the reasons why nostalgia occupies a different place and seeks different kinds of expressions in American culture than it does in other national cultures, examines the leading Hollywood genres in which restorative nostalgia appears and the distinctive ways those genres inflect it, and concludes by urging a closer analysis of the more complex, multi-laminated nostalgia Hollywood films offer as an alternative to Boym’s highly influential categorical dichotomy. Keywords: American literature; heritage cinema; Hollywood; reflective nostalgia; restorative nostalgia Hollywood nostalgia deserves more respect. According to Svetlana Boym, the leading contemporary theorist of nostalgia: “Popular culture made in Hollywood, the vessel for national myths that America exports abroad, both induces nostalgia and offers a tranquilizer; instead of disquieting ambivalence and paradoxical dialectic of past, present, and future, it provides a total restoration of extinct creatures and a conflict resolution” (Boym 2001, p. 33). This dismissive characterization is rooted in Boym’s highly influential discussion of nostalgia, which she defines as “a longing for a home that no longer exists or has never existed. Nostalgia is a sentiment of loss and displacement, but it is also a romance with one’s own fantasy. Nostalgic love can only survive in a long-distance relationship. A cinematic image of nostalgia is a double exposure or a superimposition of two images—of home and abroad, past and present, dream and everyday life” (Boym 2001, pp. xiii–xiv). Boym distinguishes between two types of nostalgia: Restorative nostalgia puts emphasis on nostos and proposes to rebuild the lost home and patch up the memory gaps. Reflective nostalgia dwells in algia, in longing and loss, the imperfect process of remembrance. The first category of nostalgics do not think of themselves as nostalgic; they believe that their project is about truth. This kind of nostalgia characterizes national and nationalist revivals all over the world, which engage in the antimodern myth-making of history by means of a return to national symbols and myths and, occasionally, through swapping conspiracy theories. Restorative nostalgia manifests itself in total reconstructions of monuments of the past, while reflective nostalgia lingers on ruins, the patina of time and history, in the dreams of another place and another time. (Boym 2001, p. 41) Considering Hollywood nostalgia in the broader context of American cultural nostalgia challenges Boym’s dismissal of Hollywood nostalgia, reveals illuminating contrasts between the nostalgia of Humanities 2018, 7, 101; doi:10.3390/h7040101 www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/h7040101 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com/2076-0787/7/4/101?type=check_update&version=2 Humanities 2018, 7, 101 2 of 13 American cinema and the nostalgia of American literature, and complicates the distinction between restorative and reflective nostalgia in rewarding ways. To speak of American cultural nostalgia already implies, as Boym acknowledges, that different national cultures and their cinemas are shaped by very different kinds of nostalgia. The most frequently discussed of these nostalgic cinemas, the so-called heritage cinema of Great Britain, began in the 1980s with movies like Chariots of Fire (1981) and A Room with a View (1985) that expressed what Cairns Craig called “the crisis of identity which England passed through during the Thatcher years” through sustained images of “film as conspicuous consumption, the country houses, the paneled interiors, the clothes which have provided a good business for New York fashion houses selling English country style to rich Americans” (Craig 2001, p. 3). The Britain of heritage films was rich, powerful, and untroubled, its citizens uniformly clean-cut, well-dressed, and good-looking, and the problems that drove their stories largely limited to private questions of morality, romance, or sexual identity with cautiously nationalistic overtones. Heritage films employed a “museum aesthetic” (Vincendeau 2001, p. xviii) combining exterior shots of spacious estates and stately homes with interiors marked by close attention to historically accurate furnishings, fashions, and music. The effect was to stage often intense interpersonal psychological and social conflicts against a placidly idealized Britain of day-before-yesteryear in which contemporary audiences could find comfort and refuge from the shocks and disappointments of the present. An important aspect of the heritage aesthetic was its new focus on television miniseries set in the past, often, though not always, based on classic English novels, and decorated with a finicky attention to visual and auditory detail quite new to the small screen. This aesthetic made British heritage cinema unusually distinctive. France, for example, has no comparable tradition of movies and television programs celebrating an idealized historical past. Films like Jean Renoir’s La Marseillaise (1938) are relatively rare, and no discernible pattern or general attitude toward the nation’s past emerges from the Gérard Depardieu department of history, which includes Le dernier métro (1980), Le retour de Martin Guerre (1982), Danton (1983), Camille Claudel (1988), Cyrano de Bergerac (1990), Tous les matins du monde (1991), Colonel Chabert (1994), and the 1998 miniseries Le Comte de Monte Cristo. Germany has a tradition of Heimat (“homeland”) cinema, but although the English word “nostalgia” represents Swiss medical student Johannes Hofer’s attempt in 1688 to translate the German word Heimweh, Eckart Voigts-Virchow has shown that “the term Heimat has different shades of meaning to the term ‘heritage’ in England” (Voigts-Virchow 2007, p. 126). To these different flavors of nostalgia, Primož Krašovec has added Yugonostalgia. Yugonostalgia, the remnants that survive “the process of depoliticization of the collective memory of socialism [ . . . ] is a form of popular memory that has been washed clean of all traces of political demands for social equality, workers’ participation in the production process, and internationalism, as well as [ . . . ] the antifascism, anti-imperialism, and anti-chauvinism that constituted the core of the revolutionary politics of socialism” (Krašovec 2011). Looking further east, Japanese cinema has a long and honorable tradition of jidai-geki, films about government officials and samurai warriors who ply their trades during their country’s Edo period, as opposed to the gendai-geki set in modern Japan. But no one would call Rashomon (1950) or Gate of Hell (1953) a heritage film, for the past they present as an alternative to the contemporary reality of postwar Japan is just as troubled, and in its way just as brutal, as the world of Ikiru (1952) or Tokyo Story (1953). The worlds of the Heimat film and the jidai-geki may be sources of nostalgia and national pride, but like French historical films, they do not offer visually idealized refuges of the same sort that British cinema finds in Jane Austen or Brideshead Revisited (1981). The real outlier among national cinemas is that of the United States, which for all the glories of Hollywood has never developed anything remotely comparable to heritage cinema. Heritage cinema has never taken root in the United States because so many factors combine to make it difficult for Americans—that is, for the purposes of this essay, citizens of the United States—to wax equally nostalgic over their own nation’s history, particularly as it is presented in the movies. Heritage cinema’s restorative nostalgia, which dreams ardently of an idealized home in an idealized past, has no clear Humanities 2018, 7, 101 3 of 13 counterpart in American culture, which “didn’t succumb to the nostalgic vice until the American Civil War” (Boym 2001, p. 6). Boym cites letter-perfect Civil War enactments and the CGI dinosaurs of Jurassic Park (1993) as characteristically American examples of restorative nostalgia that propose “a heroic American national identity” (Boym 2001, p. 34). But attempts to invoke this national identity through American nostalgia are complicated by several factors. For one thing, the unofficial culture of the United States is almost obsessively future-oriented, not past-oriented. Americans are famous for living in the present and dreaming of the future rather than the past. They are less rooted in their extended families than the English, or Europeans generally. They are more likely to move away from their birthplaces, and when they do move, they can move much further away without leaving their country. Americans are much less focused, less likely to define themselves, in terms of where they came from than in terms of where they see themselves going. Any nostalgic longing for the past has a strictly limited place in such a resolutely future-oriented world. This is true not only for Americans as individuals but for American culture in general. When they are not celebrating Independence Day on the Fourth of July—or, more recently and revealingly, on the first Monday in July, a holiday of convenience whose most notable trademark is the display of fireworks, an entertainment form notable for its glorification of evanescent spectacle—citizens of the United States display remarkably little investment in their shared country’s past. The continuing debates over the propriety of monuments to the heroes of the Confederacy during the Civil War dramatize the extent to which Americans define themselves in terms of local or regional rather than national ties. Nor does American history lend itself readily to restorative nostalgia. The epochal events prominently displayed in the textbooks through which American schoolchildren learn their nation’s history are largely disruptive and destructive. When Abraham Lincoln announced in the Gettysburg Address that the strife-torn United States had originally been “conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal” (Lincoln 1989, p. 536), he was rooting the national project in philosophical ideals Americans have felt obliged to enact in the present instead of celebrating their currency in the past, where they would be much more likely to regard them critically or reflectively. America lacks the primary motive behind Britain’s restorative nostalgia because although the United States may have given up the Panama Canal, it has not yet lost an empire. The Thatcherite cultural conservatism behind British heritage cinema was a reaction to the fear that the United Kingdom’s greatest days might have been behind it. Until very recently, it has been hard to get a critical mass of citizens of the United States to take the analogous proposition about their own country seriously. Most American Presidents have been widely identified as leaders of the free world. Flush with undiminished power, Americans have no need to take refuge in an idealized past. Even so, America has generated a widely acknowledged brand of nostalgia-based not so much of “the restoration of origins” Boym identifies as one of the “two main narrative plots” of restorative nostalgia but on the other plot: “the conspiracy theory, characteristic of the most extreme cases of contemporary nationalism fed on right-wing popular culture,” that proposes “a Manichean battle of good and evil and the inevitable scapegoating of the mythical enemy” (Boym 2001, p. 43). This myth of American supremacy, at once self-congratulatory and paranoid, has most recently been marketed by Donald Trump. In capitalizing on and amplifying a nostalgic undercurrent long dormant in the American public, Trump has ushered in a new era of restorative nostalgia. Under the revealing slogan Make America Great Again, he has campaigned and governed on the basis of an assumption that the United States is in decline and, as he told the Republican National Convention in accepting the party’s Presidential nomination in July 2016, “I alone can fix it.” Trump’s presidency has focused on rolling back federal regulations and protections, cutting taxes and government programs, withdrawing from foreign treaties, squeezing long-standing allies for more advantageous trade deals, promising to build an impermeable wall on the border between the United States and Mexico, appointing conservative federal judges and a remarkable number of Cabinet secretaries openly hostile to the mandates of the departments they have been chosen to head, defunding and suppressing initiatives designed to reduce unwanted pregnancies and climate change, and demonizing dissenters and opponents in an Humanities 2018, 7, 101 4 of 13 endless series of vituperative ad hominem tweets, all in the name of restoring a greatness America has presumably lost. Trump’s programs and policies are fueled by an unmistakably restorative nostalgia for an America that kept immigrants at bay, shunned political correctness and self-anointed East Coast elites, condemned political extremists on the left but not the right, prized individual initiative above paternalistic collective action, and promoted the promise of untrammeled material success to everyone lucky enough to grab the brass ring. Trump’s brand of MAGA nostalgia differs from heritage nostalgia not in being less restorative but in being more actively restorative. The idealized past the BBC dreams of finds its counterpart in an idealized American past, floating free of any limiting identification with a particular time or place, for whose return millions of Americans do not simply long but ardently work and pray. The emergence of MAGA should have come as no great surprise, for despite its self-avowed progressivism and its founding devotion to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—the last of these already an aspirational goal rather than a retrospective ideal—the United States has long found room within its culture for restorative nostalgia. But celebrations of this brand of nostalgia have rarely entered its literature because so many of these celebrations focus on artifacts rather than narratives. In accord with Boym’s observation that restorative nostalgia “gravitates toward collective pictorial symbols and oral culture” (Boym 2001, p. 49), American calls to restorative nostalgia are less closely associated with stories about America that with the icons, artifacts, and rituals revealingly labeled Americana, a term so common that a Google search for it reveals 300 million hits, though none at all for “Englishana” or “Britishana.” Giovanni Russonello roots the label for the late-twentieth-century music he discusses as “Americana” in an earlier history represented by “the comforting, middle-class ephemera at your average antique store—things like needle-pointed pillows, Civil War daguerreotypes, and engraved silverware sets” (Russonello 2013). This brand of Americana is familiar from American television series like The Waltons, Little House on the Prairie, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, Happy Days, and That ’70s Show. Contemporary expressions of American nostalgia by American politicians, editorialists, and citizens are remote from these incarnations, which they rarely invoke. What is even more remarkable, however, is the estrangement of Hollywood nostalgia from both the MAGA restorative nostalgia so stridently proclaimed by nativist politicians and the severely critical reflective nostalgia of Hawthorne’s novel The Scarlet Letter. This estrangement is particularly striking in view of the notorious economic conservatism of the American film industry, which has expressed itself most recently in a wholesale commitment to retro superhero franchises and other sequels and remakes. There are several reasons why Boym’s anodyne portrayal of Hollywood nostalgia as restorative requires complication, and why Hollywood nostalgia, when it does appear, is so distinctive. The first generation of Hollywood moguls were European émigrés who lacked any sense of nostalgia for a racially or ethnically pure United States, and when these moguls retired or died, they were replaced by liberals whose own nostalgia is quite differently oriented from either the BBC or MAGA. The capital-intensiveness of Hollywood filmmaking makes studios and bankers reluctant to gamble on projects they perceive as taking sides and preemptively alienating large portions of the audience. In the immortal injunction variously attributed to Samuel Goldwyn, Ernest Hemingway, Moss Hart, and Humphrey Bogart: “When you want to send a message, use Western Union.” Hollywood celebrations of history tend to focus on the history of the American film industry itself, a tendency abundantly on display during annual broadcasts of the Academy Awards ceremonies. This unusually single-minded focus tends to eclipse any traces of reflective nostalgia it finds in American culture or American literature. MAGA nostalgia finds a more ready home in popular music that evokes a favored earlier time either through its own conventions (as in country and western song and the blues) or through the conventions of its return as beloved oldies. The scarcity of MAGA nostalgia in Hollywood is illuminated by the production history of one film that traffics openly in this brand of nostalgia: Gabriel Over the White House, which Gregory La Cava Humanities 2018, 7, 101 5 of 13 directed in 1933 from a screenplay by Carey Wilson based on Rinehard, a novel by Canadian writer T.F. Tweed. The film focuses on Jud Hammond (Walter Huston), a do-nothing, don’t-rock-the-boat politician who has been elected President. Following a near-fatal car accident and a moment of possibly divine intervention, Hammond awakens from his coma suddenly determined to rescue his country from “big-business lackeys.” He purges his cabinet, responds to his impeachment by declaring martial law, suspends civil rights, revokes the Constitution, uses demonstrations of military force to blackmail world powers into disarming, and orders the execution of malefactors he personally identifies as “enemies of the people” before he suffers a fatal stroke, again of possibly divine provenance, and is eulogized as one of the greatest American Presidents. The film, produced by Walter Wanger for Cosmopolitan Pictures, whose head, reactionary newspaper publisher William Randolph Hearst, had played an important role in shaping its screenplay, was distributed by MGM. As his biographer Charles Higham recounts, however, studio chief Louis B. Mayer, who had not been consulted during its development, “was appalled when he saw the picture’s rough cut” (Higham 1993, p. 196). Realizing that it was a piece of agitprop designed to criticize President Herbert Hoover as timid and ineffective in combatting the ills of the Great Depression and encourage incoming President Franklin D. Roosevelt to assume unilateral powers, he “intervened seriously for the first time over [Irving] Thalberg in the cutting of the picture” (Higham 1993, p. 196). Although contemporaneous reviewers equated Hammond with Mussolini and saw the film as an advance advertisement for home-grown Fascism, Gabriel Over the White House was a popular success—but a success that Mayer was so eager to avoid repeating that after buying the rights to It Can’t Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis’s 1935 parable of local resistance to an American Fascist President, before the bestselling novel’s publication, he was intimidated by the monitory response of Hollywood censor Joseph I. Breen and the possible reactions of MGM’s profitable foreign markets. “Mayer cannot have forgotten Gabriel Over the White House; he must have seen the anti-Hooverish elements in even a story summary,” notes Higham. “Had he read the novel itself [ . . . ] he would certainly never have embarked on the picture at all” (Higham 1993, p. 250). Despite Lewis’s vigorous public protests, It Can’t Happen Here never went before the cameras. Like Gabriel over the White House, it is best remembered as a cautionary example of Hollywood’s avoidance of partisan politics. Apart from the studios’ unwillingness to offend large portions of the American audience by releasing more recent MAGA adaptations, Hollywood adaptations of American literature rarely display restorative nostalgia because American literature itself has long shunned restorative nostalgia. Theorists of American literature have frequently contrasted the American Renaissance of the mid-nineteenth century with contemporaneous Victorian literature. Novelists like Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville play a less dominant role in the American Renaissance than their English counterparts, Charles Dickens, William Makepeace Thackeray, the Brontë sisters, Elizabeth Gaskell, and George Eliot, because so many writers of the American Renaissance were poets or essayists like Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, James Russell Lowell, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Although Thackeray’s view of the Napoleonic Wars, Dickens’s of the Poor Laws, and Eliot’s of the Reform Bill of 1832 are quite as jaundiced as Hawthorne’s view of the Salem Witch Trials or Harriet Beecher Stowe’s view of slavery, the social criticism of the great Victorian novelists from Dickens to Elizabeth Gaskell, Anthony Trollope, and Thomas Hardy is made more palatable by the satiric energy of Dickens and Thackeray and the detailed, integrative, largely sympathetic portraits of Victorian society in Gaskell’s Wives and Daughters, Eliot’s Middlemarch, and Trollope’s The Last Chronicle of Barset. When American writers of the period turn to the shorter forms of fiction, they produce not Dickens’s nostalgic stories “A Christmas Carol,” “The Chimes,” and “The Cricket on the Hearth,” but the gothic horror tales of Edgar Allan Poe. The leading American novelists who follow the American Renaissance and who might have been expected to provide material for restorative Hollywood nostalgia adopt instead a more critically reflective nostalgia. Washington Square, the best-known of Henry James’s forays into the historical past, is sharply critical of the mores of the early nineteenth century. So is Edith Wharton’s The Age Humanities 2018, 7, 101 6 of 13 of Innocence, which looks back on the later nineteenth century with an equally cold eye fifty years after the fact. Mark Twain’s boyhood idyll The Adventures of Tom Sawyer views growing up in the Midwest of the early nineteenth century through the lens of restorative nostalgia, but its more ambitious sequel, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, adopts a much more critically reflective nostalgia in its faux-naïve exposé of the corrosive effects of slavery. Whatever nostalgia appears in The Red Badge of Courage, Stephen Crane’s 1895 account of an episode from the American Civil War, is reflective rather than restorative. The same is true of the World War I fiction of Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, and John Dos Passos. The Great Gatsby has so often been filmed as an exercise in period nostalgia that it can be easy to forget that it is not itself a period piece but a sharply, if compassionately, observed portrait of a 1925 American present notable for its unblinking critique of the American dream of progress through individual self-actualization; like the novels F. Scott Fitzgerald revealingly titled This Side of Paradise, The Beautiful and Damned, Tender Is the Night, and The Last Tycoon, its primary mode is elegiac rather than nostalgic—or, as Boym would say, a mode of reflective rather than restorative nostalgia. And Faulkner, whose anatomy of the catastrophic legacy of racial injustice on Mississippi’s Yoknapatawpha County rises to an obsession in novels like Absalom, Absalom! and Go Down, Moses, shows that a fixation on the American past does not guarantee anything like restorative nostalgia. Nor does this highly critical attitude toward the past undergo any substantial change in recent novelists from Thomas Pynchon to Philip Roth to Don DeLillo, all of whose excursions into American history could be described as curdled, sometimes withering exercises in reflective nostalgia. Apart from James Fenimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales about the relations between British American settlers and Native Americans in the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the most distinctive and distinguished American novelists have been not only non-nostalgic but anti-nostalgic. The great American novels from The House of the Seven Gables and Moby-Dick to The Plot Against America and Underworld have refused the cultural conservatism of their English counterparts and so left open few possibilities for restorative nostalgia in Hollywood adaptations—unless, like The Great Gatsby, they are pressed into service as the basis for period costume dramas. American literature may be employed as a site of restorative nostalgia in the same ways that any archive can be pressed into similar service, but that is not its own characteristic mode: when writers like Hawthorne and Faulkner and Roth plumb the American past, it is not to celebrate it but to mine it for previsions of contemporary social and cultural problems. If “nostalgia is a psychological mechanism that serves a motivational regulatory function by counteracting avoidance motivation and facilitating approach motivation” (Routledge 2015, p. 117), American literature, in general, facilitates approach motivation only in the most implicit, indirect, highly critical ways. So it is not surprising to find that Hollywood nostalgia, which in Clay Routledge’s terms “affirms feelings of belongingness” (Routledge 2015, p. 54), is distinct from both the restorative nostalgia of British heritage cinema and the critically reflective nostalgia of American literature. For all its enduring infatuation with British literature in general and the Victorian novel in particular as sites of nostalgia, cultural capital, and elitist cachet, Hollywood has had little use for American literature. When it has adapted American literary classics, the results have often been non-nostalgic, even anti-nostalgic. Roland Joffé’s The Scarlet Letter (1995) includes Demi Moore, Gary Oldman, Robert Duvall, an Indian attack, a hot tub, and a happy ending. The impetus behind Joffé’s adaptation, whose departures from Hawthorne’s novel Moore assured interviewers could safely be ignored because “it had been a very long time since people had read it” (Rubenstein 2017), was not a painstakingly recreated simulacrum of an idealized historical past but a determined, albeit anachronistic, attempt to improve that past by conferring on Hawthorne’s story the enlightened attitudes of the contemporary audience’s own beliefs about sex, love, adultery, social opprobrium, and true romance, an attempt, very typical of Hollywood, that ended up fetishizing the present rather than the past. Humanities 2018, 7, 101 7 of 13 A further look into Hollywood history reveals not so much a blanket dismissal of classic American novels as a highly discriminating selection of them and a strikingly consistent treatment of the properties that are actually selected. American regionalists like Sarah Orne Jewett, Eudora Welty, and Flannery O’Connor are rarely adapted to the screen. Instead, New England is represented by The Scarlet Letter and Peyton Place and the American South by The Birth of a Nation and Gone with the Wind. Edith Wharton’s most notable exercises in nostalgia, the four novella-length prequels to The Age of Innocence that she collected in the 1924 volume Old New York, have been largely neglected by Hollywood, although the longest of them, “The Old Maid,” was filmed as a period vehicle for Bette Davis in 1939, just as The Age of Innocence itself has been adapted three times, most recently and memorably by Martin Scorsese in 1993. Perhaps the most striking rejection of a truly nostalgic American author is Hollywood’s neglect of the novelist Willa Cather, whose sensitive, monumental Great Plains trilogy—O Pioneers! (1913), The Song of the Lark (1915), and My Ántonia (1918)—went unfilmed until 1991. Indeed the only two films before 1977 based on Cather’s work both adapted A Lost Lady, a romance that is the least historically resonant of her major novels, and every one of the ten Cather adaptations from 1977 to the present has been either a short film or a television original. Cather has fared better on the small screen than the big screen not because her novels are small-scaled themselves but because, like their British heritage counterparts, they use largely domestic settings to focus potentially large-scale cultural conflicts. They can be filmed on a limited budget on Nebraska locations, and their emphasis on strong women struggling to find themselves and their vocations makes them a natural for the Hallmark Channel and the Public Television Network alongside adaptations of Edna Ferber, the younger, Book-of-the-Month Club version of Cather. More important, successful television adaptations emphasize their worlds over their stories. Just as TV series from I Love Lucy to The Simpsons allow loyal audiences to enjoy their time with familiar characters by putting them every week into new situations that barely take them out of their comfort zone, television adaptations, whether they are miniseries or features, offer one more chance to spend quality time with characters they have already grown to love. Television episodes can be as densely plotted as feature films, but in situation comedies like All in the Family or dramas like Mission: Impossible, the goal of each episode is not to reach a new ending, but to return to the world as it was at the beginning of the episode. Sarah Cardwell contends that television “interacts with our present lives in a way that film does not. The transmission [ . . . ] of each text is perceived as being ‘present,’ due to its locus in television’s continuous flow. Added to this, our interpretation of the tenseless television image is that it is of the present tense” (Cardwell 2002, p. 87). Despite these insistent tokens of presentness, television, at least until the recent rise of cable miniseries like The Sopranos, The Wire, and Homeland, has been a nostalgic medium whose characters typically yearn to preserve their world rather than change it. Restorative nostalgia finds a readier welcome on television because its plots are less threatening, more predictable, more formulaic, and more ritualistic, like the stories parents tell their children at bedtime. Even though most viewers (the word is significant) think of cinema as a more visually oriented medium than television, television is particularly well suited to supplying visuals in a style their audience has already been trained to expect, and it is no coincidence that the great age of the British heritage adaptation was largely driven by television miniseries. More generally, because restorative nostalgia expresses its longing for the past by fixing on particular places and spaces—scenes, moments, situations, and tableaux it freezes and idealizes—rather than on the stories that complicate and disrupt these treasured moments, its natural vehicles are visual rather than narrative. The most characteristically nostalgic stories fall into two categories. The first is tales that have become so familiar that they can be fondly remembered as stories, whether the audience that greets their repetition with delight is children hearing the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears one more time or the adult fans watching Evil Dead II (1987) one more time. Even though all these audiences know exactly what is going to happen, that knowledge is itself a condition of their pleasure that frees them to savor every moment of the story, confident that it will end by arriving at its accustomed destination. The second kind of stories subject to nostalgia is those that showcase the largest possible Humanities 2018, 7, 101 8 of 13 number of privileged moments, lingering over them and inflating them before reluctantly revealing the less readily sentimentalized social forces that lead away from them. Apart from Eugene O’Neill’s Ah, Wilderness!, restorative nostalgia is not a particularly powerful force in the American theater. No one in the audience pines to return to the landscapes of The Hairy Ape or The Emperor Jones or The Glass Menagerie or A Streetcar Named Desire. The one great exception is the American musical theater, which systematically isolates moments of privileged emotional intensity from the rest of the story and then heightens them by embedding them in songs that will linger in the audience’s memory long after the final curtain. Broadway musicals that follow a line of descent from Rodgers and Hammerstein to Jersey Boys and Mamma Mia are repeatedly staged in what are aptly called revivals. The focus of communal nostalgia in the United States has been visual rather than narrative, spatial rather than temporal, and the American narratives most likely to invite a nostalgic response are those whose stories are ad hoc and ritualistic rather than end-oriented and definitive. Americana is typically envisioned in terms of places like Disneyland that foster or encourage idealized or sentimental dreams and memories rather than journeys into or within the spaces it envisions. The British, of course, have Austenland, incarnated both cinematically in an American movie and virtually in the online Republic of Pemberley, a discursive space revealingly named after a fictional place. Dickensland was the subject of an appreciative book by J.A. Nicklin over a century ago (Nicklin 2012). One factor that helps explains Hollywood’s relative neglect of the great American novels, in fact, is how few American authors could reasonably spawn their own lands. It is easy to envision Poeland but hard to imagine Hawthorneland or Melvilleland or Henry Jamesland or Flannery O’Connorland. And although it might be argued that Yoknapatawpha County, Mississippi, is Faulknerland, it is unlikely that spending time in that actual location would give readers anything like the same subjectively supercharged experience they treasure in reading Faulkner’s novels. Aristotle ruled that plots include a beginning, a middle, and an end that confer their definitive shape. But nostalgic audiences clearly treasure beginnings, endure middles mostly as exercises in deferred gratification, and prefer endings that close the circle by returning to the beginning rather than confirming the brave new world of an Aristotelian ending. If the locus of American nostalgia is indeed visual artifacts rather than stories, then the most nostalgic stories, and the most nostalgic moments in these stories, are those that are organized or crystallized around artifacts, objects endowed with frankly magical powers or objects whose psychological or spiritual magic depends on the rich web of associations the stories build up around them. Hollywood’s disinclination to celebrate any history but its own defines and markets Hollywood history as a series of aesthetic and technological triumphs interspersed with the inevitable losses like those commemorated in the Academy Awards ceremony’s annual necrology. But restorative nostalgia still appears in the American cinema, though typically with a distinctive twist. It appears most obviously in musicals, whose programmatic structural distinction between the timeless song-and-dance numbers that convey the characters’ deepest emotions, desires, hopes, and fears and the timebound continuity that motivates and separates these numbers makes the genre a natural for restorative nostalgia. But this tendency does not appear in nearly as many musicals as one might think. Film adaptations of the pioneering Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein II musical Show Boat, like Broadway revivals of the show, are increasingly exercises in restorative nostalgia, but the more reflective nostalgia of the original show comes through in every one. The early twentieth-century revue musicals associated with Florenz Ziegfeld and George and Ira Gershwin are not especially nostalgic. With the exception of A Connecticut Yankee, neither are the musicals Richard Rodgers wrote with Lorenz Hart. Not until Hammerstein replaces Hart as Rodgers’s collaborator does the team turn to nostalgic musicals like Oklahoma! Carousel, and The Sound of Music and their film adaptations. This tropism toward restorative nostalgia crests in the Hollywood musicals that recycle familiar songbooks instead of emphasizing new music—Night and Day (1946), Till the Clouds Roll By (1946), The Jolson Story (1946), Three Little Words (1950), An American in Paris (1951), Singin’ in the Rain (1952), The Band Wagon (1953), The Glenn Miller Story (1954), The Benny Goodman Story (1956)—and Humanities 2018, 7, 101 9 of 13 persists in movie musicals from Guys and Dolls (1955) to Grease (1978), quasi-musicals like American Graffiti (1973), and revivals, readaptations, and remakes onstage and onscreen. Restorative nostalgia also appears in Westerns, though again not where one might expect. The Western as a genre gravitates toward valedictory, reflective nostalgia rather than restorative nostalgia: it is not aimed at audiences who wish they were battling Indians and searching for signs of drinking water on the prairie. Indeed, as Jane Tompkins has observed, the Native Americans who hover on the fringes of most Westerns function “as props, bits of local color, textural effects. [ . . . ] Indians are repressed in Westerns—there but not there—in the same way women are” (Tompkins 1992, pp. 8, 9). The golden age of the Hollywood Western during the 1950s, when widescreen and Technicolor carried the potential to turn the most routine Western into a visual spectacle, is marked by an increasing focus on the traumas of conquest, miscegenation, and slavery in films like Broken Arrow (1950), Shane (1953), The Searchers (1956), and Two Rode Together (1961) before reaching an anti-nostalgic apotheosis in Little Big Man (1970). Of more recent Westerns, The Shootist (1976) evinces nostalgia for the days of John Wayne’s movie-created youth, stirringly excerpted in the film’s opening sequence; Silverado (1985) nostalgia not for the old West, but for old Westerns; and Unforgiven (1992) an unblinking summation of the costs of waxing nostalgic about the code of the West. The predominant mode of Westerns from The Vanishing American (1925) to The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence (1962) is elegiacally reflective nostalgia rather than restorative nostalgia; if the reverse were true, they would all join Dances with Wolves (1990) in urging a return to the days when Native American culture flourished. Restorative nostalgia appears in movies about movies, though again its provenance and valence are unexpectedly complicated. Unlike The Artist (2011), which is nostalgic for the days of silent films, Singin’ in the Rain (1952) is nostalgic for the transitional period to the talkies, but not for the silents, which it considers primitive and dramatically limited in expressiveness. Sherlock Jr., perhaps the finest movie ever made about the movies, is state-of-the-1924-art rather than nostalgic; The Bad and the Beautiful (1952) and Two Weeks in Another Town (1962) are gimlet-eyed rather than nostalgic; and Norma Desmond’s genuine, deep-seated, and unbridled nostalgia for silent movies in Sunset Blvd. (1950) is ultimately pathological and murderous. Restorative nostalgia appears as well in children’s movies—or, more accurately, in the kinds of family movies represented by Little Women (1933, 1949, 1994, 2018), The Wizard of Oz (1939), Johnny Tremain (1957), and innumerable Disney films from Treasure Island (1950) to Davy Crockett: King of the Wild Frontier (1955). The past about which these films invite younger audiences to wax nostalgic is not remembered but constructed by films whose aim is as much educational, in Disney’s own particular manner, as nostalgic. Further from Disney, deeper into the world of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971), Matilda (1996), and A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004), childhood is much less likely to appear as an object of nostalgia. Finally, restorative nostalgia appears in many of the costume dramas based on novels by Kate Chopin, Henry James, Edith Wharton, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Ernest Hemingway, and even in Todd Haynes’s five-part 2011 television adaptation of James M. Cain’s Mildred Pierce (1941). Once again, however, this restorative nostalgia is always tempered and often overwhelmed by far more critical attitudes toward the past that has been so meticulously recreated. A particularly telling example is The Heiress, William Wyler’s 1949 adaptation of James’s 1880 novel Washington Square. Although the film’s opening credit sequence suggests its sentimental attachment to tokens of a vanished past, the film, whose screenplay is based on Ruth and Augustus Goetz’s 1947 theatrical adaptation of the novel, moves into considerably more brutal territory than James. When James’s heroine Catherine Sloper, romanced for her inheritance by the charming, penniless Morris Townsend, is threatened by her coldly remote father with disinheritance if she marries Morris, she quietly stands up first to her dying father, then to the importunate Morris, and placidly returns to her joyless life. In the film, Catherine is far more outspoken in her relations with both men, bitterly rejecting her unloving father and then tricking Morris into believing that she will elope with him so that the film ends with his standing outside her home in a downpour as she retires to her bedroom with a sardonic smile. Aaron Copland’s celebrated musical Humanities 2018, 7, 101 10 of 13 score for the film manages to be both nostalgically classical and unflinchingly modern, and Olivia de Havilland won an Academy Award for playing Catherine, first with restraint, then with an unbridled fury that moved even further than James from restorative nostalgia. Discussing the “particular practice of pastiche” he calls the “nostalgia film,” Fredric Jameson identifies American Graffiti as “one of the inaugural films in this new ‘genre’ (if that’s what it is)” (Jameson 1983, p. 116). More recently, Vera Dika has announced, “The nostalgia film seems to privilege a 1950s past” (Dika 2003, p. 122), and Christina Sprengler has agreed that “the Fifties” are the “privileged object” (Sprengler 2009, p. 6) of contemporary American films like Far from Heaven (2002), The Aviator (2004), and Sin City (2005). An even more striking example of restorative nostalgia that shows how complex Hollywood nostalgia can be even at its most straightforwardly restorative is Annie Get Your Gun, a film released in 1950, at the beginning of Dika’s and Sprengler’s favored decade. It is a costume drama that is also a musical, a Western, and a movie about an entertainer, though not a movie star, that happens to be highly suitable for children even though it was not made for them. The film is a palimpsest of multilayered nostalgia. It invokes nostalgia for its real-life heroine, the sharpshooter and entertainer Annie Oakley, played here by Betty Hutton; nostalgia for her earlier incarnation by Barbara Stanwyck in George Stevens’s 1935 film; nostalgia for the 1947 Irving Berlin Broadway musical on which it was more immediately based—the film that gave its star Ethel Merman her signature song, “There’s No Business Like Show Business”—and nostalgia for hypothetical alternative versions starring Judy Garland, who was originally cast in the role and filmed at least two musical numbers before she was replaced by Hutton, and Frank Morgan, best known for playing the Wizard of Oz, who was replaced by Louis Calhern as Buffalo Bill Cody when he died before shooting began. In addition, an audience watching the film in 2018 will find new layers of nostalgia: nostalgia for the film’s highly selective version of American history; nostalgia for the grand compromise in the battle of the sexes, here represented by the professional rivalry between Annie and sharpshooter Frank Butler, that Annie first rejects, then accepts by deliberately missing a target to throw a shooting match against Frank; nostalgia for the comparatively simple days of first-wave feminism, combined with a certain squirming discomfort at Annie’s compromise; nostalgia for Howard Keel’s debut as a singing star in the role of Frank Butler; nostalgia for musicals made, like this one, by MGM’s fondly remembered Freed Unit; and of course nostalgia for a 68-year-old movie, especially one that waited fifty years for its first video release. One important lesson of Annie Get Your Gun is that nostalgia need not focus on recalling a particular time and place: it can valorize many favored sites, from the Wild West to screen representations of Annie Oakley to the days when the relations between men and women were governed by a narrow range of male-authored scripts women challenged at their peril to a beloved show-stopping number in Irving Berlin’s 1947 musical, without inconsistency or self-contradiction, because the primary energy of even the most determinedly restorative nostalgia is not the celebration of past realities, even imagined past realities, but the refusal to accept present-day realities. Another equally important lesson emerges from the conflict between Annie Oakley and Frank Butler, whose professional status she first threatens, then deliberately retreats from threatening in order to win his heart: a given film can incorporate logically contradictory attitudes toward any given problem, situation, time, or place without compromising its own nostalgia, which is merely complicated rather than undermined by such contradictions. Effervescently diffuse and often contradictory as it is, Annie Get Your Gun is no more typical of Hollywood nostalgia than the homecoming of Odysseus is of European nostalgia. Even though it is generally remote from the elegiacally critical attitude American literature adopts toward the American past, Hollywood nostalgia is less restorative than reflective, less reminiscent of the homecoming of Odysseus than of the returns of Agamemnon and Ajax, stories whose grimness depends not on the perils of their journeys but on the failures of their homes to welcome them properly and confirm their sense of the identities they have forged during their absence. This brand of nostalgia owes less to the Civil War anthem “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” than to its Humanities 2018, 7, 101 11 of 13 savagely ironic transformation in the Irish song “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye.” The complexities of this reflective nostalgia are found not in Annie Get Your Gun but in the Western and non-Western novels of Larry McMurtry and Cormac McCarthy and in their film adaptations: Hud (1963), The Last Picture Show (1971), Terms of Endearment (1983), Lonesome Dove (1989), All the Pretty Horses (2000), No Country for Old Men (2007), and The Road (2009). This brand of nostalgia is eminently consistent and indeed codependent on a sharp criticism of the homes from which its heroes are estranged, and often on the whole idea of home in general. It is the driving force behind Hollywood movies as different as Sunrise (1927), Citizen Kane (1941), Vertigo (1958), Memento (2000), and Blade Runner 2049 (2017), a final example that deserves a closer look because the relations among its many different modes of nostalgia are so complex. Denis Villeneuve’s film is not only a sequel to Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982) but, like most sequels, an unofficial remake of the original film, a revisiting of Scott’s dystopian world a generation later in a film that was produced a generation after the film that inspired it. Like its own source, Philip K. Dick’s 1968 story “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” Blade Runner is a futuristic meditation on the difficulties of distinguishing the human from the non-human. Although it failed at the box office, it became one of the most highly regarded of all cult films, and the visionary dreariness of its imagined 2019 Los Angeles exteriors inspired a generation of neo-noirs. Blade Runner 2049, whose cityscapes are less spectacularly overstimulating but equally rain-soaked and dreary, opens with an explanatory title card that reminds audiences who have seen the earlier film, informs those who haven’t, and brings all of them up to date about its focus on replicants, “bio-engineered humans” who were created as slaves but attempted an abortive revolt in the earlier film. The “new line of replicants who obey,” the film’s opening titles promise, are a distinct improvement over the old “Nexus 8s with open-ended lifespans” of the earlier film. This reassuring news cannot help but make the audience nostalgic for the 1982 Blade Runner, whose potentially disobedient replicants promised the narrative complications the audience has come to the cinema to experience. The audience, as it turns out, need not worry, for a discovery the replicant blade runner K (Ryan Gosling) makes in the opening sequence raises disturbing new possibilities: the skeleton of a female replicant who died during a caesarean section, demonstrating that replicants can biologically reproduce. K’s boss, Lt. Joshi (Robin Wright), commands him to find and kill the replicant’s child and destroy all traces of the birth in order to head off the possibility of another, more massive rebellion of replicants. But K finds himself increasingly ambivalent about his mission. He identifies the skeleton as that of Rachael, who had been played by Sean Young in Blade Runner, and, increasingly convinced that he himself is her child, attempts to track down Rick Deckard, the title character of Blade Runner, who vanished soon after the events of the earlier film, and who K believes is his father. K’s trajectory thus neatly inverts the trajectory of the earlier film. Instead of raising the possibility that its hero, a killer of replicants, is himself a replicant, as Scott’s film did, it offers more and more hints that its replicant hero is actually human. These hints turn out to be red herrings. K is a replicant who only longs to believe he is human, just as Rachael longed to believe she was human back in 1982. Both films tease their characters and their audiences with memories that turn out to have been false or implanted, making them nostalgic for a past they never truly experienced in the first place. But Blade Runner 2049 puts several new spins on Svetlana Boym’s “longing for a home that no longer exists or has never existed.” Like all sequels and remakes, the film is a return-with-a-difference to an earlier film it nostalgically valorizes even as it attempts to revise and improve it by deepening its moral sensitivity to the pathos of replicants like K’s servant Joi, who loves him even though she is only a synthesized voice and a series of holographic images readily available for purchase by millions of other consumers. The casting in both films of Harrison Ford as Deckard both resurrects the emotionally intense hero of the 1982 film, an obvious contrast to the dead-eyed Ryan Gosling, and mourns Deckard’s limited abilities as an action hero thirty-five years later. Humanities 2018, 7, 101 12 of 13 Like many other sci-fi sequels and remakes from Jurassic Park (1993) to King Kong (2005), Blade Runner 2049 is nostalgic for the future—in this case, the older, more reassuringly stable dystopia of Blade Runner. In this it follows Star Wars (1977), which Jameson calls “metonymically a historical or nostalgic film: unlike American Graffiti, it does not reinvent a picture of the past in its lived totality; rather, by reinventing the feel and shape of characteristic art objects of an older period (the serials [featuring Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers]), it seeks to reawaken a sense of the past associated with those objects” (Jameson 1983, p. 116). But the metonymic nostalgia of Blade Runner 2049 is far more complex than that of Star Wars. Like Blade Runner, it is filled with allusions to other films and avatars of pop culture: Alien (1979), A Clockwork Orange (1971), 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Treasure Island (1950), Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, and of course Blade Runner itself. Its most complicated citations, however, are to films and television shows made since the release of Blade Runner in 1982. Robin Wright’s performance as Lt. Joshi recalls her role as the brutally calculating First Lady Claire Underwood in the Netflix television series House of Cards. The importance of the toy horse K takes as a link between himself and Rachael’s missing child, which already echoes the origami unicorn Deckard had made in Blade Runner, is given even greater weight and foreboding for audiences who associate it with the totems the characters in Christopher Nolan’s 2010 film Inception used to determine whether or not they were dreaming. And Joi’s attempt to make love to K by entering the body of the human female Mariette (Mackenzie Davis)—a remarkable literalizing of Boym’s observation that “a cinematic image of nostalgia is a double exposure, or a superimposition of two images”—also recalls in uncomfortable detail a remarkably similar scene involving Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix), his operating system Samantha (Scarlett Johansson), and her ad hoc flesh-and-blood surrogate Isabella (Portia Doubleday) in Spike Jonze’s 2013 film Her. Citations like these go much further than the multiple nostalgic topoi of Annie Get Your Gun and the contradictory attitude that film adapts to professional rivalries, ritual courtship, and gender roles to broaden and deepen the resonance of Blade Runner 2049 in far more complicated ways by rooting it in a familiar mass-media culture, suggesting that contemporary culture has caught up with and perhaps even surpassed the visionary dystopia of Blade Runner, which after all was set in 2019. At the same time, they mark Blade Runner 2049’s distance from the earlier film, whose relatively black-and-white view of the differences between humans and replicants becomes the subject, amid increasingly urgent questions raised by the twenty-first century’s embrace of social media and the Internet of Things, of both nostalgia and critical distance. Despite generally positive and often rapturous reviews, Blade Runner 2049, like its predecessor, was a serious disappointment at the box office. Its American grosses totaled $92 million, less than two-thirds of its production costs. The moral commentators took from its underperformance was that the audience of 12-to-21-year-old males on which mainstream movies depend for their ticket sales were insufficiently invested in the earlier film, and that the cult audience that was invested in it was too small to make the film a success. Even so, the film is invaluable for several reasons. It provides a showcase for the remarkable complexities of reflective nostalgia, the audience’s longing for a past that at some level they know perfectly well never existed. It recreates the reflective nostalgia of the classic American novels, which know this lesson equally well, rather than following British heritage films in imposing a restorative nostalgia on authors like Dickens and Jane Austen who are not particularly nostalgic themselves. Its swooning embrace of a nightmarish dystopia suggests the rewards that Hollywood can reap by turning away from restorative and reflective nostalgia to a more complex, multi-laminated, sharply ambivalent amalgam of the two, even if Columbia Pictures did not reap those rewards this time. Its thematic focus on both the indispensability and the untrustworthiness of the audience’s most treasured memories, including their memories of the original Blade Runner, goes far to indicate why reflective nostalgia, so central to the American cultural experience, is so often complicated still further in American cinema. Eluding the categories of both the restorative nostalgia of heritage cinema and the reflective nostalgia of American literature, the film fuses the pleasure and pain of a perceived alienation from a homeland both idealized and dystopian that is at once a mourning of self-alienation and a cautiously reconstructive celebration of a self that may never have existed. Humanities 2018, 7, 101 13 of 13 Funding: This research received no external funding. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References Boym, Svetlana. 2001. The Future of Nostalgia. New York: Basic. ISBN 0-465-00707-4. Cardwell, Sarah. 2002. 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work_kbbceakmbzfhrgfeutawp3tk3m ---- The Origins of Progressive Education The Origins of Progressive Education William J . Reese By the dawn of the twentieth century, a new way of thinking about the nature of the child, classroom methods, and the purposes of the school increasingly dominated educational discourse. Something loosely called progressive education, especially its more child-centered aspects, became part of a larger revolt against the formalism of the schools and an assault on tradition. Our finest scholars, such as Lawrence A. Cremin, in his mag- isterial study of progressivism forty years ago, have tried to explain the ori- gins and meaning of this movement. O n e should be humbled by their achievements and by the magnitude of the subject. Variously defined, pro- gressivism continues to find its champions and critics, the latter occasion- ally blaming it for low economic productivity, immorality among the young, and the decline of academic standards. In the popular press, John Dewey’s name is often invoked as the evil genius behnd the movement, even though he criticized sugar-coated education and letting children do as they please. While scholars doubt whether any unified, coherent movement called pro- gressivism ever existed, its offspring, progressive education, apparently did exist, wrealung havoc on the schools.’ William J. Reese is Professor of Educational Policy Studies and of History and European Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. H e would like to thank David Adams, Mary Ann Dzuback, Barry Franklin, Herbert Kliebard, B. Edward McClellan, and David B. Tyack for their constructive comments on an early draft of this essay and for the research assistance of Karen Benjamin, Matthew Calvert, and Suzanne Rosenblith, graduate students in Educa- tional Policy Studies at Wisconsin. This article was presented as the presidential address to the History of Education Society’s annual meeting, San Antonio, 20 October 2000. ‘ O n educational progressivism, see especially Lawrence A. Cremin, The Transjornza- tion of the School: Propessivism in American Education, 1876-1957 (New York: Vintage Books, 1964); Herbert M . Kliebard, The Smiggle f i r the American Ciinicnlzim, 1893-19f8 (Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1986); and Diane Ravitch, Le$ Back: A Centny, of Failed School Reforms (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000). E.D. Hirsch, Jr. contends that romantic, child- centered views triumphed in the twentieth century, and he blames Schools of Education for disseminating these and other harmful pedagogical ideals; see The Schools We Need: And why We Don’t Have Them (New York: Doubleday, 1996). T h e literature on progressivism more generally is too vast to cite, but the best recent contributions include Robert M. Crunden, Ministers of Refoorni: The Propessives’ Achievement i n American Civilization, 1889-1 920 (New York: Basic Books, 1982); Alan Dawley, StrugglesfirJustice: Social Responsibilizy and the Liber- al State (Cambridge: T h e Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1991); and Daniel T. Rodgers, Atlantic Crossings: Social Politics in a Progressive Age (Cambridge: T h e Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1998). Hirrory of Education @ant+ Vol. 41 Spring 2001 vi Histoly of Education Quarterly William J. Reese President, History of Education Society 2000 Photo courtesy of Robert Rashid 2 History of Education Quarterly Without question, something fascinating had emerged in education- al thought by the nineteenth century. Critics of traditional forms of child rearing and classroom instruction condemned what they saw as insidious notions about the nature of children and the antediluvian practices of the emerging public school system. In often evangelical and apocalyptic prose, an assortment of citizens proclaimed the discovery of new insights on chil- dren and how they best learned. Despite many differences among them, they produced an impressive educational canon. They proclaimed that chil- dren were active, not passive, learners; that children were innocent and good, not fallen; that women, not men, best reared and educated the young; that early education, without question, made all the difference; that nature, and not books alone, was perhaps the best teacher; that kindness and benev- olence, not stern discipline or harsh rebukes, should reign in the home and classroom; and, finally, that the curriculum needed serious reform, to remove the vestiges of medievalism. All agreed that what usually passed for educa- tion was mind-numbing, unnatural, and pernicious, a sin against chldhood. These views became ever expressed in books, educational magazines, and public addresses across the course of the nineteenth century. While it was easier to condemn schools than perfect them, the spirit of education- al reform reflected well a nation continually revitalized by waves of reli- gious revivalism and utopian experiments during the antebellum period. After the Civil War, voices for pedagogical change multiplied and formed a mighty chorus, singrng in praise of the child and insisting that a “new edu- cation” must supplant an “old education” based on false and wicked ideas. Some writers even substituted the word “progressive” as a synonym for “new,” adding the phrase “progressive education” to the nation’s peda- gogical lexicon, without always defining it very clearly or consistently.’ At the turn of the century, John Dewey brilliantly presented the case for each side, the old and new education, in landmark books. Knowing the complex origins of the child-centered ideal, Dewey refused the honorific title of father of progressive education, whch defenders of tradition already viewed as the demon child of romanticism. Even without DNA testing, Dewey’s paternity seems doubtful.’ ‘The phrase “new education” proliferated in editorials and articles in educational jour- nals and various magazines after the Civil War. Similarly, book titles followed suit, as for example, Joseph Rhodes, The New Edzccation: Moral, Industrial, Hygienic, Intellec~ual (Boston: Published by the Author, 1882); Mrs. [Elizabeth?] Peabody, The Nev Education (Cincinnati: Press of Robert Clarke & Co., 1879); and Robert H. Thurston, The New Education and the New Civilization: Their Unity (Columbus, OH: Press of Hahn & Adair, 1892). ’On evangelical movements and nineteenth-century reform movements, read Ronald G. Walters, American Reformws, I81 1-1 860 (New York: Hill and Wang, rev. ed., 1997), chap- ter 1 ; Steven Mintz, Moralists 6 Modernizers: America’s Pre-Civil War Reformers (Baltimore: T h e Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995); and Paul Boyer, Urban Masses and Moral Order i 7 z America, 1820-1920 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1978). Dewey cleverly The Origins of Progressive Education 3 T h e sources of this “new education” were passionately debated from the start. T h e poet William Blake, publishing his Songs of Innocence at the outbreak of the French Revolution, pointed to religious visions since child- hood as central to his inspiration.’ Other champions of the child said they were simply following Nature’s Laws. T h e Swiss reformer, Johann Hein- rich Pestalozzi, whose words became Holy Writ to many, was frankly unsure of where his ideas originated. Acknowledgmg the influence of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Emile (1 762) and his own learning by doing, Pestalozzi wrote in 180 1 that “My whole manner of life has grven me no power, and no incli- nation, to strive hastily after bright and clear ideas on any subject, before, supported by facts, it has a background in me that has awakened some self- confidence. Therefore to my grave I shall remain in a kind of fog about most of my views.” But, he concluded, “it is a holy fog to me.”’ H m Gei-tmde Teaches Her Child?-en (1 801) remains difficult to classify: parts of his classic evoke the empiricism of Bacon, the mechanistic world of Newton, and the sometimes inconsistent, though confidently, asserted claims of his mentor Jean Jacques. Like most pedagogical pilgrims, however, Pestalozzi regard- ed his mission as a holy one. Shrouded in a holy fog, he nonetheless emit- ted celestial light from afar. Lifnng some of the historical clouds that have obscured the origins of early progressivism remains a challenge. So I will try to make my cen- tral propositions clear. In its American phase, child-centered progressivism was part of a larger humanitarian movement led by particular men and women of the northern middle classes in the antebellum and postbellum periods. This was made possible by changes in family size, in new gender roles within bourgeois culture, and in the softening of religious orthodoxy withm Protestantism. Progressivism was also part and parcel of wider reform movements in the Western world that sought the alleviation of pain and suffering and the promotion of moral and intellectual advancement. Like all reform movements, it sought both social stability and social uplift. In contrasted the old and new education in The School and Society (Chicago: University of Chica- go Press, 1899); and Interest and Eflort in Education (Carbondale: Southern Illinois Universi- ty Press, c. 1975). T h e latter was first published in 1913. ‘Geoffrey Keynes, “Introduction,” in William Blake, Songs of Innocence a i d ofExperi- ence (Oxford: Oxford University Press, c. 1967), 10; Peter Achoyd, Blake (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1995), chapter 1; and E.P. Thompson, Witness Against the Beart: William Blake and the Moral Law (New York: T h e New Press, 1995), on the complex dissenting religious tradi- tions that shaped Blake’s world. yohann Heinrich Pestalozzi, How Gemrude Teaches Her Children: A n Attempt t o Help Mothers To Teach Their Own Children and A n Acconnt of the Method (London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd., c. 1915, translation by Lucy E. Holland and Francis C. Turner), 6. Historians commonly note Pestalozzi’s inconsistent views on education and society; see Gerald Lee Gutek, Pestalozzi and Education (New York: Random House, 1968), 5 3 , 98-99, 157-58, 167-68; and Robert B. Downs, Heinrich Pestalozzi: Father of Modern Pedagogy (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1975). 4 Histoq of Education Quarter4 addition, child-centered ideas gained currency as activists drew very selec- tively upon particular romantic traditions emanating from Europe. A trans- Atlantic crossing of ideas from the Swiss Alps, German forests, and English lake district thus played its curious role in the shaping of early progres- sivism. Finally, the hopes of many child-centered educators were ultimately dashed by the realities of American schools a t the end of the nineteenth century. Their moral crusade nevertheless permanently changed the nature of educational thought in the modern world. I Loolung back on the famous reform movements that burst forth in the Western world between the 1750s and 18SOs, scholars disagree con- siderably on the sources and consequences of change yet underscore the complex transformations that altered society. During this period, the shift from a rural, agrarian, mercantilist world, to one of markets, commercial and industrial capitalism, and cities proceeded apace. T h e American and French Revolutions led many citizens to dream of a more just world based on universal respect for Enlightenment precepts of reason, the rule of law, science, and progress. As Thomas L. Haskell persuasively argues in his study of Anglo-American reform movements, dissenting religious groups such as the Quakers, among the most successful capitalists of the new age of Adam Smith, disproportionally led movements for moral reform and uplift. With other Protestant groups and a variety of secular reformers, they champi- oned many unpopular causes: pacifism, women’s rights, the abolition of slavery, and the more humane treatment of children, criminals, and the mentally ill. Unlike other scholars, Haskell causally locates a rising ethos of caring within an emergent capitalism, which increased human misery but also made social ties more expansive and intense, promoting empathy, compassion, and social action.6 Whatever the multiple causes of this growing humanitarianism, reform movements on both sides of the Atlantic reflected activist strains within Protestantism and the secular promise of social change and human improve- ment spawned by political revolution. Thus the rise of a child-centered ethos among a minority of vocal, middle-class activists by the middle of the nineteenth century emerged during an era of sweeping change. A genera- tion of American historians has focused their attention on the malung of northern middle-class family life and culture. In the decades after the Amer- ican Revolution, middle-class families shrank in size, enhancing the possi- bility of placing more attention on the individual child. Gender roles in ‘Thomas L. Haskell, 04ectivity Is Not Neutrality: Enpkznatory Schemes in History (Balti- more: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), chapters 8-9. The Origins o f Progressive Education 5 middle-class homes became more starkly separated in urban areas, the locus of social change, which intensified the domestic labors of mothers, includ- ing child rearing. By mid-century, middle- and upper-class Protestant con- gregations increasingly softened their view of original sin and emphasized Christian nurture over hellish damnation; more moderate, non-Calvinist views were heard from the pulpit and registered in child-rearing manuals. T h e gap between thought and practice, ideal and reality, likely diverged in all of these fundamental areas of northern bourgeois life. But the conver- gence of changes in demography, gender roles, economics, and religious ideology helped make some members of the northern middle classes recep- tive to new ideas about children and their education.’ T h e growing fascination with child-centered education often deteri- orated into pure sentimentality in the Victorian era or was transmuted into a revived effort at discovering the scientific laws of physical and human development reminiscent of the eighteenth century. But the discovery of the child owed an enormous debt to the age of Locke and Newton as well as to Rousseau and Wordsworth. American Progressivism was literally the child of Europe. As Hugh Cunningham has argued, Locke had challenged the seemingly timeless Christian precept of infant damnation by arguing that children’s ideas, if not exactly their talents and destiny, were capable of change and improvement through the influence of education and envi- ronment. Locke also stressed the need to observe the individual child to determine the most suitable education, a foundational idea of child-cen- tered thinking. Newton, in turn, held out the promise of discovering the natural laws that governed the universe, which similarly generated hope- fulness of the human capacity to know the world, unlock its secrets, and thus improve its fate. Before the so-called romantic poets and novelists penned their odes to childhood, English evangelical Protestants by the mid- eighteenth century had created a new genre of reading materials, from chil- dren’s hymns to a wide array of children’s literature, whose messages and S t u a r t M. Blumin, The Emergence of the Middle Class: Social Experiences in the American City, 1760-1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989); Mary P. Ryan, Cradle o f the M & l e Class: The Fumily in Oneida Connty, N m York, 1790-1865 (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni- versity Press, 1981); Karen Halltunen, Confidence Men and Painted Women: A Stndy ofMiddle- Class Culture in America, 1830-1880 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982); Barbara Finkelstein, “Casting Networks of Good Influence: T h e Reconstruction of Childhood in the United States, 1790-1830,” in American Childhood: A Research Guide and Historical Handbook, ed. Joseph M . Hawes and N. Ray Hiner (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1985), 127-28; Bernard Wishy, The Child and the Republic: The Dawn of Modern American Child Nurture (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1968); Robert V. Wells, Revolutions in Amer- icans’ Lives: A Demographic Perspective on the Histoly ofilmericans, Their Families, and Their Soci- ety (Westport, C T : Greenwood Press, 1982), chapters 5-6; Steven Mintz and Susan Kellogg, Domestic Revolutiom: A Social History ofAmerican Family Life (New York: T h e Free Press, 1988), chapter 3; and William J. Reese, The Origins of the American High School (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995). 6 History of Education Quarterly didactic approach differed considerably from an emerging romantic ethos but similarly stressed the heightened importance of the young. Moreover, the child became a more prominent character in novels and popular writ- ing generally. And, as markets expanded, toy shops proliferated, peddling their wares to the middling and upper classes.8 T h e motives of utilitarians, rationalists, shopkeepers, and revivalists obviously varied enormously. But the ascending importance of childhood was clear by the end of the eighteenth century, when revolution and roman- ticism together further led to what critics called a veritable cult of childhood. Increasingly within enlightened circles-among artists, poets, novelists, and educators-new ideas about the nature of the child arose that continue to resonate in the twenty-first century. Some, following Rousseau’s lead, assumed that the chld, naturally good, was corrupted not by Adam’s fall but by human institutions. Innovative thinkers of various stripes-sometimes appalled by the shocking criticisms of religon by the author of Emile-nevertheless ques- tioned whether childhood was preparation for salvation or even adulthood. Those later known to the world as romantics or transcendentalists often concluded that childhood was a holy, mystical place, superior to the cor- rupted lives of adults. Blake invoked the child’s innocence, Wordsworth its “natural piety.” T o many, childhood was a metaphor for goodness, a spe- cial time of life, or even a timeless, sublime essence worthy of contempla- tion. In his first book, Nature, in 1836, Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote “The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shnes into the eye and the heart of the child.” Infants, in fact, were a “perpetual M e ~ s i a h . ” ~ T h e relationship of European Romanticism to the rise of American child-centered thought is nevertheless more complicated than it may appear. Literary critics (never mind the historians) have now published many more words on the romantics than their subjects ever wrote, and the very vocab- ulary ordinarily associated with romanticism is sometimes very ambiguous. The adjective romantic, derived from the word romance, appeared in English in 1650 and in French and German soon after. It referred specifically to medieval verse dealing with “adventure, chivalry, and love,” as Raymond Williams explains, but soon had the added connotations of sentimentality, extravagance, and an appeal to the imagination. Only in the 1880s did schol- ‘Hugh Cunningham, Children and Childhood in Western Society Since 1 YO0 (London: Longman, 1985), chapter 3 . On the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see Viviana A. Zelizer, Pricing the Priceless Child: The Changing Social Value of Children (New York: Basic Books, 1985); and Ellen Condliffe Lagemann, An Elzuive Science: The Troubling Histoly ofEdu- cation Research (Chicago: T h e University of Chicago Press, ZOOO), chapter 1. ‘Peter Coveney, The Image of Childhood: T h e Individualand Society, A Study of the Theme in English Literature (London: Penguin Books, c. 1967), 29; Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Nature,” in Ralph Waldo Emerson, Selected Ersays, ed. Larzer Ziff, (New York: Penguin Boob, c. 1982), 13; and Barbara Beatty, Preschool Education in America: The Crilture of Young Children fiom the Colonial Era t o the Present (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 28. The Origins of Progvessive Education 7 ars routinely mean by Romanticism a distinctive movement of writers, poets, and artists who lived in Europe between roughly the 1790s and 1830s. And, as Williams points out, most of the essential key words in our usual under- standing of romanticism enjoy conflicting definitions. Nature, for exam- ple, “is perhaps the most complex word in the language,” as any dictionary indicates.’” For many decades, scholars have recognized that there was never any unified, single romantic movement. This may help explain the inability of scholars to discover a unified, single progressive movement in education. In the 1920s, the distinguished philosopher and historian of ideas, Arthur 0. Lovejoy, noted that different writers claimed that romanticism origi- nated in the mind of Francis Bacon, or Jean Jacques Rousseau, or Immanuel Kant, or began with that famous couple in the Garden of Eden, since obvi- ously “the Serpent was the first romantic.” By the 1920s, writers routinely praised or blamed romanticism for producing such incongruous phenom- ena as the French Revolution and the Prussian state, or Cardinal Newman and Friedrich Nietzsche. “Typical manifestations of the spiritual essence of Romanticism have been variously conceived to be a passion for moon- light, for red waistcoats, for Gothic churches, for futurist paintings, for talk- ing excessively about oneself, for hero-worship, for losing oneself in an ecstatic contemplation of nature.” Lovejoy knew that the human mind seeks clarity and simplicity, however much it distorts the past. Yet he still hoped one might recognize “a plurality of Romanticisms.” T h e r e were indeed “several strains” within European romanticism, yielding ideas that were “exceedingly diverse and often conflicting.”“ William Blake, who despised the rationalist thought of Locke and Newton, equally disliked Rousseau for his materialism and harsh words o n religion and Voltaire for his faith in reason. “Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, RousseadMock on, Mock on; ‘Tis all in vaidYou throw the sand against the wind/And the wind blows it back again.’”’ And yet he shared Rousseau’s hostility to institutions, likened schools to cages where teachers taught birds “’Raymond Williams, Keywords: A Vocabulaiy ojCultzri-e and Society (New York: Oxford University Press, c. 1976), 219, 274-75. As Alan Richardson notes, “In the Romantic poet’s appeal to nature lay the basis for a potentially radical critique of the disciplinary forms of con- temporary educational theory and practice.” See Literature, Education, and Romanticimz: Read- ing as Social Practice, 1780-1832 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 104. “Arthur 0. Lovejoy, Essays in the Histo7y of Ideas (New York: G. P. Pumam’s Sons, c. 1960), 229,231,235,2SZ. Also see Richardson, Literatnre, 9-10, 30; and the essays in Roman- ticism in National Context, eds. Roy Porter and Mikulas Teich (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni- versity Press, 1988). For the ongoing debates among educators, see the essays in John Willinsky, ed., The Educational Legary ofRomanticism (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1990). “William Blake, “Mock O n , Mock O n , Voltaire, Rousseau,” in The Portable Romantic Poets: Blake t o POP, ed. W . H . Auden and Norman Holmes Pearson (New York: Penguin Books, c. 1978), 13. Also see Isaiah Berlin, The Roots of Romanticimz, ed. Henry Hardy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 49-50. 8 History of Education Quarterly to sing, and thought educational institutions, like marriage, government, and the military were fairly Satanic. Blake and Wordsworth assumed that children were good and innocent, and their early dissenting politics were set aflame by the American and French Revolutions. As the Terror showed the unhappy face of change, however, Blake retained his radical politics but wrote a parody of his Songs of Innocence entitled Songs of Experience. Both were printed together by 1794, showing the “Two Contrary States of the Human Soul.” London born and bred, he never shared Wordsworth’s views on nature, nor did he tilt his politics Tory-side, like the famous bard from the Lake District.‘’ Without question, a wide variety of “romantics” influenced the rise of child-centered ideas in America in the nineteenth century. T h e inspir- ing words of Rousseau or Wordsworth were hardly unknown among those who attacked the old education and called for more humane treatment of the innocent child. Yet many of the romantics had conflicting views on human nature, society, and the prospect of social change. They were some- times individually inconsistent and could not offer blueprints for imagined educational utopias. European romantic writers, poets, and artists had come of age in a different time and place than those who struggled to make emerg- ing, comprehensive, public school systems in the American north more humane and child-centered. They could provide insights into the evil ways of child rearing and education in the past and inspiration for reformers. But anyone who read the romantics, who could be quite suspicious of institu- tions, closely enough, would have detected that they usually were not encum- bered by the challenging problems of teaching, raising school funds, or dealing with parents on a regular basis. T h e romantics mattered on these shores. But only those who wrote specifically and extensively about educa- tion and schools-especially Johann Pestalozzi (1 746- 182 7), in particular, and Friedrich Froebel(l782-1852) afterwards-had a clearly decisive impact. Even then, not surprisingly, their disciples took their ideas and made them compatible with the perceived needs of northern urban culture, tearing them from their original context. ”On Blake’s views on children, institutions, and politics, read S. Foster Damon, A Blake Dictionary: The Ideas and Symbols of William Blake (Hanover: University Press of New Eng- land, c. 1988), 81, 145; Coveney, Image, 54-55; and David V. Erdman, Blake: ProphetAgaimt Empire (New York: Dover Publications, c. 1977), 120-22,271-72. Invarious editions of Songs o f Innocence and of Experzence, Blake rearranged the placement of some poems, showing that he did not place “hard and fast” boundaries on the two contrary “States of the Human Soul.” See Andrew Lincoln’s “Introduction,” in William Blake, Songs o f Innocence and of Experience (Princeton: Princeton University Press, c. 1991), 17. Wordsworth’s politics, poetry, and views of children have generated an enormous list of secondary sources; consult at least Stephen Gill, William Wordnvorth: A Life (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989); Aidan Day, Romanticinn (London: Routledge, 1996), 33, 56-58; and Nicholas Riasanovsky, The Emergence of Romanti- cimz (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), chapter 1. The Origins of Progressive Education 9 American romantics nevertheless eloquently and movingly described the sweetness, harmony, and holiness of chldhood, views that echoed among native poets, progressive religious figures, and assorted visionaries. T h e transcendentalists, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau among others, saw something artificial about the schools, which nevertheless bore their names by the thousands in the twentieth century. Having failed in a brief stint as a district school teacher-reportedly quitting after discover- ing that using the switch came with the job-the author of Walden (1854) thought the common schools were decent enough but inferior to the vil- lage and nature. “It is time that we had uncommon schools,” Thoreau told his readers, and “villages were universities, and their elder inhabitants the fellows of universities, with leisure . . . to pursue liberal studies the rest of their lives. Shall the world be confined to one Paris and one Oxford for- ever? Cannot students be boarded here and get a liberal education under the skies of Concord?”’.’ W h a t was needed was not another schoolmaster sequestered between four barren walls but a modern Abelard urging peo- ple to think unconventional thoughts: precisely what common schools were never intended to do. Poets such as Walt Whitman, whose genius belies any easy literary classification, similarly found a more natural, not institutionally deadening, form of learning as essential to the making of the new education. Another former teacher, Whitman had, while editor of the Brooklyn Eagle, frequently excoriated corporal punishment and demanded better teaching methods. In h s poems he applauded the contemplation of morning glories over mem- orizing facts in books, elevated human intuition over intellect, merried in the joys of play, and snickered at the arrogance of the educated. As he grew old, he realized that schools were here to stay. At the inauguration of a new one in Camden, New Jersey, in 1874, he offered “An Old Man’s Thought of School.” And these I see, these sparkling eyes, These stores of mystic meaning, these young lives, Building, equipping like a fleet of ships, immortal ships, Soon to sail out over the measureless seas, O n the soul’s voyage. Only the lot of boys and girls? Only the tiresome spelling, writing, ciphering classes? Only a public school? “Henry David Thoreau, Wulden (New York: Penguin Books, c. 1986), 154. O n Emer- son and teaching, read Robert D. Richardson, Jr., Emerson: The Mind on Fire (Berkeley: Uni- versity of California Press, 1995), 41, 5 7 . 10 History o f Education Quarterly No, Whitman answered, the school, like the church, was not simply “brick and mortar” but a place of “living souls,” “the lights and shadows of the future. . . . To girlhood, boyhood look, the teacher and the school.”” I1 American advocates of the new education drew as they pleased from a large corpus of romantic writings, domestic and foreign. But few Euro- peans were as influential as Pestalozzi and Froebel, even though their ideas were bent and adapted to local conditions and sometimes rejected in the- ory and practice by some who invoked their names as the source of their inspiration. T h e Swiss-born Pestalozzi and German-born Froebel had emphasized the importance of motherhood, spirituality, and natural meth- ods in educating little children, sentiments soon embraced by many pro- gressive thinkers. Emerson E. White, who had recently retired as Cincinnati’s superintendent, told local high school graduates in 1889 that “The theo- ries and methods of Pestalozzi and Froebel have permeated elementary schools, and science and other modern knowledges, have entered the uni- versities and are working their way downward through secondary educa- tion.”’6 This may have surprised the graduates, since their academic success was mostly a testimony to the power of memorization and recitation of a traditional sort. But many educators like Emerson, searching for a way to improve their craft and answer their perennial critics, thought change was imminent and inevitable thanks to new ideas from abroad. As a contribu- tor to The ScboolJournal, based in New York and Chicago, said in 1895, “The educational world, as i t is spoken of here, has existed from only a modern date. It took on a distinct form when the impact of the Pestalozzian wave struck our shores.’”’ Indeed, Horace Mann, Henry Barnard, and other promoters of a gen- tler pedagogy eagerly publicized the romantic ideals emanating from Europe, which assailed memorization, textbooks, physical discipline, and the usual features of the neighborhood school. Children, as Whitman said, were “stores of mystic meaning,” not empty vessels waiting to be filled with use- ”Walt Whitman, “An Old Man’s Thought of School, For the Inauguration of a Pub- lic School, Camden, New Jersey, 1874,” in Walt Whitman: The Complete Poems, ed. Francis Murphy (New York: Penguin Books, c. 1986), 41 8-19. In “Song ofMyself,” he typically wrote “A morning-glory at my windows satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.” But, as a former teacher, he often showed great respect for teachers and their labors, and was quite familiar with Locke’s writings and the soft pedagogical ideals of Horace Mann and other con- temporaries. See Florence Bernstein Freedman, Walt Whitman Looks at the Schools (New York: King’s Crown Press, Columbia University, 1950); and David S. Reynolds, Walt W h i m a n ? America: A Cultural Biography (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1995), 15-16, 34-35, 52-63, 75. l6E.E. White, “Address to Graduates,” Pennsyluania SchoolJournal38 (October 1889): 153. ‘“‘The Educational World,” The School3oumal5 1 (October 5, 1895): 289. The Origins of Progressive Education 11 less knowledge through brutal methods. But something had obviously gone wrong. Otherwise he could not have alluded to the “tiresome” methods of the school in his poem in 1874. Changing school practices along the lines of the European masters was no simple matter. Mann himself had antici- pated the future by sponsoring city-wide examinations in Boston in 1845 to demonstrate what children had learned a t school, knowledge largely acquired by memorizing facts contained in textbooks. Written tests had become the rage after the Civil War, especially in the cities, where admis- sion to high school still required mastery of traditional textbook knowledge and passing a rigorous test. Recitations, too, retained their high place on all levels of instruction in the 1870s. Learning the value of work, not play, discipline, not doing as one pleased, said many citizens, were among the most important lessons taught at school. Textbook salesmen continued to hawk their ubiquitous stock, a familiar part of the business of education. Many teachers still tried to teach caged birds to sing.“ As in every transfer of ideas, American child-centered educators and reformers reworked Pestalozzi and Froebel in ways that made sense to them. Born t o middle-class parents in 1746, Pestalozzi wrote extensively in Rousseauian fashion on the power of nature, while elevating the spiritual and practical significance of womanhood and motherhood through his ide- alized views on peasant women, which had more than a hint of nostalgia for the countryside. This was music to the ears of northern middle-class Americans in the nineteenth century, as cities and factories transformed the landscape. An early enthusiast of the French Revolution, Pestalozzi ulti- mately recoiled just like other early romantics against its violent turn, cen- tering his hope for the future in education and social cooperation, not political radicalism and conflict.’” That, too, made him palatable to urban reformers. An avowed socialist such as Robert Owen found Pestalozzi’s writings and model schools on the continent one of several sources of inspiration for infant schools and for his wider communitarian experiments in New Lanark and New Harmony. But the famous Swiss educator embedded his views in a mystical but clearly Christian world view, which furthered his appeal among middle-class reformers building schools in capitalist Amer- ica. His writings sometimes evoked a pantheistic flavor, a synthesis of nat- uralistic and Christian imagery, common to romantics of his generation. Besides criticizing the horrors of traditional, adult-centered education and invokmg the child’s innocence, Pestalozzi explained that a mother could I n o n testing and the controversies surrounding it, see Reese, OrigiTzs, 142-61. O n the traditional emphasis on rote memorization and didactic teaching, see Carl F. Kaestle, Pillars of the Repablic: Common Schools and American Society, 1780-1 860 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1983), 18,45-46,97; Reese, Origins, 132-41; and Cremin, Transfrmation, 20-21. “Cutek, Pestalozzi and Edzrration, 6-8, 70-73. 12 History of Education Quarterly teach the child “to lisp the name of God on her bosom” and to see “him the All-loving in the rising sun, in the rippling brook, in the branches of the trees, in the splendor of the flower, in the dewdrops.”” Like many romantics, he personified Nature as female, the grver of life, seemingly syn- onymous with all that was holy and good. His message on the power of women as educators made sense to many American educators, who wit- nessed the transformation of the public school teaching force from male to female, especially in the primary and elementary grades.” Even Pestalozzi’s garden-variety slurs on Jesuits and the Papacy as the source of many evil school practices would hardly undermine his pop- ularity among educational reformers.” Otherwise gentle folk, such as the Reverend Horace Bushnell, a neighbor and ally of Henry Barnard’s in Con- necticut, could invoke themes of childhood benevolence and Christian nur- ture in one breath and spew forth anti-Catholic diatribes in another.” Finally, by saying that children learned best by experience with concrete objects, guided by the maternal power of educators, Pestalozzi’s popularity seemed assured. T o the northern Protestant middle classes, there was something practical and comforting in his overall message. Those who visited Pestalozzi’s model schools, read his writings, or even taught with him, however, had found inspiration, not an infallible guide to the future. A former colleague who later opened an upper-class male boarding school in Britain, supposedly on Pestalozzian lines, insisted that the grand master’s ideals were more important than how they were ‘“Pestalozzi, How Gertrude, 192. On Owen, see Beatty, Preschool Edncation, 1-2, 17-19; and Arthur Bestor, Backwoods Utopias: The Sectarian Origins and the Owenite Phase of Commu- nitarian Socialism in America, 1663-1 829 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, c. 1970), 138-39. “Gutek, Pestalozzi andEdwation, 61 -67; Beatty, Beschool Education, 1 1 -12; and Pestalozzi, How Gertmde, where the themes of motherhood, morality, Christianity, and educational good- ness intertwine. T h e significance of images of motherhood and a feminine Nature in roman- tic poetry is underscored in Barbara Shapiro, The Romantic Mother: Narcissistic Patterns in Romantic Poetry (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1983), ix. Feminist criticism of male romantic poets and writers are extensive and diverse; they often critique the men for appropriating “female” virtues such as empathy and nurture, already important themes in women’s writings by the eighteenth century. For a small sampling of this literary criticism, see Anne K. Mellor, ed., Romanticism and Feminism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988); and Meena Alexander, Women in Romanticism: Mary Wollstonerraji, Dorothy Wordrworth, and Mary Shelly (Savage, MD: Barnes and Noble Books, 1989). ?‘See Pestalozzi, How Gertrude, 46, 104, 146, 1 5 3 , where he offers slurs on “monhsh” education and barbarian peoples, presumably Slavs and Italians, and calls for the elimination of “Gothic monkish educational rubbish.” ”Reese, Origins, 52. For a taste of Bushnell’s views, see Horace Bushnell, Common Schools: A Discourse on the Modifications Demanded ly the Roman Catholics, Delivered in the North Church, HaMord, On the Day of the Last Fast, March 25, 1853. (Harrford, CT: Press of Cass, Tiffany, and Company, 1853). Unless Catholics (and Jews) were willing to send their chil- dren to Catholic schools, and the former end their campaign to divide the school fund, Bush- nell urged them all to leave the country. The Origins of Progressive Education 1 3 implemented. So he dropped many of Pestalozzi’s ideas and practices.” Despite the fame of his model schools, Pestalozzi emphasized educating better mothers and improving home-based education, but that did not stop those seehng to spread his ideals into schools. And the inconsistencies in his writings allowed child-centered educators and activists on opposite sides of a question to claim him as their authority. His insistence upon educat- ing the head, heart, and hand led some reformers to demand vocational education for the masses. Others, like Ralph Waldo Emerson, endorsed manual labor schools but said one should be educated for life, not merely for work.” In addition, Pestalozzi’s search for a science of education, where he invoked the spirit of empiricism and rationalism, inspired disciples on both sides of the Atlantic to create variations on a formal method-object teaching-that proved as rigid as any other pedagogical system. A former student who actually attended one of Pestalozzi’s model schools noted that from a child’s perspective, “ W h a t was so emphatically called Pestalozzi’s method was an enigma to us. So it was to our teachers. Like the disciples of Socrates, every one of them interpreted the master’s doctrines in his own fashion; but we were far from the times when these divergencies created discord, when our chief masters, after having each one of them laid claim to be the only one who really understood Pestalozzi, ended by declaring that Pestalozzi did not really understand himself.”26 However holy, his pedagogical fog could be impenetrable. Much the same was said about John Dewey’s prose over a century later, as innovative edu- cators med to translate it into educational programs and practices. His prose was variously called “lumbering and bumbling” or, as William James said, “damnable; you might even say God-damnable.”” Discord usually follows the lives of educational rebels, and Pestalozzi was no exception. Like Wordsworth’s Prelude, How Gertrmde Teaches Her Children was semiautobiographical, and it includes discussions of his bat- tles with bullheaded, working-class parents, certain he is using their chil- dren as guinea pigs, and with rival teachers a t his middle-class model schools unhappy with, among other things, his failure to balance the books. Every- one who worked with the poor, Pestalozzi said, knew the difficulties in try- ing to teach them. Their dlction was bad, and their parents wanted traditional discipline and religious orthodoxy ever present in the classroom. “Let him who lives among such people come forward and bear witness, if he has not ‘’Downs, Pestalozzi, 117-18; and Gutek, Pestalozzi and Education, 159-60. ”Middle-class Americans were also attracted to Pestalozzi’s emphasis on the individ- ual, which appealed to those who wanted to nurture an ethos of personal responsibility among the young. Emerson even cited him in his famous call for American literary independence, “ T h e American Scholar,” in Ziff, SelectedEssays, 103. ‘“Quoted in Downs, Pestalozzi, 7 1. ‘-Quoted in Cremin, Transfornation, 2 3 7 . 14 History o f Education Quarterly experienced how troublesome it is to get any idea into the poor creatures. But everyone agrees about this”--from the magstrates to the clergy. When he tried teaching the worhng classes without the standard books or cate- chism in a school in Burgdorf, “They decided a t a meeting that they did not wish experiments made on their children with the new teaching; the burghers might try on their own.”’s Progressive educators for decades to come would ask whether child-centered methods had any chance among the children of the poor. In the end, they would conclude, like many Amer- ican advocates of kindergartens-the romantic reform par excellence-that the innovations should stress moral education and social control when it came to the urban poor. Thus were child-centered ideals among the mid- dle classes continually shaped by social position.’y Froebelian ideas and practices also provided enormous inspiration for the champions of the child and faced continual reinterpretation after the mid-nineteenth century, when German emigres spread the kindergarten gospel after the failed Revolution of 1848. Born in one of the German states in 1782, Froebel drew upon an eclectic source of Enlightenment and roman- tic writings, and upon a variety of experiences that included an apprentice- ship to a forester and military service against Napoleon, as he fashioned his educational ideas in the early nineteenth century. He studied with Pestalozzi, taught in several schools, and similarly emphasized the heightened signifi- cance of motherhood, womanhood, and early education along natural lines.“’ Inventing an elaborate, highly symbolic, graduated series of what he called gifts and occupations, Froebel cast the kindergarten in the red hot glow of Christian pantheism. The child of a Lutheran minister, Froebel, like Pestalozzi, had a very unhappy childhood, but he grew up in a spiritual world rich in symbolism. More boohsh than his Swiss counterpart, he had similar finan- cial problems but became a teacher when “he accepted the call from ’“Pestalozzi, How Getrude, 113. Pestalozzi added that it was understandable that those in the expensive seats at the theater scorned those in the pit, t h a t employers complained about workers not following orders, and so forth. As a result of faulty teaching methods in the lower schools, he concluded, society bore the blame for the depressed state of Christianity in Europe among the poor and the resulting low state of moral life. ”Beatty, Preschool Education, chapters 5-6; Robert Wollons, “Introduction,” in Kinder- gartens and Cultures: The Global Dzfiuion of an Idea, ed. Roberta Wollons (New Haven: Yale University Press, ZOOO), 7; Barbara Beatty, “‘The Letter Killeth’: Americanization and Mul- ticultural Education in Kindergartens in the United States, 1856-1920,” in Kindergartens nnd Cultures, 42-55; and Selwyn K. Troen, The Public and the Schools: Shaping the St. Louis System, 1838-1920 (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1975), chapter 5, on the early establish- ment of kmdergartens in a major city. ’“For a sense of the range of intellectual and social forces that shaped Froebel’s life and educational views, see Robert B. Downs, F$-iedrich Froebel (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1978); Beatty, Preschool Education, chapter 3 ; Michael Steven Shapiro, Child’s Garden: The Kinder- garten Mouementfiom Froebel to Dewey (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1983), chapter 2; and the innovative volume by Norman Brosterman, Inventing findergarten (New York: Harry N. Ahrams, Inc., Publishers, 1997), chapter 1. The Origins of Progressive Education 1s Providence.”” Put the concrete before the abstract and experience before books in the education of little chddren both men, and their disciples, would say. Froebel’s writings were a fascinating blend of naturalism and Christian piety, as when he described the kindergarten: “As in a garden, under God’s favor, and by the care of a skilled, intelligent gardener, growing plants are cultivated in accordance with Nature’s laws. . . .7’31 In one of history’s many ironic twists of fate, Prussia banned the kmdergarten in 185 1, the year before Froebel’s death, since religious and political radicals and women activists had championed, and thus cast sus- picion upon, the innovation. As historian Roberta Wollons explains, how- ever, the kindergarten, ever malleable, ultimately found favor in many different corners of the world, championed by dictators and democrats alike.” Froebel’s hndergarten, melding the sweet sounds of nature, human goodness, social harmony, holiness, and maternalism into a pedagogical symphony, proved as appealing and flexible in America as Pestalozzi’s broad- er educational philosophy. Middle- and upper-class women, whether mor- alizing reformers o r champions of the liberation of the child, found in Froebel what they wanted. T h e well-known transcendentalist, Elizabeth Peabody, became a leading champion of the kindergarten, yet hardly read any of Froebel’s writings, which could be alternatively obtuse and highly prescriptive. And as Barbara Beatty explains, in her already standard histo- ry of early childhood education, the kindergarten had to be Americanized before it could find favor with the urban middle classes.’+ Many scholars have shown that America’s kindergarten advocates divided into rival camps, each claiming true discipleship and possessing the authentic vision.” Froebel’s followers substantially revised the master’s highly formalized gifts and occupations, and the commercialization of kindergarten materials (principally to make money, not to produce pan- theists) further undermined any uniform kindergarten ideal. Froebel hoped ”Quoted in Downs, Froehel, 19. “Ibid., 42. Froebel thus wrote of the child in Pedagogics of the Kndergarten, Or, His Ideas Corzcerning the Play and Playthings of the Child (New York: D. Appleton, c. 1899, translated by Josephine Jarvis), 7: “Man, as child, resembles the flower on the plant, the blossom on the tree; as these are in relation to the tree, so is the child in relation to humanity: a young bud, a blossom; and as such, it bears, includes, and proclaims the ceaseless reappearance of new human life.” “Wollons, “Introduction,” 1-14; Ann Taylor Allen, “Children Between Public and Private Worlds: T h e Kindergarten and Public Policy in Germany, 1856-1920,” in Kinder- gartensaizd Cultures, 16-37; and Joachim Liebschner, A Child’s Work: Freedom and Play in Froe- bel’s Educational Theory and Practice (Cambridge: T h e Lutterworth Press, c. 1992), chapter 8. “On Peabody, see Louise Hall Tharp, The Peabody Sisters of Salem (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1950), chapter 2 5 ; Reatty, Preschool Education, 57-64; and Beatty, “‘The Letter Killeth’,” 46. ‘44 16 8 Characteristic Unit Min Max Mean Min Max Mean Min Max Mean Conductivity µS cm−1 93 83 92 n.d. 65 87 75 79 87 84 PH 6.9 6.4 9.4 7.7 6.5 7.3 6.8 6 7.7 7 Turbidity NTU n.d. n.d. n.d. n.d. 0.43 1.7 1.1 n.d. n.d. n.d. Alkalinity µg l−1 n.d. n.d. n.d. n.d. 134 182 153 11 12 11 Total phosphorus µg l−1 5.3 1 22 8.4 10 60 19 10 140 60 Month May April September Ammonia-N mg l−1 0.02 n.d. n.d. n.d. <0.01 0.14 <0.03 0.02 0.02 0.02 Nitrate-N mg l−1 0.03 0.01 0.12 0.04 <0.01 0.05 <0.03 0.02 0.02 0.02 Total Nitrogen mg l−1 0.33 0.1∗ 0.57∗ 0.23∗ 0.21∗∗ 1.1∗∗ 0.41∗∗ n.d. n.d. n.d. Secchi Depth M 8.5 2.5 7.5 5.2 4 9.3 6.8 n.d. n.d. n.d. N:P Ratio 68:1 n.d. n.d. 28:1 8.7:1 112:1 22:1 n.d. n.d. n.d. Chlorophyll a µg l−1 2.2 0.1 8.2 2 2.3 3.73 3.1 n.d. n.d. n.d. ∗Including ammonia. ∗∗Excluding ammonia. n.d. = no data. Sediment sub-samples were analysed at 4 cm in- tervals for bulk organic C and N elemental and sta- ble isotope composition. Samples were acid-washed in 10% HCl to remove carbonates, rinsed with de-ionized water and freeze-dried. Coarse-grained (>500 µm) sediments were removed by sieving. The fine-grained fraction was analysed for organic C and N per- cent and stable isotope composition using a Micro- mass Isochrom continuous flow mass spectrometer equipped with an elemental analyser at the Univer- sity of Waterloo—Environmental Isotope Laboratory. Carbon and N isotope composition are reported in δ-notation, such that δ = [Rsample/Rstd − 1] × 1000 where R is the 13C/12C and 15N/14N ratios in the sample and VPDB and AIR standards, respectively. Analytical uncertainty is ±0.03% for δ13C and δ15N based on re- peated analyses of several samples. Samples for diatom analysis were processed us- ing standard procedures (Pienitz et al., 1995). A min- imum of 500 valves per sample were counted and identified according to Camburn and Charles (2000), Krammer and Lange–Bertalot (1986–1991), and Fallu et al. (2000). The taxonomy of the fossil and the modern samples was matched by personal communication with S. Dixit and by comparing our photographs with figures presented in Camburn et al. (1984–86), as this was the main taxonomic reference used by Dixit et al. (1999) for the training set. Chrysophyte cysts were counted, but not identified, and the scales of synurophytes (a group of chrysophytes) were counted and partly identified on the same slides as the diatoms. The ratio of chrysophyte cysts and scales to diatom frustules are expressed as the percentage of the respective remains related to the sum of diatom frustules (= half of the diatom valve count) and the total count of chrysophyte remains. Fossil diatom assemblages were subdivided into stratigraphic zones by optimal partitioning using the computer program ZONE (S. Juggins, unpublished program; Stephen.Juggins@ncl.ac.uk). The significant number of zones was estimated by the broken stick model (Bennett, 1996). However, this zonation tech- nique separates groups at the midpoint of gradual 122 Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 Table 2. Performance of the pH and TP models used for paleolim- nological reconstructions in this study, based on diatom and envi- ronmental data from 82 New England lakes (Dixit et al., 1999). max. Gradient Method r2 RMSE r2jack RMSEP bias pH WA inv. 0.87 0.24 0.82 0.30 0.37 TP WA inv. 0.65 0.19 0.40 0.25 0.36 WA inv. = Weighted averaging with inverse deshrinking; RMSE = root mean squared error of prediction; RMSEP = jacknifed RMSE; r2 = jacknifed coefficient of determination. changes, which does not always reflect the exact tim- ing of the onset of change. Therefore, we assigned the border between Zone II and Zone III to the level where the shift began (12 cm instead of the calculated 10 cm), in order to relate the start of this change to historically recorded human disturbances. For quantitative reconstructions of pH and TP, we used transfer functions based on limnological and sub- fossil diatom data (Dixit et al., 1999) from 82 lakes located in the states of Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Connecticut (Köster et al., 2004). Details concerning numerical analyses of the data set, model development, and comparison of quantitative re- constructions with the instrumental record of Walden Pond are presented in Köster et al., 2004). Diatom- based inference models based on weighted averaging with inverse deshrinking (WAinv) were used for the re- constructions in this study (Table 2), as they represented the simplest models with good statistical performance (Köster et al., 2004). Model development, environmen- tal reconstructions and calculation of sample-specific errors for the fossil samples were carried out using the program C2 (Juggins, 2003). Errors were estimated by jacknifing, an intensive cross-validation procedure. In order to test how well the fossil diatom assem- blages are represented in the model data set, two meth- ods of analog measures were applied. The coefficients of dissimilarity using chord distance (Overpeck et al., Table 3. 14C dates for Walden Pond including AMS dates in years BP (ybp), calibrated dates (cal ybp) and calibrated dates converted to years BC/AD. 2 Sigma 14C Converted to Years BC/AD Depth (cm) ybp Calibrated ybp Lab Error Error Cal ybp + 50 (2000 − Cal ybp + 50) 44–45 785 689 35 80 739 1261 ± 80 60–61 1084 970 35 110 1020 980 ± 110 90–91 1301 1261 36 120 1311 689 ± 120 124–125 1517 1396 38 96 1446 554 ± 96 1985) were calculated using the program ANALOG (H.J.B. Birks, University of Norway, Bergen, Norway and J.M. Line, Cambridge University, Cambridge, UK, unpubl. program). Based on the mean minimum dis- similarity coefficient (DC) within the model data, the 75 and 95% confidence intervals were calculated (Laird et al., 1998). Fossil samples with a DC lower than the 75% confidence interval were deemed to have good analogs in the calibration set, whereas DCs between 75 and 95% indicated poor analogs and DCs outside the 95% interval indicated no analogs (Laing et al., 1999). Furthermore, the ‘goodness of fit’ of the fossil assem- blages to the reconstructed variables pH and TP was evaluated by a CCA with the first axis constrained to one variable and defining the modern and fossil samples as active and passive, respectively. Fossil samples hav- ing residual distances to the first axis outside the 95% confidence interval of the modern samples’ distances were considered to have very poor fit (Birks, 1990). Results The chronology of the sediment core, based on 210Pb and 14C dates as well as the European settlement hori- zon (Table 3, Figure 2), indicates a sedimentation rate of about 0.13 cm yr−1 from ca. 430 to 1200 AD. From ca. 1200 to 1700 AD, sediment accumulation declined to 0.04 cm yr−1, rising to an average rate of 0.09 cm yr−1 over the last 300 years. The organic content of the sediments, inferred from loss-on-ignition, remained relatively constant with val- ues around 40% from ∼430 AD to ∼1500 AD, except at ∼670 AD (100 cm) where a value of 49% was ob- tained (Figure 4a). From ∼1600 AD, the percentage of organic matter began to decline, until it reached about 25% at ∼1960 AD. Afterwards, the proportion of or- ganic matter fluctuated between 25% and 40% with a tendency to higher levels in the most recent sediments. Before European settlement, Quercus (oak), Pinus (pine) and Betula (birch) dominated the pollen stratig- raphy, with about 15% aquatic macrophytes, and no Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 123 Figure 2. Age-depth model for Walden Pond.Dates were established by the 210Pb and 14C methods.The ESH (European settlement hori- zon) was determined by pollen analysis and assigned to the historical recorded date 1635 AD. significant changes were observed (Figure 3). After settlement in the early 17th century, the proportion of Pinus increased from 15 to 25% and the amount of agricultural weeds (including Poaceae, Ambrosia, Rumex, etc.) started to increase. Between ca. 1840 and 1900 AD, the abundance of Quercus decreased by 20 to 30%, Pinus declined and agricultural weeds increased until they reached peak proportions of 28% at 1900 AD. In the early 20th century, Betula showed a maximum of 28% and the herbs declined sharply. Shortly afterwards, declines in Betula coincided with increases of Quercus and Pinus. Fagus (beech) and Tsuga (hemlock) pollen declined gradually from the early 18th century on until present. Between 10 and 8 cm (ca. 1940–1960 AD), the relative abundance of aquatic macrophytes, mainly Isoëtes (Quillworth), declined rapidly from 11 to 1.5%. The C and N elemental and isotope composition of Walden Pond sediments was generally stable until marked changes occurred at the top of the core above ca. 24 cm depth (after ca. 1770 AD) corresponding with the main period of human disturbance in the catchment (Figure 4). Organic C and N contents in sediments be- low these strata were near constant with values of 20 and 2%, respectively (Figure 4b,c). Above this horizon, C and N rapidly declined to values as low as 16.8 and 1.2%, respectively, and then increased to values similar to those observed in the pre-1770 AD interval. A brief increase in % C at 12.5 cm depth (ca. 1910 AD) inter- rupted this general trend and corresponds to a horizon rich in charcoal fragments. Similarly, δ13C and δ15N were also generally stable in the lower strata with val- ues of about −26.5 and 1.5‰, respectively (Figure 4e, f). Around 1770 AD, δ13C values began to decline sub- stantially to −30‰, whereas δ15N values markedly be- gan to increase to 5‰. Unlike the trends observed in the elemental profiles, the C and N isotope values did not return to values observed in the pre-1770 AD interval. Three major periods with differing diatom assem- blages were distinguished for the last ∼1600 years, in- cluding one zone preceding ∼1750 AD and two zones after ∼1750 AD, the latter two corresponding to human disturbance in the watershed (Figure 5). Zone I (140–26 cm, ca. 430 to 1750 AD): In Zone I, the oligotrophic to mesotrophic and circumneutral to acidophilic species Tabellaria flocculosa (Roth) Kütz. str. IIIp sensu Koppen and Cyclotella stelligera (Cleve and Grunow) Van Heurck dominated. The acidobion- tic diatom Asterionella ralfsii var. americana Körner was present at low abundance throughout this period. Fragilaria nanana Lange-Bertalot and Cyclotella bo- danica aff. lemanica (Müller ex Schröter) Bachmann were present with abundances less than 10%. The ratio of synurophyte scales to diatom frustules varied be- tween 9 and 29% (mean: 18%, Figure 5). The ratio of chrysophyte cysts to diatoms ranged from 7 to 21% (mean: 13%), with the highest values (18–20%) around 1700 AD. Zone II (26–12 cm, ca. 1750 to 1920 AD): Around 1750 AD, the abundance of T. flocculosa str. III p started to decline, while C. stelligera increased by about 30%. Cyclotella bodanica aff. lemanica de- creased from around 10% to very low abundance at ∼1860 AD. The synurophyte scales to diatom frus- tules ratio remained constant (mean: 21%), however, the mean relative abundance of chrysophyte cysts de- creased from 13 to 8%. Zone III (12–0 cm, ca. 1920 to 2000 AD): In the early 20th century, diatom assemblage composition showed a striking change. The abundances of the disturbance indicators Asterionella formosa Hassal and Fragilaria nanana increased from about 5% in the late 19th cen- tury to 50 and 35% respectively in the 1960s. Simul- taneously, C. stelligera decreased rapidly, from a max- imum abundance of 77% at ∼1900 AD to an average abundance of 3% after ∼1930 AD whereas C. bodan- ica aff. lemanica and Tabellaria flocculosa str. IIIp re- mained relatively constant at ca. 5% and 15%, respec- tively. Asterionella ralfsii var. americana disappeared around 1940 AD and was not subsequently recorded. From about 1980 to 2000 AD this new diatom assem- blage stabilized. The mean synurophyte scales to diatom frustules ratio increased to 43%, with a maximum of 64% in ∼1998. This increase was mainly caused by much higher abundances of scales of Mallomonas cras- sisquama (Asmund) Fott. The ratio of chrysophyte cysts to diatom frustules remained low with values 124 Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 Figure 3. Pollen and spores stratigraphy of selected taxa in Walden Pond sediments.Abundances of aquatic taxa were calculated as percentage of total non-aquatic pollen and were not included in the calculation of pollen percentages.Dashed horizontal lines indicate the major diatom zones (see Figure 5). around 8% until about 1997, and then increased to 10– 20% in the upper three levels. Two major periods with differing analog situations prevail in the sediment core (Figure 5). The samples between 140 cm and 9 cm (ca. 430 to 1950 AD) have dissimilarity coefficients lower than the 75% confidence limit, indicating that the fossil diatom species are well represented in the model data set. With the exception of the samples at 4, 3 and 0 cm, the recent samples between 8 and 0 cm (ca. 1950 to 2000 AD) have dissimilarity coefficients between the 75 and 95% critical values, indicating poor analogs (Figure 5). Similar patterns were obtained by the ‘good- ness of fit’ analysis using CCA. The samples from 140 to 9 cm have a good fit to pH and TP, whereas the levels 8 to 0 cm lay outside the 95% confidence limit, indicating a poor fit of those samples to both variables. Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 125 Figure 4. Loss-on-ignition (a), bulk organic carbon and nitrogen elemental (b, c, d) and stable isotope stratigraphy (e, f) for Walden Pond.Dashed horizontal lines indicate the major diatom zones (see Figure 5). The diatom-inferred pH (DI-pH, Figure 5) remained stable from ca. 430 to 1880 AD, with values fluctuating around 7.3. Afterwards, the DI-pH sharply increased to 7.8 at ca. 1970 AD, after which values stabilized until the present day. Figure 5. Diatom stratigraphy of Walden Pond with major zonations, ratios of chrysophyte scales and cysts to diatom frustules, diatom- inferred pH (DI-pH) and TP (DI-TP) and analysis of dissimilarity using the program ANALOG. The sample-specific error for DI-pH and DI-TP (for TP back-transformed to µg l−1) is indicated by horizontal bars. Dashed vertical lines in the ANALOG graph indicate the 75% and 95% confidence limits.Values lower than the 75% limit indicate good analogs, values between the 75% and the 95% limits indicate poor analogs. The diatom-inferred TP (DI-TP, Figure 5) followed similar trends as DI-pH, but increased with a time lag of about 50 years. DI-TP remained relatively stable with values around 6 µg l−1 in the lower levels until ca. 1930 AD. Thereafter, DI-TP continuously increased in 126 Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 recent sediments, reaching a maximum of 10 µg l−1 in the 1970s, and remained stable afterwards. The mag- nitude of these inferred changes, however, remained inside the error range of lower core samples. Discussion Major patterns in sedimentary pollen assemblages (Figure 3) reflect the regional land-use history. High abundances of agricultural weeds and parallel declines of tree species between ca. 1800 and 1900 AD are likely associated with the regional maximum deforestation. Pollen abundances of Fagus and Tsuga also decreased since the 18th century due to land clearance and fire. A peak of the pioneer tree birch in the early 20th century and a subsequent increase of dominant pre-disturbance species of the genera Quercus and Pinus reflect the regional re-growth of forest. The clear decline of aquatic macrophytes (Isoëtes) spores between 1940 and 1960 AD may be related to changes in water transparency. Today, water trans- parency is moderate to high (Secchi depth: 2.5–9 m) thereby permitting growth of aquatic macrophytes, mainly the macroalga Nitella, between 6 and 13 m (Colman and Friesz, 2001). Deevey (1942) observed high water transparency in 1939, with aquatic mosses found at 15.7 m water depth. Therefore a moderate de- cline in transparency may have taken place since then. Fundamental to the interpretation of organic geo- chemical records in lake sediments is knowledge of the origin of the organic matter. In the Walden Pond sediments, the fine-grained organic matter fraction is dominantly of aquatic origin based on the C/N ratios of near 10 throughout the record (cf., Meyers and Lallier- Verges, 1999). The only exception is the charcoal-rich horizon at 12 cm (∼1910 AD), which correspondingly has an elevated C/N ratio of 18.2 and is consistent with organic matter derived from terrestrial sources (Figure 4d). Human disturbance since about 1770 AD evidently has had a dramatic impact on the nutrient balance of Walden Pond. Large changes observed in the C and N elemental and stable isotope stratigraphy are clearly beyond the range of natural environmental variability observed over the last ∼1600 years. Initial removal of catchment vegetation by logging appears to have resulted in an influx of primarily inorganic sediment, based on the decline in % C and % N (Figure 4b, c). Although the decline in organic content could also be interpreted as a reduction in lake productivity, this is less likely given the increase in catchment-derived nu- trient loading that probably occurred during European settlement and which has been suggested elsewhere in the region (e.g., Kaushal and Binford, 1999; Hilfinger et al., 2001). The subsequent increase in organic content at the top of the core may reflect a very recent increase in lake pro- ductivity. Alternatively, erosion protective measures in the catchment may be responsible for a reduction in the amount of inorganic sediment entering the lake or this sample may represent freshly deposited sediment that has not undergone degradation. A number of factors can influence the C and N sta- ble isotope composition of organic matter. For C, these are primarily processes that determine the C isotope composition of lake water dissolved inorganic carbon (DIC), the source of C for aquatic plants. These pro- cesses include the lake productivity-respiration bal- ance, CO2 exchange between the lake water DIC and the atmosphere, and the C isotope composition of DIC derived from soil respiration and bedrock weather- ing in the catchment (Boutton, 1991). The C isotope fractionation between the C source and aquatic plants can also vary depending on dissolved CO2 concentra- tions and HCO−3 uptake (Hodell and Schelske, 1998). Similarly, the N isotope composition of organic mat- ter is dependent on several factors, including produc- tivity, N transformations in the water column (e.g., denitrification, ammonium volatilization), and the N isotope composition of dissolved nutrients (Talbot, 2001). Changes in C and N stable isotope records of lakes that have undergone catchment disturbance are fre- quently attributed to shifts in C and N cycling re- sulting from increased nutrient loading (Teranes and Bernasconi, 2000; Wolfe et al., 2000; Herczeg et al., 2001). Indeed, trends to lower δ13C and higher δ15N values in the initial post-1770 AD interval (Figure 4e, f ) are also most likely associated with increased nutrient supply from removal of vegetation in the catchment and, in particular, increased delivery of 13C-depleted dissolved CO2 and 15N-enriched NO−3 from soil de- composition processes. Alternatively or in addition, productivity-driven enrichment of the dissolved inor- ganic nitrogen (DIN) with 15N may have contributed to the positive shift in δ15N in the lake sediment record. Evidently, similar productivity-driven enrichment of the DIC did not occur in Walden Pond perhaps due to a larger lake water reservoir of DIC compared to DIN. During the past 70 years, these trends have accelerated well beyond the range of natural variability observed over the past 1600 years and are possibly related to 13C- depleted and 15N-enriched wastewater seepage into the lake, although additional analysis of C and N isotope Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 127 composition of the wastewater at Walden Pond is re- quired to test this hypothesis. The changes in fossil diatom and chrysophyte assemblages observed in Walden Pond sediments (Figure 5) are likely related to the human-induced changes in nutrient balance at Walden Pond over the past two centuries, as evidenced by comparison of bios- tratigraphic changes with those revealed by the C and N elemental and stable isotope record. In Zone I (140–26 cm, ca. 430 to 1750 AD) the dominance of the diatom taxa C. stelligera and Tabel- laria flocculosa str. III p and the presence of Asteri- onella ralfsii and C. bodanica aff. lemanica indicate that Walden Pond was an oligotrophic, circumneutral to slightly acidic lake between ca. 430 and 1750 AD. The low nutrient content can be explained by the natu- rally nutrient-poor soils in the catchment and the rela- tively small watershed from which not much terrestrial material is washed into the lake, as reflected by low C/N ratios. The fossil diatom flora consists mainly of planktonic species, which may be expected in a core taken from the deepest part of the lake. As the coring site is located at 30 m depth, there is likely a large area around the coring site that does not receive enough light to support a benthic diatom population. In Zone II (26–12 cm, ca. 1750 to 1920 AD) the de- crease of Tabellaria flocculosa str. III p and the increase of C. stelligera between ca. 1750 and 1900 AD coin- cide with the first known anthropogenic disturbance by timber harvesting in the Walden Pond watershed. The proportion of herbal pollen increased significantly at the same time, from 5 to 30% (Figure 3), indicating an opening of the forest vegetation in the region. Addi- tionally, the decreases in sediment organic matter, % C, and % N (Figure 4a–c) suggest higher mineral inputs through soil erosion caused by logging activities. Cyclotella stelligera similarly increased following forest clearance in the watershed of British Columbia lakes (Laird and Cumming, 2001), in Michigan lakes (Fritz et al., 1993) and in a Swiss lake (Lotter, 2001) as well as in Adirondack lakes (Rhodes, 1991). Logging in the watershed can lead to nutrient enrichment of lakes (Lott et al., 1994; Carignan et al., 2000). Engstrom et al. (1985) and Stoermer et al. (1985) related higher Cy- clotella abundances, including C. stelligera, to nutrient enrichment. Other studies have indicated that C. stellig- era may reflect re-oligotrophication (Clerk et al., 2000) and Brugam (1989) reported its decline after almost complete deforestation of Washington lake watersheds. These results suggest that the increasing abundance of C. stelligera after ca. 1750 AD reflects the removal of vegetation in the catchment of Walden Pond by logging activities, but that its abundance may decline with further nutrient enrichment. The decrease in the chrysophyte cyst : diatom frus- tule ratio between ca. 1750 and 1920 supports the hy- pothesis of a slight nutrient enrichment. Decreasing abundances of chrysophyte cysts relative to diatoms in lake sediments have been proposed to accompany lake eutrophication (Smol, 1985). In Zone III (12–0 cm, ca. 1920 to 2000 AD) the striking change from a diatom assemblage associated with oligotrophic conditions and with moderate catch- ment disturbance, such as discussed above,to one dom- inated by disturbance indicators, such as Asterionella formosa and Fragilaria nanana, is likely related to ad- ditional nutrient supply derived from increased activity in the watershed (i.e., trail and beach development, rail- way construction, wastewater seepage, and other recre- ation activities) over much of the past century. Nutrient- enriched lakes are often characterized by increased abundances of Asterionella formosa (e.g., Pennington, 1981; Bennion et al., 2000) and larger Fragilariaceae, such as Synedra delicatissima W. Smith (Brugam, 1978), Fragilaria crotonensis Kitton (Reavie, 2000; Lotter, 2001), Fragilaria nanana(Reavie et al., 1995), and S. nana Meister (Bennion et al., 2000). The diatom species shift found in recent sediments probably relates to changes in summer conditions. Ac- cording to a phytoplankton record of Walden Pond in 1995, Asterionella formosa and Synedra spp. (likely synonymous with Fragilaria spp.) grow during sum- mer in this lake (Baystate Environmental Consultants, 1995). However, Asterionella and Fragilaria are also common during spring and autumn in lakes through- out North America. The explanation for this difference may be found in the combination of preservation and recreational use of Walden Pond, which is unusual for this region. During most of the year, the lake is al- most undisturbed because of the forested watershed and the absence of private houses, whereas during few summer months there are thousands of visitors to the lake, who contribute approximately 27% of the annual P load and 64% of the annual N load (Colman and Friez, 2001). Continuing nutrient (e.g., P) availabil- ity and sufficient epilimnetic mixing throughout the summer may permit diatoms to form a richer summer population (Sommer et al., 1986). Maximum nutrient concentrations at Walden Pond were measured in sum- mer in the eastern basin, close to the beach (Table 1). Therefore it is possible that recreational activities in summer were the source for nutrients that support a summer diatom population. This was likely different under the oligotrophic conditions that prevailed during 128 Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 periods preceding the anthropogenic disturbances, be- cause P would have been largely consumed by the spring blooms. Cyclotella stelligera is also a summer species, yet it is out-competed by Asterionella formosa and Fragilaria spp. which are good competitors for P (Van- Donk and Kilham, 1990) and which have been shown to be favoured by high total N:total P ratios (Inter- landi et al., 1999). The high N:P ratio of 40:1 (average January to August values in the epilimnion and metal- imnion, Baystate Environmental Consultants, 1995), indicates that phytoplankton growth is P-limited in Walden Pond. The proposed association between di- atom disturbance indicators with summer conditions in Walden Pond (see above) requires testing from compre- hensive phytoplankton surveys of the lake over several years and including all seasons. Also, as most nutri- ent inputs enter the lake on the eastern shore, a more detailed analysis of the eastern basin is necessary to completely characterize the lake’s limnology. The higher relative abundance of synurophyte scales in the recent sediments (Figure 5), mainly produced by Mallomonas crassisquama, supports the hypothesis of a nutrient enrichment of Walden Pond. This species also proliferated following nutrient addition to an Ex- perimental Lake in western Ontario, Canada (Zeeb, 2004). Preliminary counts of synurophyte scales in an- other core, taken at Walden Pond in 1979, showed strik- ing changes in species composition at about 1900 AD (John P. Smol, Queen’s University, Kingston, ON, pers. comm.), coincident with the major change in the diatom assemblages in zone III. Taxa associated with undis- turbed conditions and that are now quite rare, such as M. lelymene Harris and Bradley and M. allorgei (Deflandre) Conrad, dominated the pre-disturbance sediments. In the recent sediments, they were replaced by taxa indicating higher nutrient availability, such as M. elongata Reverdin and M. caudate Iwanoff. Thus, the changes in chrysophyte populations also reflect the nutrient enrichment of Walden Pond. The chrysophyte cyst proportions remained lower during the 20th century than during pre-settlement times, indicating a higher trophic state. The upper three samples (1995–2000 AD) showed increasing propor- tions, indicating decreasing nutrient concentrations. The stability in chrysophyte cyst proportions during the early 20th century seems to contradict the increas- ing synurophyte scale:diatom ratio at the same time. The explanation may be that only the Synurophyceae bear scales, such as the dominant M. crassisquama in the recent sediments of Walden Pond. However, cysts are formed by scaled and non-scaled taxa from several chrysophyte groups. It is therefore possible that scales were more abundant due to this scaled species follow- ing nutrient enrichment, but that overall chrysophyte and cyst abundances (consisting mainly of oligotrophic species) remained low. During the last ca. 20 years, diatom assemblages seem to have stabilized, probably indicating a reduced rate of eutrophication. As first management measures for water quality protection were implemented in 1975, these measures may have indeed reduced the nutrient loading to Walden Pond during summer. Analog and Goodness-of-fit analyses have shown that the reconstructions are reliable for all levels, with the exception of levels 0–8 cm. Poor analogs and fit were detected for these uppermost levels, although all dominant fossil species are present in the model. The poor analogs result from high abundances of few species in our fossil samples (e.g., Fragilaria nanana, Asterionella formosa), which is not the case in the train- ing set lakes, where these species are present at lower abundances. This is likely due to higher relative abun- dances of benthic taxa in the training set lakes, which are generally shallower than Walden Pond. We assume that useful ecological parameters (species optimum and tolerance) have been estimated for the models and that they are therefore appropriate for inferring pH and TP in our sediment core. From ca. 430 to 1880 AD (diatom zones I and II), diatom-inferred pH and TP remained constant, reflect- ing the stable diatom assemblages (Figure 5). The DI- TP of 5–6 µg l−1 indicated oligotrophic conditions. The circumneutral character of the dominant species was reflected by the DI-pH, which fluctuates between 7.2 and 7.3. A rapid increase in DI-pH by 0.5 units occurred between ca. 1920 and 1960 AD, reflecting the abrupt change in species composition from zones II to III. A rise in pH may indicate higher primary productivity in the lake. Phytoplankton and macrophytes remove CO2 from the water column by photosynthetic assimilation, thereby driving the bicarbonate balance towards the alkaline end. PH measurements in recent years have shown peak values of 9 and more in the epilimnion during summer (Colman and Friesz, 2001), suggesting a temporally alkaline environment generated by high primary productivity. Alternatively, pH can increase due to higher base cation concentrations (i.e., higher alkalinity). The source of such ions can be diverse: soluble inorganic material (Mg2+, Ca2+) may be washed into the lake by runoff over eroded soils, as suggested by lower organic N and C contents in the sediments beginning in zone II Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 129 and persisting through zone III. An explanation for an increase in alkalinity may also be the higher in-lake productivity attributable to higher nutrient levels from logging and recreational use as discussed above. In- creased deposition of organic material causes oxygen depletion in the hypolimnion of Walden Pond dur- ing late summer and autumn (Baystate Environmental Consultants, 1995; Colman and Friesz, 2001; Köster, unpubl. data) permitting sulphate reduction and den- itrification in the hypolimnion, as well as release of base cations from sediments (Schindler, 1986; Psen- ner, 1988). Manganese, Fe, P and ammonia concentra- tions were high in the hypolimnion near the sediments in late summer (Colman and Friesz, 2001), indicating that alkalinity was in fact generated in the anoxic hy- polimnion and at the sediment/water interface. Higher DI-TP values in the top of the core sup- port the evidence of rising nutrient levels at Walden Pond, which was provided by stable isotopes and chrys- ophytes. However, this change is subtle with 5 µg l−1. Given the drastic changes in diatom species composi- tion, and changes in geochemistry and stable isotope composition that were attributed to an increase in nu- trient loading, the small increase in diatom-inferred TP is surprising. However, the reconstructions corre- spond well with the instrumentally recorded mean an- nual TP levels in the western basin that remained below 10 µg l−1 between 1997 and 1999 (Table 1). Yet, some summer samples during this time show a deviation from the mean (ca. 20 µg l−1; Table 1). The shift in the diatom community of the western basin to one dominated by species typical of nutrient-enriched waters is probably due to these moderate seasonal P maxima, as discussed above. During seasons when Walden Pond is not sub- ject to intense recreational use (e.g., spring and autumn) the lake water returns to lower nutrient concentrations (<10 µg l−1), probably allowing proliferation of di- atoms with low TP optima, such as Cyclotella bodan- ica and Tabellaria flocculosa str. III p. For quantitative reconstructions based on fossil samples that integrate all seasons, this means that species with low-TP optima may partly balance out the effects of species with high TP optima growing during summer. Although the lake is presently considered to be oligo- to mesotrophic and its clear water suggests a ‘natural state,’ the geochemical and diatom records in the sediments of Walden Pond indicate substantial changes in the nutrient balance of the lake due to human impact during the last three centuries. The low suscep- tibility of the lake to exhibit evident signs of eutroph- ication, such as turbid water caused by phytoplankton blooms may be due to its great depth, its small water- shed, and the fact that it is mainly fed by groundwater. Human-derived nutrients added to the lake in the sum- mer may be used up by planktonic organisms, which subsequently transfer the nutrients by sedimentation to the lake bottom. However, increased nutrient inputs to Walden Pond through erosion and recreational use dur- ing much of the 20th century have left a signature in the lake sediments, which have the potential of being re- cycled into the lake water column. Active bacteriolog- ical decomposition of organic matter leads to oxygen- depleted conditions in the hypolimnion of the lake in late summer and autumn, permitting recycling of sed- imentary nutrients to the water column and up-welling during full circulation periods. If high nutrient inputs during summer persist, past and present nutrient loads may lead to further eutrophication of Walden Pond. Stable diatom assemblages and increasing chryso- phyte cyst proportions in the uppermost sediments sug- gest that initial management practices applied in the 1970s have halted the process of eutrophication. Cur- rent preventive measures to reduce nutrient loading in- cluding the monitoring of groundwater down gradient from the septic leach field and of oxygen content in the hypolimnion, storm water runoff control, and public awareness activities (Colman and Friesz, 2001) should therefore continue. Given the difficult interpretation of the available limnological records due to highly vari- able sampling protocols, continued monitoring using standardized sampling and analysis methods are of great importance. If signs of further eutrophication, such as more frequent anoxia in the hypolimnion, are observed, or if nutrient contamination of the groundwa- ter starts to increase, more effective wastewater treat- ment and reduced recreational usage may be neces- sary to protect Walden Pond from further water quality deterioration. Acknowledgements This study was supported by NSF and NSERC grants to D. Foster and to R. Pienitz, respectively, and by logistical support from the Centre d’études nordiques and Harvard Forest. We are grateful for the very help- ful comments of the members of the Paleolimnology- Paleoecology Laboratory at Université Laval and of several anonymous reviewers on earlier versions of the manuscript. 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D., Duthie, H. C., 2000. A 6000- year record of interaction between Hamilton Harbour and Lake Ontario: quantitative assessment of recent hydrologic disturbance using 13C in lake sediment cellulose. Aquat. Ecosyst. Health Manage. 3, 47–54. Zeeb, B. A., Smol, J. P., 2001. Chrysophyte scales and cysts. In: J. P. Smol, H. J. B. Birks and W. M. Last (Eds.), Tracking Envi- ronmental Change Using Lake Sediments Volume 3. Terrestrial, Algal, and Siliceous Indicators, pp. 203–223. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht. Zeeb, B. A., Christie, C. E., Smol, J. P., Findlay, D. L., Kling, H. J., Birks, H. J. B., 2004. Responses of diatom and chrysophyte as- semblages in Lake-227 sediments to experimental eutrophica- tion. Can. J. Fish. Aquat. Sci. 50, 2300–2311.
work_keep7yqeobfzhcslocy6l6vife ---- © The Author 2016. This is the author's version of the work. It is posted here for personal use, not for redistribution. The definitive version was published in Educational Theory, 66(4) pp. 519-534. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/edth.12186 Fulford, A. 2016. Learning to Write: Plowing and Hoeing, Labor and Essaying. Educational Theory. 66(4) pp. 519-534. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/edth.12186 Learning to Write: Plowing and Hoeing, Labor and Essaying Amanda Fulford Leeds Trinity University, UK. ABSTRACT In this paper Fulford addresses the issue of student writing in the university, and explores how the increasing dominance of outcome-driven modes of learning and assessment is changing the understanding of what it is to write, what is expected of students in their writing, and how academic writing should best be supported. The starting point is the increasing use of what are termed ‘technologies’ of writing - ‘handbooks’ for students that address issues of academic writing - that systematize, and smooth the work of writing in, Fulford argues, an unhelpful way. This leads to a reconsideration of what it means to write in the university, and what it is to be a student who writes. Fulford explores etymologically the concept of ‘writing’, and suggests that it might be seen metaphorically as physical labor. Writing as physical labor is explored further through the agricultural metaphors in Henry David Thoreau’s Walden, and through Stanley Cavell’s reading of this text. In making a distinction between writing-as-plowing, and writing-as-hoeing, Fulford argues that some technologies of writing deny voice, rather than facilitate it, and concludes by offering a number of suggestions for the teaching and learning of writing in the university that emphasize the value of being lost (in one’s subject, and one’s work) and finding one’s own way out. These ‘lessons’ are illustrated with reference to Thoreau’s text of Walden, and from American literature and film. INTRODUCTION: TECHNOLOGIES OF WRITING This paper considers the student as ‘writer’ in the contemporary university. Writing, and academic writing in particular, is clearly under the spotlight, and the student in the university has arguably never had access to more detailed guidelines on what is expected, nor access to better support for writing. A whole industry now exists to produce these, what I call in this paper, ‘technologies of writing’. This is evidenced by the production of text books and ‘how to’ guides explaining, from initiation to completion, the process of producing the report, the essay, the reflective account, dissertation or the thesis. Many of these are differentiated by academic level1 and by discipline area.2 Some even focus on particular elements of a larger piece of writing such as the literature review.3 Universities have also recognized the need to address student support in writing. Many institutions have developed their own dedicated academic writing websites as ancillary support, have introduced a range of measures including study skills support services, centres for academic writing, and have recruited specialist writing mentors. Academic writing in the contemporary university can thus be said to be ‘technologized’. This needs some explanation: first, the use of this term recognizes that the development of students’ academic writing skills, and the support for its ongoing development, is often mediated by technology.4 But the use of the term ‘technologies’ calls attention to a second phenomenon: the systematisation of academic writing, as evidenced in its definition in terms of skills and competencies against which students’ writing can be measured through assessment, and for which they can be held to account. We might call these developments 'technologies of risk management'; they guide students to the product that passes the test, and that meets the learning outcomes. And managing risks in these ways is not just restricted to textbooks aimed at a student audience. To ensure new and early career researchers' success in delivering outputs, a plethora of guides promise a smooth path to writing, success through publication,5 and securing of grant funding.6 A further danger with such strict adherence to the formulae given in these kinds of text, is that they risk stripping out the thinking from the writing process.7 Perhaps a word of caution is needed here. In using the term ‘technologisation’ here, I am not offering a critique of the use of electronic or digital technologies to support the teaching and learning of academic 1 See Dorothy Bedford and Elizabeth Wilson, Study Skills for Foundation Degrees, (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013). 2 See Peter Redman and Wendy Maples, Good Essay Writing: A Social Sciences Guide, (London: Sage, 2011). 3 See Diana Ridley, The Literature Review: A Step-by-Step Guide for Students, (London: Sage, 2012). 4 See Mark Conroy, “Internet Tools for Language Learning: University Students Taking Control of their Writing”, Australasian Journal of Educational Technology, 26, Issue 6, (2010): 861 – 882. 5See Laura Belcher, Writing Your Journal Article in Twelve Weeks: A Guide to Academic Publishing Success, (London: Sage, 2009). 6 See Soraya Coley and Cynthia Scheinberg, Proposal Writing: Effective Grantsmanship, 4th edition, (London: Sage, 2014). 7 For a fuller discussion of this point, see Amanda Fulford, “Ventriloquising the Voice: Student Writing in the University”, Journal of Philosophy of Education, 43, No. 2, (2009): 223 - 237. writing per se, nor am I claiming that such technologisation is a new phenomenon, a characteristic emerging in postmodernity. Indeed, writing has always required the use of certain technologies, be these flints for scratching on rocks, styli for making marks on clay tablets, quills and pens for paper and parchment, or touch-screen and voice-activated technology in the digital age. In referring to the technologies of academic writing (and the technologisation that such tools bring), I am rather drawing on the Greek τεχνολογία (τέχνη - art or skill, and λόγος - discourse) and its sense of systematic treatment or technique. Equipping students with the power to write academically is, though, surely one good and proper outcome of a university education. To consider what is at stake in embracing these new technologies of writing is, however, not to argue against supporting student writing in the university. The argument made here does not deny that there are distinctive practices of writing that are shared by members of academic traditions, nor that students should be inducted into how writing is typically pursued in the respective disciplines. This is not to advocate students' unlimited self- expression, or to authorize an approach of 'anything goes'. Prescribed formal structures for forms of academic writing (as many of the handbooks provide) are not necessarily the problem. Indeed precise formal structure, such as the poetic forms of the sonnet or the haiku, can be the very medium for an intensification and release of thought. The aim here is rather to draw attention to two issues: first, that little thought tends to be given in these technologies to what it is to be a writer in more meaningful ways than in the simplistic categories described by Phyllis Crème and Mary Lea of the ‘Diver’, the ‘Patchwork Writer’, the ‘Grand Plan Writer’ and the ‘Architect Writer’.8 Second, that the emphasis on the technologies of writing often fail to give sufficient attention to the work of writing, focussing instead on ensuring that writers have got the ‘right “voice.”’ Of course we can see how students are attracted by this approach, its subtle assurances and its alluring promise. What I argue, though, is that such technologies fail to deliver the promised development of the ‘academic 8 Phyllis Crème and Mary Lea, Writing at University: A Guide for Students, 3rd edition, (Maidenhead: Open University Press, 2008). voice’, and rather render the student voiceless. It is as if the utilisation of certain technologies acts as a kind of magic formula, an easy shortcut to avoid the (hard) work of developing a certain writing style, but more importantly of knowing what to say. It implies that academic writing in the disciplines consists of a formula, a set of ‘tricks’; that a student achieves voice in her written work in a way that entails simply the mastering of a certain set of skills that commonly pass for academic writing. One characteristic of many technologies of academic writing is that they attend mainly to technical aspects of writing - to the development of skills in particular - that decontextualize writing and strip students of their voice and identity as writers.9 The creeping orthodoxy of such approaches might be attributed to two key factors. First, Higher Education has seen the broadening of the curriculum, in some contexts, to include vocationally-oriented and professional training courses that attract 'non-traditional’ entrants who often seek support with the practices of formal academic writing. Second, the pervasive culture of learning outcomes, and of student satisfaction league tables, drive a raft of measures - including the use of technologies of writing - to ensure and thereby raise student achievement. In the textbook technologies of academic writing in particular, a systematic approach that tends to be encouraged. Take this as an example from a popular textbook for students titled Writing for Academic Success where the skills of academic writing appear as something of a given: By applying the strategies, doing the exercises, and following the procedural steps in this chapter, you should be able to…renew your acquaintance with standard academic writing practices…and identify strategies to ensure clarity in writing, conciseness and appropriate use of voice and tone.10 9 Roz Ivanič, “Discourses of Writing and Learning to Write”, Language & Education: An International Journal, 18 Issue 3, (2004): 220 - 245. 10 Gail Craswell and Megan Poore, Writing for Academic Success, 2nd edition, (London: Sage, 2013), 56. The systematisation to which I draw attention is amply illustrated in the quotation above, and is found extensively in the language of support material for academic writing more generally. But if what constitutes ‘good academic writing’ is articulated, and reinforced through these media, then it is even further prescribed in university assessment criteria that tend to lay out the specific technical aspects of writing that need to be evidenced to achieve a grade of pass, merit, or of distinction. The establishment of sets of criteria against which competence or achievement in academic writing can be measured and monitored, is further evidence of both the technologisation of writing, and of the individual writer who is situated in particular ways by them. Of course, academic writing has always been a kind of restricted writing - a ‘hegemony of the mundane’11 - in comparison with, for example, literary forms such as fiction or poetry. But the strength and extent of its restriction is seen in criteria for academic writing that take little account of context or content, but rather tend to focus, almost exclusively, on the technical aspects of the writing. These include aspects such as genre and grammar, organisational features such as sentence structure and paragraphing that contribute to fluency, persuasiveness, and coherence, and above all, specific conventions such as citation, quotation, and referencing. In all this, there is a tendency to see writing as a process in need of demystification. In some ways, the burgeoning industry of writing technologies celebrates and feeds a certain mystique around academic writing on which, they claim, their products shed light. As a result, there is a move to deconstruct writing, only to reconstruct it as a series of linear processes that, if followed systematically, leads to the model output. Thus, writing that unthinkingly follows the procedural steps in the writing handbook has come to epitomize what writing is, what academic writing means. In this process the writer is passive, merely following a set of instructions that blind her to her task as an author. This task is perhaps clearer if we consider the roots of the word ‘author’ in the Latin augere meaning to promote or originate, and the Old French acteor (creator, instigator, one who causes to grow). Perhaps the etymological link between ‘author’ and ‘auth-entic ’ reveals 11 Jodi Kearns, Brian O’Connor and Francisco Moore, “Provocations of the Structure of Scholarly Writing in the Digital Era”, On the Horizon, 15, Issue 4, (2007): 222. something important about the task of writing that goes beyond the strictures of the proceduralized route to the model essay, report, reflective account, or journal article. It also suggests that writing- authoring is also about the creation of the self. The emphasis in many technologies of academic writing is a focus on the output, the final product, and support often proceeds according to a well-rehearsed, and often prescriptive formula of mapping ideas, creating a draft, editing, re-writing, and final proof reading.12 Writing tends to be conceived as a stage to be completed once one's thinking is done; it is just a case of 'writing up'. But writing is messier than this; thinking and writing cannot easily be separated. As Paul Standish notes: 'Sometimes you don't know what you think until you have written it.13 But Craswell and Poore's text reinforces a staged approach to writing for academic success, stating that it requires ‘improving your management of multiple communication tasks…considering procedural steps well in advance’,14 and ‘sequential outlining’ to ensure that you ‘gain control over [content] coverage’, and for ‘determining the logic of [topic] relations’.15 Handbooks such as these can be understood as facilitating a kind of self-expression, especially amongst those from non-traditional backgrounds. But these modes of expression are channelled in ways that are of a piece with other contemporary forms of what is supposed to be student-centeredness, all of which aim to enhance the overall student experience, and to drive up achievement.16 It is perhaps not too strong a description to say that these approaches, along with the rigid use of certain technologies of academic writing, are - to use Bert Lambeir and Stefan Ramaekers’ words - ‘a form of terror with respect to learning and knowing’.17 12 Stephen Bailey, Academic Writing: A Handbook for International Students, (Abingdon: Routledge, 2006). 13 Paul Standish, “What Is the Philosophy of Education?”, in The Philosophy of Education: An Introduction, ed. Richard Bailey, (London: Continuum, 2010), 11. 14 Craswell and Poore, Writing for Academic Success, 15. 15 Craswell and Poore, Writing for Academic Success, 75. 16 For further examples, see Elizabeth Staddon and Paul Standish, “Improving the Student Experience”, Journal of Philosophy of Education, 46, No. 4, (2012): 631 - 648. 17 Bert Lambeir and Stefan Ramaekers, “The Limits of ‘Blackboard’ are the Limits of My World: On the Changing Concepts of the University and its Students”, E-Learning, 3, No. 4, (2006): 547. WRITING: SCRATCHING OUT AND CARVING IN This paper now turns to consider what it is to be a student who writes, and drawing on the etymology of the word ‘write,’ explores the work of the writer, metaphorically, as physical labor. Etymologically, the modern usage of ‘write’ is derived from the Old English and the Saxon writan meaning ‘to score’ or ‘to tear’, and the Old Norse word rita meaning ‘to scratch’ or ‘to carve out’. In most Indo-European languages, ‘write’ is also related to words meaning ‘to carve’ or ‘scratch out’. To carve out or to scratch in, however, calls attention to writing as a form of art – τέχνη. This comprises not only the practical skill required for such a craft, but also the underlying knowledge and experience required to undertake and produce it.18 The Greek γράφειν, the German schreiben, and the French écrire are also all etymologically related to ideas of carving or engraving. The connotations of these terms clearly relate to the ancient origins of writing where physical effort was needed to carve out, or to dig into stone or clay, the required letters, symbols and words,. As the tools of writing have changed, so too has the physical effort required. For example, the effort needed to make marks with a hammer and chisel, with quills on parchment, or with pencils, fountain pens and biros on paper, is clearly not the same. With the advent of digital technologies, the physical pressing of the keys of the typewriter and the use of the carriage return, has been replaced by almost silent keys on our computers and laptops. Most recently, noiseless touch screen technology has been developed that is operated by the slightest physical touch, or swipe, and often doesn’t require us to touch each letter of a word, but predicts it for us. A further development has been the introduction of technology that uses voice-activated software, removing the need for any hand-held implement or hand-operated tools for writing. Still more recently, the use of eye tracking computer devices allows individuals with significant disabilities to communicate through the translation of eye movements across alphabetic panels to recreate text - writing - on a screen.19 The advent of such 18 This point is made in Stephen Halliwell’s book, Aristotle’s Poetics, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998). 19 R. Spataro, M. Ciriacono, C. Manno, and C. La Bella, “The Eye-Tracking Computer Device for Communication in Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis”, Acta Neurologica Scandanavia, 130, Issue 1, (2014): 40 – 45. significant electronic and digital technologies has not removed the discussion of the physical aspects of writing in the research literature, but rather changed its emphasis. In the first decades of the twentieth century, attention was given mainly to issues of penmanship,20 how to teach handwriting,21 and particularly on scoring legibility.22 A century later, the physical aspects of handwriting are now discussed more in relation to issues of gross and fine motor skills and co- ordination,23 so-called ‘muscle memory’,24 and ergonomics including pen design and grip, paper angle and furniture layout.25 So, in summary, whilst developments in the tools for writing have undoubtedly altered - and decreased - the physicality of the act of writing, the latest research seems to re-focus attention on some of the physical aspects of the writing task. But the main concern of this paper is not to pursue these aspects in terms merely of ‘what works’, but to ask what can be gained in thinking metaphorically of writing as physical labor. How might this kind of thinking counter the discourses of the technologies of writing that seek to construct the writer, and writing itself, in ways that deny its inherent messiness, complexity, and the transformation of the self that comes through continued attention to learning to do it? WRITING AND HOEING: THOREAU AND WRITING AS PHYSICAL LABOR In his book Walden,26 Henry David Thoreau, the nineteenth century transcendentalist author and philosopher, writes of living at Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, and of the way he spent his 20 G.M. Wilson, “The Handwriting of School Children”, Elementary School Teacher, 11, Issue 10, (1911): 540 - 543. 21 Frank Freeman, “Current Methods of Teaching Handwriting’” Elementary School Teacher, 12, Issue 10, (1912): 481 - 493. 22 Leonard Ayers, Scale for Measuring the Quality of Handwriting in School Children, (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1912). 23 Jérémy Danna, Fabienne Enderli, Sylvie Athenes, and Pier-Giorgio Zanone, “Motor Coordination Dynamics Underlying Graphic Motion in 7- to 11-Year-Old Children”, Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 111, No. 1, (2012): 37 -51. 24 Stephen Grossberg and Rainer Paine, “Neural Model of Cortico-Cerebellar Interactions during Attentive Imitation and Predictive Learning of Sequential Handwriting Movements”, Neural Networks, 13, Nos 8-9, (2000): 999 - 1046. 25 Turan Temur, “Description of Primary Education 1st Grade Students' Forms of Holding a Pencil as well as Their Grip and Compression Strengths”, Educational Sciences: Theory and Practice, 11, No. 4, (2011): 2199 - 2205. 26 Henry David Thoreau, Walden, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1854/1999). time: building his hut, laboring in the fields planting and tending his beans, visiting the pond, observing and recording nature and the seasons, and writing. Thoreau writes this: After hoeing, or perhaps reading and writing, in the forenoon, I usually bathed again in the pond, swimming across one of its coves for a stint, and washed the dust of labor from my person, or smoothed out the last wrinkle which study had made, and for the afternoon was absolutely free.27 At first glance, we might read this excerpt as saying that in the mornings, Thoreau would work, perhaps spending time hoeing (his beans) or reading and writing. But another possible reading is this: that the very physical work of hoeing is a way of thinking about reading and writing; so the line would read as: ‘After hoeing (that is, after reading and writing)…I washed the dust of labor from my person’. Both readings are suggestive of the work of writing, but the latter highlights the physical labor that is writing. This use of metaphor in Thoreau’s writing, as well as his use of puns and allegories, is highlighted in Stanley Cavell’s reading of Thoreau in his book The Senses of Walden. The work of writing Walden is in discovering what writing is. ‘It takes a while to recognize’, claims Cavell, ‘that every word in which he [Thoreau] identifies himself or describes his work and his world is the identification and description of what he understands his literary enterprise to require’.28 If this is the case, then Walden, with its lengthy sections describing the physical labor of building his hut, and growing and harvesting his beans, is a text on the work of writing, a task that he describes in his chapter titled ‘The Bean Field’ as a ‘small Herculean labor’.29 But this idea of the work of writing - described in relation to ideas of the physical labor of working the land and of producing a crop - is also found elsewhere in Thoreau’s writings. In his journal (for which extracts remain from 1837 through to 1862), Thoreau’s writes this in his entry for 1847: 27 Thoreau, Walden, 151. 28 Stanley Cavell, The Senses of Walden, (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1981). 29 Thoreau, Walden, 140. From all points of the compass, from the earth beneath and the heavens above, have come these inspirations and been entered duly in the order of their arrival in the journal. Thereafter, when the time arrived, they were winnowed into lectures, and again, in due time, from lectures into essays.30 For the modern reader of Thoreau’s text, familiar perhaps with highly mechanized, mass- scale farming practices that rely on sophisticated agricultural machinery, these metaphors of a man, toiling on the land with simple tools, are all the more powerful. But this does not suggest a bucolic reading of the text. Thoreau is not presenting an agrarian idyll. What the text does inform is a contemporary understanding of what it is to write, using Walden’s images of plowing, hoeing and the physical labor that these tasks entail. To use such an agricultural analogy as a form of practical wisdom for understanding the work of writing may seem unusual, too straightforward, or even romantic or nostalgic. But a closer reading of what is at stake in Thoreau’s account of tending his bean field, serves to illustrate its importance – and relevance. So let us return to Thoreau’s use of the hoeing metaphor here, since it is important in a number of ways. Just as the hoe cuts into the soil, so writing is a kind of cutting - of the ideas onto the page - and calls to mind the etymology of the word. But hoeing not only involves the cutting of the blade into the ground; it is also a turning of the clods, an exposing of fresh soil to the glare of the sunlight. Thoreau writes: As I drew a still fresher soil about the rows with my hoe, I disturbed the ashes of unchronicled nations … When my hoe tinkled against the stones, that music echoed to the woods and the sky, and was an accompaniment to my labor which yielded an instant and immeasurable crop. It was no longer beans that I hoed.31 30 Carl Bode, ed., The Best of Thoreau’s Journals, (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1967), 88. 31 Thoreau, Walden, 143. So here, the act of writing is one of cutting and dividing words, of exposing ideas so that readers are themselves exposed to the cutting characteristics of words. That writing 'disturbs the ashes' suggests that it draws on tradition, and on forms of expression that Thoreau did not even know were there in him to write.32 Stanley Cavell, in his Senses of Walden, writes this of Thoreau’s text: Hoeing serves the writer as a trope – in particular, a metaphor for writing…The overarching parable of the chapter on “The Bean Field” is one that describes the writer-hoer most literally, one which itself takes harrowing to be (a metaphor of) the effect of words…He [Thoreau] links these two labors of the hand.33 Thoreau draws attention to the importance of attending to the words that he uses when he writes: ‘Books must be read as deliberately and reservedly as they were written’.34 So, we need to consider what Thoreau’s hoeing consists in. For Thoreau, hoeing is not plowing (the systematic lifting and turning of the soil in a regular pattern). Nor is it furrowing (the forming of regular trenches in the soil to prepare it for sowing). The operations of plowing and furrowing suggest a regularity, proceeding according to a prescribed pattern, the production of neat rows (like lines of writing on the page). Hoeing is also not (in the agricultural sense) the same as harrowing - the systematic breaking up and smoothing out of the surface of the soil to make a finer finish that makes undertaking subsequent tasks easier. Yet, there is a paradox here: hoeing is harrowing when thought of in relation to our words. For Cavell, the effect of our words is harrowing in that we are disturbed by them; Cavell would say that we are sentenced to, and by, them.35 Thoreau’s hoeing (both in the field, and in 32 The idea of our drawing on tradition in language is found in Thoreau's account of his borrowing an axe to cut down trees for the construction of his hut at Walden Pond, and how he returned the axe sharper than when he borrowed it. Cavell shows how this account serves as a metaphor for the way that we use language. We use the words that we inherit, that are passed down to us (that we 'borrow'), but our father tongue responsibility to words is to use them in a way that passes then back sharper to the community (Thoreau, Walden, 38). 33 Cavell, Senses, 22. 34 Thoreau, Walden, 92. 35 In Cavell’s Senses of Walden, he includes chapters titled ‘Words’ and ‘Sentences’. There is a pun here: Cavell is not merely referring to grammatical elements of language here; he is also drawing attention to our relationship with language, and to how we are convicted by our words. He writes: ‘To read a text accurately is to assess its computations, to check its sentences against our convictions’ (p. 65). See also the discussion later in the paper on Cavell’s discussion of the father tongue in Thoreau’s Walden. writing), is a different kind of labor. Here, the hoer takes the tool and selects which beans to hoe, where to dig the blade into the soil, and to what depth. The hoer cultivates the crops, choosing where to loosen or to compact the earth and where to dig out choking weeds. Of course, this is not to suggest too strict a binary between plowing and hoeing; it is in straight lines that, in the end, we write things down. It is rather that the metaphor of the writer as hoer draws attention to the choices that are before the writer in terms of the words she chooses, and so what she causes to grow – or authors. But how does this help us to think of writing, and of academic writing in the university in particular? A comparison can be drawn between the ordered and standardized - even mechanistic - procedures of plowing, furrowing, and harrowing, and the technologies of academic writing that seek to bear the weight of the work, to prepare the ground, and make easy and smooth the work of writing. The plow, used in the field, eases (to some extent) the farmer's physical labor in cutting the earth. But plowing requires not only the farmer, but also the beast; and it is the animal in front that bears the weight, and it is there that the labor is felt. The regularity of the furrow that the plow assures makes for more efficient sowing and harvesting – and these are good things in the agricultural context. A steady pace and an even rhythm can be maintained given the affordances that plowing technology can bring, and hence, much ground can be covered. This is in contrast to the much slower pace that comes with the hoeing, because the hoer feels the full physical effort required to do the work. Here, the work may proceed by way of short bursts of intensive activity, and then periods of reflection - a looking around at the ground to see where to hoe next, and where to leave the earth uncut. But when technologies of academic writing rely on tools that produce only effective, neat patterning, they smooth the ground, and bear the weight of the work in a way that fails to recognize the complexity and messiness of the task. When the skill required in writing is merely that of following the prescribed path to achieve the uniform end result, then something of writing, and what it is to be a writer, is lost. But in hoeing, the hoer chooses where to cut into the earth, to till and scrape the soil, and which of the weeds to eradicate. Similarly, to be a hoer-writer is to be one who has responsibility for which words to use, how they should be put together, what should be worked, and re-worked, and what should be weeded out. This is labor of writing where the writer, as the hoer ‘makes such invidious distinctions with his hoe, levelling whole ranks of one species, and sedulously cultivating another’.36 WRITING AND LABORING: PEDAGOGICAL LESSONS All this is not to argue against the accepted conventions of different genres of writing, or to avoid teaching these to students. Without accepting certain patterns and conventions in writing, such as in the essay, the form of expression is frustrated. It is to argue, however, that there is a tendency in some technologies of writing to reduce it to an unthinking adherence to these schemas in a way that simplifies and sanitizes writing, and positions the writer as a mere puppet in the process. Of course, not all technologies are like this. Even when using a tool such as a plow, it is the blades that cut and work the ground, not the plower, but the responsibility for using the tool remains the plower’s, and it is his work in the end. However, what some technologies of academic writing seem to avoid is the idea that writing is labor - often difficult labor - and the work of the writer is in the recognition of her responsibility to the words she cultivates and brings to the surface, and to those she discards. As Duck-Joo Kwak says of writing the essay: ‘This is not just about “writing styles”, self-consciously taught, but about possibilities of learning, thinking and being’.37 It is as if writing itself, in some senses, produces the writer. Just as the hoer divides and tills the earth to bring forth life, so the labor of the writer consists in being awake, and being awoken to, the dividing possibilities of the words she uses; so Cavell writes: 36 Thoreau, Walden, 145. 37 Duck-Joo Kwak, “Practising Philosophy, the Practice of Education: Exploring the Essay Form through Lukács’ Soul and Form”, Journal of Philosophy of Education, 44, No. 1, (2010): 63. Perhaps it will happen by a line of words so matured and experienced that you will see the sun glimmer on both of its surfaces, as if it were a scimitar, and feel its sweet edge dividing you through the heart.38 So if we take seriously the hoeing metaphor for writing and the physical labor that this entails, then a number of lessons for teaching and learning writing in the university follow. These, outlined below, go beyond discussing where support for writing should begin and end, as if there were some kind of continuum. They focus instead on what can be learned about learning to write, and the teaching of writing, from attention to the task itself, and from the pedagogical relationship and the encounter between tutor and student. (i) THE REPETITIVENESS OF THE LABOR First, writers and tutors must recognize the repetitiveness of the labor. Against the simple linear process suggested by some of the technologies of writing, to write is to give attention repeatedly to the task; there are no easy shortcuts. Weed killer (a shortcut, perhaps, to an easily managed and harvested crop), when applied to soil in appropriate quantities, will kill and prevent more choking weeds from growing. But an excess makes the soil less fertile; it renders it toxic. So in a similar way, an excess of some kinds of technologies of writing (and this is not to deny entirely their usefulness) does not necessarily make for a better crop of writing. Just as weeds keep coming up and the earth dries out and needs hoeing, so writing needs ongoing attention and re-working; it is through this kind of labor that the earth is harrowed and that writing is cultivated. Writing in this sense is a kind of testing: a repeated assessment of the effectiveness of our words. Thoreau, considering the writing of Walden, says: ‘It will bear some iteration in the account, for there was no little iteration in the labor’.39 But this idea appears not only in Walden, but also elsewhere in Thoreau’s writings. In his 38 Cavell, Senses, 17. 39 Thoreau, Walden, 145. journal entry, for example, for February 28th 1841, he writes this: ‘Nothing goes by luck in composition. It allows no tricks...Every sentence is the result of a long probation’.40 (ii) USING TECHNOLOGIES Second, there is a lesson from Thoreau’s experience of cultivating his bean field using very few aids, or technologies. In his account in Walden of his work on the bean field, Thoreau writes: ‘As I had little aid from horses or cattle, or hired men or boys, or improved implements of husbandry, I was much slower, and became much more intimate with my beans than usual’.41 So what does this say about the process of writing in general, and what light does the use of tools or technologies shed on academic writing in particular? It is not that we should be nostalgic for some kind of pre- technological golden era, or that we should eschew technology per se. The issue here is not with whether or not we should use technologies to support the development of academic writing; it is rather concerned with which technologies we use, and how. Some technologies that are helpful enable writers to see language as something that needs to be worked on – labored at. Other technologies suggest language as something that needs to be put in its (correct) place; such technologies are ones that not only divide us from our words, but also from our world. A reliance on the tools and technologies of writing (that lead to an unthinking, or strict, adherence to the handbook guidelines) separates us from the work of writing itself. Thoreau seems to be advocating a closeness to our writing, the value in being forced to confront it and to cultivate it through the sheer ‘labor of the hands…pursued to the verge of drudgery’.42 But what particular merit is there in this approach? Thoreau writes that when he continued to plant where others had begun to hoe, this elicited different forms of criticism and comment from his neighbours: ‘Why is there no manure in the furrow?’ ‘Consider a little ash or plaster for the beans’, ‘This field bears no comparison with the crop from the neighbouring ones’. But for Thoreau, making these choices himself brought him closer 40 Bode, Journals, 58. 41 Thoreau, Walden, 141. 42 Thoreau, Walden, 142. to his work. And this had one distinct advantage, as he says: ‘I came to know how I stood in the agricultural world’.43 So for students, the closeness to their own writing that is as the result of the labor of confronting it and having to make decisions about it without the prescription that certain technologies bring, allows them to know where they stand in their own particular academic field. (iii) BEING LOST AND FINDING ONESELF Third, we should take seriously how we allow students to be lost in the task of writing. When certain technologies of writing promise to demystify it, to provide a quick fix, to smooth the way, or to guarantee success, something important is pushed aside. What the technologies of writing generally, and outcome-driven approaches in Higher Education in particular, both fail to acknowledge, is what can be gained from being engrossed – or lost – in an endeavour. These are experiences of which Thoreau writes: ‘It is a surprising and memorable, as well as a valuable experience, to be lost in the woods any time…Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations’.44 It is sometimes only when you are totally engaged in the activity, taken over by it – when you begin to write – that you know what it is you want to say, or are able to write. This idea of being taken over is one of which Cavell writes in relation to language more broadly. In his reading of Walden, he takes up Thoreau's reference to our relationship with language, and to the distinction that Thoreau draws between what he refers to as the mother tongue and the father tongue in language.45 Thoreau associates the mother tongue with the naturalness and familiarity of our spoken language. But he contrasts this with what he terms the father tongue, most often associated with the written word. Thoreau writes: 43 Thoreau, Walden, 142, 44 Thoreau, Walden, 154. 45 Cavell, Senses, 15-16. It is not enough even to be able to speak the language…for there is a memorable interval between the spoken and the written language, the language heard and the language read. The one is commonly transitory, a sound, a tongue, a dialect merely, almost brutish, and we learn it unconsciously, like the brutes, of our mothers. The other is the maturity and experience of that; if that is our mother tongue, this is our father tongue, a reserved and select expression, too significant to be heard by the ear, which we must be born again in order to speak.46 Acquisition of the mother tongue is a necessary part of our initiation into the language community. But the familiarity that is so central to the mother tongue is also its potential danger: that it nurtures, as Naoko Saito claims, ‘a state of conformity of the self to itself, and to language’.47 In contrast, the father tongue signals a relationship to our words that is characterized by a kind of disorientation, a distance from the native language for which Cavell claims that a transformation - akin to a re-birth - is required. Encountering the father tongue in language is our being taken over by words, and our having to find our place within them again. There is no sense of the authoritarian here, or of the priority of the father tongue over the mother tongue. Saito puts it like this: 'We need both an initiation into and departure from the language community'.48 Being taken over by words - being lost in them, or stopped in our tracks by them - is an invitation to us to re-consider our words - to find our own voice. But it is not only ‘lost’ in the sense of absorption in one’s task, and in the written word, that can be understood from Thoreau's writings. What is also at stake is how one finds oneself again. Thoreau considers this when he writes (literally and metaphorically) of staying late in town and then of finding his way home [at night]: 46 Thoreau, Walden, 93. 47 Naoko Saito, “Perfectionism and the Love of Humanity: Democracy as a Way of Life after Dewey, Thoreau, and Cavell”, The Journal of Speculative Philosophy, New Series, 20, No. 2, (2006): 98. 48 Saito, “Perfectionism”, 99. It was very pleasant to launch myself into the night…I frequently had to look up at the opening between the trees above the path in order to learn my route, and, where there was no cart-path, to feel with my feet the faint track I had worn, or steer by the known relation of particular trees which I felt with my hands’.49 There is something very physical about finding your way here; something about feeling your way and setting your own markers that brings you closer to the task in a way that an aid such as a map would not. In the same way, learning how to write might be more educative if it sometimes involves being lost, and finding one’s own way out. These ideas are beautifully illustrated in a scene from the American author, John Williams’, novel, Stoner.50 The central character, William Stoner, leaves his humdrum life on his parents’ farm, to enter university to study agriculture. He finds little difficulty with the work in classes such as soil chemistry, but in compulsory classes on English literature Stoner’s reaction is markedly different. The texts he is introduced to ‘troubled and disquieted him in a way nothing had ever done before’.51 He is introduced to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73. The instructor, Archer Sloane, asks Stoner directly the meaning of the sonnet. He cannot reply. Sloane reads the sonnet aloud, and asks the question of Stoner again. Stoner is entirely absorbed in the question, aware only of the light streaming through the windows in the room, the shadows cast, and the tension in his tightly-gripped fingers. He is seduced by the question, and by the text of the sonnet, to the extent that he is unable to articulate the response immediately: ‘“It means”, he said and with a small movement raised his hands up toward the air; he felt his eyes glaze over as they sought the figure of Archer Sloane. “It means”, he said again, and could not finish what he had begun to say’.52 Stoner’s labor in this scene, and in the subsequent weeks until his decision to change his major to literature, is in being absorbed in his task; in finding his own way. 49 Thoreau, Walden, 153. 50 John Williams, Stoner, (London: Vintage Books, 1965/2012). 51 Williams, Stoner, 8. 52 Williams, Stoner, 12. (iv) FINDING VOICE, AND THE ROLE OF THE TUTOR The role of the tutor in supporting the development of students' writing, is, of course, a crucial one. Allowing students to be lost, and to find their own way does not abrogate the tutor from her responsibilities. To consider what the tutor's role might properly consist in, I turn to a second scene, this time from the 1944 Hollywood film, Gaslight, a film about which Cavell has written, most notably in his 1996 book Contesting Tears: The Hollywood Melodramas of the Unknown Woman.53 Directed by George Cukor, the film portrays Paula, a young woman, and the niece of a murdered opera singer, Alice Alquist. The naive young Paula is seduced by the accompanist for her singing lessons, Gregory Anton, and they subsequently marry. Crucial to the plot is the fact that Gregory, unbeknown to Paula, is her aunt's murderer. Gregory, driven by the knowledge that Paula's aunt owned valuable jewels, persuades Paula to make their home in her aunt's old house in London so that he can secretly search for the jewels for his own gain. To this end, he needs Paula out of the way and, through manipulation and deceit, sets out to convince Paula of her own madness, a ploy that, if successful, will have her taken away. Gregory's tactics seem to work; Paula begins not to trust her own judgement, and we gradually see her loss of her reason, and the loss of her physical and metaphorical voice. Paula is hysterical at the noises she hears from the attic, and the intermittent dimming of the gas lights in the house (all because, unknown to her, her husband is frantically searching the attic for the jewels). A local detective, Cameron, recognizes Paula as she bears a striking resemblance to her aunt, whose murder case he investigated years before. He becomes suspicious of Gregory's comings and goings in night hours (to gain access to the attic though a secret external entrance). He suspects that Paula's demise is related to Gregory's strange behaviour, and takes it upon himself to help in some way. In the final scenes of the film, Cameron gains access to 53 Stanley Cavell, Contesting Tears: The Hollywood Melodrama of the Unknown Woman, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1996). the Anton house, and finds Paula, now in what Cavell calls the 'haunting of her existence'.54 She seems unable to speak, not from any kind of aphasia, but from an inexpressiveness - an inability to say how things are for her.55 Cameron seeks to facilitate Paula's recovery of voice, not by imposing a script - or we might say a technology of speaking - but by acting more as a voice coach, to enable Paula to find her own words. Cameron facilitates Paula’s recovery - her awakening - by letting her find her voice, her own way with words, and in this she is aided by his promptings. Her recovery is through conversation, a turning of her thoughts such that what she voices is her conviction that the noises in the attic that have nearly driven her to derangement are those of her husband, madly searching for Alice Alquist’s jewels. In a climactic scene towards the end of the film, the dialogue between Cameron and Paula runs like this: Cameron Mrs. Anton, you know, don’t you. You know who’s up there? Paula No, no. Cameron Are you sure you don’t? Paula No, no. How could he be? There are two aspects of Cameron’s interaction with Paula that are worth drawing attention to in this context. First, Cameron makes no attempt to determine the form of Paula’s speech through offering her a new script - say, a kind of salvation story - but allows her to arrive at her own words. Second, the marker of Paula’s recovery of voice that is spoken in a scene shortly after this one, what Cavell terms her ‘cogito ergo sum’,56 is announced in her own words. When she announces to 54 Stanley Cavell, Cities of Words: Pedagogical Letters on a Register of the Moral Life, (Cambridge MS: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press), 13. 55 Cavell signals a broader issue than simply the loss, and recovery, of voice at an individual level. One aspect of his rich conception of the term is how he sees voice as part of his own philosophical project - and how some forms of philosophy have repressed voice. For Cavell, voice is also political; it is central to his discussions of to what we give, or refuse, our consent, and so to criteria in language. These ideas also relate to Walden, and to how Thoreau's task, both in his time at Walden Pond and in writing the text, was to put his words to the test of his community, to account for himself. 56 Cavell, Contesting Tears, 47. Cameron ‘I want to speak to my husband. I want to speak to him alone’, the double meaning of ‘alone’ - that is, ‘to my husband only’, and ‘on my own’ - demonstrates that Paula has found a form of expression with which to confront Gregory. For Cavell this is a demonstration that ‘the act of speech is hers to define’.57 This scene from Gaslight can also be thought of as a pedagogical one. Cameron, as the voice coach, stands alongside Paula. He does not offer her a script, or speak for her, but allows her to find the words that are near to her already. It is as if Cameron is persuaded that Paula’s talking will in some way alter her reasoning and her capacity for voicing herself. Cameron does not direct Paula; his voice coaching consists of only the merest of nudges in a certain direction. Another point is significant: the voice coaching is not imposed. Cameron simply asks Paula: ‘Will you let me come and talk to you sometime?’ Cameron is aware that the process of coming to, finding or recovering the voice is an ongoing process; as he says in the final scene of the film: ‘This will be a long night’. Paula first has to recognize not only the denial of her voice, and the denial of herself, but also the enormity of what the journey to recovery of her voice will entail. The night may be a long one; only gradually will the fog (that persists in the film as a metaphor of the fogging of her mind) begin to clear. But some kind of clouding is necessary; being lost, as Thoreau teaches, is the precursor to finding one's way out. What this perhaps demonstrates is that the finding of an academic voice in writing is not the same as adhering to the prescriptions laid down in certain textbook technologies; it is not - or at least it is not only - about this. It is rather an ongoing struggle, a continual loss and recovery of voice. Its development, through writing, is an expression of the worded nature of our individual and political lives. CODA 57 Cavell, Contesting Tears, 58. One thing that Thoreau's 'experiment in living' at Walden Pond taught him was 'how easily and insensibly we fall into a particular route...How worn and dusty must be the highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity’.58 These were Thoreau's reflections as he left Walden Pond. But this trope occurs iteratively throughout Walden; at the outset of his project, he also writes: 'I desire that there be as many different persons in the world as possible; but I would have each one be very careful to find out and pursue his own way, and not his father's, his mother's or his neighbor's instead'.59 In thinking of writing in these terms, it is not that students should do as they please, ignoring the conventions in their discipline for endless creativity. Thoreau advocated the value of being lost, but would not deny that some (even well-worn) paths need to be travelled. Just as the possibilities afforded by hoeing rely on the hard labor of prior plowing, so the kind of pedagogy of writing that I am advocating depends upon the hard work of acquiring the very skills and abilities that realize such possibilities in writing. Novice plowers or hoers need to learn their craft. So too, novice writers need guidelines, and these should properly be taught as an induction into the academic community of writers. But academic writing in the university must consist in more than simply the learning of prescribed skills or the mimicking of certain practices. Part of what it is to write, is to recognize that these practices are the ones against which I test my own voice in my community. The tutor too has responsibilities: for her, it is to advocate the value of approaches that do not always settle, and to recognize the pedagogical value in unsettling as a way of finding one’s own voice in writing. Such approaches open, rather than restrict, the possibilities of thought. The rich metaphor of writing as hoeing counters the trend in many of the technologies of writing towards a smoothing of the ground, what Michael Peters,60 and elsewhere Marina Garcés,61 58 Thoreau, Walden, 288. 59 Thoreau, Walden, 65. 60 Michael Peters, “Academic Writing, Genres and Philosophy”, Educational Philosophy and Theory, 40, No. 7, (2008): 819 - 831. 61 Marina Garcés, “The Standardization of Writing. Asphyxia of Philosophical Thought in Academia Today”, Open Journal of Philosophy, 3, No. 1, (2013): 39 – 46. call the ‘standardizing of academic writing’. Ideas of hoeing, of being lost, and of recovering voice, enable us to focus again on what it is to write, and to be a writer. Writing-as-hoeing rejects the demarcation of writing as a unit of production, an output for rating, evaluation, or assessment against criteria, where writing is reduced to what is effective for the communication of findings. It foregrounds instead our responsibility to, and for our words, and the educative possibilities of being and becoming a writer. In a recent paper on writing in academia, Marina Garcés writes about what she calls the asphyxia, the stifling of thought that the standardisation of academic writing breeds. What (good) writing should be (and here she is considering writing in philosophy) is ‘violent and fecund’; she writes: It is violent because it attacks the very roots of what is constituted. It questions what we are and what we know, what we value and what we purport. It is fecund because it opens up new relations and new ways of seeing and speaking, where once it was only possible to perpetuate what already existed. In brief, it offers new approximations to what makes us live.62 62 Garcés, “Standardization”, 42.
work_kmqrzyp63jhyfgjsfmixa5utiu ---- Contact Support
work_kmvttm336rhxlnkfvuud4p754y ---- Jolly Fellows: Male Milieus in Nineteenth-Century America (review) Jolly Fellows: Male Milieus in Nineteenth-Century America (review) Brian P. Luskey The Journal of the Civil War Era, Volume 1, Number 1, March 2011, pp. 96-98 (Review) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/cwe.2011.0004 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/417314 https://doi.org/10.1353/cwe.2011.0004 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/417314 9 6 b o o k r e v i e w s Jolly Fellows: Male Milieus in Nineteenth-Century America. By Richard Stott. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009. Pp. 376. Cloth, $55.00.) Richard Stott’s new book traces the social development and cultural persistence of a strain of white masculinity that nineteenth-century Americans sometimes dubbed “jolly fellowship.” Stott contends that jolly fellowship took shape in early republic village taverns, where fun-loving and violent men played pranks, gambled, and fought with each other while drinking prodigious quantities of alcohol. Jolly fellows eagerly dis- played their courage in brawls to safeguard their reputations. While they could be exceedingly generous to peers, they abused women, immigrants, African Americans, and even animals with impunity. Were they vicious tricksters or romantic chums with hearts of gold? Jolly fellows were an enigmatic bunch whom contemporaries “tolerated” until the 1820s, when evangelical reformers, off ering an alternative standard of masculinity that placed a premium on “respectable” self-control, successfully stig- matized jolly fellowship and the consumption of alcohol that fueled it. “Jolly” attitudes and behaviors were unceremoniously driven from the vil- lage tavern to the urban underworld, where they thrived among hearty “sporting men”—boxers, political shoulder-hitters, and minstrel perform- ers—who sought fun and frolic not only in urban oyster cellars and dance halls but in the liberating adventures on off er in western gold fi elds and cattle towns. Enthusiastic male audiences kept up with the most famous sporting men through a variety of cultural representations that valorized rowdy exploits. Stott, in his attempts to explain the persistence of jolly fellowship, steadfastly refuses to accept the old saw that “boys will be boys” (2). Instead, he implores us to “cease taking such behavior for granted and to scrutinize and analyze it” (54–55). Stott explores the memoirs of sporting men and the writings of their critics to illuminate the ways in which Americans defi ned, debated, and remembered the parameters of masculine conduct and identity. He argues that, after evangelical cam- paigns against it, jolly fellowship became a countercultural “resource” that men could use to reject the bourgeois defi nition of masculinity (213). Fighting, joking, and drinking with peers, sporting men thumbed their b o o k r e v i e w s 9 7 noses at sober “respectability.” In theaters and on the pages of sporting publications, “Americans commemorated the values of masculine disor- der and violence even as mainstream society embraced restrained male conduct” (186). Stott has crafted his narrative around an examination of cultural con- fl ict between supporters of two apparently irreconcilable defi nitions of masculinity. Ultimately, I think that narrative is too tidy. Stott’s rich evi- dence reveals a more complex understanding of white American man- hood that contributes to a developing synthesis among scholars such as Patricia Cline Cohen, Amy Greenberg, Helen Horowitz, and Brian Roberts. Despite Stott’s emphasis on confl ict, his evidence shows that white American men, the most powerful people in their society, did not have to choose between rudeness and refi nement. The attitudes and behaviors those standards embodied were indeed cultural resources, but they did not serve as identity categories. White men appealed to various aspects of those markers of masculinity in bids to accrue power among diff erent constituencies as the culture of the market shaped American life as never before. Stott’s work suggests that we should tell the story of American masculinity through an analysis of the culture of capital- ism. When men found economic independence—and the social status that accompanied it—harder to achieve, some adopted the values of a sporting culture that off ered comforting camaraderie among the “b’hoys” and permitted them to wield power over women and racial others. As Stott acknowledges, a burgeoning leisure culture and publishing industry helped well-to-do desk jockeys participate vicariously in sporting culture from the safety of theater boxes or parlors. Jolly fellows tried to manipulate the leisure market—and the culture of celebrity that it fostered—for their own ends. Boxers such as John Morrissey and entertainment proprietors such as Henry Hill claimed the aura of refi nement for themselves and their businesses. While respectabil- ity may have been a hollow “racket,” as Stott suggests, it also appeared to be a vehicle for obtaining economic success, political power, and cul- tural authority (273). The fact that neither Morrissey nor Hill was entirely successful in making his representation of respectability credible should not obscure the ways in which these standards of masculinity off ered white men opportunities to accumulate power at the expense of others. Evangelical critiques aside, bourgeois types did not necessarily have a beef with jolly fellowship. In fact, sporting life as lived experience and ideologi- cal discourse off ered entrepreneurs and participants the prospect of accu- mulating economic capital and cultural respect. Not always antagonistic 9 8 j o u r n a l o f t h e c i v i l w a r e r a , v o l u m e 1 , i s s u e 1 to each other, rude and refi ned masculinities were (and indeed still are) at the core of mainstream American culture, attitudes and behaviors that white American men use to cultivate and maintain power. br i a n p. lusk e y br i a n p. lusk e y is assistant professor of history at West Virginia University. He is the author of On the Make: Clerks and the Quest for Capital in Nineteenth- Century America (2010). Black Walden: Slavery and Its Aftermath in Concord, Massachusetts. By Elise Lemire. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009. Pp. 248. Cloth, $29.95.) Near the beginning of Walden; or, Life in the Woods, Henry David Thoreau expresses wonder that so much attention is being paid to the “somewhat foreign form of servitude called Negro Slavery” when “there are so many keen and subtle masters that enslave both north and south.” A northern overseer is worse than a southern one, although worst of all is “when you are the slave-driver of yourself,” he observes. “Self emancipation even in the West Indian provinces of the fancy and imagination,—what Wilberforce is there to bring that about?” By “foreign,” Thoreau meant alien to white people, not foreign to New England; he knew very well that “Negro Slavery” was once a common practice in his beloved Concord, and he tells the stories of Cato Ingraham, Zilpha (Zilpah White), and Brister Freeman and his wife Fenda, former slaves who had occupied Walden Woods within the memory of the oldest Concord residents living in the 1840s.1 Despite the popularity of Walden since the 1890s, the sections invoking the history of these local New England slaves seem not to have registered with many readers. Elise Lemire, who grew up two miles from Walden Pond, fi nally read Walden in graduate school, discovered the former slaves of Walden Woods, and decided to write the history of slavery in “the nation’s birthplace” by exploring the lives of both the African Americans invoked by Thoreau and the Concord families who once owned them (9). The result is Black Walden: Slavery and Its Aftermath in Concord, Massachusetts, a rich and absorbing account that seems to confi rm Thoreau’s notion that northern overseers were worse than southern ones and raises interesting questions about “self-emancipation.” Lemire’s book is one of a growing number of eff orts to excavate the his- tory of slavery hiding in plain sight in the towns and cities of New England.
work_kq4lndmoyrbxngilzrauy6kxge ---- European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 European journal of American studies Reviews 2012-1 David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama of Disappearance. Tatiani G. Rapatzikou Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/9708 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference Tatiani G. Rapatzikou, « David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama of Disappearance. », European journal of American studies [Online], Reviews 2012-1, document 7, Online since 26 March 2012, connection on 19 April 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/9708 This text was automatically generated on 19 April 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/9708 David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama of Disappearance. Tatiani G. Rapatzikou REFERENCES Rochester, New York: Camden House, 2011. Pp. 162.ISBN: 9781571134998 1 David Sanders in his monograph entitled A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama of Disappearance (2011) sheds light on the dilemmas, doubts and personal conflicts Frost confronted while composing his poetic collection North of Boston in which some of his most well-known lyrics, such as “Mending Wall,” “After Apple- Picking,” and “The Wood-Pile,” are contained. This book should be considered alongside a number of other publications either in monograph or essay form that appeared in 2011 with an interest in Frost’s Derry farm years, New England landscape and poetry in addition to pastoral and twentieth-century American poetry.i In his quite accessible and informative book, Sanders meticulously analyzes all the poems in Frost’s North of Boston by also bringing to the attention of the readers the hardships of rural life and the socio- economic decline in New England at the turn of the twentieth century. This is exactly what makes this book interesting: the close attention it pays to the writing process Frost followed and the obstacles he had to overcome so as to achieve literary merit, to bring his work to the attention of a wide audience and to do justice to the moral values and way of life of the people who feature in it. This constitutes the main argument in Sanders’ volume which is gradually revealed to us in each one of the chapters contained in it. Although the way his argument develops may be repetitive at times, it actually manages to bring to light a number of interesting details deriving from Frost’s own correspondence and communication with other writers, publishers, reviewers and David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama o... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 | 2012 1 friends. It is important to mention that Frost finalized North of Boston during his stay in England where he arrived with his family in 1912. His residence there forged his literary reputation and made his work much more widely known in the literary circles on both sides of the Atlantic. By avoiding to laden his commentary with theoretical references, Sanders carefully unfolds all facts and events in front of his readers’ eyes by making each chapter of his book a chronicle of Frost’s poetic craft and emotional conflicts as these resulted from the kind of poetic material he used and the subjects he drew into it. 2 In the first chapter, Sanders focuses on Frost’s move to Derry, New Hampshire, after having spent some time in the family farm in Lawrence, Massachusetts. This transition coincides with the decline of rural New England due to industrialization, urbanization and immigration. After working as a farmer and being acquainted with the hardships that such a life entails, he decides to move back to teaching so as to be able to meet the financial demands of his growing family, although he knew that poetry writing was his true vocation. The period between 1906 to 1911 Frost takes the part-time teaching post that had opened at Pinkerton Academy. It was during this period of time that Frost in addition to his teaching responsibilities would start establishing connections with his colleagues and the local community through his poetry writing and readings. The conflict however that arises here is that the material Frost would use in his poems would derive from his rural life experiences and acquaintances he had now decided to leave behind. This would trigger, as Sanders notes, a kind of tension due to the uneasiness Frost experienced that his own literary success would be based on the unhappiness of the characters that populated his verses. 3 In the second chapter, Sanders focuses more intensely on the formation of Frost’s poetic aspirations as well as on his viewpoints as regards poetic writing, as these were formulated during the period before North of Boston. Being caught up between different mentalities with regard to working rather than writing in order to make a living, Frost attempts through his writing practice to challenge certain beliefs, as for example the fact that poetry is an occupation for the social elite only, by forming a kind of writing that would bring to the fore the habits and mentalities of common people which had been overlooked for the sake of modernization. With reference to Frost’s poetry collection A Boy’s Will (1913), Sanders manages to highlight the transition to a much more mature poetic style that no longer attempts to follow the trends already set by other practitioners. The commentary Sanders includes of poems, such as “Reluctance” or “In Neglect” included in A Boy’s Will, provide an insight into the idealized tone, phrases and antiquated expressions that Frost had adopted from other well-known American poets, such as Henry W. Longfellow, which also marks his gradual transition to a much more personalized writing style that would be evidenced a few years later in North of Boston. What makes this poetry collection interesting though is the fact that Frost, as Sanders notes, is both an insider and an outsider of the culture and habits he records in it since the experience distilled in his poems comes directly from real life as well as personal experience. This is where the originality of his poetic practice resides, in viewing his own literary seclusion in his pre-North of Boston years hand in hand with the marginalization the New England farmers and mill workers had experienced at the turn of the twentieth century. 4 In the third chapter, Sanders provides an in-depth analysis of the poems “The Death of the Hired Man” and “The Self-Seeker” which constitute the dramatic narrative core of Frost’s North of Boston. In both poems, the poet introduces his readers to two embittered David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama o... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 | 2012 2 personas that take on a symbolic significance as they both represent a value system which is now fading away. In the first poem, the persona is out of work since hired employment seems to be no longer the case in the industrialized New England, while in the second poem the persona has been crippled due to a factory accident. In both cases, the personas are lured by the economic opportunities the new, capitalist-driven reality offers but they are unable to follow or accept any them due to their own personal drama. Their denial or resignation highlights the feeling of loss New England workers or farmers had to come to terms with which would gradually lead to the waning of their rural lifestyle and life choices. The persona featuring in “The Self-Seeker” seems to be taking autobiographical dimensions, as Sanders argues, since it is molded on Carl Burrell’s personality, Frost’s high-school friend and mentor during his farm years. What Sanders highlights here is that Frost’s poems are intertwined with the fate of people he knew which further intensifies his dilemma of building his literary career on the suffering or the declining fate of others. 5 The same argument is pursued in the fourth chapter of Sanders’ book through the close reading of two more poems from North of Boston, that of “A Hundred Collars” and “The Black Cottage.” Attention is closely paid to the beliefs and convictions of each one of the personas in these poems which also highlights Frost’s own stance as to the messages his poetry attempts to communicate in addition to securing a profitable career for him. The first poem revolves around the juxtaposition between Magoon, the scholar, and Lafe, a subscription-payment collector, while the second poem brings to the forefront a protestant minister whose monologue refers to the now-dilapidated cottage which was once inhabited by a Civil War Widow. Each one of the personas stands for a particular mentality and frame of mind as well as moral code which determine their acts and values in an emerging competitive reality. In the “New Hampshire” subsection of the chapter, which focuses on a post-North of Boston poem, Sanders further highlights Frost’s ambivalence as to the New England ideals he felt he had to abandon but at the same time preserve in his poetry. 6 The same ambivalence is evident in the poems to be discussed in the fifth chapter of Sanders’s volume. In the first set of poems, Frost inserts his personas in various locations which serve as a backdrop to the emotional and moral dilemmas they face: in “A Servant to Servants” action takes place in Vermont’s Lake Willoughby, while in “The Mountain” in the nearby mountain Hor. In both instances, the local farm personas appear to be confined in their daily activities, while their visitors are free to roam in the countryside. This attitude exemplifies Frost’s own wavering outlook towards farm or close-to-nature life as he was torn, before he decided to move to England, between the family responsibility to become a farmer and his personal vocation to become an accomplished poet. In the second set of poems to be discussed in this chapter, Sanders concentrates on the doomed relationship of John and Estelle, as presented in Frost’s “The Housekeeper,” and on the distant cousins’ hopeful courtship in “The Generations of Men.” In this case, a number of perspectives are brought together enabling Frost to shed light on the socio- economic forces that often pull people apart or bring them together. In the third set of poems, that of “Blackberries” and “The Fear,” Sanders explores the idea of trespassing and violation with regard to everyday habits, language use and ways of looking at the surrounding environment that Frost himself had to come to terms with during the early stages of his poetic career. Similarly to his poetic personas, Frost also oscillated between the restricted and outmoded way of life his New England friends and acquaintances had David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama o... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 | 2012 3 to lead and the outgoing one that his art had secured for him. In all the cases mentioned, Sanders meticulously analyzes each poem by paying careful attention to each one of the personas appearing in them, the way language is used, the titles Frost employs, the allegiances he sought in other writers, as is the case of Robert Burns, and the letters he wrote to close friends, in an effort to bring to the surface not only Frost’s grievances and ambitions, but also the techniques that would later become the North of Boston trademark. 7 In the final section of his book, Sanders deals with the way Frost’s poems in North of Boston were arranged, fifteen in total, and the role his long lyrics—“Mending Wall,” “After Apple-Picking” and “The Wood Pile”—played with regard to the formation of his own personal poetic style. These poems appear at the beginning, middle and end of the collection, each one highlighting a different phase in the way thinking develops throughout. As Sanders writes, readers enter rural New England with the “Mending Wall,” then they explore different surroundings via their acquaintance with a series of characters, and finally depart from it with “The Wood Pile.” Each one of the poems and its characters take an emblematic and dramatic dimension since they stand for a different facet of the vanishing New England rural world as well as of Frost’s own life choices. As for the lyric poetic mode used in North of Boston, Frost retains first person narrative without emotionally siding with his personas. According to Sanders, Frost lets his personas’ subjectivity emerge through their own reflections and perceptions of reality as shown in the way the vernacular and local idiom are used which is what makes these lyric poems special. 8 Sanders finishes his commentary by taking a look at the two poems, “The Pasture” and “Good Hours,” which respectively work as the prologue and epilogue to Frost’s North of Boston. Attention is paid to the conflicting emotions each one of the poems triggers, that of nostalgia and decay or high expectation and pain as well as to the relationships Frost tried to establish with his poetic subjects and audience. Sanders’ discussion is enhanced by Frost’s own views about his poetic practice which come at a later stage in his poetic career where he takes a retrospective glance at the losses and gains that the production of North of Boston is entangled with. Sanders concludes his book with reference to other writers Frost was influenced by, such as William Wordsworth, Henry David Thoreau, and Nathaniel Hawthorne, and to literary traditions, as is the case of the pastoral, he challenged with the North of Boston collection. 9 Overall, Sanders’ book is a good read for everyone interested not in a mere literary, theoretical or close textual analysis but in what goes on in the background of a major American poet’s writing practice. It should be noted that this book challenges the expectations of a conventional academic book reader. Frost’s dilemma formed by the pain he experienced for his New England people and the desire he felt to move on with his poetic career can be found in every chapter in the current volume which may put readers in an ambivalent position as to how the argument progresses. However, Sanders manages in this way to make his readers really appreciate Frost’s dilemmas not by being mere observers and passive readers of what he writes about in this book, but by being active participants in what was going on in Frost’s life at the time he composed North of Boston. The real care Sanders takes of Frost’s poems and the explanatory and well-informed footnotes he provides in each one of the chapters make this book a well-documented study of Frost both as a poet and an individual. David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama o... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 | 2012 4 NOTES i. For more information, see New England Landscape History in American Poetry: A Lacanian View (Cambria Press, 2011) and Pastoral, Pragmatism, and Twentieth-Century American Poetry (Palgrave Macmillan 2011). AUTHOR TATIANI G. RAPATZIKOU Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, Greece David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama o... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 | 2012 5 David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama of Disappearance.
work_kscfsyyodzb63c6tlormgkqzpa ---- http://joc.sagepub.com/ Journal of Consumer Culture http://joc.sagepub.com/content/6/1/116 The online version of this article can be found at: DOI: 10.1177/1469540506062722 2006 6: 116Journal of Consumer Culture Vince Carducci Culture Jamming : A Sociological Perspective Published by: http://www.sagepublications.com can be found at:Journal of Consumer CultureAdditional services and information for http://joc.sagepub.com/cgi/alertsEmail Alerts: http://joc.sagepub.com/subscriptionsSubscriptions: http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.navReprints: http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.navPermissions: http://joc.sagepub.com/content/6/1/116.refs.htmlCitations: What is This? - Feb 20, 2006Version of Record >> at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ http://joc.sagepub.com/content/6/1/116 http://www.sagepublications.com http://joc.sagepub.com/cgi/alerts http://joc.sagepub.com/subscriptions http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.nav http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav http://joc.sagepub.com/content/6/1/116.refs.html http://joc.sagepub.com/content/6/1/116.full.pdf http://online.sagepub.com/site/sphelp/vorhelp.xhtml http://joc.sagepub.com/ 116 Journal of Consumer Culture Copyright © 2006 SAGE Publications (London, Thousand Oaks, CA and New Delhi) Vol 6(1): 116–138 1469-5405 [DOI: 10.1177/1469540506062722] www.sagepublications.com ARTICLE Culture Jamming A Sociological Perspective VINCE CARDUCCI New School for Social Research Abstract. ‘Culture jamming’ is defined as ‘an organized, social activist effort that aims to counter the bombardment of consumption-oriented messages in the mass media’ (Handelman and Kozinets, 2004: n.p.). This article seeks to understand culture jamming from a sociological perspective, situating it in the ‘expressivist’ tradition, which originates with the mid-18th century thinker Rousseau and whose legacy extends to postwar Western counterculture. Culture jamming is seen as an investigation into the apparatus of representation in late modernity, as it relates to both images and discourses of the media and commodity system, and the expression of political will. By providing an incentive for producers to respond to consumer demands for environmental sustainability and an end to labor exploitation, culture jamming may ironically help rehabilitate the market system it often portends to transcend. This may indeed serve to ameliorate certain ‘market failures’ of the global system. Key words consumer resistance ● culture jamming ● ‘hacktivism’ ● social marketing ● social movements ● the expressivist turn INTRODUCTION Fieldnote, Monday, 10 May 2004, 11:54 a.m. I’m walking down Fifth Avenue from the New York Public Library on my way back to the New School. Ahead, I see a guy standing in front of the Duane Reade drugstore on the at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ northeast corner of 34th Street, across from the Empire State Building. He’s handing out plastic bags to passersby who mechanically grab them as they hurry to make the light before it changes. From a distance, I notice the familiar red and blue interlocking ‘DR’ of the pharmacy chain’s logo, and presume the store has a street promotion going on. I come up to the corner, take my bag, and keep walking across the street, not making eye contact with the person handing it to me. I look down at my hand and notice that the ‘DR’ isn’t a ‘DR’ at all, but a ‘DG’. Underneath the letters, it reads not ‘Duane Reade’ but ‘Dwayne Greed’. And underneath that it reads ‘New York’s Greediest Employer’. It turns out the action on the street is a ‘culture jam’, the appropriation of a brand identity or advertising for subversive, often political, intent. In this case, the ‘jamming’ is being done by the Retail, Wholesale, & Chain Store/Food Employees Union (RWCSFEU) Local 338. Inside the bag is information about how Duane Reade exploits its employees, overcharges its customers, and otherwise acts disreputably. Inspired by the technique of electronically interfering with broadcast signals for military or political purposes, the term ‘culture jamming’ is believed to have been coined in 1984 by the West Coast-based perform- ance/activist group Negativland to describe a variety of activities (Dery, 1993; Klein, 2000; Morris, 2001). These include such tactics as the alter- ation of corporate advertisements by the Billboard Liberation Front, the parody of corporate and nongovernmental organization (NGO) websites by the Yes Men, and the appropriation of consumer goods through shoplifting and rebranding by Yomango. Much of this activity is chroni- cled in the magazine Adbusters, published in Vancouver, British Columbia, and on various websites such as the Culture Jamming Encyclopedia at Sniggle.net. The ability of culture jammers to imitate and satirize commercial messages is facilitated in part by the desktop publishing hardware and software readily available to consumers at relatively modest prices when compared to the capital-intensive technologies of other forms of media production, such as print and broadcast. The internet is another important digital tool for sharing images and information, and it should come as no surprise then that culture jamming, properly named, first emerged in San Francisco, near Silicon Valley, and the Pacific North- west, home of Microsoft. Carducci / Culture jamming 117 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ While much has been written about culture jamming from a journalistic perspective, sociological analysis has been limited.1 To help remedy the situation, this article situates culture jamming squarely in the tradition of the ‘expressivist turn’, the subjective rejoinder to the instru- mental rationality of scientific objectivism within what Taylor (1989) terms ‘radical Enlightenment’. Its heritage originates in the mid-18th century with Rousseau, is then taken up by the German and English Romantic Movements, and continues on into such phenomena as American transcen- dentalism, the European avant-garde, and postwar Western counterculture. Principles of subjective authority embedded in the expressivist tradition permeate culture jamming. These principles are revealed by examining culture jamming through the categories of culture, media, and social move- ments. In the area of culture, culture jamming aligns with the expressivist quest for authenticity, historically articulated through notions of the natural as it relates to the objective world and of originality with respect to the subjective under late modernity, a social condition Giddens (1991) charac- terizes as highly mediated and consumerist in orientation. In terms of media, culture jamming endeavors to achieve transparency, that is, to mitigate the asymmetrical effects of power and other distortions in the communications apparatus, cutting through the clutter as it were to clarify otherwise obscured meaning. In this respect, it relates to the culture industry critique of Frankfurt School thinkers Horkheimer and Adorno ([1944]1996) and their intellectual heir Habermas ([1962]1989, 1984), as well as to the social analyses of media pervasiveness undertaken by Debord ([1967]1995) and Baudrillard (1981), all of whom in some sense cultivate fields originally sowed by Rousseau. In terms of social movements, culture jamming may be seen as making a claim of democratic sovereignty relative to the social contract, engaging in the ‘life politics’ (Giddens, 1991) of self-determination in the face of an evolving global capitalist system (Sklair, 1991, 2001). The roots of modern consumerism in Romantic expressive subjectivity are widely recognized, and these readings usually proceed by counterpos- ing the emotional release of acts of consumption to the cold calculation of rational capital accumulation (Campbell, 1989; Miller, 1998; Slater, 1997). That expressive individualism has fueled new consumption patterns in the wake of critiques of the ‘other-directed’ conformity of mass society initially mounted in the 1950s by Riesman (1950), Mills (1951) and others has also been noted (Bellah et al., 1985; Carducci, 2004; Frank, 1997; Holt, 2002). That so-called oppositional or ‘counter’ culture can quickly be recu- perated by commercial interests and integrated back into the market system is another often-explored notion (Goldman and Papson, 1998; Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 118 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ Heath and Potter, 2004; Hebdige, 1979[1988]). Indeed, a number of commentators see culture jamming’s attempt to contest consumer society as ironically offering new sources of distinction for stoking the fires of consumer desire (Heath and Potter, 2004; Holt, 2002; Kozinets, 2002; Morris, 2001, see also Klein, 2000: 422–37). Yet by providing an incentive for producers to respond to socially responsible demands for sustainability of the environment through ‘green’ products and an end to labor exploita- tion through fair trade and anti-sweatshop production and distribution, culture jammers may in fact be performing a beneficial and some might even say necessary function as a consumer avant-garde (Klein, 2000; Lasn, 1999). From this perspective, culture jamming is an ad hoc form of social marketing (Kotler and Roberto, 1989); a way of advocating for change in mindset and behavior. THE CULTURE IN CULTURE JAMMING Culture jamming is also known as ‘semiological’ (Dery, 1993) or ‘meme’ (Lasn, 1999) warfare, a contest over meanings and forms of representation, particularly as propagated in society through various media of communi- cation. Hence a brief etymology of the concept of culture is useful in understanding the terrain upon which culture jamming maneuvers. According to Kroeber and Kluckhohn, the modern use of the word culture can be traced to the mid-18th century (Kroeber and Kluckhohn, 1952: 145). Its Latin root forms such words as cultura: cultivation; culter: knife or plowshare; cultor: planter and also worshipper of the gods (hence the English word ‘cult’), all of which are associated with nature and the earth. The term first became generally used in German and then spread to other European languages (Kroeber and Kluckhohn, 1952: 145). English and the other Romance languages had long used forms of the word civilization to mean ‘social cultivation, improvement, refinement, or progress’ (Kroeber and Kluckhohn, 1952: 145). The Latin root of civilization forms words such as civis: citizen, townsman; and civitas: state, citizenship, city-state – concepts associated with society and urbanity in particular. While the word kultur first appears to have come into use in Germany, it is in France that evidence of the epic dialectical battle between it and civilise: civilization, initially emerged. By 1750, Kroeber and Kluckhohn note, the idea of progress, i.e. modernity, had been established – its basis, enlightened human reason, i.e., objective rationality, was also acknowledged (1952: 145). It was in that year that Rousseau fired the opening salvos of the expressivist riposte against instrumental reason with the publication of the Discourse on the Moral Effects of the Arts and Sciences, also known as the Carducci / Culture jamming 119 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ First Discourse (1750, 1753[1969]). In it, Rousseau argues that civilization, ingrained in the formal pedagogies of European academies and the overly mannered rituals of its social institutions, corrupts humankind. Against the detached view of external nature proposed by radical Enlightenment thinkers like John Locke, Rousseau asserts ‘the inner voice’ as the primary point of entry into the experiential world (Taylor, 1989: 370). By the close of the 18th century, German Romantics, notably Goethe, Herder, and Schiller took up Rousseau’s mantle (Kroeber and Kluckhohn, 1952; Taylor, 1989), setting up culture as the moral, the natural, that which emanates from within, against civilization as the outwardly ‘proper’, the artificial, that which can be applied onto the surface like a cosmetic. Romanticism quickly spread throughout Europe, privileging intuition over rationality, emotions over logic, and creative imagination over formal education. The dichotomy between culture and civilization has run through social theory (indeed much of Western thought) for some two-and-a-half centuries (Taylor, 1989). It echoes in the early libertarian and abolitionist movements and in the writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and Walt Whitman (Goffman and Joy, 2005). It can be discerned in the anthropological writings of the early Marx (1978), particularly in the concepts of alienated labor and private property inspired by Rousseau’s Second Discourse on the origins of inequality (1750, 1753[1969]). Kant’s dialectics of the sublime and aesthetic judgment, particular and universal, intuition and concept, and Tönnies’ (1912[1957]) distinction between gemeinschaft and gesellschaft (community and society) are other examples. When Horkheimer and Adorno speak of autonomous art and culture industry, they essentially speak of culture and civilization. When Habermas speaks of lifeworld and system, he essentially speaks of culture and civiliz- ation. Debord’s society of the spectacle (1967[1995]) and the commodity- sign of Baudrillard (1981) are effects of civilization. Yet as Kroeber and Kluckhohn note, the social interaction of humans with one another, in other words, civilization, is always already a prerequisite of culture (1952: 155). In addition, more recent theoretical perspectives on the heterogene- ity of the ‘imagined worlds’ of various global cultures (Appadurai, 1993) and the idea of simultaneously operative ‘multiple modernities’ (Eisenstadt, 2002) suggest the dialectic is overly reductive from an empirical standpoint. Nevertheless, the dichotomy, a bequest of the expressivist turn, is embedded in the concept of culture that culture jamming portends to jam, especially as it relates to the question of ‘authenticity’. What might be termed ‘bad’ culture, i.e., culture industry, system, spectacle, commodity-signs, and other progeny of civilisé, is artificial, Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 120 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ manipulative, ‘engineered’ (Holt, 2002). ‘Good’ culture, the province of kultur, on the other hand, is authentic, truthful and natural. Bad culture is managed from the top down; good culture is autochthonous, literally springing up from the earth itself. Earth-friendly and ergonomically designed products, organic foods and handcrafting all bear the mark of good culture authenticity. For example, the taste for natural fiber clothing that emerged in the early 1970s has been interpreted as a response to the perceived failure of social engineering represented by mass-produced synthetic fabrics (Schneider, 1994). The expressivist notion of good culture is apparent in the pronouncement by the founder and publisher of the culture jamming journal Adbusters, Kalle Lasn, that: ‘Culture isn’t created from the bottom up by the people anymore – it’s fed to us top-down by corporations’ (Lasn, 1999: 189). One theorist has gone so far as to construct a complete system of ‘vegetarian capitalism’ as a way of moving all of humankind down the food chain and closer to the earth (Boje, 2004). The rejection of civilization (which is to say bad culture) on a broad level under- lies what Holt (2002) terms ‘postmodern consumer culture’, arguably having its wellspring in the counterculture of the Beats and hippies of the 1950s and 1960s, and adopting extreme forms of expressive individualism as guiding market principles (Frank, 1997; Heath and Potter, 2004). According to Holt, ‘Postmodern consumer culture was born, paradox- ically, in the 1960s counterculture that opposed corporatism of all stripes’ (Holt, 2002: 82). This was when consumers began to embrace consump- tion as an activity through which identity could be constructed autonomously, and therefore authentically. They began to reject brands that appeared too inflected with the coercive, manipulative attributes of cultural engineering (Holt, 2002: 87). On the other hand, brands that were perceived as more ‘authentic’ began to prevail. In the 1970s, for example, Nike captured the running shoe market by embracing a brand positioning of ‘authentic athletic performance’, gaining legitimacy first and foremost by the fact that all of the company’s principals were runners, including one who had coached the 1964 USA Olympics men’s track team (Carducci, 2003). The company also embraced a marketing strategy of selling rebel- lious self-reliance in the American transcendentalist tradition at a time when the cultural contradictions of mass-produced consumption and rationally administered institutional bureaucracies seemed to be most clearly revealed in rising indicators of social and economic upheaval (Carducci, 2004; Goldman and Papson, 1998). The authenticity claims of producers in the postmodern consumer paradigm have in some measure provoked culture jamming as well as other forms of consumer resistance. The Carducci / Culture jamming 121 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ ‘trouble’ between consumers and brands, of which culture jamming is a manifestation, is in essence a renewal of the conflict between good and bad culture, kultur and civilisé: as consumers become more reflexive as to how branding, marketing, and advertising work from the top down in the consumption process, they are prompted to question the authenticity of producers’ claims. One of the conflicts in the postmodern consumer paradigm results from ‘peeling away the brand veneer’ (Holt, 2002: 86), an activity perhaps most effectively exploited by culture jammers and for which they are most well known. This refers to exposing the ‘backstage’ of the brand, i.e. exam- ining production practices, environmental impacts, competitive strategies etc. to hold corporations accountable to their authenticity claims by measuring what they do against what they say. For example, through their seamless mirroring of the Dow Chemical Corporation website (at www.dowethics.com), the Yes Men gained worldwide attention for success- fully mounting the ‘Bhopal Hoax’, in which representatives of the culture jamming group were inadvertently invited by the BBC to speak on air in the capacity of Dow spokespersons on the anniversary of the chemical disaster in Bhopal, India. They used the occasion to announce that Dow was accepting responsibility on behalf of Union Carbide, now a subsidiary, and promising to make full restitution amounting to billions of US dollars (Deutsch, 2004). The point of this exercise was to highlight the alleged disparity between actual environmental responsibility performance and credit often taken by the company in presenting a favorable image to its various publics. One of the prime ways brands operate in postmodern consumer culture is to enable consumers to express individual sovereignty through identities constructed by acquiring and displaying goods that convey infor- mation about them and their position within a constellation of social networks (Holt, 2002: 87; see also Baudrillard, 1981; Belk, 1988; Bourdieu, 1984; Douglas and Isherwood, 1979[1991]; Fournier, 1998). Sovereignty over brands requires the acquisition of considerable ‘cultural capital’ (Bourdieu, 1984), which takes the form of knowledge of various product universes and the positions of brands within their respective social, cultural and economic domains. With the increased microsegmen- tation of markets and consumer cohorts, the process has become increas- ingly burdensome for individuals to manage. One solution is the rise of cultural ‘infomediaries’, such as Martha Stewart, Lucky magazine, Zagat’s entertainment surveys and the like, to filter the dizzying plethora of choices on offer (Holt, 2002: 87). Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 122 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ Ironically enough, the Adbusters magazine website functions as a kind of culture jammer’s infomediary, providing links to products whose ostensible authenticity can be demonstrated at every level. One such product is the Blackspot sneaker made entirely from earth-friendly materials (including vegetarian leather), using non-exploitative union labor, and distributed only through ‘non-corporate’ independent footwear sales outlets (Adbusters, 2005). Citing Frank’s study of the creative revolution in advertising, Holt notes that: ‘Postmodern consumer culture produces the consumer as liberated’ (2002: 88).Yet,as Kozinets’s (2002) study of Burning Man (an anti-consumerist event that takes place each year in the Nevada desert) suggests, this ‘emancipation’ may be far more modest in reality than envisioned under the good culture ideal. To be sure, the accommodation by commerce to rebellious expressive individualism within the postmodern consumer paradigm takes place as a matter of course, as Heath and Potter (2004), among others, maintain. Holt theorizes a ‘post-postmodern’ consumer environment, in which the cultivation of self enables consumers to actively participate in the creation of the products and brands they consume (2002: 87). Culture industry bricoleurs, post-postmodern consumers use commodity-signs as forms of individual expression, striving for authenticity through organic unity at every level of the process (Holt, 2002: 87). By exposing the incon- sistencies on the producer side of the ledger, culture jammers may in fact be the avant-garde of the evolution of consumer society, encouraging producers to conform to new consumer expectations in order to garner sales, and thereby continuing the development of socially conscious production in Western capitalism, which has included the abolition of slavery beginning in the early 19th century in the British Empire and the introduction of the high wage/high output model of Fordism in America at the dawn of the 20th century. In this environment, commodity-signs attract consumers into forms of community not bounded by geography but by the social relationships they are able to sustain. Muniz and O’Guinn (2001) term this relationship ‘brand community’. While brand communities are not bound by geographic constraints, they do exhibit other aspects of traditional community. According to Muniz and O’Guinn, these include: ‘shared consciousness, rituals and traditions, and a sense of moral responsibility’ (2001: 412). The first entails ‘consciousness of kind’, that is, the shared perception of belonging to a particular group united by certain common attributes. The second encom- passes formal and informal social practices and customs that embody and propagate meaning, value and solidarity as well as a sense of history among the group’s current members and successors. The third entails the sense of Carducci / Culture jamming 123 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ obligation and duty individuals feel toward one another and the community as a whole, although such sense is admittedly more specialized and narrowly defined than the moral reciprocity of traditional community (Muniz and O’Guinn, 2001: 426). Muniz and O’Guinn also note that while members of a brand community by definition feel a connection with the particular brand that unites them, their sense of connection with one another is even stronger (2001: 418). That the hypothetically anti-consumerist cadre of culture jammers can constitute a brand community is a plausible if seem- ingly paradoxical contention. In this regard, the readers of the culture jammers’ journal Adbusters are a relevant case study. The self-proclaimed ‘Journal of the Mental Environment’, Adbusters magazine does not accept paid advertising, exhibiting a sense of moral responsibility to its anti-corporatist constituency. Instead, the magazine’s pages are filled with articles, artwork, and ‘subvertising’ (parodies of the ads of global brands such as Nike, Calvin Klein and Marlboro). Adbusters magazine and Media Foundation also promote ritual activities, like the annual worldwide ‘Buy Nothing Day’, and the organization of local culture jamming networks around the globe. The magazine’s editorial position is anti-consumerist and earth-friendly; deliberate articulations of its readers’ sense of shared consciousness. (The opportunity to align consumer power and worker interest sometimes gets overlooked in this formulation.) The market for Adbusters responds to the dramatic increase in advertising clutter permeating the public and private spheres – the number of messages the average person sees in a day is believed to have doubled by the mid-1990s over the previous 10-year period (Rumbo, 2002: 126). The sense of overload and expressive release as cause and effect can be seen in the state- ment by Carly Stasko, a Toronto-based culture jammer: The culture jamming for me is like breathing. If you never exhaled, you’d suffocate. And yet we’re supposed to just sit back and take in all the streaming commercials and television messages, and I’m supposed to take it and it’s supposed to stay inside? No way! (Sharpe, 2001) Yet a study of Adbusters magazine by Rumbo draws an important conclusion about the publication and the culture jamming phenomenon – the difficulty of mounting an entirely successful challenge to consumerism per se (1999: 124). Adbusters promotion of ‘green’ consumption and the simplicity or ‘downshifting’ movement have emerged as market segments in their own right as Heath and Potter (2004), Holt (2002), Kozinets (2002) and Muniz and O’Guinn (2001) observe. These new market segments have Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 124 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ attracted commercial interests to serve their wants and needs, making eman- cipation from the system of consumption elusive. Adbusters’ own market- ing efforts and product tie-ins for its ‘Buy Nothing Day’ anti-consumption event are themselves prodigious (Klein, 2000: 297). Witness also the Blackspot sneaker and subscriptions to the publication. Culture jamming’s strategy of disintermediating the perceived artificial effects of bad culture ironically opens new avenues of consumption through the pursuit of authenticity and the embrace of the natural. As Heath and Potter (2004) and Holt (2002) in particular demonstrate, but also Kozinets (2002), Muniz and O’Guinn (2001), and Rumbo (2002) suggest, resistance to one form of consumption often takes the form of another: what seems to offer respite from consumer society instead reinscribes it in a different and often more compelling way. If in late-modern society, absolute individual emancipation from societal constraint is seen as less and less viable when compared to earlier expressivist manifestations, it is in no small measure due to the recognition that ‘the natural’ is a construction of the social (itself the existential ground of human experience). Yet culture jamming does have the potential for ameliorating certain aspects of the global consumer marketplace. In this regard, Giddens’ theorization of life politics, which does not seek emancipation but instead endeavors to connect the individual with global concerns (1991: 214), provides a useful avenue for analysis. To see how this might be so first requires a consider- ation of culture jamming from a media perspective. CULTURE JAMMING AS REMEDIATION A related term for what is meant by the expressivist concept of civilisé or bad culture is ideology. Culture jamming as a media practice directly confronts the authority of corporate representation, which takes the form of certain words and images and their meanings circulating in the consumer marketplace and in society in general. Based on the Habermasian (1984) theory of communicative action, the Handleman and Kozinets definition of culture jamming cited in the abstract of this article presumes that distorted communication can be ‘clarified’, that the process of communi- cation between sender and receiver can be rendered sufficiently transparent to enable the ‘true’ message to be revealed. The concepts of transparency and its opposite, distortion, are central to media theory. The functionalist model, for example, sees media as a neutral instrument for transmitting information (Crane, 1992). In Laswell’s functionalist construct of media communications,‘Who says what to whom in what channel to what effect?’ (cited in Tuchman, 1988: 606), distortion is the signal degradation that Carducci / Culture jamming 125 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ occurs as messages travel through an intervening mechanism (i.e. a medium) from point of origin to point of reception, a problem that can ostensibly be corrected by fine tuning on either end. In Marxist-influenced theories of media, including the culture industry critique of Horkheimer and Adorno, and its positive variant the theory of communicative action underlying Handelman and Kozinets’ definition, distortion is a function of elites unilaterally transmitting their beliefs to audiences to serve the interests of class domination (Crane, 1992: 13). That false consciousness is manufactured and propagated through various forms of media under modern capitalism is fundamental to Horkheimer and Adorno’s use of the term ‘culture industry’ in lieu of the terms ‘mass’ or ‘popular culture’, both of which convey a determinative sense of responsi- bility on the recipients’ part (Adorno, 1967[1975]). The distorted nature of publicity (the management of public opinion made possible by the unequal access to centralized electronic media enjoyed by those in power) is key to understanding the structural transformation of the public sphere whereby the ability to achieve democratic consensus is severely diminished (Habermas, 1962[1989]). But from a media studies standpoint, Haug’s (1982) critique of commodity aesthetics is perhaps the articulation of the culture industry thesis most applicable to culture jamming. For Haug, brand names and other forms of symbolic capital in the commodity system constitute an ‘aesthetic monopoly’ over individual and group consciousness (Haug, 1982: 41). As with other critiques of bad culture (i.e. civilisé), Haug’s argument posits the commodity aesthetic as a surface effect, in this case as a device used by capital to mask class relations in the fetish of the commodity-sign. For Haug, consumption provides an illusion of classlessness (1982: 103). True emancipation starts with personal awakening, a rediscovery of the authentic inner voice essentially in keeping with the expressivist tradition, and the rejection of the self-deception that commodity aesthetics requires to preserve existing property relations. Deconstructing the seemingly seamless text of the system of commodity- signs, peeling away the ideological cover that is the brand veneer, is, of course, one of culture jamming’s primary objectives; although the result- ing personal liberation is embraced in some quarters as an end in itself (Lasn, 1999: 168) and not as a step in the emergence of universal class consciousness, as Haug would espouse. Heath and Potter (2004) would more modestly, and no doubt from their perspective more realistically, argue that the quest for personal liberation as an end in itself is socially damaging in forestalling action toward more practical avenues of reform of the existing system. It is further important to recognize that the process extends Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 126 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ beyond just media messages, i.e. advertising and other forms of promotion, to the things themselves. Goods have always had cultural significance beyond being simply tools of exploitation whose meanings are distorted by media (Douglas and Isher- wood, 1979[1991]). They are themselves communications media in the sense that people consume to express themselves as well as to fulfill their needs (Indeed, Douglas and Isherwood argue that expression, in the form of display, is one of the needs goods satisfy). Brands are overt parts of the sign system of consumer culture. In postmodern consumer society, brands are said to represent a kind of authenticity; they are part of a consumer’s self-identity, indications of a self-appointed claim (sometimes valid, some- times not) to a certain position in the social system (Belk, 1988; Carducci, 2003; Fournier, 1998; Holt, 2002). Brands reveal the dual nature of goods as bearers of commercial ideology, agents of social control, and as autonomous forms of expression, things used to construct personal and social meaning (Lee, 1993: 39). In as much as branded goods fail to repre- sent the truth, culture jamming provides feedback, which as certain studies assert, effectively remediates the system of consumption and the communi- cations mechanism through which it operates (Frank, 1999; Holt, 2002; Kozinets, 2002). Culture jamming is thus in some sense related to the hacker ethos, the value system of computer programmers, under the influence of dot-com libertarianism, that calls for ensuring the smooth and efficient operation of processing code through a procedure open for all to see and participate in. The affinity between media transparency in the theory of communicative action and ‘open-source’ computer programming ultimately stems from the subjective authority embodied in the expressivist tradition, that meaning and the means through which it is conveyed are distinct and that the former constitutes the ‘real’ message. In the case of culture jamming, exposing the ‘source code’ of commodity aesthetics, what Holt means by ‘peeling away the brand veneer’ (2002: 86), is an attempt to get at the authentic nature of goods in order to pass sovereign judgment over them. This transcends traditional advertising media, which have been adapted to the new consumer environment. In fact, one of the recuperations undertaken as part of postmodern consumer culture’s rejection of cultural engineering is the assimilation of skepticism toward advertising not just in terms of content but in terms of its very form.Word-of-mouth (Rosen, 2000), viral, one-to-one, and ‘gonzo’ (Locke, 2001) are just a few of the names given to new marketing prac- tices that seek to ostensibly disintermediate the relationship between Carducci / Culture jamming 127 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ consumers and products. All recognize the suspension of disbelief among consumers as to the authenticity of commercial messages delivered via the mass media. One of the more recent influential theories of branding (Reis and Reis, 2002) is based on the thesis that advertising is no longer capable of establishing brand equity in the marketplace, a function now best achieved by the more ‘believable’ medium of public relations. More radical forms (Locke, 2001) portray the only viable marketing solutions as being essentially forms of social marketing (Kotler and Roberto, 1989), ways of promoting ‘the good’ by promoting the right goods to the right people in the right way. These efforts strive for the ‘authentic voice’ of the product or company to be heard (Locke, 2001: 198). And as for its part in that conversation, culture jamming attempts a kind of discourse analysis of just exactly who is speaking. In an often-cited passage from The World of Goods, Douglas and Isher- wood assert: ‘Goods are neutral, their uses are social’ (1979[1991]: 12). Hebdige (1979[1988]) initially used a form of the reception theory developed by the Birmingham School of cultural studies to assert that punks, skinheads and other rebellious youth subcultures appropriate certain consumer goods to construct autonomous identities, inscribing new, oppo- sitional meanings onto them. However, he later revised his position to acknowledge the power of commercial culture to reintegrate counter- hegemonic styles into the system of consensus. This ongoing contest of meaning is a primary front in the ‘semiological warfare’ culture jamming engages in (Dery, 1993). That the ‘meme wars’ (Lasn, 1999) between coun- terculture and the so-called mainstream have been integrated into post- modern consumer society in a kind of masquerade under which the fashion cycle continually renews itself has been remarked upon by both culture jamming’s proponents and its critics (Heath and Potter, 2004; Klein, 2000). But in any event, culture jamming questions the ostensible neutrality of goods in the process. The World of Goods was first published in 1979, in the rising tide of informational society. This was the time when brands started moving from inside clothes to the outside, when the semiotic function of consumer goods came to more blatantly represent commercial interests. It was also when the disaggregation of mass-industrial production, particularly in the apparel industry, started ramping up (Gereffi et al., 1994). One of the roles of branding in this moment was to direct attention onto the consuming self through expressions of individual sovereignty in the display of distinc- tive goods (Holt, 2002: 87). The paradoxes of production and consump- tion are apparent in one of the emblematic products of the period, designer Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 128 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ jeans, which responded to the countercultural desire for natural fibers, distinctive ornamentation, and form-fitting tailoring, all of which marked the consumer as an ‘authentic’ individual (Schneider, 1994). Yet behind this lay a production process, the regime of batch production, that mobilized vast new pools of low-wage labor in lesser-developed countries, exploited the natural resources of those countries, and helped to undermine the social democratic welfare state in the West through deindustrialization and the erosion of union power in such sectors as the American apparel industry (Gereffi et al., 1994). That the product was inextricably bound up in this process is undeniable. And it is at this level – i.e. in revealing relationships of production and consumption – that the potentially most effective forms of culture jamming appear to lie. In his analysis of the evolving global system, Sklair identifies two primary dilemmas plaguing what he terms ‘transnational capitalism’: (1) the sustainability of the system from an ecological standpoint; and (2) growing class polarization within nations and between developed and developing nations (Sklair, 2001: 6–7). Sklair observes that transnational capitalism, and the environmental dangers and social inequality it is said to cause, can only be challenged by confronting all three of its contemporary foundations: transnational corporations, the transnational capitalist class, and what he terms the ‘culture-ideology’ of consumerism (2001: 297). Culture jamming as a media practice can be an effective technique in examining the third pillar, but it must do so at the service of collectivities capable of address- ing the first two. That this is on the agenda of some culture jammers can be seen in the work of the Yes Men and the more traditional activists of the Dwyane Greed campaign. While culture jamming is admittedly fraught with contradictions, it does lend itself to certain methods of social amelio- ration. CULTURE JAMMING AS SOCIAL PRACTICE In addition to its connotations as the iconographies and discourses of media analysis, the term representation has a political meaning relevant to under- standing culture jamming from a sociological perspective. This too issues from the expressivist tradition in terms of the social contract. Handelman and Kozinets refer to culture jamming as an ‘organized, social activist effort’ rather than as a social movement per se (2004: n.p.). Morris calls it a ‘movement of consumerist disruption and subversion’, but emphasizes its ‘media-based’ element (2001: 27) rather than the social. It may be best to understand culture jamming as an expressive outlet, a social practice that has affinities with contemporary social movements, such as feminism and Carducci / Culture jamming 129 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ environmentalism, surveyed by McAdams et al. in their review essay on the subject for Smelser’s (ed.) Handbook of Sociology (1988). Like the other move- ments and activities they discuss, culture jamming is ‘politics carried on by other means’ (McAdams et al., 1988: 699), a claim of sovereignty for under- represented groups in the democratic political process. That political engagement should find expression in unofficial channels such as culture and media has many precedents. Miller (in press) argues that popular culture, and consumption in particular, is where discontent has long been expressed in American society because ‘ordinary Americans have few authorized political outlets for expressing their actual interests, for articulating their desires and aspirations.’ In China, songs and ballads appeared during the Han Dynasty (202 BCE–220 CE) as forms of protest against the abusive practices of Imperial government (Innis, 1950: 151). Pamphleteering and newsletters arose in the 1600s for distribution in the coffeehouses and salons of Europe as a counterpoint to the official communiqués of government, providing a check on state power and a voice in the public sphere for the rising bourgeoisie (Habermas, 1962[1989]; Innis, 1950). From the time of the Reformation to the present, visual- culture producers have used parody and satire as weapons of propaganda in the form of political cartoons. Culture jamming reflects a theory of culture as a site of political action, seeing consumer culture as a viable path to social change. Two of Rousseau’s more enduring legacies within the expressivist tradition are the concern for nature and the imperative of universal human rights (Taylor, 1989: 413–14). The first finds continued force in the eco- logical movement and the second in the fair trade/anti-sweatshop critique of the globalization process. When looked at broadly from an activist perspective, culture jamming seeks to galvanize attention to these two dilemmas. A good example is BehindTheLabel.org, which brings together union activists, religious organizations, and students to promote ‘sweatfree communities’ around the globe. One of its recent projects exposes the alleged union-busting practices of American Apparel, a maker of casual wear for the youth market that promotes itself to consumers as being socially responsible. In September 2003, factory workers in Los Angeles began organizing a local of the garment industry union UNITE HERE to represent produc- tion employees of American Apparel, which markets itself as being ‘sweat- shop free’ (BehindTheLabel.org, 2005). While workers did earn wages comparable to unionized shops, they did not have other benefits such as paid time off, seniority or access to affordable health care. UNITE HERE Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 130 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ and several workers filed a complaint with the National Labor Relations Board alleging illegal antiunion activities on the company’s part, including threatening to shut down the plant. The awareness campaign of BehindTheLabel.org and UNITE HERE led American Apparel to settle the charges by posting a neutrality statement with regard to union- organizing activity, although the company’s labor force has yet to be repre- sented by a collective bargaining unit. Since the action, the company has come under further scrutiny for the highly sexualized imagery of its adver- tising and the alleged personal ethics of its founder, Dov Charney (Paul, 2005; Sauer, 2004). These new claims have prompted additional culture jamming efforts in the form of parody ads being posted around Los Angeles (McLaren, 2005). Culture jamming promotes anti-consumerism as one of its main agenda items (Lasn, 1999). By calling for active resistance to certain forms of consumption, culture jamming can be seen as a form of consumer boycott. The most dramatic is Adbusters, previously discussed annual world- wide ‘Buy Nothing Day’. In another example, activists in early 2005 circu- lated an email over the internet encouraging consumers to boycott the entire economy of the USA on 20 January 2005, the day of the presidential inauguration, in protest of the Iraq war through ‘Not One Damn Dime Day’ (AlterNet, 2005). Other boycott targets include Nike, Coca-Cola, Nestlé, and Starbucks. Consumer boycotts are among the most frequently, if not the most frequently, used organizing techniques for those outside the conventional power structure (Friedman, 1999: 3). Their use as an alternate means of politics has historically been to achieve either economic or social justice, following in the expressivist tradition of the call for universal human rights. Economic boycotts are typically the concern of consumers, and social boycotts often the concern of minorities. Examples of economic justice boycotts include the protests against high meat prices during the Great Depression and coffee in the 1970s. The Depression also saw the ‘Don’t Buy from Where You Can’t Work’ social boycotts for equal employment opportunity for African-Americans. The celebrated bus boycotts of the 1950s were instrumental to the civil rights movement. Most consumer boycotts have historically been directed against commodities, such as meat, grapes and coffee, and not specific brands (Friedman, 1999: 66). They have also tended to be more market-oriented, that is, directed to effecting change by attacking a target’s sales revenues, giving economic leverage to those mounting the action. Contemporary consumer boycotts, on the other hand, tend to be more media-oriented, Carducci / Culture jamming 131 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ seeking to have an effect by damaging the target’s reputation (Friedman, 1999: 216). Friedman offers two reasons for the change: (1) the entry of more women into the workforce, especially since the 1970s, removing significant numbers from the pool of recruits available to staff picket lines; and (2) the fact that it is difficult to get people to stop buying products they desire, as evidenced by the failure in the 1990s of Operation PUSH’s boycott of Nike to significantly affect sales in urban areas (Friedman, 1999: 216, 17, respectively). Another reason no doubt is the increased awareness and sensitivity on the part of companies as to the economic value of brands in the disaggregated commodity chain of production, in which investments in ‘cultural capital’ (advertising, design, brand identity etc.) have dramati- cally increased relative to often contracted-out manufacturing costs (Carducci, 2003; Gereffi et al., 1994). Parodies of brand names and marketing slogans are among the primary and more effective tools used in organizing contemporary consumer boycotts (Friedman, 1999: 221). This semiotic jujitsu is the culture jammer’s stock in trade and its efficacy can sometimes be striking. For example, CNN reported that the Yes Men’s mounting of the Bhopal Hoax sent Dow Chemical’s stock price down 4.24 percent in 23 minutes on the Frankfurt Exchange, causing the company to temporarily lose US$2 billion in market value (CNN, 2004). (It recovered as news of the hoax became known and its stock price was relatively unaffected in other financial markets, but the negative publicity from the incident continues to circulate, especially over the internet.) Edward Herman asserts in a letter to the editor of Adbusters (cited in Morris, 2001: 27) that culture jamming is really only a tactic, not an end in itself for effecting social change, especially in terms of amelio- rating the dilemmas of late-modern capitalism. And there is unquestion- ably a need to distinguish between culture jamming as an organized action perceived as an end in itself, and as an instrument of political action used by more conventionally defined social movements, such as labor and animal rights activists. McAdams et al. define social movements broadly as having members, a network of communications, and leaders (1988: 715). Additional factors in understanding social movements include the mobilization of resources and the implementation of political processes, in other words, how well constituencies and capabilities are activated and associations created as mechanisms for taking action (McAdams et al., 1988: 697). Social move- ments at their highest organizational level claim to speak on behalf of constituencies and seek to influence policy (McAdams et al., 1988: 717). Their process is one of ‘frame alignment’ (McAdams et al., 1988: 713), Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 132 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ bringing social action and worldview together to ameliorate relative deprivation and institutionalize a new paradigm. Social movements, if they persist over time, can evolve into enterprises, like the NAACP or the ACLU. By all of these measures, the community of culture jammers around Adusters magazine and Media Foundation can be considered at least a faction of a social movement, if perhaps not always an ultimately effective one in and of itself. Adbusters’ subscriber base, regular newsstand purchasers, and online communities constitute a membership of a kind. The magazine itself and the extended media of websites, listservs, discussion groups, and the like is a multidimensional communications network. Leadership is exhibited (for better or worse) by Lasn and other paid staff. Other less commercially visible groups also appear to meet the criteria, such as the bloggers who maintain the Culture Jamming Encyclopedia on Sniggle.net and the contributors to such alternative news and information portals as IndyMedia.org. Not unlike other consumer groups and special-interest organizations, Adbusters claims to speak for the consuming public at large. Besides seeking to affect corpor- ate policies through negative publicity and product boycotts (as well as their opposite action, ‘buycotts’, i.e., the patronizing of approved products), Adbusters magazine and Media Foundation have sought to influence public policy through legal action and other advocacies against American and Canadian regulatory agencies and for-profit companies on freedom of speech issues, in particular those related to the placement of anti-advertis- ing messages (Lasn, 1999: 192–9). Social movements are traditionally perceived to respond to situations of relative deprivation; however, McAdams et al. note that a general condition of prosperity seems to be connected to a rise in social-movement activity (1988: 702). According to their analysis, some level of wealth provides favorable conditions for collective activity, including the ability to raise funds to support communications and community building, thereby creating opportunities for ‘entrepreneurs of grievances’ (McAdams et al., 1988: 702). Also, concentrations of youth and the absence of ‘cross-cutting solidarities’ are other conditions that facilitate the rise of social movements. It is not surprising then to see culture jamming, properly called, first emerge in San Francisco (home of Negativland, the Billboard Liberation Front, the original Burning Man festival, and Silicon Valley) and the Pacific North- west (home of Adbusters, Nike, and Microsoft) and then spread to college campuses, areas where both highly transitory youth and comparative afflu- ence are concentrated. It is further worth noting that the rise of such alternative marketing techniques as ‘gonzo’, word-of-mouth, viral, etc., Carducci / Culture jamming 133 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ which also make a claim to rebellious authenticity, evolved out of networked online environments operating from those same locales awash in venture capital, where considerations of return on investment, even those as nebulous as measuring the effectiveness of conventional advertising, were considered irrelevant during the heady days of the dot-com boom. Social movements are not simply aggregations of individuals but ‘collectivities’ (McAdams et al., 1988: 709). They constitute an inter- mediate level of organization between individuals and the macrosocial contexts within which they live. Among the macrolevel factors culture jamming attempts to remediate are the plethora of commercial identities inserted into contemporary life, the pervasiveness of the culture industry, the seemingly all-encompassing spectacle of the commodity-sign (Baudrillard, 1981; Holt, 2002; Rumbo, 2002). The relative-deprivation model holds in this scenario in terms of the dual crises of relations of environmental sustainability and equitable exchange under late-modern capital and their masking by the universal call of consumption (Sklair, 2001: 2). Culture jamming provides a channel for sharing a feeling of sovereignty in consumer society, an environment within which knowledge of brands is a form of cultural capital and facility with them part of a habitus (Bourdieu, 1984; Holt, 2002). Culture jamming then, can be seen as a movement, but also as a technique in the same way that cubism or dada are both movements in the history of, and techniques for making, art. Indeed, it has even been the subject of an art museum exhibition, ‘The Interventionists: Art in the Social Sphere’, mounted by the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art in 2004. The question is one of conse- quences, intended or otherwise. From this perspective, critiques of those such as Heath and Potter (2004), which see transcendent strategies of individual emancipation on a cultural level as serving to reinforce the very systems of control they mean to defy, are well taken. Culture jamming has the greatest potential to achieve a useful end as a means in service to larger movements rather than as an end in itself. Yet it must also be recognized that, taken on this level, culture jamming in fact serves to remedy certain ‘market failures’, to take a phrase from Heath and Potter’s rational-choice lexicon, namely those of the instrumental reason that touched off the expressivist turn some two-and- a-half centuries ago and whose means-ends rationality cannot account for bonds of civility in society, the deeper meanings of human existence, and whose myopia in this respect has led to environmental destruction and exploitation around the globe. Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 134 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ CONCLUSION An analysis of culture jamming needs to supplement sociological exami- nation with a consideration of its political and economic effects. To be truly effective as a cultural, media, and social practice, it appears that culture jamming must be tied to a larger purpose and not be taken as an end in itself. The most effective tendencies seem to be those that link with broader social concerns about global ecology and human rights. As a result of consumer activism, Nike, to take one example, now offers PVC-free products packaged in recycled boxes and has established a code of ethics for offshore suppliers. (Whether these initiatives are sincere, much less sufficient, is still open to debate.) But as the American Apparel and Oper- ation PUSH efforts, noted above, suggest, affecting change on the consumer side of the market equation often has limited effect. Some producers have adapted and new producers have arisen to respond to post-postmodern consumer demands for environmentally sustainable, socially responsible goods. Sales of certified fair trade chocolate are growing, for instance, but remain trifling compared to total world consumption (Anti-Slavery Inter- national, 2004: 45). Duane Reade still refuses to acknowledge its employees’ desire to affiliate with RWCSFEU Local 338 and engage in collective bargaining, although the National Labor Relations Board has ordered the company to remedy its unfair labor practices and make full restitution to all employees and the union. The New York State Supreme Court in October 2004 also upheld the union’s right to continue the ‘Dwayne Greed’ culture jam, noting that its factual allegations against the company were credible, not to mention protected as free speech under the First Amendment. Thus on the streets of New York City the jamming of culture continues, and every now and then flashes of the red-and-blue ‘DG’ logo can be seen on white plastic bags in the hands of rushing passersby. Note 1. 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Address: Sociology Department, New School for Social Research, 65 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10003, USA. [email: cardv366@newschool.edu] Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 138 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/
work_ksr44wvvenct7hptd6vkumqqta ---- The Sociology of Humanist, Spiritual, and Religious Practice in Prison: Supporting Responsivity and Desistance from Crime Religions 2011, 2, 590-610; doi:10.3390/rel2040590 religions ISSN 2077-1444 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Article The Sociology of Humanist, Spiritual, and Religious Practice in Prison: Supporting Responsivity and Desistance from Crime Tom P. O’Connor 1, * and Jeff B. Duncan 2 1 Transforming Corrections, 1420 Court St. NE. Salem, Oregon 97301, USA 2 Oregon Department of Corrections, 2575 Center St. NE., Salem, OR 97301, USA; E-Mail: jeff.b.duncan@doc.state.or.us * Author to whom correspondence should be addressed; E-Mail: oconnortom@aol.com; Tel.: +1- 503-559-5752. Received: 20 September 2011 / Accepted: 24 October 2011 / Published: 2 November 2011 Abstract: This paper presents evidence for why Corrections should take the humanist, spiritual, and religious self-identities of people in prison seriously, and do all it can to foster and support those self-identities, or ways of establishing meaning in life. Humanist, spiritual, and religious (H/S/R) pathways to meaning can be an essential part of the evidence-based responsivity principle of effective correctional programming, and the desistance process for men and women involved in crime. This paper describes the sociology of the H/S/R involvement of 349 women and 3,009 men during the first year of their incarceration in the Oregon prison system. Ninety-five percent of the women and 71% of the men voluntarily attended at least one H/S/R event during their first year of prison. H/S/R events were mostly led by diverse religious and spiritual traditions, such as Native American, Protestant, Islamic, Wiccan, Jewish, Jehovah Witness, Latter-day Saints/Mormon, Seventh Day Adventist, Buddhist, and Catholic, but, increasingly, events are secular or humanist in context, such as education, yoga, life-skills development, non- violent communication, and transcendental meditation groups. The men and women in prison had much higher rates of H/S/R involvement than the general population in Oregon. Mirroring gender-specific patterns of H/S/R involvement found in the community, women in prison were much more likely to attend H/S/R events than men. Keywords: prison; humanist; spiritual; religious; responsivity; desistance; gender; religion; corrections; treatment OPEN ACCESS Religions 2011, 2 591 Introduction Prisons, by nature, are dangerous places. Prisons concentrate large numbers of people in crowded conditions with little privacy and few positive social outlets. Prisons hold healthy people dealing with issues of loss, fear, shame, guilt and innocence, alongside people with mental illnesses, varying levels of maturity, sociopathic tendencies, and histories of impulsivity and violence. The sense of danger and the generally oppressive nature of prisons make it all the more remarkable that prisons can also be places of reflection, exploration, discovery, change and growth. St. Paul, Henry David Thoreau, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Aung San Suu Kyi, and countless men and women have all used their time in prison for good. Malcolm X dropped out of school after eighth grade and gradually got involved in prostitution, burglary, drugs, and firearms. In 1946, when he was 21, Malcolm was sentenced to 8 to 10 years in the Massachusetts state prison system for larceny and breaking and entering. During his first year in prison Malcolm was disruptive and spent quite a bit of time in solitary confinement. "I preferred the solitary that this behavior brought me. I would pace for hours like a caged leopard, viciously cursing aloud to myself.” ([1], p. 156) Then, a self-educated and well regarded prisoner called Bimbi - "he was the first man I had ever seen command total respect…with his words" - inspired Malcolm to take up education, study and learning ([1], p. 157). Malcolm became more and more interested in religion and was advised by a religious leader to atone for his crimes, humbly bow in prayer to God and promise to give up his destructive behavior. After a week of internal struggle, Malcolm overcame what he describes as a sense of shame, guilt and embarrassment, and submitted himself in prayer to God and became a member of the Nation of Islam. It was a turning point, the kind of „quantum change‟ described by William Miller in Quantum Change: When Epiphanies and Sudden Insights Transform Ordinary Lives [2]."I still marvel at how swiftly my previous life's thinking pattern slid away from me, like snow off a roof. It is as though someone else I knew of had lived by hustling and crime." "Months passed by without my even thinking about being imprisoned. In fact, up to then, I had never been so truly free in my life." ([1], p. 173) This jail-house religious conversion experience set the direction for Malcolm X„s lifelong journey of self, religious, racial, political, class and cultural discovery, and his profound influence on American life, which continues to be a topic of immense importance and debate to this day [3]. There are many similar prison stories of conversion leading to successful desistance from crime and a generous life of giving to one‟s culture, community, and country [4]. In their article "Why God Is Often Found Behind Bars: Prison Conversions and the Crisis of Self-Narrative”, Maruna, Wilson and Curran (2006) make two important points. Their first point is the lack of social science knowledge about religion and spirituality in this unique context of incarceration. “The jail cell conversion from "sinner" to true believer may be one of the best examples of a "second chance" in modern life, yet the process receives far more attention from the popular media than from social science research." Their second point is that the discipline of “narrative psychology” can provide explanatory insight into the phenomenon of religious and spiritual conversion in prison. Prisoner conversions, they argue, are a narrative that "creates a new social identity to replace the label of prisoner or criminal, imbues the experience of imprisonment with purpose and meaning, empowers the largely powerless prisoner by Religions 2011, 2 592 turning him into an agent of God, provides the prisoner with a language and framework for forgiveness, and allows a sense of control over an unknown future." [5] Todd Clear and a group of colleagues, such as Harry Dammer and Melvina Sumpter, explored the meaning and impact of religious practice in prisons throughout the US in a series of ethnographic and empirical studies. They found this practice helped people to psychologically adjust to prison life in a healthy way [6,7], and to derive motivation, direction and meaning in life, hope for the future, peace of mind, and make a shift in their lifestyle or behaviors [8,9]. High levels of religious practice and belief in a transcendent being were also related to positive post-prison adjustment in the community upon release [10]. Interestingly, Clear et al. argue that the main role of religion and spirituality in prison is not to reduce recidivism but to prevent, or at least ameliorate, the process of dehumanization that prison contexts in the U.S. tend to foster. Religion and spirituality in prison help to humanize a dehumanizing situation by assisting prisoners in coping with being a social outcast in a context that is fraught with loss, deprivation, and survival challenges [11]. Along these lines, Cullen et al. argue that criminologists must be more willing to help discover and support ways in which correctional institutions can be administered more humanely and effectively [12]. The practice of religion and spirituality in prison is one way to foster humanity and support desistance in a social context that can be inherently inhumane. The Washington State Institute for Public Policy (WSIPP) meta-analysis of the impact of rehabilitation programs on recidivism included six „faith-based‟ or „faith-informed‟ studies that met their standards for methodological quality or rigor, and concluded that the findings on the impact of faith-based interventions on recidivism were "inconclusive and in need of further research". Interestingly, four of the six studies in the meta-analysis failed to find an overall program effect on reducing recidivism, but two found a positive effect, one of which was also the study with the highest effect size (-0.388) for reducing recidivism, among the 291 evaluations that met the rigorous methodological criteria for acceptance in the meta-analysis. The study with the highest effect size was a study of a faith-informed program for very high-risk sex offenders in Canada called Circles of Support and Accountability or CoSA [13]. Additional research conducted by CoSA since the meta- analysis confirmed the strong effect size findings for the CoSA program. [14] Johnson‟s review of the broad literature on religion and delinquency/crime in the community and after prison is very helpful because it examines a wide range of outcomes for a wide range of religious variables, and includes a large number (272) of studies of varying methodological rigor. Johnson‟s conclusion, however, that “clear and compelling empirical evidence exists that religiosity is linked to reductions in crime” is not fully supported by the WSIPP meta-analytic findings about the impact of faith-based programs/religion on reducing crime for ex-prisoners [15, p. 172]. O‟Connor et al. discuss the six studies included in the WSIPP meta-analysis along with some additional studies, and expand on the generally encouraging but inconclusive state of the research findings on recidivism from the corrections literature [16]. Dodson et al. also review some of the literature in this area of recidivism but do not include all of the relevant studies in their review [17]. Important new findings from a series of eight meta-analytic studies commissioned by the American Psychological Association (APA) are very relevant to this question of the connection between religion and corrections. These eight studies looked at whether or not it „works‟ to adapt or match psychotherapy to eight individual client characteristics. In correctional terms, this APA research relates Religions 2011, 2 593 to the third of the three main principles of the Risk-Need-Responsivity Model of rehabilitation, namely the principle of responsivity [18]. The evidence-based principle of responsivity in corrections has two aspects to it. First, „general responsivity‟ states that correctional interventions should use cognitive- behavioral modes of intervention as offenders respond best to this style of programming. Second, „specific responsivity‟ states that interventions need to be tailored to the specific ways in which individual clients respond to treatment; a very shy person will not do well in groups, an illiterate person will not do well in programs that require a lot of writing etc. Responsivity is about adapting treatment to the particular ways in which the offender population in general, and individual offenders in particular, respond to treatment. The APA studies concluded that it was "demonstrably effective in adapting psychotherapy" to four of the eight factors studied: (1) reactance/resistance; (2) client preferences; (3) culture; and (4) religion and spirituality (R/S). The APA now counsels all of its members to incorporate a person‟s religion and/or spirituality into their treatment (regardless of the therapist‟s religion and/or spirituality), because doing so produces better treatment outcomes. “Patients in R/S psychotherapies showed greater improvement than those in the alternate secular psychotherapies both on psychological (d = 0.26) and spiritual (d = 0.41) outcomes." [19]. The APA meta-analytic study on the outcomes of adapting psychotherapy to a patient‟s particular religious and spiritual outlook categorized these R/S outlooks into four different types of spirituality based on the type of object a person feels a sense of closeness or connection to: (1) humanistic spirituality; (2) nature spirituality; (3) cosmic spirituality; and (4) religious spirituality [20]. Many humanists, secularists and atheists etc., however, do not like to use word “spiritual” to describe their perspective on life, so we prefer to collapse this fourfold categorization into a threefold classification based on a person‟s way of making ultimate meaning in the world and their affective connection to the world and the transcendent: (1) humanist; (2) spiritual (includes both nature and cosmic spirituality); and (3) religious. Humanists tend to find meaning in human life itself and do not relate to a transcendent being or spirituality beyond human life. Sometimes referred to as secularists or „Nones‟ (no stated religious preference, atheists, agnostics), this group of people is growing and now accounts for 15% of the US public [21]. On the other hand, people who are spiritual and/or religious, (many people say they are both spiritual and religious) [22], find meaning in life precisely by relating to some being or force that transcends human life. However one categorizes the different types, it is important for Corrections to take note that the APA has recommended that all psychologists and counselors should integrate humanism, spirituality, and religion into their work in a way that matches each client‟s particular way of establishing ultimate meaning in life or feeling connected to something that is vitally important in their lives [19,20]. A new federal law, passed in 2000, called the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act (RLUIPA), has dramatically reduced the ability of prisons and jails to restrict humanist, spiritual or religious (H/S/R) accommodations because of security or practical concerns. Just as prisons and jails must provide inmates with access to health care, they must now provide inmates with the ability to express and practice their belief and meaning systems, unless there is a compelling government reason not to do so. The Supreme Court has consistently ruled that people do not lose their First Amendment constitutional rights to practice their religion, spirituality, or way of life, when they are incarcerated. Before RLUIPA, prisons had fairly wide scope as to what they would and would not accommodate. RLUIPA and a series of other US cultural and legal developments, have meant that the “topic of Religions 2011, 2 594 religion and the criminal justice system is now clearly on the national criminological agenda” [23]. These First Amendment rights and responsibilities extend beyond spirituality and religion into humanism. In 2005, the US Court of Appeal did not declare that atheism was a religion, but did decide that atheism was afforded the same protection as religion under the First Amendment, and ordered a prison in Wisconsin to allow an inmate to form a study group for atheists alongside the religious study groups they already allowed [24]. In his acclaimed book, A Secular Age, Charles Taylor describes what it means to live in a modern secular democracy and a secular age. For Taylor, every person can now choose how they will create a sense of ultimate meaning for their life, and relate to the big questions of health, justice, suffering, evil, death and the purpose of life. The more traditional choice derives meaning from a diverse range of religious and spiritual traditions, which posit a transcendent source or ground of meaning, usually called God or the Divine. Now that we live in a secular age, people can and do choose to make meaning in a way that makes no reference to a transcendent God/Divinity, but only to human life and the human condition. This purely secular or humanistic way of making meaning is new; historically, this choice has never been available on a broad societal level. Nowadays, people take this choice for granted [25]. Prison chaplains have a unique potential, by way of their training, prison roles, skills and interests, to work with all three ways of making meaning – humanist, spiritual and religious [16]. Working effectively with all three paths, however, is a challenge for some prison chaplains and prison chaplaincies. The legislative hearings for the RLUIPA act (above) in the US make it clear that RLUIPA was enacted, in large part, because various prison systems and chaplains were not equally or fairly accommodating the wide variety of humanist, spiritual and religious traditions and meaning- making represented in their prisons. Similarly, Beckford and Gilliat, devote a whole book to making the point that structural and sociological issues make it difficult for English and Welsh prison chaplains to provide “equal rights in a multi-faith society”. The English and Welsh prison chaplains function in a social system that gives a privileged position to the Church of England, often referred to as the “national church”. This meant that, until recently, a very large majority of the prison chaplains were from the Church of England/Anglican tradition. The dominant position of the Church of England chaplains increasingly caused problems of equal access and opportunity for a variety of non-Christian faiths as English and Welsh society became more multi-faith [26]. “The reason for highlighting the structural setting of religion in prison rather than the beliefs and actions of individuals was to expose the social, organizational and cultural factors which shape the opportunities for prisoners to receive religious and pastoral care.” To summarize: many people, like Malcolm X, undergo profound conversion experiences in prison that brings about a quantum change in the trajectory of their life; the practice of H/S/R in prisons and jails is constitutionally protected; and this practice has been found to help people adjust, psychologically and behaviorally, to prison life and develop personal narratives and identities that support desistance from crime. Further research will determine whether or not, and how, this practice is related to reductions in recidivism. Evidence from the field of psychology on the evidence-based responsivity principle of effective correctional programming, strongly suggests that treatment and correctional staffs in prisons, jails, probation and parole should incorporate a person‟s H/S/R into their correctional treatment and supervision practices. It is increasingly important, therefore, to have an Religions 2011, 2 595 accurate understanding of how H/S/R functions in a correctional setting and how to foster H/S/R in these unique contexts. Understanding Humanism, Spirituality, and Religion in a Prison Setting There are a few excellent ethnographic studies that seek to understand the meaning and role of H/S/R in the lives of prisoners [7,8, 27], but to our knowledge, there is not a single systematic or comprehensive description of H/S/R practice in prison. Maruna argues that researchers and practitioners who study correctional interventions often ask the question “What works?” but fail to ask the equally important question “How does it work?” [28]. O'Connor et al. review the literature on H/S/R in prisons and community corrections, and much of this literature is focused on the question of whether it works, rather than how it works [16,29,30,]. Most of the literature is also focused on organized religion but, as we have argued above, this conceptual approach needs to make a shift to include all three ways of making ultimate meaning: humanism, spirituality and religion. In this paper, we describe the sociology of H/S/R in a correctional system, specifically the Oregon state prison system, and leave the question of H/S/R content and outcomes to future papers [31]. An important first step to answering the “how does it work” question is to describe and understand the phenomenon we are questioning. To put it simply: What does H/S/R look like in a prison context? The Oregon Department of Corrections (ODOC) has a computerized scheduling system that helps organize and track the work and program involvement (education, cognitive, drug and alcohol treatment etc.) of the approximately 14,000 men and women who are incarcerated in 14 prisons around the state. Beginning in 2000, the department‟s Religious Services Unit began to add all of the events and services it organized to the scheduling system in each of the prisons. Gradually, the accuracy and completeness of the H/S/R data entry improved in each prison, and by 2004 the data was of sufficient quality to initiate the present study. The Oregon Department of Corrections organizes what it calls the Religious Services unit in a different way than many other state prison chaplaincy systems. Chaplains in many U.S. state prison systems are hired by the prison where they will work, and are supervised by a deputy warden/superintendent or the head of prison programming. In Oregon, the Religious Services unit is part of a centralized Transitional Services Division that has responsibility for overseeing the intake assessment/classification center, and the education, drug and alcohol, H/S/R, and reentry services for all of the prisons. So the Religious Services unit has its own centrally-based senior manager or Administrator who sets the direction for the statewide H/S/R services at each of the prisons, and oversees the budget, goals/policies, and hiring, training and supervision of the chaplains and other staff in the Religious Services Unit. Tom O'Connor, one of the authors on this paper, held the Administrator of Religious Services position with the Oregon Department of Corrections from 2000 to 2008. Currently, there are 22 full-time chaplains, two half-time chaplains, and seven other staff members in the Religious Services unit [32]. The staff members in the unit serve the H/S/R needs of all inmates, and they come from several different faith backgrounds including: Zen Buddhist, Sunni Muslim, Presbyterian, Unitarian, Baptist, Foursquare Christianity, Lutheran, Shambhala Buddhist, Latter-day Saints, Methodist, Missouri Synod Lutheran, Greek Orthodox etc. When we collected the data for this Religions 2011, 2 596 study (2004 to 2005), the Religious Services staff makeup was basically similar to the current makeup, though slightly smaller and less religiously diverse. The chaplains and other staff in the Religious Services unit are responsible for four kinds of programs or services: (1) the H/S/R services and programs in the 14 prisons; (2) a statewide faith and community-based reentry program called Home for Good in Oregon[33]; (3) a statewide volunteer program for about 2000 volunteers; and (4) a victim services program that includes the Victim Information and Notification Everyday (VINE) program and a facilitated dialogue program between victims of serious crime and their incarcerated offenders [32]. Almost all of the services and events organized by the ODOC chaplains are religious or spiritual in nature, however, the chaplains are increasingly involved in facilitating services that take place in a humanist or secular context, without any religious or spiritual overtones, such as non-violent communication classes, social study groups, victim-offender dialogues, restorative justice programs, third level educational programs such as Inside-Out, and non-religious meditation programs such as Transcendental Meditation [34]. The chaplains also do a great deal of direct counseling, informal interacting, and death/grief work with inmates who do not have any religious or spiritual background or practice. The Oregon prison chaplains would not be able to meet the diverse and widespread H/S/R needs of the men and women in prison without the help of a substantial cadre of volunteers. These volunteers are an indispensible part of the sociology we are examining, and many voices such as the Director of the National Institute of Corrections are now arguing for an expanded role for volunteers in corrections [35]. In this paper, we give a brief overview of these volunteers; a forthcoming paper will examine the volunteer program in depth [36]. The largest group of volunteers is related in some way to religious faith traditions or spiritualties. Approximately 75% of the almost 2,000 men and women who currently volunteer for prison and/or reentry programs with the Oregon Department of Corrections, are religious or spiritual volunteers who come from a wide variety of faith and spiritual traditions such as Native American, Jewish, Protestant, Catholic, Hindu, Buddhist, Seventh Day Adventist, Latter Day Saints, Jehovah Witness, and Earth-Based or pagan such as Wicca. Ten per cent of the prison volunteers work in the area of drug and alcohol recovery, primarily from the Alcoholics and Narcotics Anonymous (AA and NA) traditions, and tend to fall into the “spiritual” category, along with some Native Americans, Wiccans, and Buddhists etc., who prefer to think of themselves as spiritual but not necessarily religious. The AA and NA volunteers do not usually self-identify as „religious‟ in the sense of belonging to an organized religion, but often consider themselves as spiritual because a “higher power” is a core part of their way of being and making meaning. McConnell recently did a series of ethnographic interviews with a diverse group of spiritually and religiously involved men in two of Oregon‟s prisons (a maximum security prison with a population of about 2,400, and a medium security prison with a population of about 800). Tony, one of the men interviewed by McConnell, who had a Native American ethnic heritage but no previous exposure to Native American spiritual practices prior to being in prison, expresses this identification with spirituality and not religion: The first sweat [sweat lodge ceremony] I went to, I still had a lot of the anger, and I went in, and I heard some of the stories that they told.... A lot of their history, combined with their - I wouldn't call it a "religion" - but their beliefs. And then, a lot of their personal things that they were kinda lettin‟ go of and what not. And I was able to just let go of a lot Religions 2011, 2 597 of my anger. And was reassured that things, you know, if you have a good heart, a good mind and what not, it doesn't matter if it's God or Great Spirit, but you will be rewarded in time. ([27], p. 255) The final 15% of volunteers in Oregon tend to work out of a wide variety of humanist or secular contexts and help with high school and college education, cultural clubs, re-entry, communication skills, meditation, recreational activities, life-skills development and administrative tasks in the department. Some of these „humanist‟ volunteers work out of the Religious Services unit, and some of them work out of other units such as Education and Activities. A good example of this humanist or secular group would be many of the volunteers in the Inside-Out Prison Exchange program. Trained Inside-Out professors teach accredited college courses inside a prison, but half of the students in the class are inmates and half are outside students from a local university. Inside-Out has held nearly 200 classes with over 6,000 students, and trained more than 200 instructors from over 100 colleges and universities in 35 US states and Canada. The Inside-Out Program „increases opportunities for men and women, inside and outside of prison, to have transformative learning experiences that emphasize collaboration and dialogue, inviting participants to take leadership in addressing crime, justice, and other issues of social concern.‟[37] These humanist, spiritual and religious volunteers are a huge resource for corrections and public safety; they are dedicated to making a difference in society and helping to lift people out of crime and into productive lives in the community. The Sociology of Humanist, Spiritual and Religious Practice in a Prison Context We turn now to describe the H/S/R background and involvement of people who spend at least one year in prison. The Oregon correctional system sends people to the state prison system when their sentence length is one year or longer. Those who are sentenced to less than a year serve their time in the county jail system. Not everyone who is sentenced to the state prison system, however, spends a full year in prison because their time in the County jail awaiting trial etc. is counted toward their sentence. The population for this longitudinal study was the 3,009 men (90%) and 349 women (10%) who entered the Oregon state prison system at any point during 2004 and who were still in the system one year later from their original 2004 date of intake into the system. We started collecting data on the H/S/R involvement of these men and women from their particular date of entry in 2004 and followed them all for a one-year period from that date. Table 1 shows the basic demographics for both the men and the women. Compared to men, the women were more likely to be White, and Native American and less likely to be Asian, African American and Hispanic. Men were much more likely to be a gang member and to have committed a sexual offence than women. The average age of the men and women, however, was the same. So, demographically, the men in our study differ significantly to the women. Oregon has one central intake or receiving center for men and women who enter prison. The intake center is located on the grounds of the only women's prison in Oregon. The women and men are held in separate parts of the intake center for about three weeks and then moved to the only women's prison in Oregon or one of 13 male prisons for the remainder of their sentence. The men might be moved several times between these 13 prisons prior to their release. The women can only move between the Religions 2011, 2 598 medium and minimum sections of the women‟s prison which are located in separate buildings on the same grounds as the intake center. During intake, the ODOC conducts a battery of criminogenic risk, need, and responsivity assessments, including security, education, drug and alcohol, health, dental and psychological assessments. Table 1. Demographics of Study Population (N = 3009 males and 349 females). Male Female Race/ethnicity Caucasian African American Asian Native American Hispanic 76% 9% 1% 2% 12% 87% 6% 0% 4% 3% Gender 90% 10% Sexual Offence (yes) 25% 2% Gang member (yes) 14% 4% Average age 33 33 The department does not keep any data on the H/S/R self-identity or affiliation of the men and women in the state prison system, and generally permits anyone to attend whatever H/S/R service or activity might be of interest to them, regardless of their self-identity. In 2004, the Religious Services staff made a voluntary H/S/R self-report assessment available to each person coming through intake, and 684 out of the 3009 men (23%) and 124 of the 349 women (36%) took the H/S/R assessment. The first question in the survey was "Choose one statement that describes you the best." with four possible answers: (1) I am spiritual and religious; (2) I am spiritual but not religious; (3) I am religious but not spiritual; and (4) I am neither spiritual nor religious. The men and the women answered this question in a very similar fashion: 60% of the men and 66% of the women said they were „spiritual and religious‟; 23% of the men and the women said they were „spiritual but not religious‟; 9% of the men and 7% of the women said they were „religious but not spiritual‟; and 8% of the men and 4% of the women said they were „neither spiritual nor religious‟. So, most inmates consider themselves to be „both spiritual and religious.‟ Almost a quarter, however, consider themselves to be „spiritual but not religious‟, and relatively small percentages consider themselves to be either „religious but not spiritual‟, or „neither spiritual nor religious‟. This is roughly the same pattern that has been found in the general community, although people entering prison in Oregon may be different than the general population of Oregon in how they answer this question. One study with a general community sample from another state found that 74% were „spiritual and religious‟, 19% were „spiritual but not religious‟, 4% were „religious but not spiritual‟, and 3% were „neither religious nor spiritual‟ [22]. The neither „spiritual nor religious‟ group probably equates in some way to a humanist group that tends to find meaning within the boundaries of human life (and not in relationship to a transcendent realm or object). Obviously, more research needs to be done before we can make clear distinctions between these H/S/R categories, but these figures give us a good starting point. Figure 1 shows the self-reported H/S/R affiliation for the 648 men and 124 women who voluntarily took the H/S/R assessment in 2004. Respondents could check multiple answers, and because 180 Religions 2011, 2 599 (23%) of the men and women did so, we tallied all of the responses for a total N of 998. So if a person listed one preference we counted that as one, and if a person listed 2, 3, or 4 preferences, we counted that as 2, 3, or 4 etc. Although these numbers are not representative of the entire intake population, they are the best estimate we have of the incoming H/S/R affiliation of the study population. Later in the paper we will see that the decision to voluntarily take the H/S/R assessment at intake was a predictor of who would attend H/S/R events in prison, so our sample is biased toward people who are more actively engaged in H/S/R. The majority (48%) say they are Christian/Protestant, followed by 7% Catholic, 7% Native American, 7% Don't Know, 7% No Preference, 4% Other, 3% Latter Day Saint, 3% Earth Based, 3% Christian Scientist, 2% Jehovah Witness, 2% Seventh Day Adventist, 2% Buddhist and the remainder (6%) made up of very small numbers of Islamic, Agnostic, Jewish, Atheist, Hindu, Scientology, New Age, Confucian, Eastern Orthodox, and Hare Krishna (ISKON). Women were significantly more likely than men to say they were Christian/Protestant or Jewish, but equally likely to choose the other affiliations or self-identities. The unaffiliated 14% who said "no preference" or "don't know" are a fairly large group, and some of these may tend toward the humanist perspective. While 14% of our samples choose „no preference‟ or „don‟t know‟, only 4% said they were „neither spiritual nor religious‟, so these terms are not synonymous. A 2008 study found that Oregon's largest religious group was Evangelical Protestant (30%) or Mainline Protestant (16%), followed by Catholic (14%), and Latter Day Saints (5%). This study also confirmed what other surveys have found, that Oregon has one of the highest percentages of religiously unaffiliated adults in the country: 27% unaffiliated in Oregon compared to 16% nationally [38]. On the face of it, therefore, the H/S/R self-identities of people entering prison in Oregon seem to differ from the general Oregon population in some respects (fewer unaffiliated and fewer Catholic), and not to differ in others (similar percentages of Protestant and Latter-day Saints). Figure 1. Humanist, Spiritual and Religious Affiliation at Prison Intake (N = 998). Christain/Protestant, 48% Catholic, 7% Native American, 7% Don’t' Know, 7% No Preference, 6% Other, 4% Latter Day Saints, 3% Earth Based, 3% Christian Science, 3% Jehovah Witness, 2% Seventh Day Adventist 2% Buddhist, 2% Islamic, 1% Agnostic, 1% Jewish, 1% Atheist, 1% Hindu, 1% Scientology, 1% New Age, 0.4% Confutionism, 0.3% Eastern Orthodox, 0.2% Hare Krishna/ISKON, 0.2% Other, 6% Religions 2011, 2 600 The H/S/R assessment at intake asked people how often they had attended a church, synagogue, mosque, sweat lodge etc. as a child, as a teenager, in the year prior to their arrest and in the year following their arrest. Figure 2 shows how the women and men responded to this question. We see a similar pattern for both men and women of high levels of attendance as a youth, with progressively falling levels of attendance up to the point of arrest, and then a dramatic increase in attendance following arrest. The pattern, however, is even more pronounced for the women than the men. The women (70%) and the men (68%) were equally likely to have attended some religious or spiritual group as a child, and as a teenager (48% for both). The women (23%), however, were less likely than the men (30%) to have attended in the year prior to their arrest, and more likely (66%) than the men (54%) to attend in the year after their arrest. Findings like these, together with the higher rate of women voluntarily taking the H/S/R assessment at the intake center, soon led us to conclude that we needed to consider men and women separately in every analysis as there are significant gender differences in H/S/R behaviors in prison. In many cases these gender differences of involvement mirror similar gender differences of H/S/R involvement in the general community. Figure 2. Religious/Spiritual Involvement (once a month or more) over Time for Females and Males (N = 772). 68% 48% 30% 54% 70% 48% 23% 66% 0% 10% 20% 30% 40% 50% 60% 70% 80% 90% 100% As a Child Teenager Year Before Arrest Since Arrest Male Female Research has shown that, in the general population in America, there is a similar drop in religious/spiritual attendance for most people from their childhood to their teen years. During their early adult years, however, as factors such as having children begin to come into play, their attendance level returns to a level that is higher than in their teen years but not quite as high as in their childhood years [39,40]. In other words, the normal pattern of religious attendance in the general population is similar to a U curve. For the offender population, however, the pattern seems to have more of an Religions 2011, 2 601 extended downward slope on the U, followed by a later upturn upon being arrested and entering jail or prison. Most likely, this delayed response is triggered by the fact that people, once arrested, tend to be in institutions or situations with more time on their hands, more control and structure in their lives, their basic needs met, and less interpersonal conflict and substance abuse opportunities in their day-to- day lives. In this new context questions of meaning emerge in a new way. The following quotes from two Oregon inmates, first from Elijah, a Muslim, and second from Wayne, a Christian, nicely capture the influence of living in a structured environment on the exploration of personal meaning and introspection: One of the things, when I was on the street before I came to prison, is that there was so much, so much goin‟ on in my life, between school, my wife; we had a child. I didn't really have time to really look inward. And I don't know if I want to say “I didn't have time.” I didn't take the time. And, I've been able to do that now a lot more. One of the things about prison is that you have time to look inward ([27], p. 243). I hadn't slowed down enough to do any readin‟ of the Bible or anything... You got a lot more time to just do nothing really. You either do something with your time when you're here or you don't... It [the Bible] is the only real thing that's here, as far as I'm concerned... My heart‟s not into goin‟ out and hurtin‟ people. My heart's not into goin‟ out and bullshitin‟ and tellin‟ lies, and just playin‟, tryin‟ to beef up myself to look better and good, and all this stuff ([27], p.248). From the foregoing self-report information, we knew that a sample of men and women at the point of intake into the Oregon prison system were reporting much increased levels of engagement in religious and spiritual practices after arrest. Now the task was to explore, in a longitudinal manner, the actual patterns of H/S/R engagement from the point of intake forward into the first year of prison. First, we tracked each person in the 2004 intake population to discover the first and subsequent months they chose to attend any H/S/R event during their first 12 months of incarceration. For most of the first month of their incarceration, our subjects were at the intake center, and there are no H/S/R events or services at the intake center for the men. The women, however, are allowed to attend H/S/R events at the women's prison because it is directly accessible from the intake center. To our surprise, we found that 80% of the women attended an H/S/R event during their first month of incarceration. The equivalent for the men was 32% (counting the first two months for the men). Just as we found a different pattern of self-reported religious involvement for the men and women in the year prior to and after their arrest, we found a different pattern of actual involvement for the men and women during their first year of incarceration. Figure 3 below shows the cumulative attendance rates over the first year for the men and the women. It is remarkable that by the third month, 91% of the women had attended at least one H/S/R service, and by the end of the year 95% of the women had attended. We do not know what the precise attendance level for these women was while they were in the community, but this level of attendance is probably higher than it would have been in the community. For the men, 49% had attended at least one H/S/R event by the third month, and 71% had attended by the end of the year; also a very high rate of attendance. The higher attendance rate among women mirrors a higher H/S/R attendance level and interest among women in the general US population [41]. In more than 49 countries around the world, Religions 2011, 2 602 studies have found a pattern of significantly higher interest in religion and spirituality among women compared to men [421]. Therefore, the higher pattern of involvement for women seems to be a consequence of gender and not of the prison context itself. The overall high levels of re- engagement for both the men and the women, however, seem to be a consequence of the prior arrest and prison context. Figure 3. Cumulative Attendance for Male (N = 3009) and Female (N = 349) Across Months of Incarceration. The fact that 95% of the women and 71% of the men, a very large percentage of the population, had attended at least one H/S/R event during their first year in prison raises the question of how often these men and women attended overall. We examined this question of “dosage” or level of attendance in two different ways. First, we checked to see the average percent of attendance each month for both the men and the women as a group. Figure 4 shows the average attendance rates by male and female for each of the 12 months of our study. For the women, the first two months have the highest average attendance rates, at 80% and 79%. In the third month this drops to 68%, and then gradually settles to about 58% of the women attending each month. For the men, once again, the pattern is different. Very few of the men could attend during the first month, so the average attendance is almost 0%. For the second month, the average attendance is 29%, and by the third month it settles into an average monthly attendance rate of about 33% of the population. This means that the prison chaplains in Oregon, with the help of their volunteers, are directly engaging a large proportion of the total male and female population every month. This finding, therefore, confirms an earlier finding across state prisons that religious programming is the single most common form of programming in state prisons [43]. Religions 2011, 2 603 Figure 4. Average Attendance for Male (N = 3009) and Female (N = 349) Across Months of Incarceration. We found some very interesting religious and gender differences when we examined the kind of religious or spiritual service that people were attending. Protestant services (basically meaning any non-Catholic religious services) were at the top with 60.7% of men and 92.8% of women attending at least one Protestant service. Next was Seventh Day Adventist with 14.5% of the men and 28.9% of the women attending at least one service. The next highest was Catholic with 11.2% of the men and 18.3% of the women attending at least once, followed by a Native American with 6.6% of the men and 23.2% of the women. The pattern is clear (see Table 2): women are much more likely than men to cross- attend numerous types of religious and spiritual services. Also of note is the order of the religious or spiritual groups by size of participation - Protestant, Seventh Day Adventist, Catholic, Native American, Jehovah Witness, Latter Day Saints, Buddhist, Muslim and Earth-based/New Age for the men, and Protestant, Seventh Day Adventist, Latter Day Saints, Native American, Buddhist, Catholic, Jehovah Witness, and Muslim for the women. Clearly, therefore, the Protestant/Christian group, which represents a vast variety of different Christian groups, is by far the dominant group in terms of attendance for both men and women. Next, we examined how often people were going to events. Figure 5 reveals, as expected, a different pattern of attendance by gender. A very large group of men (45%) never attend or only attend once or twice in their first year, compared to only 8% of the women. Compared to the men, women were 7 times more likely to have attended an H/S/R event at least once. The same percentage of men and women (21%) attend from 3 to 12 times a year (up to once a month), and thereafter the women engage at much higher rates. It is important to note that a sizable percentage of both the men (24%) Religions 2011, 2 604 and the women (49%) attend at levels that approach weekly or more than weekly attendance. There is no easy way of comparing these levels of weekly or more attendance for inmates to the attendance levels for the general population in Oregon. In 2007, however, 32% of Oregonians said they attended religious services at least weekly, and the combined national US average was 39% with 44% of women and 34% of men self-reporting at least weekly attendance [38]. So it seems that women in Oregon prisons may be attending at slightly higher levels than women in Oregon communities, and men in Oregon prisons are attending at slightly lower levels than men in the community. Table 2. Percent of Men and Women Attending Religious or Spiritual Groups. Religious or Spiritual group Male % Female % Protestant/Christian 60.7 92.8 Seventh Day Adventist 14.5 28.9 Catholic 11.2 18.3 Native American 6.6 23.2 Jehovah Witness 4.9 13.5 Latter Date Saints 3.2 24.4 Buddhist 2.1 19.8 Muslim 2.0 1.4 Earth-based or New Age 1.4 14.0 Figure 5. Levels of Attendance During The First Year of Incarceration by Male (N = 3009) and Female (N = 349). Religions 2011, 2 605 Table 3 shows the results of a linear regression analysis on total number of H/S/R attendances of any type by men. Six factors were included in the model: having a current sexual offence, age at intake, voluntarily taking a spiritual assessment at intake, risk of recidivism, non-Hispanic versus Hispanic identification, and gang membership. These six factors, in that order, were significant predictors of which men attended H/R/S events more often (R 2 = 0.111). The risk of recidivism score, which has been validated on Oregon inmates, ranges from 0 to 1. This score is automatically generated by the Department of Corrections at intake using a mathematical formula based on a person‟s score on the following seven risk factors: age, earned time, sentence length, prior revocation, number of prior incarcerations, prior theft convictions, and type of crime (person, property or statutory). Men who had committed a sex offence, who were older, who had voluntarily taken a spiritual assessment at the intake center, or who were Hispanic were significantly more likely to attend H/R/S events more often. On the other hand, men with a higher risk of recidivism and who were members of a gang were significantly less likely to attend more often. None of these six factors were predictors of how often the women attended H/S/R events, and we were unable to generate a meaningful model for the women using the variables available to us, perhaps because so many of the women are attending at high levels. Table 3. Linear Regression Model Predicting Number of Attendances. Unstandardized Coefficients Standardized Coefficients t Sig. B Std. Error Beta (Constant) 6.858 1.837 3.733 0.000 Current Sex Offence - (no = 0, yes = 1) 10.330 1.100 0.172 9.389 0.000 Age at intake 0.267 0.044 0.112 6.103 0.000 H/S/R assessment - (no = 0, yes = 1) 8.415 1.090 0.135 7.723 0.000 Risk of Recidivism -12.657 2.650 -0.091 -4.777 0.000 Non-Hispanic (0) versus Hispanic (1) 7.322 1.456 0.090 5.029 0.000 Gang Member - (no = 0, yes = 1) -6.748 1.377 -0.090 -4.901 0.000 Dependent Variable: Number of H/S/R attendances over a year; Model F (6 df) = 61.380, p < 0.0001; Model R 2 = 0.111 It helps to interpret the linear regression results from Table 3 if we remember the finding from Table 2 above, namely that the Protestant/Christian group is by far the dominant group in terms of attendance for both men and women. So, the linear regression findings are heavily influenced by the people who are attending Protestant/Christian services. If we specified a linear regression model on people attending just Protestant/Christian or just Seventh Day Adventist services (the top two groups for men) the model is basically the same except that Non-Hispanic/Hispanic drops out in favor of Non-White/White. So, Whites are more likely to attend Protestant/Christian are Seventh Day Adventist services more often, along with those who had a current sexual offense, are older, voluntarily take a H/S/R assessment at intake, have lower risks of recidivism, or are not a gang member. Hispanics, however, are more likely to attend Catholic services along with people who have a current sexual offense, and are not a member of a gang, but the risk of recidivism, the age and the H/S/R assessment variables drop out of the model. For Native American attendance, the picture looks very different; people who are Native American, who have higher risks of recidivism (not lower, as in the other Religions 2011, 2 606 religious groups) and who are not a member of a gang are more likely to attend more often (R 2 = 0.148), and the current sex offense, age and taking a H/S/R assessment at intake drop out of the model. Race and culture, therefore, have a big influence on who attends which religious or spiritual group, but in different ways for different groups. Similarly, having a current sexual offense, age, and risk of recidivism are important variables for attendance at most, but not all groups. The final analysis we did on our data set was to look at what the H/S/R assessment information might tell us about the subset of 684 men and 124 women who voluntarily took the assessment at the intake center. We have already shown that the mere fact of taking this assessment predicts who will attend religious and spiritual services more often. A linear regression analysis number of attendances using this subset of men and women produced some startling results. Table 4 below shows the factors that came into a model to predict number of attendances for this 648 male subset of our population. The first variable into the model is called "Intrinsic Score". This variable comes from a 20 question intrinsic/extrinsic religiosity/spirituality scale [44] that was embedded in the H/S/R assessment. The scale asks questions to determine if a person uses their religion or spirituality in a more internal/intrinsic manner to make meaning, or a more external/extrinsic manner to create a social life. For example, one extrinsic oriented question in the scale asks people to respond (I strongly disagree, I tend to disagree, I'm not sure, I tend to agree, I strongly agree) to the following statement "I go to church (synagogue, mosque, sweat lodge etc.) because it helps me to make friends. A more intrinsic oriented question asks people to respond in the same way to the statement "It is important to me to spend time in private thought and prayer”. The scale produces an “intrinsic” score and an “extrinsic” score. The fact that the intrinsic score is the first variable into the model indicates that men who are going more often are going for internal reasons of making meaning. In an earlier regression model which was significant but not as strong as the model we ended up with, the extrinsic score also came into the model with higher scores negatively predicting who would attend more often (R 2 = 0.262). The intrinsic and the extrinsic scores are not significantly correlated with each other for the men (they are weakly correlated for the women). The fact that both the intrinsic and extrinsic scores operate in this way shows that, contrary to often voiced sentiment, the men in the Oregon prison system who took a H/S/R assessment are attending services for largely internal, meaning driven reasons, and are not doing so to “get out of their cell”, “get some cookies and refreshments”, “to meet women volunteers” or “to hang out with and meet other inmates”. Interestingly, age at intake, having a current sexual offense and gang member still come into the model for this subset of men, but the risk of recidivism and the race variables drop out from the model. Furthermore, three other variables from the H/S/R assessment come into the model along with intrinsic score – attendance at a worship service in last six months, prayed with others in the last six months, and how important is religious or spirituality in your daily life now. The F (7 df) = 35.429 value for the model is very high and very significant (<0.0001) and the R 2 for the model is also very high at 0.290 (recall that R 2 for the model in Table 3 with the full population was much lower at 0.111). So this H/S/R assessment tells us a great deal about the people who take an H/S/R assessment, and their answers highly correlate with their future religious and spiritual behaviors in a meaningful way. Table 5 gives the equivalent linear regression findings for the women who completed an H/S/R assessment. You will recall that we were unable to find a meaningful linear regression model for the women that would predict who, among all the women in our study, would attend more often. So it is Religions 2011, 2 607 very interesting to see that we were able to find a meaningful model using the subset of women who voluntarily took the H/S/R assessment at intake. Table 5 shows that three variables helped to predict which women would attend more frequently (R 2 = 0.261). These included the importance of religion or spirituality in their daily life (at time of assessment), the more they listened to religious programs on television or radio in the previous six months, and race (non-Whites attended more often than Whites). Table 4. Linear Regression Model Predicting Number of Attendances for Men Who Took an H/S/R Assessment at Intake. Unstandardized Coefficients Standardized Coefficients t Sig. B Std. Error Beta (Constant) -48.986 6.210 -7.888 0.000 Intrinsic score 0.588 0.242 0.132 2.431 0.015 Attended a worship service in last six months (0 = never or a few times a year, 1 = about once a month, about once a week or more than once a week) 6.511 1.624 0.179 4.008 0.000 Age at intake 0.558 0.104 0.194 5.356 0.000 Current Sex Offence - (no = 0, yes = 1) 9.061 2.389 0.134 3.793 0.000 Prayed with others in last 6 months (0 = never, 1 = sometimes, 2 = often) 4.318 1.828 0.110 2.362 0.019 Importance of religion or spirituality in daily life now/at intake (0 = not important, 1 = a little important, 2 = important, 3 = very important) 3.842 1.749 0.114 2.197 0.028 Gang Member - (no = 0, yes = 1) -6.593 3.234 -0.074 -2.038 0.042 Dependent Variable: Number of H/S/R attendances over a year; Model F (7 df) = 35.429, p < 0.0001; Model R 2 = 0.290. Table 5. Linear Regression Model Predicting Number of Attendances for Women Who Took an H/S/R Assessment at Intake. Unstandardized Coefficients Standardized Coefficients t Sig. B Std. Error Beta (Constant) 3.788 11.624 0.326 0.745 Importance of religion or spirituality in daily life now (0 = not important, 1 = a little important, 2 = important, 3 = very important) 8.385 2.928 0.250 2.864 0.005 Listened to religious programs on TV or radio in last six months (0 = never, 1 = sometimes, 2 = often) 13.663 3.644 0.327 3.749 0.000 white non white -20.953 7.366 -0.237 -2.845 0.005 Dependent Variable: Number of H/S/R attendances over a year; Model F (3 df) = 12.601, p < 0.0001; Model R 2 = 0.261. Religions 2011, 2 608 Conclusions In this paper we argue that the correctional system in the United States needs to take the humanist, spiritual, and religious self-identities of inmates seriously, and do all it can to foster and support those self-identities, or ways of making meaning. The meta-analytic findings from the studies commissioned by the American Psychological Association, together with the findings from ethnographic and some recidivism studies in prison, suggest that H/S/R pathways to meaning may be an important part of the evidence-based principle of responsivity, as well as the desistance process. The sociology of the H/S/R involvement of 349 women and 3,009 men during the first year of their incarceration in the Oregon prison system, and the extended pro-social network of chaplains, other staff and volunteers uncovered by our study, reveal a diverse and widespread human, social and spiritual capital that is naturally supportive of H/S/R responsivity and the desistance process for thousands of men and women in prison. In our view it is in the best interest of a more humane, effective, and less costly correctional system, not only to foster this capital, but also to integrate it more closely into the programming and treatment aspects of the correctional process. References 1. Haley, A. The Autobiography of Malcolm X; First Ballantine Books Edition: New York, NY, USA, 1973. 2. Miller, W.R.; Baca, J.C.D. Quantum Change: When Epiphanies and Sudden Insights Transform Ordinary Lives; The Guilford Press: New York, NY, USA, 2001; p. 212. 3. Marable, M. Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention; Viking Adult: New York, NY, USA, 2011. 4. Colson, C. Born Again; Chosen Books: Grand Rapids, MI, USA, 1976. 5. Maruna, S.; Wilson, L.; Curran, K. Why god is often found behind bars: Prison conversions and the crisis of self-narrative. Res. Hum. Dev. 2006, 3, 161-184. 6. Clear, T.R.; Sumter, M.T. Prisoners, prison, and religion: Religion and adjustment to prison. J. Offender Rehabil. 2002, 35, 127-159. 7. Clear, T.R.; Stout, B.D.; Dammer, H.; Kelly, L.; Hardyman, P.; Shapiro, C. Prisoners, prisons, and religion: Final report; School of Criminal Justice, Rutgers University: New Brunswick, NJ, USA, 1992; pp. 1-108. 8. Dammer, H.R. Piety in Prison: An Ethnography of Religion in the Correctional Environment. Ph.D. dissertation, Rutgers The State University of New Jersey, Newark, NJ, USA, 1992. 9. Dammer, H.R. The reasons for religious involvement in the correctional environment. J. Offender Rehabil. 2002, 35, 35-58. 10. Sumter, M.T. Religiousness and Post-release Community Adjustment. Ph.D. Dissertation, Florida State University, Tallahassee, FL, USA, 1999. 11. Clear, T.R.; Hardyman, P.L.; Stout, B.; Lucken, K.; Dammer, H.R. The value of religion in prison: An inmate perspective. J. Contemp. Crim. Justice 2000, 16, 53-74. 12. Cullen, F.T.; Sundt, J.L.; Wozniac, J. The virtuous prison: Toward a restorative rehabilitation. In Comtemporary Issues in Crime and Justice: Essays in Honor of Gilbert Geis; Pontell, H., Shichor, D., Eds.; Prentice Hall: Saddle River, NJ, USA, 2000. Religions 2011, 2 609 13. Aos, S.; Miller, M.; Drake, E. Evidence-based Adult Corrections Programs: What Works and What Does Not; Washington State Institute for Public Policy, January 2006, p. 21. 14. Wilson, R.J.; Cortoni, F.; McWhinnie, A.J. Circles of support & accountability: A canadian national replication of outcome findings. Sex. Abuse J. Res. Treat. 2009, 21, 412-430. 15. Johnson, B.R. More God Less Crime: Why Faith Matters and How It Could Matter More; Templeton Press: West Conshohocken, PA, USA, 2011. 16. O'Connor, T.P.; Duncan, J.B. Religion and prison programming: The role, impact, and future direction of faith in correctional systems. Off. Prog. Rep. 2008, 11, 81-96. 17. Dodson, K.D.; Leann, N.; Klenowski, P.M. An Evidence-Based Assessment of Faith-Based Programs; Do Faith-Based Programs “Work” to Reduce Recidivism? J. Off. Rehab. 2011, 50, 367-383. 18. Bonta, J.; Andrews, D. Viewing offender assessment and rehabilitation through the lens of the risk-needs-responsivity model. In Offender Supervision: New Directions in Theory, Research and Practice; McNeill, F., Rayner, P., Trotter, C., Eds.; Willan Publishing: New York, NY, USA, 2010; pp. 19-40. 19. Norcross, J.C.; Wampold, B.E. What works for whom: Tailoring psychotherapy to the person. J. Clin. Psychol. 2010, 67, 127-132. 20. Worthington, E.L.; Hook, J.N.; Davis, D.E.; McDaniel, M.A. Religion and spirituality. J. Clin. Psychol. 2011, 67, 204-214. 21. Kosmin, B.A.; Keysar, A. American Religious Identification Survey (ARIS 2008): Summary Report; Trinity College: Hartford, CT, USA, 2009. 22. Zinnbauer, B.J.; Pargament, K.I.; Cole, B.; Rye, M.S.; Butter, E.M.; Belavich, T.G.; Hipp, K.M.; Scott, A.B.; Kadar, J.L. Religion and spirituality: Unfuzzying the fuzzy. J. Sci. Stud. Relig. 1997, 36, 549-564. 23. O'Connor, T.P.; Duncan, J.; Quillard, F. Criminology and religion: The shape of an authentic dialogue. Criminol. Publ. Pol. 2006, 5, 559-570. 24. Kaufman vs. McCaughtry. In US Court of Appeals, Seventh Circuit; Chicago, IL, USA, August 2005. 25. Taylor, C. A Secular Age; Harvard University Press: Cambridge, MA, USA, 2007. 26. Beckford, J.A.; Gilliat, S. Religion in Prison: Equal Rights in a Multi Faith Society; Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, UK, 1998. 27. McConnell, R.D. The penitentiary: Prison control and the genesis of prison religion, self-control in a total institution. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Virginia, Dillwyn, VA, USA, 2010. 28. Maruna, S. Making Good: How Ex-convicts Reform and Rebuild their Lives; American Psychological Association: Washington, DC, USA, 2001. 29. O'Connor, T.P. What works, religion as a correctional intervention: Part i. J. Community Correct. 2004, XIV, 11-22, 27. 30. O'Connor, T.P. What works, religion as a correctional intervention: Part ii. J. Community Correct. 2005, XIV, 4-6, 20-26. 31. O 'Connor, T.; Duncan, J.; Lazzari, S.; Lehr, J. Prisoners, Chaplains and Volunteers in Oregon: Diverse and Widespread Human, Social and Spiritual Capital for Desistance; American Society of Criminology: Washington, DC, USA, 2011. Religions 2011, 2 610 32. Oregon Department of Corrections Transitional Services Division: Religious Services. Available online: http://www.oregon.gov/DOC/TRANS/religious_services/rs_home_page.shtml (Accessed on 4 May 2011). 33. O'Connor, T.P.; Cayton, T.; Taylor, S.; McKenna, R.; Monroe, N. Home for good in oregon: A community, faith, and state re-entry partnership to increase restorative justice. Correct. Today 2004, 66, 72-77. 34. Maharishi Foundation USA. "Being" behind bars. In Enlightenment: The Transcendental Meditation Magazine; Maharishi Foundation: Fairfield, IA, USA, 2011. 35. Thigpen, M. Message from the Director: Service; National Institute of Corrections Newsletter: Washington, DC, USA, September 2011 36. O 'Connor, T.; Lehr, J.; Lazzari, S.; Duncan, J. Prison and Re-entry Volunteers: An Overlooked, Creative and Cost Effective Source of Human Capital for Desistance; American Society of Criminology: Washington, DC, USA, 2011. 37. Inside-Out Prison Exchange Program. Available online: http://www.insideoutcenter.org/ home.html (Accessed on 12 October 2011). 38. Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. U.S. Religious Landscape Survey—Religious Affiliation: Diverse and Dynamic; PEW Forum on Religion and Public Life: Washington, DC, USA, 2008. 39. O'Connor, T.P.; Hoge, D.; Alexander, E. The relative influence of youth and adult experiences on personal spirituality and church involvement. J. Sci. Stud. Relig. 2002, 41, 723-732. 40. Roozen, D.A. Church dropouts: Changing patterns of disengagement and re-entry. Rev. Relig. Res. 1980, 21, 427-450. 41. Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. U.S. Religious Landscape Survey: The Stronger Sex— Spiritually Speaking; PEW Forum on Religion and Public Life: Washington, DC, USA, 2008. 42. Stark, R. Physiology and faith: Addressing the "universal" gender differences in religious committment. J. Sci. Stud. Relig. 2002, 41, 495-507. 43. Beck, A.; Gilliard, D.; Greenfeld, L.; Harlow, C.; Hester, T.; Jankowski, L.; Snell, T.; Stephan, J.; Morton, D. Survey of State Prison Inmates, 1991; U.S. Department of Justice: Washington, DC, USA, 1993. 44. Gorsuch, R.; Venable, G. Development of an "age universal" i-e scale. J. Sci. Stud. Relig. 1983, 22, 181-187. © 2011 by the authors; licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/).
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work_ktjje554c5httarn6kciytwndq ---- O2832c04.pmd Reenchanting Nature: Modern Western Shamanism and Nineteenth-Century Thought Kocku von Stuckrad Kocku von Stuckrad is a lecturer (Privatdozent) for religious studies at Bremen University, D-28334 Bremen, Germany. An earlier version of this article was presented at the Annual Meeting of the AAR in Boston in 1999. I owe much to the interesting discussions of the “mysticism” group there. In addition, spe- cial thanks go to Don Handelman (Jerusalem), Bron Taylor (Oshkosh, WI), Antoine Faivre (Paris), Roberte N. Hamayon (Paris), Jan N. Bremmer (Groningen), Michael York (Bath), Ulla Johansen (Cologne), Jörg Rüpke (Erfurt), Jonathan Horwitz (Copenhagen), Annette Høst (Copenhagen), and—last but not least—Hans G. Kippenberg (Bremen). All of them helped me a lot in clarifying my argument and escaping (at least) some of the major pitfalls. Journal of the American Academy of Religion December 2002, Vol. 70, No. 4, pp. 771–799. © 2002 The American Academy of Religion In the second half of the twentieth century there emerged in North America and Europe a complex phenomenon on the fringes of anthropology, sci- ence, and the so-called New Age that is often referred to as “neoshaman- ism.” Part of a larger discourse of nature-based spirituality, contemporary western shamanism is deeply rooted in European and North American history of thought. It can be analyzed in the light of a dialectic process of “disenchantment” and “resacralization” of the world. After having scru- tinized neoshamanic concepts of nature, the article discusses paradigmatic examples for the existence of currents that contest disenchantment and fight the tendency within modern western culture to desacralize nature. It is shown that the nineteenth century must be considered the forma- tive phase of contemporary neoshamanic nature discourse. DESACRALIZATION REVISITED IN A RECENT ARTICLE on “modernity,” Gustavo Benavides points to the fact that the increasing separation of sacred and material realms is a characteristic of modernity. Nonindustrial societies, in contrast, are marked 772 Journal of the American Academy of Religion by a concept that might be called a “symbolic, or perhaps more accurately a sacramental view of reality” (Benavides: 198), in which the universe is not seen as consisting of discrete domains but, rather, as more or less unified. In modern Europe this integrative concept stands in contrast to the separation of the sacred and the material: “The differentiation of do- mains that characterizes modernity made it in the long run impossible, or at least illegitimate, to engage in activities that mingled the increasingly distinct religious and material realms. But it is necessary to emphasize that the extrication of religion from the material world was, and still is, a con- tested process” (Benavides: 198).1 Benavides’s approach can be easily combined with Max Weber’s con- cept of disenchantment. The former correctly observes that modernity is characterized by a self-referential reflexivity, in which the domains of culture are disembedded and newly ordered. It is important to note that this did not entail the suspension of the “sacred” but, rather, the exist- ence of multiple modernities (Benavides: 189). Weber, for his part, in- terpreted the genesis of modernity as the result of a religious process. As is well known, he proposed that the disenchantment of the world pro- vided room for the subjective search for meaning and significance. In the introduction to his “Economic Ethic of the World Religions” We- ber argues that the unity of the “primitive image of the world, in which everything was concrete magic,” was transformed by modernity into a dichotomy or, rather, a dialectic of rational cognition and mastery of nature versus something Weber calls “mystic experiences”; and he con- cludes: “The inexpressible contents of such experiences remain the only possible ‘beyond,’ added to the mechanism of a world robbed of Gods” (from Gerth and Mills: 282). Weber was fully aware of the fact that the world’s disenchantment has always been challenged by mystic, intellec- tualized, or private religious reasoning (see Breuer). Today we are inclined to call this “esotericism” or “New Age religion,” but, as Hans G. Kippen- berg reminds us, “if we replace ‘fundamentalism’ by Weber’s ‘sect,’ or ‘New Age’ by Buber’s ‘mysticism,’ we suddenly rediscover a theory assum- ing a significance of certain religious traditions for inhabitants of the modern world” (2000: 240). The notion of a diachronic development of western attitudes toward nature is not new, of course. But it is usually not applied to the twentieth- century phenomenon called “neoshamanism,” which scholars often de- scribe in terms of degeneration, syncretism, capitalism, “instant religion,” or hybridity. In contrast, this article wants to show that modern western 1 As for the prehistory of this thesis, see Horton’s interesting remarks, especially in his 1967 ar- ticle, “African Traditional Thought and Western Science” (1993, reprint: 197–258). von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 773 shamanism, as I prefer to call it, can be understood as a specific counter- reaction to modern tendencies toward the exclusion or sublimation of the “sacred” (whatever that might be). Being part and parcel of a specific re- ligious reaction to modernity, it carries on philosophical and religious concepts that have long been a current of western Geistesgeschichte. SHAMANISMS OLD AND NEW Shamanism has fascinated European and North American culture for the past 300 years. The first who brought news from the vast steppes of northern Eurasia to the West, along with stories describing exotic rituals, were missionaries, traders, and travelers. During the eighteenth century there already had developed a more or less fixed image of “shamanism” as a specific type of religion. For most enlighteners the shaman was a model for irrational behavior (here, we come across the “disenchantment fron- tier”), and Catherine the Great even wrote a comedy entitled Der sibirische Schaman, ein Lustspiel (1786), in which she tries to ridicule shamanism and lead her subjects to a new age of enlightenment. But this was only one side of the coin, and the counterreaction was soon to emerge.2 For quite a few European enlighteners—among them J. G. Herder, W. von Goethe, and Victor Hugo—the shaman was a religious virtuoso, a re- minder of those ancient ecstatics and artists who were able to transgress ordinary reality by means of music and poetry. The most prominent fig- ure in this European imagination was Orpheus (see Flaherty). Roberte N. Hamayon (1998: 179–181) has labeled the three-step his- tory of approaches to the shaman’s behavior during the past 300 years devilization, medicalization, and idealization. Although there surely exist examples for such a process, this description obscures the fact that west- ern attitudes toward shamanism have been ambivalent from the begin- ning. Hence, Karl-Heinz Kohl’s notion of “refutation and desire” (1987, see also 1981) seems more suitable for understanding the characteristics of modernity’s appropriation of the shaman. Descriptions of shamanism always carried with them an element of fascination that was made explicit when Mircea Eliade in 1951 put forth his new construction of the sha- man as a trance specialist (Noel: 26–41; see also Hamayon 1993, 1998, with a refutation of Hultkrantz’s famous definition). Now, shamanism ap- peared as a kind of anthropological constant, an ensemble of religious practices and doctrines that enabled certain socially discernible persons to interrelate with spiritual entities on behalf of their community. Eliade 2 As McMahon has shown, the counterreaction was indeed an integral part of enlightenment itself. 774 Journal of the American Academy of Religion must be addressed as the major “turntable” between nineteenth-century intellectual discourse and the popular appropriation of shamanism in the second half of the twentieth century. The problems connected to definitions of shamanism, to exploration and mythmaking, are enormous. But they are not the primary issue of this article.3 They only provide the background of my approach that deals with the new appreciation of shamanism in modern western culture. It was in the 1960s that the shamanic discourse in North America made a decisive step in a new direction when the so-called New Age movement discov- ered shamanism and made it a major reference tool for its worldview.4 Inspired by Mircea Eliade, C. G. Jung, and Joseph Campbell, the shaman became an indication of a new understanding of humanity’s relation to nature, of man’s ability to access spiritual levels of reality, and of leading a respectful life toward the “sacred web of creation.” Henceforth, shaman- ism was no longer regarded as a spiritual path limited only to “classical shamanic cultures.” Instead, by substituting the western positivistic and mechanistic attitude toward reality and nature with a holistic or vitalist one, shamanism was considered available to everyone—even to those in urban contexts that are estranged from nature. From this situation a phenomenon emerged that is called “neo- shamanism” by most scholars. Because of its biased tone, practitioners usually do not feel very comfortable with this label. As Annette Høst (2001) argues, “modern western shamanism” (or, for her part, even “modern European shamanism”) would be much more appropriate. I agree with this argument. Despite its complexity, several characteristics of the phenomenon are discernible: 1. Starting with the seminal work of Carlos Castaneda, the populariza- tion of academic knowledge became an important feature of modern western shamanism. Most major shamanic protagonists hold a degree in anthropology (e.g., Castaneda, Michael Harner, Joan Halifax, Nevill Drury, Steven Foster, Jonathan Horwitz, Felicitas Goodman, Gala Naumova) and try to combine this education with a spiritual practice outside the academia. Furthermore, what can be called the “interfer- ence” between academic research and religious practicing entailed a 3 A good survey of previous works is presented in Siikala and Hoppál. For a critical evaluation, see Taussig, Hutton, and also (although his introduction of Merlin as shaman seems strange to me) Noel. 4 Throughout this article I use the term discourse to describe a complex situation that is charac- terized by conscious and unconscious negotiations, power relations (in the Foucauldian sense), and debates applied to all levels of social action. von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 775 transformation of “classical, indigenous shamanism” (if there is such), when native people began to read ethnographic accounts and reacted to anthropological systematization (see Atkinson: 322–23; Vitebsky). 2. From both religious and sociological points of view, modern western shamanism has a lot in common with neopagan groups (see York). Many features of Native American traditions or Celtic and North European religions, along with Wiccan chants and natural magic’s ritualizing, form the spiritual background of neoshamanic ritual prac- tice. For instance, Høst, of the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Stud- ies, includes in her shamanic workshops divination and trance rituals adopted from northern European pagan tradition (such as seidr ; see Høst 1997; Lindquist: 122–183; cf. Pike: 211). 3. Modern western shamanism is closely related to western concepts of nature and religion, which were newly appreciated within the New Age scene. Although with regard to New Age in general this longue durée has been recognized at least by some scholars (see especially Hanegraaff and now also Hammer), in the case of shamanism most interpreta- tions fail to recognize this important aspect.5 4. Comparing it with indigenous shamanisms, it is noteworthy that modern western shamanism—at least in its more New Age emphasis (Hammer: 136–139)—tends to deny the reality of intrinsically nefari- ous spirits. Furthermore, it is oriented toward personal and spiritual empowerment among practitioners. Hence, the role of the community is of less importance than it is in shamanism’s more traditional context. But despite these points of comparison (and contrary to Hammer’s oversimplification), Piers Vitebsky’s remarks are certainly correct: It is no longer possible to make a watertight distinction between “tradi- tional” shamanistic societies (a mainstay of the old ethnographic litera- ture and of comparative religion), and the new wave of neo-shamanist movements (still barely studied in depth). . . . [T]he shamanic revival is now reappearing in the present of some of these remote tribes—only now these are neither remote nor tribal. (184) As can be seen from this short list of characteristics, the neoshamanic “scene” is a cultic milieu of its own (see Kürti), with several points of 5 There are two monographs dealing extensively with (European) neoshamanism (Jakobsen; Lindquist). Although both are valuable contributions, they do not offer a historical explanation; fur- thermore, Jakobsen’s analysis is distorted by a preconceived attitude toward her “object,” Jonathan Horwitz, of the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Studies, who did not authorize her account (con- trasting Lindquist’s). Another illuminating source is Cruden 1995. Most shorter academic contri- butions concentrate on the question of neoshamanism’s authenticity and a comparison with “real” shamanism. 776 Journal of the American Academy of Religion overlap with both contemporary western paganism and New Age currents. Nevertheless, it is advisable to discern between modern western shaman- ism in its wider and its narrower senses. For the latter, Carlos Castaneda’s books are of paramount importance. Another major figure in this regard is anthropologist and practitioner Michael Harner, who coined the term core shamanism, which is a simple indicator of some basic shamanic char- acteristics found—as Harner argues—in a variety of traditional settings. Michael J. Harner and the Foundation for Shamanic Studies In 1979, Michael J. Harner, who had earned his Ph.D. in anthropology at the University of California, Berkeley, founded the Center for Shamanic Studies. Having resigned his professorship—at Columbia, Yale, Berkeley, and the New School for Social Research in New York—Harner renamed this nonprofit organization in 1987 the Foundation for Shamanic Studies (FSS). Subsequently, an international network was established in order to secure the quality of the teaching, to enable grassroots work, and to distrib- ute literature, music, and shamanic paraphernalia. Today, the FSS is present in industrialized countries around the world, but its major branches are located in North America and Europe. The constitutional aims of the foun- dation are threefold: preservation of shamanic cultures and wisdom around the world, study of the original shamanic peoples and their traditions, and teaching shamanic knowledge for the benefit of the earth (Uccusic: 269– 273). This last point in particular has raised some dispute because the FSS even offers scholarships to natives to regain their own shamanic heritage. Doubtlessly, the FSS is a kind of “center of gravity” for contemporary shamanic discourse. Several other groups have adopted the “core shaman- ism” constructed by Harner and organize their course programs in a simi- lar way. For Europe, the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Studies, which is run by Jonathan Horwitz (who had been collaborating with Harner for over ten years) and Annette Høst, has gained particular influence. If one reviews the spiritual practices of modern western shamanism within the FSS and related groups, several crucial features are to be mentioned:6 The first step—and, therefore, the obligatory basic course’s content—is to learn the shamanic journey. By beating a large frame drum, an altered state of consciousness (not necessarily a trance) is induced, enabling the par- ticipants to send consciousness’s focus through an entrance from this— visible—reality into the lower or upper world. There, they meet their power 6 Basic for the following are Drury, Uccusic, Harner, and Cowan. For a scholarly perspective, see Jakobsen and Lindquist. Lindquist’s dissertation includes detailed descriptions of the seminary’s activities and biographical notes about the participants. It is worth noting that the “constructions” of shamanic biographies converge to a high degree with the results of Stenger’s study. von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 777 animals, which subsequently are addressed as their most important help- ers and teachers. Later, when the power animal is performed by song and dance—now the rattle is the primary instrument—the alliance between the shaman and the respective spiritual entity is further deepened. During their journey to the lower or upper world the practitioners encounter more personal helping spirits and teachers who later stand beside them when they make journeys for other people. For those clients, the shamanizing person looks for either a power animal or a helping spirit offering its advice for the respective problem. Those entities are then blown into the client’s chest or forehead. The ability to journey shamanically and the deep contact with helpers from the “other world” are essential propositions for the neoshamanic work that can be called therapeutic.7 One possible aim is to retrieve soul parts that had been lost by trauma and so forth (cf. Ingerman 1991, 1993). On other occasions bodily, mental, or spiritual illnesses are “sucked out” of the client. A journey can also be carried out in order to ask for help in “the other world.” The accompaniment of dying persons before and after death also is an important field of neoshamanic practice. Finally, the topic of deep ecol- ogy or spiritual ecology has gained growing attention in the last decade. This work includes not only communication with plants, stones, or other enti- ties that the animistic worldview considers to be alive but also healing work for energetically disturbed places or even the whole planet (see below). In addition, adaptations of indigenous traditions by Westerners are related to the neoshamanic movement. A broad reception of Vision Quests, the Sun Dance, and other religious features of the Native Americans has taken place, mostly in the United States and Canada (see, among many others, Andrews [cf. Drury: 87–92]; Foster and Little; Meadows; Moon- dance; Tedlock and Tedlock; Wall; Wesselman). People in Europe, for their part, have tried to bind their practice of shamanism to old Celtic semantics (Cowan; Cruden 1998; Jones; MacEowen; cf. the seidr ritual above). So, after having sketched the background and main characteristics of shamanic ac- tivities within modern western culture, I now turn to the issue of nature, which demonstrably is a key to understanding contemporary shamanic discourse and locating it in a long-standing tradition. CONCEPTS OF NATURE IN NEOSHAMANISM The central leitmotiv of contemporary western shamanism is nature. This by all means deserves an explanation, for in most of the older eth- 7 The following examples are chosen from the 1998–99 program of the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Studies in Copenhagen. 778 Journal of the American Academy of Religion nographies dealing with indigenous shamanism no specific concept of “nature” occurs. It even seems difficult to transfer this western term to cultures that do not have such a word in the first place. It was only re- cently that people from an indigenous background began to explain their shamanism with regard to their specific relationship to nature or envi- ronmental consciousness (see, e.g., Schlehe and Weber: 113–114; Vitebsky: 185–193). My central thesis is that the concept of nature prominent in neoshamanic discourse is a direct successor of western mysticism and philosophy of na- ture, whose relevant currents of thought had their “high time” (roughly) in antiquity, during the Renaissance, and in nineteenth-century German idealism (Böhme gives a good overview; see also Faivre and Zimmermann). The early-twentieth-century “rebirth” of Naturphilosophie and the so-called New Age science, for their part, owe a lot to romantic metaphysics and tran- scendentalism. To illuminate those traditions, I shall first describe some important features of modern western shamanism’s attitudes toward na- ture. After that I shall compare them with Schelling’s philosophy of nature and the romantic pantheistic discourses, including the American transcen- dentalist view of nature. At this point, one may ask what the contemporary American (and even the European) shamanic discourse has to do with German discus- sions between 1800 and 1850. Are those authors really exempla in the way Jonathan Z. Smith (xi–xii) describes them, or is this an arbitrary lineage of thought? In order to justify this construction of lineages, three points should not be forgotten: First of all, the image of the shaman as a religious specialist for the “other world,” for nature and art, is the product of European imagination as early as the eighteenth century. Second, there are intrinsic continuities, reaching from the nineteenth- century philosophy of nature to contemporary deep ecology, process philosophy, and shamanic discourse in Europe and North America. Often, these continuities are made explicit, for instance, when contem- porary authors “rediscover” the philosophy of Schelling and others, when authors such as Morris Berman refer to older esoteric traditions, or when modern shamans such as Jonathan Horwitz quote Hermann Hesse, who overtly sees himself in a romantic lineage (see n. 11). Third, Euro-America forms an inseparable field of discourse—although this does not mean that an Emerson would have been possible in France or Germany—in a way of mutual dependence and reference. When con- temporary environmentalists refer to Aldo Leopold and Thoreau, they implicitly react to Emerson’s appropriation of the discussions at Jena University around 1800. von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 779 Animism and the Feeling of Connectedness In contemporary religious studies and cultural anthropology the term animism has a bad reputation. The HarperCollins Dictionary of Religion, for instance, calls animism “an obsolete term” that “should be used with caution” (51 ff.). That is because after E. B. Tylor had coined the term some people—quite against Tylor’s intention8—used it pejoratively to mean a primitive state of religious evolution, which had not yet reached the higher state of a personal god. In both neopagan and neoshamanic self- descriptions, though, there is no sign of such a negative connotation. Quite the contrary, animism in most cases affirmatively stands for the proposition that everything is alive and animated—even stones, rivers, and other allegedly “dead objects.” Nevill Drury puts it directly: “Shaman- ism is really applied animism, or animism in practice” (5). And Jonathan Horwitz clarifies: “Animism for the animist is not a belief: it is the way life is experienced. All objects do contain a life essence of their own, and as such do also contain power” (1999: 220). Indeed, the relation is so strong that sometimes the two concepts seem to converge, as becomes obvious in Horwitz’s statement: “The word shamanism has become over- used and really very over-worked. A lot of the time when people say ‘sha- manistic,’ they actually mean animistic—a perception of the world as it truly is, with all things alive and in connection. ‘Animism’ is the aware- ness of our connection to the world that is the foundation of the practice of shamanism. These two things are inseparable” (1995: 7). The shamanic journey is designed as a means to communicate with those layers of reality that are not accessible in normal states of conscious- ness. Considering all things alive, the shaman tries to learn the language of different entities, and in nonordinary reality she or he is able to talk to them in order to get advice or help. It is this communicative aspect that Joan Halifax has in mind when she says, “The sacred languages used dur- ing ceremony or evoked in various states of consciousness outside cul- ture (if we are Westerners) can move teller, singer, and listener out of the habitual patterns of perception. Indeed, speaking in the tongues of sea and stone, bird and beast, or moving beyond language itself is a form of per- ceptual healing” (92). Beginning with the 1960s, there were increased discussions concern- ing the sacred dimensions of nature that entailed both participation 8 We must not forget that Tylor’s primary concern was to show the simultaneous existence of “primitive” and “civilized” components in modern culture (see Kippenberg 1997: 80–98). Note also that the term was newly applied by contemporary scholars, for example, by Robin Horton. 780 Journal of the American Academy of Religion through man’s awareness and protection through environmental efforts (for an excellent survey, see Taylor 2001a, 2001b). In this context, the adaptation of Buddhist philosophy—like that being studied in the Esalen Institute in California—was a driving force. At times, the various lines of tradition come together in single persons. One example would be Joan Halifax; another one would be the famous poet and activist Gary Snyder, who spoke of himself as “Buddhist-Animist.” Snyder also was involved in the radical environmentalist movement Earth First! (Devall and Ses- sions; Taylor 1994, 1995). Hence, the animistic attitude is by no means restricted to neoshamanic circles. Instead, it is part of a larger flow of the sacralization of nature—Naturfrömmigkeit—which spread from North America to Europe during the last two decades. From this per- spective, shamanism can be addressed as a kind of ritualized way of experiencing nature. Snyder says that “the practice of shamanism in it- self has at its very center a teaching from the non-human, not a teach- ing from an Indian medicine man, or a Buddhist master. The question of culture does not enter into it. It’s a naked experience that some people have out there in the woods” (in Grewe-Volpp: 141).9 On another occa- sion Snyder assures us that poetry and song are among “the few modes of speech . . . that [provide] access to that other yogic or shamanistic view (in which all is one and all is many, and many are all precious)” (13–14).10 The shamanic journey can help put mystic experiences, for instance, on wilderness trips, into a ritualized form that not only conceptualizes the experience but also gives evidence and coherence to it. By means of this framing, those experiences are controllable and repeatable. Using the name of a famous environmentalist ritual, each neoshamanic workshop can be considered a council of all beings (Seed et al.). People be- lieve that, along with the workshop’s participants, there are present their helping spirits, their teachers, the entities of the place, and spiritual beings from different cosmic dimensions. To make those relationships known and open to experience is an important goal of neoshamanic courses. If animism is shamanism’s dominant religious feature, it will come with no surprise that the connectedness of all living creatures is also pre- dominant in modern western shamanism. Jonathan Horwitz, for instance, explicitly states that “an essential aspect of Shamanism is that we are all 9 Grewe-Volpp’s chapter “The Poet as Shaman” (141–143) unfortunately is entirely dependent on Eliadian interpretation. Note that Snyder’s proposition represents the neoshamanic conviction that an “indigenous” background is not necessary for shamanic practicing. 10 This fits Snyder’s proposition that communication with nonhuman species is realized not by normal speech but through song: “They don’t talk to you directly, but you hear a different song in your head” (in Taylor 1995: 113). von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 781 connected. When I say ‘we,’ I am not just including human beings, but human beings being connected to ants, to creatures at the bottom of the sea, to the stars, to dirt—to everything. This is an essential concept in shamanism, as it is in Buddhism” (in Brown: 16). Nancy Wood puts this impression into poetic language: All is a circle within me, I am ten thousand winters old. I am as young as a newborn flower. I am a buffalo in its grave. I am a tree in bloom. All is a circle within me. I have seen the world through an eagle’s eye. I have seen it from a gopher’s hole. I have seen the world on fire And the sky without a moon. All is a circle within me. I have gone into the earth and out again. I have gone to the edge of the sky. Now all is at peace within me, Now all has a place to come home. (in Halifax: 137–138) From this perspective, shamanism is a way—or maybe just a technique— to reach a mystical state of interconnectedness, a spiritual path to unio mystica. Horwitz has already pointed at Buddhism as a closely related tra- dition. This is emphasized by Halifax: Originally, I understood interconnectedness in terms of the Buddhist notion of pratityasamutpada, or conditioned co-arising, which says that everything that occurs is conditioned by and conditions everything else. As my meditation practice continued and I spent more time in the wil- derness, I began to feel that all creation shares a common skin. . . . I have for years felt strongly that it is important for us to discover directly this ground of reality, this web of mutuality. The experience of intercon- nectedness, however one might come to discover it, changes how we perceive the world. (138) It is not my intention to judge whether this perception of Buddhism or even shamanic tradition is “correct” from an academic point of view. What I try to illuminate is the longue durée of mystical perceptions of nature and its metaphysical implications. Poetry and science in a roman- tic context conceptualized nature in the same manner.11 What is more, 11 Another work of art illuminating this continuation into the twentieth century would be Hermann Hesse’s poem “Manchmal,” written in September 1904. Interestingly enough, this poem was chosen by Jonathan Horwitz and Annette Høst as a motto for their 1998–99 workshop program. 782 Journal of the American Academy of Religion already in nineteenth-century discourse Buddhism was blended into this matrix of alternative non-Christian religion.12 In all neoshamanic activities the dimension of artistic expression plays a decisive role. This becomes obvious when one looks at the courses of- fered at the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Studies, such as “Shamanic Singing,” “Dancing with the Spirits,” and “Shamanism and Healing Art.” For the latter the following description is given: Shamans have always used artistic expression to make their experiences in the spirit world visible in this reality, to make power objects to help them in their healing work, and to strengthen their ties with their Spirit- helpers. On this course participants will work creatively and practically within a shamanic framework, expressing the experiences of the journey through painting, poetry, decoration, dance, and song. Participants will learn how to let power from the spirit world take form in the material world, how to put spirit power into power objects, and how to use them in their work. (autumn and winter 1998–99 program) Given the strong impact of animism and the feeling of connectedness, it is but one step to the notion expounded by “New Age science” that the earth is a living being. This notion was formulated by James Lovelock in his “Gaia hypothesis” and carried on by David Bohm, David Peat, Ilya Prigogine, Rupert Sheldrake, Fritjof Capra, and Ken Wilber, among oth- ers (see Hanegraaff: 62–76, 113–181). Today it is often discussed under the heading of deep ecology. To this I shall now turn. Deep Ecology The concepts of radical bioethics and deep ecology contribute signifi- cantly to modern western shamanism’s attitude toward nature. They bind spiritual practice to a comprehensive philosophical theory and offer rea- soning that is in turn able to secure the spiritual field. The term deep ecology was introduced in 1972 by the Norwegian analytic philosopher Arne Naess to denote a concept that radically attacks the anthropocentric orientation of contemporary ethics and politics (see also Devall and Sessions). The philosophical discourses about pantheism, panpsychism, ethical natural- ism, natural teleology, and the like soon left the academic field, meander- ing through the wide ranges of neopaganism and modern esotericism. As in the nineteenth century, biocentric views became a question of experi- ence, poetry, and religion, rather than philosophical argument and con- clusion. Dieter Birnbacher hints at the fact that “similar to the Romantic Naturphilosophie philosophy itself becomes part of the claimed process, the 12 On the renaissance of orientalism in the nineteenth-century academia and public, see Halbfass and Kippenberg 1997: 44–51. From a critical perspective, see also Asad. von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 783 process of the holistic, i.e. no longer exclusively rational realization of the individual self ” (9).13 Thus, theory and practice are but two sides of the same coin. With regard to shamanism this becomes evident when one considers Jonathan Horwitz’s course bearing the title “Shamanic Healing and Spiritual Ecol- ogy” (summer 1998). It is described as follows: “Much of the course time will be spent connecting with the spirits of the stones and trees, the Moon and Sun, the wind and the rivers, and the creatures of the Earth. We will learn again from them to respect and work together with the Earth on a deep spiritual—and practical—level for our common continuation and growth.” Holism’s assumption that earth and cosmos are a living web of interre- lated parts finds its parallel in the research of deep ecology. Deep ecology, or spiritual ecology, tries to cope with the scientific impression that the world’s ecosystems seem to be connected in a way that cannot be explained by simple causal patterns. Instead, it induces metaphysical explanations (see Goodenough as an example). The shamanic model for interpreting real- ity—at least according to those authors’ view—can be seen as an appropri- ate rationalization of ecology’s otherwise paradoxical results. In a recent publication entitled “Shamanic Science” Franz-Theo Gottwald (from the Schweisfurth-Stiftung in Munich) assumes: “Formerly the empirical basis consisted of information about reality that met the standard of classical scientific empirical models. In contrast to this, the comparative view on shamanism and the axioms of deep ecology tries—by drawing on the whole spectrum of human perception and consciousness—to understand reality in a holistic manner” (Gottwald and Rätsch: 23).14 Within the neoshamanic spectrum this correlation already is an inte- gral component of common discourse, as can best be seen in Halifax’s statement: Like Buddhism and shamanism, deep ecology is centered on questioning and directly understanding our place from within the web of creation. All three of these practices—Buddhism, shamanism, and deep ecology—are based on the experience of engagement and the mystery of participation. Rooted in the practice and art of compassion, they move from speculation to revelation through the body of actual experience. (xxx) 13 From “Vorbemerkung” (Birnbacher). For a critical evaluation of deep ecology, see Katz, Light, and Rothenberg. 14 From “Hören, Wissen, Handeln—Schamanische und tiefenökologische Anregungen für eine konviviale Wissenschaft” (Gottwald and Rätsch). The New Science series of the publisher Eugen Diederichs has a tradition of its own, reaching back into the first decades of the twentieth century (see Hübinger). 784 Journal of the American Academy of Religion But one thing strikes the historically educated observer: Whereas the con- vergence of religious semantics and certain scientific theories (often chosen eclectically) is a well-known topos in literature of neoshamanic provenance, there is a considerable lack of acquaintance with the historical forerunners of those concepts, especially with the theories of philosophia naturalis. The academic study of religion, though, will lay special emphasis on this con- textualization. Hence, the rest of this article is devoted to exactly that pur- pose. I shall discuss paradigmatic examples for the existence of currents that contest disenchantment and fight the tendency within modern western culture to desacralize nature. It will be shown that the nineteenth century must be addressed as the formative phase of neoshamanic nature discourse. CONCEPTS OF NATURE IN NINETEENTH-CENTURY THOUGHT Making use of Antoine Faivre’s research into western esotericism, Wouter J. Hanegraaff has noted that “New Age science” is related to the field of philosophia naturalis, rather than to the scientific: “Naturphilo- sophie is not a secular but a religious philosophy, whether or not its de- fenders try to present it as such” (65).15 Hanegraaff ’s observation that the new paradigm should be studied in terms of philosophy and religion can be taken as a reasonable point of departure for analyzing contemporary shamanism. In this regard, it is the tradition of the philosophy of nature that is of crucial importance. I shall not attempt to scrutinize this topic in detail. Instead, I select from a huge field of thought traditions the seminal philosophy of Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling (1775–1854) and trace its impact on the roman- tic sacralization of nature, focusing especially on Novalis and the Ameri- can transcendentalists. Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling About Schelling’s work, Wolfdietrich Schmied-Kowarzik succinctly notes: “There is no comparable philosophy of nature until today that matches this project” (1989: 244). Indeed, Schelling’s influence has been enormous. As we face current global ecological crises, his concept of a living nature not dichotomously separated from man has been newly discovered in the late twentieth century, both in Europe and in North America (see Bowie; Esposito: 186–244; Schmied-Kowarzik 1996). Two aspects that appear to be of paramount importance for contemporary 15 As to the six characteristics of the esoteric “worldview” proposed by Faivre, see Faivre: 10–15. von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 785 shamanic speculation will be described here—the conceptualization of nature as a lively process and the role of empathy for nature’s cognition. Schelling, the colleague of Fichte, Hölderlin, and Hegel, strove from the beginning to overcome the difference between the idea of ontological substance and transcendental philosophy. What does that mean? Tran- scendental philosophy asks for the conditions of cognition of nature and, consequently, considers the perceiving subject, the active consciousness, as the uniting factor. In contrast, Naturphilosophie asks ontologically for the uniting factor within active nature itself, thus considering nature to be the productive power of its evolution. In his Erster Entwurf eines Sys- tems der Naturphilosophie (1799) Schelling assumes: “So it is not that we know nature, but nature is a priori, i.e. every single part in it is determined in advance by the whole or just the idea of nature. But if nature is a priori, it must be possible to know it as something a priori” (3: 279). Nature as an active category can only be recognized by transcending its single products—the material world—and looking behind the process of its evolution. As Schelling defines, “Nature as a mere product (natura naturata) we call nature as object (at this aims every empiricism). Nature as productivity (natura naturans) we call nature as subject (at this aims every theory)” (3: 284). The intention of Naturphilosophie, therefore, is to find out how nature brings forth its materially given products. The term natura naturans, first introduced by Aristotle and elaborated by Ibn Rushd, Albert Magnus, Thomas Aquinas, and Roger Bacon in high scholasticism, des- ignates the aspect of a “living becoming.” It contrasts with the study of dead being. The generated, material objects are of importance only inso- far as they allow conclusions about the principles of “becoming” that lie beneath them. Hence, Schelling argues against a mechanistic concept of nature that is limited to empiricism and for an organicistic model that resembles the modern philosophy of life. Schelling goes on to explain that if nature were characterized by pro- ductivity alone, then there would be an endless evolution without plan and form. This chaotic evolution must be regulated by a driving force within nature itself, not from outside. He assumes that “basically, na- ture must become an object for itself. This transformation from a pure subject into a self-object is unthinkable without a primordial polariza- tion in nature” (3: 288). But this is not the final result of Schelling’s ar- gument. He describes a synthesis of that polarization on a higher level: “It is simply impossible to think of the stability of a product without thinking of its continuous reproduction. The product is to be considered as being destroyed in every moment, and being reproduced in every mo- ment. What we see is not the product’s stability but its continuous re- production” (3: 289). 786 Journal of the American Academy of Religion In addition to this metaphysical and ontological approach it is impor- tant to note that, in contrast to Kant’s contention that the only authority for judging nature lies in the observing subject, Schelling conceptualizes nature as an independent and self-organized entity that can be known by any human with an empathetic and open mind (see Schmied-Kowarzik 1996: 37–94). In so doing, Schelling overcomes the crucial Cartesian di- chotomy of res extensa (extended matter) and res cogita (thinking). In contrast to Fichte, who sees nature as a dead object, Schelling holds the position that the dichotomy of humans and nature has to come to an end. It sounds rather modern when he says—in his Darlegung des wahren Verhältnisses der Naturphilosophie zu der verbesserten Fichteschen Lehre— that his time is the time “that makes the I-ness [Ichheit] the principle of philosophy”; it is the time that theoretically reduces nature to a “mere mechanism” (7: 102 ff.) and practically forces nature under humankind’s interests that do not shrink from nature’s destruction—“because as long as nature serves man’s needs, it will be killed” (7: 18). Against the total destruction of nature and humankind through thought- less monopolization of the subject, Schelling’s philosophia naturalis holds the principle of empathy and connectedness. This opinion grew stronger in his later works after 1804. A good example is the following quotation: Not life of nature itself, and not your own original sense is locked up; the inner death of your own mind and heart locks you out of both. The real seeing of the living, though, cannot be recognized through that stupid and arrogant passing over those things. What is needed, is a trait of inner love and familiarity of your own mind with nature’s liveliness, a quiet, deep-reaching composure of the mind that transforms the mere sensual perception into a sensible one. (Schelling, 7: 62) It is exactly this attitude toward life and nature that makes Schelling a very modern author, at least with regard to deep ecology and shamanism. Novalis and Romantic Pantheism The roots of modern western shamanism are to be found in the nine- teenth century’s philosophy of nature and pantheism, which for their part built on concepts that had been present in Europe from the time of the Renaissance. Under the influence of Schelling and the newly adopted mysticism of Baruch de Spinoza in nineteenth-century thought, German thinkers tried to maintain the Hermetic concept that nature is in itself divine. In 1822, at the founding assembly of the Association of German Scholars of Nature and Physicists (Gesellschaft deutscher Naturforscher und Ärzte), Carl Gustav Carus defined Naturphilosophie as “the Science von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 787 of God’s eternal metamorphosis into the world” (see Gladigow: 220–221).16 In this perspective everything is connected, everything carries deeper meaning, everything mirrors the world’s holiness. The dominant terms for this discussion are holism, or monism, and hylozoism (Gladigow: 219– 221). Hence, Ken Wilber—one of the prominent contemporary holis- tic thinkers—is wrong when he too simply contrasts “modern science” and “premodern religion” (see, e.g., chap. 2). It is the mutual depen- dence of both that characterized nineteenth- and twentieth-century holistic discourses. This leads me to the second important term for my argument—pan- theism. Though this concept is already dominant with Spinoza, its career can be traced from John Toland (1670–1722); to Lessing, Mendelssohn, Schopenhauer, and Schleiermacher; and later to J. F. Fries, F. M. Müller, and Wilhelm Dilthey, who wrote two important studies on the subject. Of further importance are the American transcendentalists Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau,17 as well as the French thinkers Vic- tor Hugo, Pierre-Simon Ballanche, and their circles (Bays; Juden; Riffaterre). Because this is not the place to give to those authors the attention they de- serve, I pick out from the many the writings of Friedrich von Hardenberg (1772–1801), better known as Novalis, and note parallel thoughts in North American nature writing. In Novalis, the religious charging of philosophi- cal models of nature is striking. Furthermore, his blending of poetry, art, philosophy, and religion prefigures neoshamanic attitudes in a character- istic way. Two issues running through Novalis’s oeuvre are of crucial interest here—the sacralization of nature, on the one hand, and the merging of humans with nonhuman entities, on the other. The first can be demon- strated with the Lehrlinge zu Saïs. In this novel, which is deeply impreg- nated with esoteric-alchemist motives, Novalis describes nature as a sacred organism, whose secrets can only be unveiled by poetic empathy and an all-embracing love and compassion. The author speaks of the visionary perception (Beschauung) of eternally flowing nature that creates in the observer “a new revelation of love’s genius, a new ribbon of the You and the Me. The careful description of this inner world history is the true theory of nature. Through the internal association of his [i.e., the think- ing human’s] world of thoughts and its harmony with the universe, a 16 This definition was also applied by philosopher of nature Lorenz Oken. 17 On the question of Schelling’s influence on them, see Esposito: 186–207; on Schelling’s recep- tion by Edwin Starbuck and G. Stanley Hall, see Fuller: 126–129. 788 Journal of the American Academy of Religion thought system is created automatically that exactly mirrors and formu- lates the universe” (1: 225). Nature in its entirety is only “comprehensible as a tool and medium of agreement between sensible creatures” (Novalis, 1: 225). Shortly before, Novalis had pointed out that “it would be more imaginable that [nature] was the result of an incomprehensible agreement between infinitely different entities, the miraculous ribbon of the spiri- tual world, the point of merging and contact of uncounted worlds”; this is because “nature would not be nature if it did not have a spirit” (1: 222). In this meeting, which is almost a “council of all beings,” the poets deserve a special place. Only the poets should deal with “the fluid,” that is, living nature: “The workshops would be temples and with a new love people would adore and praise their flames and rivers” (Novalis, 1: 229). Similar to other romantic authors and in direct prefiguration of Halifax’s or Snyder’s neoshamanic attitude, Novalis describes the poet as the true mystagogue of nature who is able to understand the language of the uni- verse. He calls this the “sacred language . . . that was the glooming ribbon between those royal humans with supernatural realms and their inhabit- ants” (1: 230). Some of them, namely, the adepts of Saïs, are still in pos- session of such secret knowledge: Their pronunciation was a wonderful singing. Its irresistible tones enter deeply into the inner side of every nature and take it apart. Each of their names seemed to be a password for the soul of every body of nature. With creative force those vibrations attract all pictures of the world’s appear- ances, and of them one could justifiably say that the life of the universe was an eternal talk of a thousand voices, because in their talking all forces, all kinds of action seemed to be united in a most mysterious way. (Novalis, 1: 230) One should compare this with Halifax’s notion that those who understand that Earth is a living being know this because they have translated themselves to the humble grasses and old trees. They know that Earth is a community that is constantly talking to itself, a communi- cating universe, and whether we know it or not, we are participating in the web of this community. . . . To connect with the medicine, or power, of lightning and star, one must sound them. . . . The singer is a specialist who through knowledge of evocative language has access to the natural world. (82) The similarities are striking. The concept of nature as a communicating universe, in which the human is but one participant among many others, led Novalis to the assumption that the boundaries among seemingly dis- parate entities are blurred: “Soon for him the stars were humans, the humans stars, the stones animals, the clouds plants” (1: 202). von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 789 In Novalis’s novel Heinrich von Ofterdingen those issues reappear. But now the motive of merging with nonhuman species is of even more rele- vance than in the Lehrlingen. This merging is characterized not only as an unio mystica but as an almost shamanic communication with other worlds. Novalis addresses this aspect already in the first chapter: “Once I heard talking of old times, how the animals and trees and rocks had talked to the people. I feel as if they want to begin right now, as if I could see by their appearance what they wanted to tell me” (1: 241). Interestingly, after this passage the protagonist is lost in a dream world and experiences an almost “shamanic” journey. Behind a meadow he discovers a rock with a large opening leading into a deep corridor. Entering it, he is led into the rock until he perceives a bright light from afar that attracts him. When he steps out, he finds himself in a new, mysterious world from which revela- tions break forth. In this revelatory context a “high light-blue flower” (hohe lichtblaue Blume, an alchemical image) is of special importance. Of course, I do not propose this episode to be a “shamanic journey.” What I am pointing to is the close relationship between the initiation, on the one hand, which Novalis describes in an esoteric, alchemical, and Masonic allegory, with the crucial place of experiencing nature and the neoshamanic conceptualization, on the other hand, that is likewise ex- plainable against the background of esoteric tradition. Although Novalis wrote the Ofterdingen with a strong reference to Goethe’s Werther, the sacralization of nature goes considerably beyond the pantheistic elements in Goethe’s early novel. Now empathy and ado- ration lead to complete merging: The plants are the most immediate language of the soil. . . . When one finds such a flower in the loneliness, is it not as if everything around is transfigured, and as if all those little befeathered sounds [befiederten Töne] love to gather in their near? One wants to cry for joy and, isolated from the world, to put one’s hands and feet into the earth in order to take root and never again leave this happy neighborhood. Over the whole dry world this green, mysterious carpet of love is stretched out. (1: 377) It is the “remembrance of the old flowership (Blumenschaft)” that keeps man’s knowledge of the mysterious unity of all entities alive. Because humans once were a part of the whole living universe, it comes with no surprise that the animals and plants talk to them directly. When the “pilgrim” Heinrich meditates about those secrets, “the tree began to tremble. The rock made a hollow rumbling sound, and as if coming from a deep subterranean distance some clear little voices sprang up and sang” (Novalis, 1: 369). They sang the song of all-embracing love. Furthermore, the crucial importance of love is also found in neoshamanic discourse. 790 Journal of the American Academy of Religion One example is Jonathan Horwitz’s proposition that “the spiritual root of ‘energy’ is probably love. When you look at the entire universe it is filled with power, but for me this power, way out to the very edges of the uni- verse, if there are any edges, is energy” (in Brown: 16). The Influence of the American Transcendentalists In North America romantic nature discourse followed its own direc- tion. From the “Pilgrim Fathers” on, the construction of wilderness as a reference point of identity and the religiously charged enterprise of the “American project” influenced the attitude toward nature in a significant way (see Brunotte; Oelschlaeger) and shaped what Catherine L. Albanese calls the “American nature religion.” Although this discourse took on char- acteristics of its own, it should not be artificially isolated from European philosophy and culture (interestingly, both Oelschlaeger and Albanese fully skip non-American traditions), especially because the nineteenth century brought forth quite similar concepts on both sides of the Atlantic. In the beginning, the reception of European philosophers had been marginal. American transcendentalists grounded their theories much more on biblical and Christian positions than on idealistic speculation (for ex- planations, see Esposito: 189). This picture changed when Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Victor Cousin, John Elliot Cabot (Emerson’s biographer), Wil- liam Ellery Channing, and others assimilated German idealism (Schelling in particular) to the American philosophical debates (see Coates: 134–139; Esposito: 197). For modern American (nonindigenous) shamanism, the influence of nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century environmental and conservation movements is decisive (Fox; Taylor 1995). But this influence notwith- standing, to a large degree the aestheticization of nature among the tran- scendentalists and environmentalists was similar to intellectual pantheism in Europe. Hence, it is part of a larger field of discourse that brought forth modern western shamanism. To demonstrate this, let me just briefly hint at a few instances, restricting myself to the topics of communication and merging, which I dwell on above. The issue of human trans-species communication, or, rather, the “council of all beings,” is not only present in Novalis. A direct parallel can be seen in Ralph Waldo Emerson’s famous essay “Nature” (1836), in which he talks of the true poet’s ability to describe the hidden levels of reality: “At the call of a noble sentiment, again the woods wave, the pines murmur, the river rolls and shines, and the cattle low upon the moun- tains, as he saw and heard them in his infancy” (21). To be sure, Emerson did not sacralize nature in a biocentric way. This was done by Henry David Thoreau and John Muir after him. The identifi- von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 791 cation of humans and nonhuman entities and, furthermore, the ontologiza- tion of natural objects are particularly dominant in Thoreau’s works. For instance, he depicts the Walden lake as “character,” “neighbor,” “great bed- fellow,” and so on. On one occasion the protagonist views his image in the water and asks, “Walden, is it you?” (Thoreau: 193). Lawrence Buell cor- rectly concludes that those passages go beyond mere metaphor “toward an almost animistic evocation of Walden as a living presence” (208). From here, it is but one step to the lyrical shamanism of Gary Snyder or Joan Halifax. Schelling’s concept of merging through empathy and Novalis’s notion of “flowership” (Blumenschaft) also have direct parallels in North Ameri- can nature writing. Thus, John Muir talks of the Sierra Nevada: “You bathe in these spirit-beams, turning round and round, as if warming at a camp- fire. Presently you lose consciousness of your own separate existence: you blend with the landscape, and become part and parcel of nature” (416). In another context Muir addresses the “plant people” who are able to take part in his deep joy “as if they could read faces” (see Buell: 193; Oelschlaeger: 185). As a result, there can be no doubt that contemporary western shaman- ism’s attitude toward nature owes its characteristics to a long-standing tradition in European and American culture (for North America, see Fuller in particular). Rather than being a degenerated hybrid of indigenous cultures or an arbitrary bricolage of subjective spiritualities, modern west- ern shamanism belongs to a movement against the mechanization and disenchantment of nature, cosmos, and the human self. CONCLUDING REMARKS The analysis of contemporary western shamanic fields of discourse, whereby practitioners, scholars, representatives of native cultures, politi- cians, artists, and others negotiate their respective assumptions con- cerning “shamanism,” often claiming a master perspective—for instance, because of academic scholarship or religious experience—is a highly com- plex enterprise. It necessitates a historical awareness of the formation of identities, the power of definitions, and the endurance of older concepts. In this article I have exemplified some of these issues with regard to neo- shamanism’s concept of nature. Other topics could have been scrutinized too. Alternative—or, rather, additional—perspectives can be seen in the concept of the soul applied by neoshamans and anthropologists alike, which is by no means “indigenous” but shows the mark of Neo-Platonism and modern ideas of “personhood,” or in the concept of the “otherworld,” which is a crucial term for western esoteric interpretation of reality (I scrutinize those issues in more detail in von Stuckrad). 792 Journal of the American Academy of Religion But the focus on philosophia naturalis already shows the strong influ- ence of Euro-American reasoning on contemporary shamanic identities. Hence, it is correct when critics raise the point that neoshamanism has little to do with indigenous tradition (see Taylor 1997). But, unfortunately, it is not that easy. The same is true for academic description of “indigenous tra- dition” (see Hutton; Taussig) and even for native self-description.18 Instead of taking an often too simple moral stand, what is needed is a reflective cultural analysis of the interference among all parties of the discussion. Look- ing at the question of nature, it becomes obvious that neoshamanism in- tensely mingled with the project of European and American modernity. It tries to regain a “sacramental view of reality” and to retrieve sacred dimen- sions of nature. In so doing it carries on a mystical and philosophical tradi- tion that was “the other side of disenchantment.” From another analytical perspective this issue can be described as the triangle of the philosophy of nature, art, and shamanism. 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work_kweg7lwtezas5l4tz4suuqnns4 ---- CAQ volume 48 issue 1 Cover and Front matter CLASSICAL QU ARTE RLY NEW SERIES VOLUME XLVIII NUMBER 1 1998 (VOLUME LXXXXII OF THE CONTINUOUS SERIES) PUBLISHED FOR THE CLASSICAL ASSOCIATION BY OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core E D I T O R S PROF. C. COLLARD, Classics Office, 37 Wellington Square, Oxford 0X1 2JF S. J. HEYWORTH, M.A., Ph.D., Wadham College, Oxford OX1 3PN (till 30th September 1998) PROF. J. S. RICHARDSON, Dept. of Classics, University of Edinburgh, David Hume Tower, George Square, Edinburgh EH8 9JX (from 1st October 1998) BOARD OF MANAGEMENT Professor A. F. Garvie, M.A., F.R.S.E. (Chairman) Professor J. Percival, M.A., D.Phil., F.S.A. Professor M. Schofield, M.A., D.Phil. R. Wallace, B.A., M.A. C. S. Kraus, M.A., Ph.D. Professor D. N. Sedley, M.A., Ph.D. (Hon. Treasurer, representing the Cambridge Philological Society) A. M. Bowie, M.A., Ph.D. (Hon. Secretary, representing the Oxford Philological Society) All correspondence concerning articles should be sent to the Editors. Authors are requested to follow the 'Notes to Contributors' printed on the inside back cover of the journal. Correspondence concerning advertisements to appear in this journal should be addressed to Jane Parker, Oxford Journals Advertising, 19 Whitehouse Road, Oxford OX1 4PA, U K . ' T e l & Fax: +44 (0)1865 794882. E-mail: oxfordads@janep.demon.co.uk. Subscribers who change their address must notify the Journals Subscriptions Department, Oxford University Press, Great Clarendon Street, Oxford 0X2 6DP. 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BOARD OF MANAGEMENT PROF. A. F. OARVIE, M.A., F.R.S.E. (Chairman) PROF. J. PERCIVAL, M.A., D.PHIL., F.S.A. PROF. M. SCHOFIELD, M.A., D.PHIL. R. WALLACE, B.A., M.A. C. S. KRAUS, M.A., PH.D. PROF. D. N. SEDLEY, M.A., D.PHIL. (Hon. Treasurer, representing the Cambridge Philological Society) A. M. BOWIE, M.A., D.PHIL. (Hon. Secretary, representing the Oxford Philological Society) NEW SERIES VOLUME XLVIII (Volume LXXXXII of the continuous series) JOH?i' RYLANDS t ['• •• •- ' , * ' V " " ; • - ' " - ; : OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 1998 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core © Oxford University Press, 1998 Printed in Great Britain by the University Press, Cambridge terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core New Series Volume XLVIII1998 (Vol. LXXXXII of the continuous series) CONTENTS N U M B E R 1 The Homeric poems as oral dictated texts Time and arete in Homer The text of Iliad 18.603-6 and the presence of an aoiSos on the shield of Achilles The social function of Attic tragedy Studies in the later manuscript tradition of Aristophanes' Peace Telestes and the 'five-rodded joining of strings' Notes on pseudo-Plutarch's Life of Antiphon The shape of Athenian laws Was Kerkyra a member of the Second Athenian League? Socrates' last words: another look at an ancient riddle The historical reader of Plato's Protagoras The Hippocratic treatise On Anatomy Eros in government: Zeno and the virtuous city Doubts about other minds and the science of physiognomies An early reference to perfect numbers? Some notes on Euphorion, SH 417 P. Sulpicius' law to recall exiles, 88 B.C. Love and death: Laodamia and Protesilaus in Catullus, Propertius, and others Virgil's third Eclogue: how do you keep an idiot in suspense? How many books did Diodorus Siculus originally intend to write? Juvenal, the Phaedrus, and the truth about Rome Three cruces in Juvenal Salpe's nAIFNIA: Athenaeus 322A and Plin. H.N. 28.38 Another chapter in the history of scholia S H O R T E R N O T E S Two notes on Greek dithyrambic poetry Phrynichus fr. 27 K-A: a pun The hoopoe's nest: Aristophanes, Birds 265-6 Thucydides 3.12.3 Thucydides' Nicias and Homer's Agamemnon Nam unguentum dabo: Catullus 13 and Servius' note on fhaon (Aeneid 3.279) Hebdomades (binaeT) The lark ascending: Corydon, Corydon (Vergil, Eel. 7.70) Two adynata in Horace, Epode 16 Aeneid 4.622-3 Violets and violence: two notes Heroides 16.303-4 The Crimen Maiestatis under Caligula: the evidence of Dio Cassius A. KEAVEI Problems of text and interpretation in Statius, Thebaid I-VI The chronology of Nicomachus of Gerasa Philoponus, Diodorus, and possibility R. JANKO M. FINKELBERG M. REVERMANN J. GRIFFIN S. D. OLSON A. BARKER M. J. EDWARDS C. CAREY C. M. FAUBER J. CROOKS D. WOLFSDORF E. M. CRAIK G. BOYS-STONES V TSOUNA J. L. LIGHTFOOT R. G. LEWIS R. O. A. M. LYNE J. HENDERSON C. RUBINCAM A. HARDIE M. HENDRY D. BAIN K. McNAMEE J. H. HORDERN E. L. DE BOO E. M. CRAIK R. I. WINTON A. V ZADOROJNYI R. S. KILPATRICK J. GEIGER S. J. HARRISON A. S. HOLLIS H. JACOBSON H. JACOBSON A. KERSHAW ,ND J. A. MADDEN P. T. EDEN A. H. CRIDDLE N. DENYER 1 14 29 39 62 75 82 93 110 117 126 135 168 175 187 195 200 213 229 234 252 262 269 289 291 292 294 298 303 305 310 311 313 314 316 316 320 324 327 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core N U M B E R 2 Ne Achilles in fire c. J. MACKIE The Branchidae at Didyma and in Sogdiana N. G. L. HAMMOND The place that beached a thousand ships A. J. BOWEN Simonides, Ephorus, and Herodotus on the battle of Thermopylae M. A. FLOWER Weaving and triumphal shouting in Pindar, Pythian 12.6-12 G. F. HELD Euripides' Electra: the recognition scene again M. DAVIES ia ifydovos (Plato, Symposium 210d) J. GREGORY AND S. B. LEVIN The egalitarianism of the Eudemian Ethics M. PAKALUK Perceiving white and sweet (again): Aristotle, De Anima 3.7,431a20-bl c. OSBORNE Aristotle on the philosophical nature of poetry j . M. ARMSTRONG The poetics of Aethalides: silence and poikilia in Apollonius' Argonautica j . NISHIMURA-JENSEN Terence, Adelphoe: problems of dramatic space and time J. c. B. LOWE A house of notoriety: an episode in the campaign for the consulate in 64 B.C. A. M. STONE 487 Cicero's first readers: epistolary evidence for the dissemination of his works T. MURPHY The manuscripts and text of Cicero's Laelius de Amicitia i. a. F. POWELL Propertius and Tibullus: early exchanges R. O. A. M. LYNE Horace's Pindaric Apollo (Odes 3.4.60-4) j . F. MILLER S H O R T E R N O T E S Euripides, Troades 1050: was Helen overweight? D. KOVACS Plato, Timaeus 52c2-5 G. J. PENDRICK A new Pythagorean fragment and Homer's tears in Ennius E. LIVREA A tragic fragment in Cicero, Pro Caelio 67? A. s. HOLLIS On the interpretation of Cicero, De Republica A. R. DYCK Propertius and Livy A. J. WOODMAN A note on Virgil, Aeneid 5.315-19 M. DYSON Dionysius of Halicamassus, Antiquitates Romanae 2.30 and Herodotus 1.146 A. M. GREAVES The date of Claudius' British campaign and the mint of Alexandria A. A. BARRETT Is nothing gentler than wild beasts? Seneca, Phaedra 558 M. HENDRY Dividing the dinner: book divisions in Petronius' Cena Trimalchionis s. J. HARRISON Tacitus, Annals 4.70: an unappreciated pun L. MORGAN More falsa Gelliana L. HOLFORD-STREVENS Two passages of Justin T. D. BARNES The younger Pliny and Ammianus Marcellinus N. A D K I N The advocacy of an empress: Julian and Eusebia s. T O U G H E R A note on Juvencus 4. 286 G. HAYS Indexes 329 339 345 365 380 389 404 411 433 447 456 470 492 506 519 545 553 556 559 561 564 568 569 572 574 577 580 585 587 589 593 595 599 601 The Tm The The Stu( Tele Not The Was Soc The The Era. Doi An E P. Si Lov a Vir Hov Juve Thn Salp Ano S H ' Two Phr The Thu Thu Nan F Hebi The Two Aem Viol Here The E Prot The Phil« terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core New Series Volume XLVIII, No. 1 1998 (Vol. LXXXXII of the continuous series) CONTENTS N U M B E R 1 The Homeric poems as oral dictated texts Time and aretG in Homer The text of Iliad 18.603-6 and the presence of an aoiSos on the shield of Achilles The social function of Attic tragedy Studies in the later manuscript tradition of Aristophanes' Peace Telestes and the 'five-rodded joining of strings' Notes on pseudo-Plutarch's Life of Antiphon The shape of Athenian laws Was Kerkyra a member of the Second Athenian League? Socrates' last words: another look at an ancient riddle The historical reader of Plato's Protagoras The Hippocratic treatise On Anatomy Eros in government: Zeno and the virtuous city Doubts about other minds and the science of physiognomies An early reference to perfect numbers? Some notes on Euphorion, SHAM P. Sulpicius' law to recall exiles, 88 B.C. Love and death: Laodamia and Protesilaus in Catullus, Propertius, and others Virgil's third Eclogue: how do you keep an idiot in suspense? How many books did Diodorus Siculus originally intend to write? Juvenal, the Phaedrus, and the truth about Rome Three cruces in Juvenal Salpe's TIAirNIA: Athenaeus 322A and Plin. H.N. 28.38 Another chapter in the history of scholia S H O R T E R N O T E S Two notes on Greek dithyrambic poetry Phrynichus fr. 27 K-A: a pun The hoopoe's nest: Aristophanes, Birds 265-6 Thucydides 3.12.3 Thucydides' Nicias and Homer's Agamemnon Nam unguentum dabo: Catullus 13 and Servius' note on Phaon(^eneW 3.279) Hebdomades {binaei) The lark ascending: Corydon, Corydon (Vergil, Eel. 7.70) Two adynata in Horace, Epode 16 Aeneid 4.622-3 Violets and violence: two notes Heroides 16.303-4 The Crimen Maiestatis under Caligula: the evidence of Dio Cassius Problems of text and interpretation in Statius, Thebaid I- The chronology of Nicomachus of Gerasa Philoponus, Diodorus, and possibility R. JANKO M. FINKELBERG M. REVERMANN J. GRIFFIN S. D. OLSON A. BARKER M. J. EDWARDS C. CAREY C. M. FAUBER J. CROOKS D. WOLFSDORF E. M. CRAIK G. BOYS-STONES V. TSOUNA J. L. LIGHTFOOT R. G. LEWIS R. 0. A. M. LYNE J. HENDERSON C. RUBINCAM A. HARDIE M. HENDRY D. BAIN K. McNAMEE J. H. HORDERN E. L. DE BOO E. M. CRAIK R. I. WINTON A. V ZADOROJNYI R. S. KILPATRICK J. GEIGER S. J. HARRISON A. S. HOLLIS H. JACOBSON H. JACOBSON A. KERSHAW 1 14 29 39 62 75 82 93 110 117 126 135 168 175 187 195 200 213 229 234 252 262 269 289 291 292 294 298 303 305 310 311 313 314 316 A. KEAVENEY AND J. A. MADDEN 3 1 6 V I R T. EDEN 3 2 0 A. H. CRIDDLE 3 2 4 N. DENYER 3 2 7 Please visit the journal's World Wide Web site at http://www.oup.co.uk/clquaj terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core fjl Oxford University Press Philosophia Togata II Plato and Aristotle at Rome Edited by JONATHAN BARNES and MIRIAM GRIFFIN Gathering together nine interdisciplinary papers delivered at the University of Oxford, this book explores the role of Platonism and Aristotelianism in Roman intellectual, cultural, and political life from the second century BC to the third century AD. 0 - 1 9 - 8 1 5 0 5 6 - 3 , 3 1 0 pp., Clarendon Press, £42.00 The Fall of Troy in Early Greek Poetry and Art MICHAEL J. ANDERSON 'Anderson is at his most effective in showing how the fragmentary remains of the poems of the "epic cycle" can, when looked at alongside the Iliad and Odyssey, be made to yield significant correspondences.' 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BRUNT This collection of new and previously published essays examines the relationship between philosophy and social/political conditions, and includes a new analysis of Aristotle's views on slavery and a discussion of the practicality of Plato's political theories. 0-19-815242-6,420 pp., paperback, Clarendon Press, £27.50 The Legacy of Mesopotamia Edited by STEPHANIE DALLEY Stephanie Dalley explores the spread of culture through literacy from Mesopotamia into Egypt, Palestine and Greece after a system of writing was developed. Legacy Series 0-19-814946-8, 246 pp., halftones and line figures throughout, £50.00 visit our site .oup.co.uk Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta Selecta Edited by J. DIGGLE This volume presents the most interesting and substantial fragmentary texts of the lost tragic plays and poetry of ancient Greek literature. Oxford Classical Texts 0-19-814685-X, 192 pp.. Clarendon Press, £25.00 24-hour credit card hotline » + 4 4 (0)1536 454534 Warfare in Roman Europe AD 3 5 0 - 4 2 5 HUGH ELTON 'an excellent survey of a vitally I important subject, which will I form the basis of future examination of individual problems.' Early Medieval Europe Oxford Classical Monographs 0-19-815241-8,328 pp., line figures, maps, tables, paperback, Clarendon Press, £14.99 For more information, contact: Jonathan Earl, Academic Marketing, Oxford University Press, Oxford 0X2 6DP •444(0)1865 556767 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core O X F O R D W O R L D ' S C L A S S I C S *Books must be read as DELIBERATELY RESERVEDLY as they were written* HENRY D A V I D T H O R E A U , Walden Between 1845 and 1847 Thoreau lived alone in a hut on the shore of Walden Pond. During this experiment in solitary living he had plenty of time to read the classics: 'the noblest recorded thoughts of man'. Over 150 years later, Walden, Thoreau's account of these years, is itself firmly established as a classic work of literature. Together with 700 other titles, it is available in Oxford World's Classics — the series that combines definitive texts with the finest notes and introductions. Thoreau wrote that 'Books are the treasured wealth of t h e world*. To find out what riches the Oxford World's Classics list holds, call Helen Morton for a Free Catalogue on 01865 267144. www.worldsclassics.co.uk terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core N E W SURVEYS IN THE CLASSICS #28 VIRGIL by Philip Hardie University of Cambridge Oxford University Press Journals Marketing X98 Great Clarendon Street Oxford 0X2 6DP Fax: 01865 267485 http://www.oup.co. uk/gromej criticism. The author revisits the subject of the first New Survey in the Classics, published in 1967, and explores the HfcW literary approaches of the last thirty years. This New Survey is well over twice the length of the original. 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With introduction and notes by DON FOWLER, and PETA FOWLER Lucretius' poem On the Nature of the Universe combines a scientific and philosophical treatise with some of the greatest poetry ever written.The Introduction gives full details of the little that is known of Lucretius' life and of the Epicurean philosophy that was his inspiration. 0-19-815032-6, 212 pp, Clarendon Press, April 1997, £30.00 0-19-815097-0, 312 pp, November 1997, £45.00 A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names Volume III.A The Peloponnese, Western Greece, Sicily, and Magna Graecia Edited by P. M. FRASER and E. MATTHEWS A fully documented listing of all known personal names from the ancient Greek world, drawing on all available evidence from the earliest times to about AD 600. 0-19-815229-9,552 pp, Clarendon Press, September 1997, £80.00 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 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work_kxkrvr6exrgcvi6mcvzee7y7ki ---- Microsoft Word - MJSS vol 3 no 7 April 2012.doc ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 249 Death as Surprise in 18th and 19th Centuries Romanticism Ramona Simut (PhD) Emanuel University of Oradea, Romania Email: ramona.simut@emanuel.ro Abstract. One of the major themes of discussion in the art and especially the literature of the 18th and 19th centuries was the problem of death. In the beginning this seemed to be the case mostly because of the natural processes related to death as a transforming event of the human body and mind. However, towards the end of the 18th century and well into the 19 century, a certain shift took place from the common and normal perspective on death to a rather accessorized and scientific literary approach. Our attempt is to notice and make the necessary connections between the concepts of nature (both the human nature and the external-physical nature) and the innovative technologies recently implemented in the society of the time, with reference to the new accidental and commercial facets of death as destruction of nature especially in the work of the American Romantics R. W. Emerson and H. D. Thoreau. Aware that they are highly spoken of in view of their transcendentalism as a particular philosophy about the bond between man and nature, we will slowly come to terms with this type of concerns and connect them to the conflicting reality of the industrialization as a sudden and repressive phenomenon within the society of men. Finally our point is that precisely this phenomenon caused these writers to make a historical detour and use their naturalist formation in order to make sense of their century deaths and diseases. Key words: death, nature, Romanticism, accident, science Introduction From a Romantic perspective, the signs of progress in the 18th century were perceived as unequivocal ways to destroy human personality and discard it from history. This perception is due to the fact that the attack which these mechanisms brought upon man was sudden and eclipsed the soul with the shadow of a violent and accidental death. Their cause is well portrayed in Nietzsche's aphorisms, for instance, where he staunchly resents a future vision developed by Martin Heidegger related to the relationship between man and the machine. On the other hand, the Romantic writers of the 19th century looked at the diseases of their time from a totally different angle, being aware that some of them were indeed new and of consumptive nature. As this was the case with tuberculosis, the Romantics would not speak of it as denigratory or regressive in a scientific manner, but thought of it was a means for spiritual and intellectual progress with a purgatory and reparatory purpose in the midst of the great industrial colossus. Thus the failure pertains to the machine which can sweep away the flesh, and not to the intellect or the soul, which in this case is always a step behind in matters of material productivity. The differences between the 18th and 19th Romantic centuries view on the main death agents equals the difference between surprise and accommodation when a new element is introduced into a stolid atmosphere. It should be stressed, however, that the surprise is always the prerogative of the technique, while a repressive disease smoothly turns into habit. Though it is as old as the 18th century, sudden death has never had a solid logic as the slow death, and what modernity did was merely diversify the terminology considered void in an existentialist context. Moreover, in a Romantic work which stresses the man-nature bond as a psychological and physical relationship, nature is a projection of the self, which in its absence remains without an object. Nowadays, that would be the case of the cultural meaning of man's travel to space or man being void of nature as we know it: man's displacement is considered a type of death, a divorce from nature in a more than symbolical sense. What is surprisingly connected with death and its definition in Romantic literature and philosophy is the accidental, a term perceived as being commercial just like the causes of death: the windmill, the pit or coal mine, the first usage of vaccination in the 18th century, new inventions and the 19th century industrialization, or more recently the atomic bomb and space craft. In the same time, the rituals associated with accidental deaths are from the very start commercial, and this truth is universally accepted (mourning is rapid and conscious, and its reward implies more materiality than humanity, an idea which can be found both at the beginnings and at the end of the Romantic fiction and non-fiction works. For our purpose here, we will consider mainly the non-fiction work in a particular setting of the Romantic school, namely the American Romantics of the 19th century whose work was strongly influenced by death in both its personal and technical terms. Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau were surrounded by consumption (tuberculosis) all their life not only in their enlarged families, but wherever they went, and death itself was the main reason why they even ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 250 travelled to see other parts of the world and other cultures, to become Romantics. This experience of death Emerson1 and Thoreau2 came to acknowledge as a century old in their literature and they are among only a few Romantic writers who would associate it with the need for natural purity in the form of transcendentalism and as utopia of the soul in a deadly body. But consumption was not the foremost accidental disease of their time as reflected by their journals and memorialist work: so were the pitfalls, windmills, coach travels on poor roads, horse riding, deep waters and suicide at the pressure of industrialization. Our aim here is to call for consumption as becoming a kind of personal and communitarian disease which brought a graceful and slow withering, while on the other hand the accidental deaths mentioned trapped the body and instantly eliminated the mind, allowing Romantics no time to adjust and temper their enthusiasm. Though the personal thoughts of these Romantic writers (they separated these diseases and deaths into different classes), we do not have to take their very word for it or suspect that their non-fiction work is subjective in all respect. One of the reasons why we chose to present aspects of deaths in these author's oeuvre was precisely the existence of factual documentation preoccupied with their lives and the historic details which illustrate a common fear of the accident both in Emerson and Thoreau, and in their contemporaries' mind. Emerson and the natural. When death defies nature Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) stands amid the Romantics of his generation as a pioneer of a new type of taste for nature. In his essay Nature,3 Emerson challenges all lovers of nature to take a stand and review their relationship with the external elements individually. In this attempt, he believes, one must be able to tell nature's prerogatives from man's intrepid actions which can cause the world irreparable damage. Emerson gets to describe nature as a powerful force that transforms not only its own state and climate, but man's state too, in that it surprises him with views and feelings which determine sensorial modulation in man's mind and soul: Nature is a setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. Almost I fear how glad I am.4 When Emerson says that nature “fits” both a benevolent and a negative state of mind, he rather exempts man from having anything to impede nature with or from being nature's commander. Unlike his fellow European or British Romantic writers, Emerson seems to walk in the footsteps of mild pre-Romantics and Classics when he describes this special type of liaison between what is of nature and what belongs to man. He does not imply that man should overcome the powers of nature or that he could masterfully force his own feelings and will on nature. Neither of these realms seem to be prevail on each other, since nature only “fits” a man's state, while man only enjoys whatever nature brings along. There is, however, a special spot in which nature is believed to work its magic on man in the sense that nature changes man's state of mind and revives his body and soul: In the woods, a man casts off his years and... is always a child. In the woods is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed... In the woods, we 1 “The first known case in the Emerson family was that of reverend William Emerson, Ralph Waldo's father, who had the disease when he died in 1811 at the age of 42..., all [his children] has symptoms of tuberculosis. Both Edward and Charles died of it in their late twenties [also the case of Waldo's first wife Ellen Tucker, who died at 19]. Waldo appeared to have symptoms of the disease at various times in his life, once writing of having a mouse gnawing at his chest, but died of an unrelated illness at age 79.” See Constance Manoli- Skocay, “A Gentle Death: Tuberculosis in 19th Century Concord.” The Concord Magazine (Winter 2003). 2 “Henry David Thoreau succumbed to tuberculosis at age of 44... His grandfather had died of it in 1801, and when Henry father's died in 1859 his symptoms were consistent with tuberculosis. His brother John was living with it,... ad their sister Helen became a victim in 1849 at age thirty-six.” Constance Manoli-Skocay, “A Gentle Death: Tuberculosis in 19th Century Concord.” The Concord Magazine (Winter 2003). 3 Biographical and bibliographical data on R. W. Emerson, in Andrew Ballanthyne, Architecture theory: a reader in philosophy and culture (New York: Continuum, 2005), 30. For a detailed biography, see Richardson, Robert D. Emerson. The Mind on Fire (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1995). 4 Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature (Boston: James Munroe and Company, 1834), 12. ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 251 return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life – no disgrace, no calamity, which nature cannot repair.5 Moreover, in the woods, “the name of the nearest friend sounds foreign and accidental.”6 Faithful to its theory that nature and man are individually part of the transcendental being of God, and that God is not himself a unity, but an oikonomy (he is not merely one, but many in multiple manifestations), Emerson first rebels against his religious heritage as a unitarian Christian, and then plunges into the deep waters of natural theism also known from Antiquity and the Classics as polytheism or divine substance spread in each of nature's particular elements. He begins to sound more and more classical as he makes further comments on the necessity that man be moral as nature's actions are virtuous and thus beautiful. On these grounds, Emerson states, all heroic individual actions manifest virtue because they maintain universal balance, and since the universe is all we can find deep inside ourselves, nothing we do should harm the universe, otherwise it is suicidal. Emerson's idea is that heroic (human) action is not to be understood as an act of bravery, but as an act of makings good and meaningful sense of our innocence. Everything contrary to this strife for purity is contrary to nature, to human nature, and thus to reason and faith. This uncommon thinking for a Romantic writer is due to Emerson's transcendentalism which gives us a close up into his life and work unevenly molded in comparison with his fellow Romantic writers of the age, whose aim was to cause exceptions and not to attain the state of personal inner and external progress in good terms with the universe around us. While not so inclined to technical details as Henry David Thoreau in observing nature, Emerson is nevertheless prone to gathering physical data which help him understand nature in its raw form, that is the rawest (purest) the better. This does not affect though the meaningful purpose (reason) of what is natural, from whence we can only assume that by definition everything unnatural lacks proper reason and equilibrium. Even the loss of his brothers, his first wife and his first born he thought of as natural, because their fading away was gracious, slow, communitarian, and maybe reminded him how everything under the sun is eventually fading away. Nevertheless, his Romantic spirit reacted in shock when in one special situation the unnatural happened and suddenly took away a friend in the most “tragic” of ways: The death of Margaret Fuller when she was only forty was a shock to Emerson... Somehow, Margaret’s death caught him unprepared and undefended. Her loss drove him in on himself and made him intensely conscious of a side of life he usually tended to rush over. It is easier to call this conscience a sense of tragedy,... rather a sense that something was fundamentally wrong with the universe, an awareness of some elemental lack at the core of things…7 A journalist, editor, and transcendentalist herself at the age of forty, Margaret Fuller sure outlived other cultivated and notable women of her time who died from consumption, for instance. But why was her death only a matter of tragedy for Emerson? Why did he perceive its circumstances as being unnatural and shocking? For a start, it was probably because her death in 1850 was caused by a shift in the natural order, by something which should never happen to man. And indeed it was something bigger that one death, an event which foreshadowed the sink of Titanic, the supreme naval incident that for several years changed the face of the world. But the shipwreck in which Margaret died was so far from natural that people afterwards had to find a logic in building lighthouses before, not after, they built impressively large ships. The tragism8 of Margaret's death cannot be fully grasped according to the then Romantic American philosophy without examining the second personality besides Emerson who helped shape transcendentalism by moving it from “Nature” to the woods. Thoreau and the individual. When death defies the universe Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), a Harvard fellow himself, lived the life of a Romantic both in terms of his expenditures 5 Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature (Boston: James Munroe and Company, 1834), 12, 13. 6 Ibid., 13. 7 Robert D. Richardson, Emerson. The Mind on Fire (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1995), 486. 8 See comments about this in Abigail Rorer and Bradley P. Dean, eds., Of Woodland Pools, Spring-Holes and Ditches: Excerpts from the Journal of Henry David Thoreau (Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2010), 4. ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 252 which exceeded his income, and in terms of his confrontation with sickness and death.9 Reading Emerson's Nature as early as 1837, he was also passionate about Goethe and the Latin classics like Virgil, an interest which drove him to scientifically explore the natives of North America and their virgin land.10 He was equally concerned, as Emerson for instance, with the innocence of heart and mind, which is one of the reasons why he wrote Walden11, and why he did it in the woods. But in Thoreau the soul does not enter its well-being state until its need for morality and “right” is secured and protected by civil government. However, for what is worth Thoreau himself felt that he was compelled to retrieve into the woods in order to write and, as he says, “to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”12 Thoreau’s literature cannot be fully grasped without his philosophical system13 and his naturalist thinking, which just like Emerson’s is imbued with a utopian vision of man and nature. In Thoreau, it seems, the result of new experiments and industrial inventions is paramount and has the magnitude of natural disasters or calamities, and they both match the reaction that a Romantic writer is capable of in times of distress.14 However, he behaves like a classic when he uses his skills to observe the inner life of nature in the same habitat where purity and beauty are to be found, namely the woods.15 The relationship between sentiment and contemplation in Thoreau’s Walden and in his Journal is particularly important here, since it shows that he thinks as a classicist whose feelings spread from the observation of natural complexity and form. In other words, this binary relationship is what was called “Thoreau’s juxtaposition of his metaphysical musing with the scientific knowledge that triggered the excitement.”16 And what triggered the excitement was the form, which ultimately drives man to reassess his bond with nature: “How was it when the youth first discovered fishes?... [What interested] mankind in the fish, the inhabitant of the water?... A faint recognition of a living contemporary, a provoking mystery.”17 The conscious nature of this bond with nature comes through observation/contemplation only, because the mystery/divine is peculiar to all natural things. Consequently, Thoreau’s transcendentalism comprises not only natural, brute elements, but also areas where civilization has been installed and became traditional for our civil society. His naturalist taste is nevertheless obstructed by the civil order, in which Thoreau cannot find the natural order that the universe displays, hence his mistrust of ranks of power and human standards that are in breach with natural laws. Thus, in the essay “On the Duty of Civil Disobedience,” sometimes placed as an appendix of Walden, Thoreau extensively comments on the peculiarities of the then American government, which has not the vitality and force of a single living man…, it is a sort of wooden gun to the people themselves. But it is not the less necessary for this…; for the people must have some complicated machinery… to satisfy that idea of government which they have.18 Thoreau’s idea of naturality then does not apply to the state, and his transcendentalism is not a concept that would embrace all spaces though. Since man cannot enact his free and moral order into a social law, Thoreau shows, and since all law is a product of state technicalities, man as an individual must oppose whatever “does not keep the country free and… does not educate.”19 As a Romantic writer, Thoreau stands in awe at what “the people” (men) come to enforce as 9 Short and comprising information about H. D. Thoreau’s life and career, in Andrew Ballanthyne, Architecture theory: a reader in philosophy and culture (New York: Continuum, 2005), 150. For a detailed biography, see Robert D. Richardson, Henry Thoreau: a life of the mind (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986). 10Robert D. Richardson, Henry Thoreau: a life of the mind (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986), 1-15. 11An association of terms can be made here from Walden, the surrounding placed of Concord, Thoreau's home, to the German “Wald,” a word meaning woodland, of the woods. 12Henry David Thoreau, Walden (New York: Harper, 1950), 118. 13 Concerning the transcendental philosophical system in both Thoreau and Emerson, see Alfred I. Tauber, Henry David Thoreau and the Moral Agency of Knowing (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2001). 14 Jack Turner, ed., in A Political Companion to Henry David Thoreau (Lexington, KY: The University of Kentucky Press, 2009), quotes at note 4 from Leonard N. Neufeld, The Economist: Henry Thoreau and Enterprise, 1989, explains this seemingly equivocal relationship of a then Romantic writer with reality: “Thoreau is awake and alert; his neighbors are stagnant, asleep, little better than dead... One of his most common accusations is that ordinary men are dead in life, or they might as well be dead, or they are incapable of dying because they have not lived. Thoreau's romantic “half in love” with death deserves study.” See page 34, note 4. 15 In this respect, Thoreau is a follower of Goethe, who in a nutshell used to say that “we are pantheists by searching nature, polytheists as poets, and ethically monotheists.” See Goethe, in Jean Livescu, Preface to Goethe's Opere (Works), vol. 1 (Bucure�ti: Univers, 1984). 16 See Alfred I.Tauber, Henry David Thoreau and the Moral Agency of Knowing (Berkeley, CA:University of California Press, 2001)145. 17 H. D. Thoreau, Journal (November 30, 1858): 11, 360. 18 Henry David Thoreau, in Waldo R. Browne, ed., Man or the State? (New York: B. W. Huebsch, 1919), chapter IV: Henry David Thoreau, “On the Duty of Civil Government,” 70, 71. 19 Ibid., 71. ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 253 right and wrong and worthy of respect, which is in sharp contrast with the conscience that the individual (man) uses to decide on civil matters. Disobeying the civil order regards extensively the law of men and the intricate and foremost corrupt structure of their government, but also what the law of modern men praises as innovative and bountiful. In this respect, Emerson and Thoreau have their own special place within American Romanticism as they come from Concord, Massachusetts, an expanding commercial route and a promising industrial hub in their time. Emerson and Thoreau sure had much to see and in part repel in the dawn of this modern era, many things and facts of life which to a natural mind seemed disruptive. Every day the two writers would witness the forceful power of industrialization on their once beautiful town, and also people being proud of their achievement: A lead pipe manufactory was set up in 1819, a shoe factory was built in 1821.., a group of entrepreneurs had set up the Milldam company in 1821, developing thereby a new commercial district in the center of town,… and the town was also a center for the manufacture of pencils, clocks, hats, bellows, guns, bricks, barrels, and soap… Wagons rumbled through town continually on roads that were both dusty and noisy. Concord was a busy transport hub and its numerous taverns were full of teamsters. It had six warehouses, a bindery, two saw mills, two grist mills, and a large five-story cotton mill…20 Thoreau’s retreat in the woods for two years before commencing any civil or educational duties and at the peak of the industrial development of his homeland was an act of conscience directed towards his fellow citizens, as well as an act of self-instruction and observation. However, a devoted Romantic spirit would not go on a retreat for too long: he is an effervescent spirit. He would rather re-enter society with new ideas and new brute forces so as to overturn and invalidate the existing order. However, the fact that Thoreau does not advocate for a new government to replace the actual ruling, but for a better one instead, says a lot about his intentions as a citizen: he does not wish to abolish the present government, but to improve and educate it, which is as classical a method as it can be. Thoreau and Emerson alike were not the type of Romantics that would constantly complain about any kinds of inconveniences including their own fate and misunderstood genius, and they were mindful of the beneficial nature of progress.21 They were men of their time and did not oppose development, but given their family and friends dreadful history with consumption, they were also men of prudence aware that their contemporaries could not fight death and disease with more machines and money, or not just yet. For them it was the machine that imposed on people and increased the unknown of the natural order by expanding man’s territory, and thus by exposing him to further perils and diseases. For both Thoreau and Emerson, this exploration of the unknown creates an uneven relationship between social and moral, between industry and art, since the machines valued man’s physical powers only, leaving his soul behind. The machine (industrialization) works with machines void of sentiments. A conclusion on the unknown death Thoreau’s and Emerson’s fear of the unknown is likely triggered not necessarily by universal forces, cataclysms and furies: this kind of unknown has an observable source, which is the magnificence of nature and its raw material. These Romantics' fear is located deeply within the human habitat and was caused by people's search for rapid progress and transgression of nature and inner self. The unknown which brings fear is not of the elements. They welcome the elements because they bring them the joy of research and discovery, the return to essence. Of course that, for instance, water is an elements of which man manifests fear, but he that will not adventure into deep waters, but instead will respect and cherish the life embedded in them. This means that in our large universe (cosmos) another universe (microcosm) exists and from the latter life itself springs: In one of his last works, The Dispersion of Seeds... [Thoreau] recounts having “leveled for an artificial pond at our new cemetery, Sleepy Hollow”. The pond was finally completed in 1859, and the following year 20 Robert D. Richardson, Henry Thoreau: a life of the mind (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986), 15. 21 Emerson and Thoreau were loved by their fellow citizens and respected for their education, talent, and stamina manifested in spite of hardship of life and a tradition with consumption. They even had the conduct of a respected fellow Concordian, as Emerson was read by every cultivated American and gathered lots of cultivated men in his philosophy circle at the Emerson home, while Thoreau gave lectures which for all audiences and thus considerably maximized his incomes. For details, see Edward Waldo Emerson, Emerson in Concord. A Memoir Written for the Social Circle in Concord Massachusetts (Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2004). See also Bradley P. Dean and Ronald Wesley Hoag, “Thoreau's Lectures After Walden: An Annotated Calendar,” Studies in the American Renaissance (1996): 241-362. For the eulogy and pompous burial ceremony with which the people of Concord honored Emerson, see “Concord’s Irreparable Loss! The Death and Funeral of Ralph Waldo Emerson,” in Concord Freeman (May 4, 1882). ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 254 sported “several small patches of the large yellow and kalmiana lily,” a fact which led him to remark, “Thus, even in the midst of death, we are in life.” Thoreau loved to see that Nature was rife with life, and nowhere is the life of Nature so rife as in vernal pools. But he also insisted that the “universe is wider than our views of it.”... The nature of vernal pools masterfully celebrate not just life, but the larger universe in which we live. In fact, his woodland pools, spring-holes, and ditches are microcosms of that... universe in which energies are constantly transmuted one into another.22 The same image captured in the presence of the pond (see Walden pond) or at Sleepy Hollow, where life is created at the surface of waters as a microcosm is encountered under the water, and we already learned about Thoreau's passion for ichthyology in that he considers the fish as “another image of God.23 Thus either naturally created or handmade, ponds, ditches, and pools which are water recipients are not perceived as agents of death, at least not of unwilling death. Yes, deep waters are to be feared, however murders at that time were deemed as exceptional “acts of God,” though the voluntary action of suicide was considered common even in the most uncommon places.24 The innovative nature of medicine, commerce, manufacture, transportation, food and mine industry, and leisure were particularly exponential as causes of death in both 18th and 19th centuries. They were the real unknown and unnatural factors which caused bereavement and uncertainty both physically and mentally, in spite of the progress they promised especially in the 19th century. They were feared more than cancer and heart failure both because they were everywhere in the news and they implied a foreign object that brought death instantly rather than slowly. Be it the inoculation formula against new infectious diseases such as smallpox25, which required many testing on real people, or the new windmills, coal pits, wagons or carts traveling with increasing speed, accidents at work, shipwreck or simply a horseback ride commonly practiced at the time for leisure but with no proper harness classes and skill, they were all perceived as unreliable, surprising, and sudden ways to produce death and suffering. References “Concord’s Irreparable Loss! The Death and Funeral of Ralph Waldo Emerson.” Concord Freeman (May 4, 1882). Aiken, Lewis R. Dying, death, and bereavement. Fourth Edition. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2009. Ballanthyne, Andrew. Architecture theory: a reader in philosophy and culture. New York: Continuum, 2005. Dean, Bradley P., and Ronald Wesley Hoag. “Thoreau's Lectures After Walden: An Annotated Calendar.” Studies in the American Renaissance (1996): 241-362. Emerson, Edward Waldo. Emerson in Concord. A Memoir Written for the Social Circle in Concord Massachusetts. Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2004. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. Nature. Boston, MA: James Munroe and Company, 1834. Lonton, Tony. “Vaccination, Windmills, and Other Causes of Death in 18th Century Whitkirk.” Barwicker 92 (Dec. 2008). Manoli-Skocay, Constance. “A Gentle Death: Tuberculosis in 19th Century Concord.” The Concord Magazine (Winter 2003). Oyebode, Femi, ed. Mindreadings: Literature and Psychiatry. Glasgow: Bell and Bain, 2009. Richardson, Robert D. Emerson. The Mind on Fire. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1995. Richardson, Robert D. Henry Thoreau: a life of the mind. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986. Rorer, Abigail, and Bradley P. Dean, eds. Of Woodland Pools, Spring-Holes and Ditches: Excerpts from the Journal of Henry David Thoreau. Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2010. Tauber, Alfred I. Henry David Thoreau and the Moral Agency of Knowing. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2001. Thoreau, Henry David. In Waldo R. Browne, ed., Man or the State? New York: B. W. Huebsch, 1919. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden. New York: Harper, 1950. Turner, Jack, ed. A Political Companion to Henry David Thoreau. Lexington, KY: The University of Kentucky Press, 2009. 22 See Abigail Rorer and Bradley P. Dean, eds., Of Woodland Pools, Spring-Holes and Ditches: Excerpts from the Journal of Henry David Thoreau (Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2010), 3, 4. 23 Alfred I. Tauber, Henry David Thoreau and the Moral Agency of Knowing (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2001), 145. 24 See Tony Lonton, “Vaccination, Windmills, and Other Causes of Death in 18th Century Whitkirk,” Barwicker 92 (Dec. 2008). In the 19th century, suicide was usually associated with the increasing “pressure of industrialization.” For the then multiple ways to dye, see Lewis R. Aiken, Dying, death, and bereavement, fourth edition (Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2009). 25 Tony Lonton mentions this as having been practiced in England as early as 1722, for instance, before a proper vaccination was even approved of in 1796. 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work_l2phj5msozbvrg2tc4p3mvufsy ---- [PDF] Herbarium records are reliable sources of phenological change driven by climate and provide novel insights into species' phenological cueing mechanisms. | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.3732/ajb.1500237 Corpus ID: 23444424Herbarium records are reliable sources of phenological change driven by climate and provide novel insights into species' phenological cueing mechanisms. @article{Davis2015HerbariumRA, title={Herbarium records are reliable sources of phenological change driven by climate and provide novel insights into species' phenological cueing mechanisms.}, author={C. Davis and C. G. Willis and B. Connolly and C. Kelly and A. Ellison}, journal={American journal of botany}, year={2015}, volume={102 10}, pages={ 1599-609 } } C. Davis, C. G. Willis, +2 authors A. Ellison Published 2015 Biology, Medicine American journal of botany PREMISE OF THE STUDY Climate change has resulted in major changes in the phenology of some species but not others. Long-term field observational records provide the best assessment of these changes, but geographic and taxonomic biases limit their utility. Plant specimens in herbaria have been hypothesized to provide a wealth of additional data for studying phenological responses to climatic change. However, no study to our knowledge has comprehensively addressed whether herbarium data are… Expand View on PubMed bsapubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 114 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 4 Background Citations 46 Methods Citations 5 Results Citations 5 View All Tables and Topics from this paper table 1 Specimen Chills 114 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Herbarium specimens reveal substantial and unexpected variation in phenological sensitivity across the eastern United States D. Park, Ian K. Breckheimer, Alex C. Williams, E. Law, A. Ellison, C. Davis Geography, Medicine Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B 2018 28 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Herbarium specimens can reveal impacts of climate change on plant phenology; a review of methods and applications Casey A. Jones, C. Daehler Environmental Science, Medicine PeerJ 2018 25 Highly Influenced PDF View 9 excerpts, cites methods, background and results Save Alert Research Feed Herbarium records reveal early flowering in response to warming in the southern hemisphere B. H. Daru, Matthew M. Kling, Emily K. Meineke, A. V. van Wyk Biology 2018 1 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Using herbarium specimens to select indicator species for climate change monitoring Rebecca A. Hufft, Michelle E. DePrenger-Levin, R. Levy, M. B. Islam Biology Biodiversity and Conservation 2018 7 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Temperature controls phenology in continuously flowering Protea species of subtropical Africa B. H. Daru, Matthew M. Kling, Emily K. Meineke, A. V. van Wyk Biology, Medicine Applications in plant sciences 2019 5 Highly Influenced PDF View 1 excerpt, cites methods Save Alert Research Feed Low‐cost observations and experiments return a high value in plant phenology research Caitlin McDonough MacKenzie, A. Gallinat, Lucy Zipf Biology, Medicine Applications in plant sciences 2020 1 Save Alert Research Feed A new phenological metric for use in pheno‐climatic models: A case study using herbarium specimens of Streptanthus tortuosus N. Love, I. Park, S. Mazer Biology, Medicine Applications in plant sciences 2019 6 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Prediction of Arctic plant phenological sensitivity to climate change from historical records Zoe A. Panchen, Root Gorelick Geography, Medicine Ecology and evolution 2017 19 View 2 excerpts, cites methods Save Alert Research Feed Old Plants, New Tricks: Phenological Research Using Herbarium Specimens. C. G. Willis, Elizabeth R Ellwood, +9 authors P. Soltis Biology, Medicine Trends in ecology & evolution 2017 113 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Reproductive phenology of Leptolobium dasycarpum and L. elegans across the Brazilian savanna based on herbarium records W. S. Fava, N. L. Cunha, Aline Pedroso Lorenz Biology 2019 1 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 72 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Validation of biological collections as a source of phenological data for use in climate change studies: a case study with the orchid Ophrys sphegodes Karen M. Robbirt, A. J. Davy, M. Hutchings, David L. Roberts Geography 2011 146 Save Alert Research Feed Herbarium specimens reveal the footprint of climate change on flowering trends across north-central North America Kellen Calinger, S. Queenborough, P. Curtis Biology, Medicine Ecology letters 2013 116 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Photographs and herbarium specimens as tools to document phenological changes in response to global warming. A. J. Miller-Rushing, R. Primack, Daniel Primack, S. Mukunda Biology, Medicine American journal of botany 2006 158 View 1 excerpt, references results Save Alert Research Feed Shifts in flowering phenology reshape a subalpine plant community Paul J. CaraDonna, Amy M Iler, D. Inouye Environmental Science, Medicine Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 2014 304 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Herbarium specimens, photographs, and field observations show Philadelphia area plants are responding to climate change. Zoe A. Panchen, R. Primack, T. Aniśko, R. Lyons Biology, Medicine American journal of botany 2012 66 Save Alert Research Feed Influences of species, latitudes and methodologies on estimates of phenological response to global warming C. Parmesan Geography 2007 1,002 PDF View 1 excerpt Save Alert Research Feed Climate-associated phenological advances in bee pollinators and bee-pollinated plants I. Bartomeus, J. Ascher, +4 authors R. Winfree Medicine, Biology Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 2011 316 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Phylogenetic conservatism in plant phenology T. Davies, E. Wolkovich, +14 authors S. Travers Biology 2013 122 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Phylogenetic patterns of species loss in Thoreau's woods are driven by climate change C. G. Willis, B. Ruhfel, R. Primack, A. Miller-Rushing, C. Davis Biology, Medicine Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 2008 488 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Progress towards an interdisciplinary science of plant phenology: building predictions across space, time and species diversity. E. Wolkovich, B. Cook, T. Davies Biology, Medicine The New phytologist 2014 72 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... 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work_lazs3jb3srcobhdqbfjxaltw44 ---- Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária Franco, António Cândido. “Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 15, 2020, pp. 1–5. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.27 RESEARCH Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária António Cândido Franco Instituto de História Contemporânea (FCSH-UNOVA), Universidade de Évora, PT acvcf@uevora.pt Trata-se da tentativa de situar a obra de Henry David Thoreau dentro do anarquismo como sistema político definido e do pensamento libertário em geral. Estabelece-se para isso um paralelo com pensadores como Pierre-Joseph Proudhon ou Anselme Bellagarrigue, quase seus contem- porâneos, e ensaia-se perceber por dentro dalguns dos textos do autor, sobretudo aqueles que maior impacto social imediato tiveram, o que pode haver de afinitário com o pensamento político libertário tal como ele estava a ser elaborado na Europa do tempo. Noções como “auto-governo”, com raízes fundas na tradição liberal estadunidense, e “desobediência civil” mostram-se operati- vas nesse campo, permitindo uma ligação não sistemática mas fecunda do autor ao pensamento libertário em geral. Finaliza-se com uma chamada de atenção para a história da recepção do autor americano junto dos historiadores do anarquismo, que o ignoraram até ao início do século XX, quer dizer, até à obra de Max Nettlau. Só na segunda metade do século XX o autor do ensaio “On the duty of civil disobedience” passou a integrar de pleno direito todas as histórias, mesmo as mais essenciais, do anarquismo. Portugal não fugiu a esta tendência e só em 1977 se dá nota da primeira referência a Thoreau na imprensa libertária portuguesa. Palavras-chave: Thoreau; anarquismo; pensamento libertário This essay is a tentative placement of Henry David Thoreau’s work within anarchism as a definite political system and libertarian thinking in general. To this end, a parallel is drawn with thinkers such as Pierre-Joseph Proudhon or Anselme Bellagarrigue, almost his contemporaries, and we try to analyze the depths of the author’s texts, especially those with the greatest immediate social impact. That is, we privilege the texts that display affinities with libertarian political thought as it was being elaborated in the Europe of the time. Notions such as “self-government”, rooted in the American liberal tradition, and “civil disobedience” are operative in this field, allowing for the author’s unsystematic but fruitful connection to libertarian thinking in general. The essay shall conclude by foregrounding the history of the American author’s reception by anarchist historians, who ignored him until the early twentieth century, that is, until Max Nettlau’s work. Only in the second half of the twentieth century did the author of the essay “On the Duty of Civil Disobedience” fully integrate all, even the most essential, stories of anarchism. Portugal did not escape this trend and the first known reference to Thoreau in the Portuguese libertarian press is from 1977. Keywords: Thoreau; anarchism; libertarian thought O escritor estadunidense Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862), cujo bicentenário de nascimento se celebrou em 2017, não podia, pela idade, pelo ano de nascimento, pelo quadro cultural, fazer parte dum movimento anarquista organizado. Na verdade, um tal movimento só toma lugar, e de forma embrionária, a partir do final da década de 60 do século XIX, depois da criação da Associação Internacional dos Trabalhadores (AIT), em especial no momento em que uma tendência anti-autoritária, assim se designou então, se polarizou https://doi.org/10.5334/as.27 mailto:acvcf@uevora.pt Franco: Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição LibertáriaArt. 15, page 2 of 5 dentro desta associação, nunca antes de 1868, em torno da figura de Miguel Bakunine. Assim se originou uma corrente de grande visibilidade na cultura finissecular europeia e americana, o anarquismo, cuja caracterização exacta, nos seus distintos graus e níveis, está fora do âmbito desta síntese. O que temos antes da década de 60, e Thoreau pela idade e pela época em que deu a lume as suas obras faz parte desse grupo, é um conjunto de pensadores isolados, que na Europa e nos Estados Unidos, quase sempre no desconhecimento uns dos outros, criaram um pensamento político/jurídico inovador e disrup- tivo, quer à direita quer à esquerda da época, marcada a primeira por tendências autoritárias e monocráti- cas e a segunda por inclinações liberais e democráticas. Este pensamento de definição difícil, furtivo que é a esquematizações lineares, contraditório até nas suas muito variadas expressões, apresenta, porém, um denominador comum, capaz de funcionar como uma identidade (embora instável): a novidade de socializar a política e a riqueza, retirando-as das mãos do Estado ou dos monopólios e entregando-as à sociedade e ao indivíduo. Pela ousadia das ideias, pela firmeza dos escritos, mas também pela aura de escritor e de panfletário vigoroso que marcou larga influência nas gerações mais novas, gerando uma admiração sem limite em figuras mais jovens, entre elas Bakunine, Baudelaire, Tolstoi, que lhe deve o título da sua epopeia, Guerra e Paz, Flaubert, Antero ou Eça de Queiroz, que o citou e parafraseou na Conferência do Casino Lisbonense, destaca-se entre todos Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1809–1865), o primeiro que reabilitou de forma positiva e dinâmica, logo em 1840, na introdução ao seu livro O que é a propriedade?, a palavra “anarquia”. Seria esta a primeira profissão de fé anarquista, que depois desenvolveu e alargou num livro já final, que pode ser avaliado como o seu testamento de ideias, Do princípio federativo (1863), que tanto significado veio a ter no surgimento da tendência anti-autoritária dentro da AIT. Assinale-se ainda a boa recepção das utopias coop- erativistas de Robert Owen (1771–1858) junto dos transcendentalistas americanos – Emerson e Margaret Fuller – e que por sua vez abriu caminho a uma recepção imediata das teorias económicas de Proudhon em solo americano, de Lysander Spooner a Benjamin Tucker, num tópico de grande pertinência mas que carece um estudo autónomo deste. As décadas de 40 e de 50 do século XIX foram fecundas em escritores e pensadores que, perto ou longe, nos Estados Unidos ou na Europa, seguiram itinerário paralelo e idêntico ao do grande mestre francês e se bateram por uma ideia política que deixava de lado o governo do Estado, insistindo na nociva inutilidade deste e na capacidade de auto-governo da sociedade, transferindo assim o princípio de soberania do povo (ou de Deus) para o indivíduo. Basta apontar esse caso curioso que se chama Anselme Bellagarrigue, de quem pouco se sabe, a não ser que, regressado dos Estados Unidos em 1848, admirador confesso de Thomas Paine e de William Godwin (de quem logo em 1796, três anos após a edição inglesa, se editou nos Estados Unidos uma edição do Political Justice), publicou em Paris, no quadro da revolução contra a monarquia de Luís Filipe, um jornal de nome fulminante, A Anarquia – jornal da ordem, que apresentava como legenda a desarmante frase, “a anarquia é a ordem; o governo é a guerra civil”. Daí talvez um pensador anarquista actual como Normand Baillargeon – canadiano de língua francesa – ter usado como título para a sua interessante e sintética história das ideias libertárias o seguinte título: L’ordre moins le pouvoir [A ordem menos o poder]. Pela idade, pelo espírito, pela obra escrita que legou ao futuro, Thoreau faz parte desta cintilante con- stelação de escritores, publicistas, panfletários, conferencistas e pensadores que na transição da primeira metade do século XIX para a segunda metade levaram a peito renovar as ideias político-sociais, passando ao lado de, ou melhor, deixando para trás as principais escolas de pensamento político-jurídico então em voga. Estranhos embora a qualquer movimento e a qualquer organização, são eles, na verdade, os fundadores daquilo que se chama anarquismo e é no seu pensamento que se encontram as raízes da moderna tradição libertária, das quais resultaram as muitas e variadas escolas que ao longo das décadas foram dando braçadas e ramos a esta árvore hoje frondosa e de avantajado porte. Thoreau viveu uma vida curta e deixou uma obra escassa, que se veio todavia a revelar de grande signifi- cado, quer para o ulterior desenvolvimento das ideias e das práticas libertárias, quer para uma literatura norte-americana ainda na adolescência e que aí encontraria um dos pilares estruturantes do seu imaginário. O seu texto mais conhecido e com certeza o mais decisivo no âmbito que aqui nos importa, Do dever de desobediência civil [Resistance to Civil Government (1849)], palestra inicialmente proferida na sua cidade natal, Concord, no Massachusetts, em 1848, e publicada no ano seguinte numa antologia de Elisabeth Peabody, foi gizado a partir dum motivo autobiográfico. Retirado desde 1845 numa cabana por si construída em Walden, nos arredores de Concord, Thoreau recusou, por imperativo moral, pagar os seus impostos no ano de 1846, atitude que lhe valeu o cárcere. Apresentou então como razão para a sua recusa o destino do seu dinheiro: financiar um sistema abjecto e um governo injusto, se não corrupto, que aceitava a escravatura e empreendia uma guerra desumana contra o México. Franco: Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária Art. 15, page 3 of 5 Fundado neste episódio autobiográfico, Thoreau, através dum estilo eloquente e interpelante, pensa a relação do indivíduo com o governo e do governo com a sociedade. A divisa de Jefferson, ou que pelo menos lhe é por vezes atribuída, “o melhor governo é o que menos governa” [the government is best which governs the least] é aceite com entusiasmo e desenvolvida até se tornar: “that government is best which governs not at all” (Thoreau, Collected 217). Este anti-estatismo – “I quietly declare war with the State”, diz ele no ensaio de 1849 (Thoreau, Collected 219) –, com o perecimento natural do governo de Estado, é uma meta ideal, à qual se chegará inevitavelmente através da vontade de todos e a colaboração de cada um, mas só no futuro, à imagem do que sucede no texto político clássico de Godwin, Political Justice, que foi com certeza a sua fonte de inspiração. Thoreau aceita, porém, que no imediato o que importa é estabelecer o melhor governo possível. Que governo é este? O que aceita a dissidência jurídica do indivíduo, dando-lhe um alto grau de soberania individual e reconhecendo-lhe o direito a viver à margem, que um mau governo, um governo autoritário, não permite, tratando os seres humanos como um rebanho e obrigando-os ao cumprimento rígido das leis e das normas, mesmo as mais iníquas, o que se torna do ponto de vista do autor uma forma de escravização humana e razão bastante para o afastamento, a dissidência ou desobediência do ser humano moral, preocupado com a justiça e a liberdade. Daí o passo do seu ensaio, hoje universalmente famoso, em que indica que sob um governo que prende injustamente o lugar do homem justo é a prisão – “Under a government which imprisons unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison” (Thoreau, Collected 213). A noção de “desobediência civil”, que parece ter antecedentes no ensaio de Étienne de la Boëtie, A servidão voluntária, e pode também aqui ter como fonte mais próxima Godwin, que foi a ponte entre a tradição humanista anterior e a do mundo moderno, é encarada por Thoreau como uma arma colectiva. Justamente célebre é a passagem do seu discurso, que tanto marcaria o Gandhi da década de 20 quando optou pela não- cooperação, pelo boicote e pela desobediência civil em massa, em que ele, Thoreau, assinala que bastariam 1000 homens determinados a não pagarem impostos para fazerem uma revolução pacífica, derrubarem um governo e pararem uma guerra tão injusta e desumana como a do México. O ditame da recusa de obedecer a um governo que não permite a dissidência ou a objecção e que se empenha em violentar outros povos através da guerra ou em violentar a consciência moral do indivíduo mantendo regras moralmente inacei- táveis como as do esclavagismo acaba por pôr em causa a eficácia da ciência política contemporânea de Thoreau. Não menos indelével é o passo final do grande ensaio de 1848 em que o autor se interroga se a democracia, tal como a conhecemos será mesmo a última palavra em termos de governo. A resposta é não. A democracia tal como existe, quer dizer, fruto das instituições políticas estadunidenses e das ideias francesas setecentistas, é apenas um fragmento, um esboço primário e imperfeito daquilo que é possível e desejável conceber e concretizar. A democracia pode ser aperfeiçoada no sentido da soberania individual, matriz da identidade libertária, o que está de acordo com a ideia que no início do ensaio ele avançou – o melhor governo é o auto-governo. Outros textos de Thoreau podiam aqui corroborar estas linhas fortes do seu ensaio mais sólido e desenvolvido. O mais conhecido, “Um apelo a favor do capitão John Brown” [A Plea for Captain Brown, 1859], é menos um afinamento ou uma evolução das noções antes criadas a partir da experiência autobi- ográfica vivida no Concord que uma tentativa de as aplicar a uma tragédia, a de John Brown, um dissidente com um perfil moral acima de qualquer suspeita e que por desobediência às leis fora condenado à forca. Tendo empreendido uma enérgica acção directa visando os potentados escravocratas, Brown encarnava a desobediência civil tal como Thoreau a teorizara. Daí o veemente apelo que fez para lhe salvar a vida, no que não foi bem sucedido. Mas talvez o texto mais significativo do ponto de vista que aqui nos move seja “A vida sem princípio(s)” [Life without Principle, 1863], em que o problema moral toca a sua tensão máxima e em que a ideia duma vida gratuita, vivida para os prazeres mais simples e humildes, parece ser a expressão literal do que espontaneamente, literalmente até, a anarquia é – a vida sem princípio (nem fim). A palavra anarquia, a não confundir com “acracia”, quer dizer à letra “sem princípio”. A recepção de Thoreau nos Estados Unidos, se não foi quase imediata, foi ao menos progressiva e as suas ideias acabaram por ser bem recebidas até aos dias de hoje entre minorias activas e expressivas. Embora inspiradas de forma directa na experiência de Gandhi na Índia, é de crer que as grandes campanhas pelos direitos civis dum Luther King no início da segunda metade do séc. XX não fossem o que foram se não tives- sem beneficiado muito do reconhecimento que um Thoreau e em especial a sua noção de “desobediência civil” já então gozavam junto da população estadunidense. O mesmo se poderá dizer da obra de Emma Goldman, não obstante a forte influência nela duma tradição libertária europeia. Já a penetração das ideias de Thoreau na Europa foi mais demorada e espaçada, com ausências e hiatos, se bem que um sábio tão empenhado e desinteressado como Max Nettlau (1865–1945), que alguém chamou o Heródoto da anarquia, tivesse tido contacto directo com as ideias do grande solitário norte-americano logo no início do século XX, Franco: Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição LibertáriaArt. 15, page 4 of 5 manifestando por elas grande apreço e simpatia e integrando-as na monumental história do anarquismo a que dedicou as últimas décadas da sua vida e de que uma síntese viu a luz no final da década de 20. Lá se encontra um curioso e bem documentado capítulo dedicado ao “espiritualismo libertário americano” do século XIX em que se diz de Thoreau: “A mais bela figura deste meio é, do ponto de vista libertário, Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862), autor de Walden: my life in the woods (1854) e do célebre ensaio ‘On the duty of civil disobedience’ (1849)” (Nettlau, 2008: 72–73). Não obstante a enorme recepção que a obra de Nettlau teve nos meios anarquistas europeus das primeiras décadas do século XX, o seu caso não significou a entrada imediata das ideias de Thoreau no património libertário europeu. Foi preciso esperar pela segunda metade do século XX para Thoreau sedimentar de forma definitiva neste cabedal. Talvez o caso de Henri Arvon seja representativo. Quando escreveu a primeira síntese sobre as ideias e as práticas libertárias para a colecção “que sais-je”, L’anarchisme (1951), e o livro foi escrito e seguramente pensado na segunda metade da década de 40, não consagrou a mais pequena alusão aos ensaios e à figura de Thoreau. No final da década de 70 Arvon interessou-se pelas novas ideias libertárias que estavam a surgir em torno da obra de Murray Rothbard, o libertarianismo e o anarco-capitalismo, e encontrou Thoreau, a quem passou a dedicar larga atenção, nunca mais deixando de o referir e estudar nos múltiplos trabalhos que ainda dedicou ao assunto. Não há hoje história do anarquismo, nos dois lados do Atlântico, que não contemple e acarinhe a figura e a obra de Thoreau. O caso português decalca o que acabamos de dizer. Se bem que Nettlau fosse então conhecido entre nós e desde o início da década de 30 existisse em Espanha uma tradução acessível da sua síntese historiográfica, as alusões a Thoreau são entre nós tardias. Nas mais representativas publicações libertárias portuguesas das primeiras décadas do século XX não se dão conta de referências a Thoreau ou às suas ideias. O investigador António Baião1 fez a meu pedido uma pesquisa exaustiva em revistas como Germinal e Sementeira e no jor- nal diário A Batalha, órgão da Confederação Geral do Trabalho, e dentro dele no seu suplemento ilustrado semanal, e ainda na bela revista Renovação que este jornal publicava, não encontrando em qualquer deles o nome de Thoreau ou o das suas obras. Conquanto o jornal tenha consagrado atenção às lutas anti-coloniais gandhianas da década de 20, a expressão “desobediência civil” é surpreendentemente rara de encontrar.2 Mesmo tendo ficado ainda por peneirar algumas publicações importantes, como A Aurora (Porto, 1910–19; 397 n.º) e A Comuna (Porto, 1920–27; 276 n.º), já que a imprensa libertária portuguesa foi neste período numerosíssima e variada – João Freire e Maria Alexandre Lousada só em Lisboa e apenas para o primeiro terço do século seleccionaram 53 títulos (Freire e Lousada 130–138) – não cremos que a pesquisa final e completa venha alterar, ao menos de forma decisiva, o quadro. Para o virar de página, foi necessário esperar pela segunda metade do século XX, em especial pelos anos 70 e pela Revolução dos Cravos. À revista A Ideia, fundada em Paris em 1973/4 por um desertor da marinha portuguesa, João Freire, coube talvez a primeira alusão a Henry David Thoreau e às suas ideias na imp- rensa libertária portuguesa. O número de estreia da publicação apareceu em Abril de 1974, manifestando logo nesse momento atenção à tradição libertária americana, através de tradução dum trecho de Murray Bookchin, um dos mais heterodoxos libertários da segunda metade do século XX. No seu número 9, Outono de 1977, consagrado às relações da ecologia com a anarquia, a revista apresenta uma página dedicada ao pensador e activista da desobediência civil, uma curta nota biográfica não assinada mas da autoria de Maria Teresa Campos Silva, com retrato à pena alusivo à sua figura, também não assinado, mas da autoria de Maria Alexandre Lousada, já então ligada à revista. O autor de Walden é dado como exemplo maior da luta do ser humano “contra todas as formas de poder” e as suas ideias encaradas como um contributo decisivo à formação e ao desenvolvimento do anarquismo de sentido individualista, o que nos parece certeiro, mesmo tendo em conta que lhe coube a ele, até antes de Tolstoi, conceber e testar pela primeira vez métodos de resistência social, como a recusa em pagar impostos e integrar exércitos ou instituições moralmente lesivas, que se tornariam no século seguinte nas mãos de Gandhi portentosas armas de combate colectivo. Conflito de interesses A autora não tem conflito de interesses a declarar. 1 Exaro aqui a minha gratidão a António Baião pelas informações prestadas. 2 A expressão surge uma única vez no artigo de A Batalha «A situação na India: O impôsto sobre o sal» (2), muito embora já anteri- ormente um outro relato, «O congresso pan-hindu», tivesse referido a «política de desobediência» (1). Ressalve-se ainda, a título de curiosidade, que anteriormente, durante o período de monarquia parlamentar mais afeto ao Partido Regenerador, a execução de John Brown no final de 1859 mereceu considerável cobertura noticiosa, em tom lamentoso, nos jornais Aurora do Lima, o Diário de Lisboa e o Comércio do Porto, conforme nos dá conta o artigo de Rute Beirante, “Thoreau em Portugal” (44–45). Franco: Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária Art. 15, page 5 of 5 Referências Arvon, Henri. L’anarchisme au XXème siècle. Presses Universitaire de France, 1979. Arvon, Henri. L’anarchisme. Presses Universitaire de France, 1951. Arvon, Henri. Les libertariens américains – de l’anarchisme individualiste à l’anarcho-capitalisme. Presses Universitaire de France, 1983. “A situação na India: O impôsto sobre o sal”. A Batalha, No. 5, issue 1516, 21 nov. 1923, p. 2. Beirante, Rute. “Thoreau em Portugal: Breve súmula da tradução e receção do autor em Portugal.” Thoreau em Portugal: Resistência Civil | Acordo com a Natureza, org. Margarida Vale de Gato, BNP/CEAUL, 2017, pp. 35–47. Eltzbacher, Paul. O Anarchismo. Tradução de Agostinho Forte, Francisco Luiz Gonçalves, 1909. Freire, João. Anarquistas e operários. Afrontamento, 1992. Freire, João, and Lousada, Maria Alexandre. Roteiros da Memória Urbana, Lisboa – marcas deixadas por libertários e afins ao longo do século XX. Edições Colibri, 2013. “H. D. Thoreau.” Maria Teresa Campos Silva (texto) e Maria Alexandre Lousada (il.), A Ideia 9 (inverno), 1977–1978, s/p. Nettlau, Max. História da anarquia. Organização e introdução de Frank Mintz, Edições Hedra, 2008. “O Congresso Pan-Hindu.” A Batalha, No. 3, issue 922, 21 nov. 1921, p. 1. Préposiet, Jean. História do anarquismo. Tradução de Pedro Elói Duarte, Edições 70, 2007. Proudhon, Pierre-Joseph. Du principe fédératif. Éditions Romillat, 1999. Thoreau, Henry David. A desobediência civil e outros ensaios. Selecção, tradução, prefácio e notas de José Paulo Paes, Editora Cultrix, 1978. Thoreau, Henry David. A desobediência civil. Tradução de Júlio-António Salgueiro, Estúdios Cor, 1972. Thoreau, Henry David. Collected Essays and Poems. Organização de Elizabeth Hall Witherell. Library of America, 2001. Thoreau, Henry David. Uma Vida sem Princípios. Tradução, introdução e notas de Jaime Becerra da Costa, Opera Omnia, 2014. How to cite this article: Franco, António Cândido. “Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 15, 2020, pp. 1–5. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.27 Submitted: 12 November 2019 Accepted: 12 November 2019 Published: 29 January 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Anglo Saxonica is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. OPEN ACCESS https://doi.org/10.5334/as.27 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Conflito de interesses Referências
work_ldnxrrajf5cn7p2izkjzymlq64 ---- Title Ventriloquising the Voice : Writing in the University Author(s) Fulford, Amanda Citation 臨床教育人間学 (2010), 10: 112-122 Issue Date 2010-03-31 URL http://hdl.handle.net/2433/197087 Right Type Departmental Bulletin Paper Textversion publisher Kyoto University Record of Clinical-Philosophical Pedagogy, Vol. 10, 2009 Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University AMANDA FULF ORD Leeds Trinity & All Saints Institute of Education, University of London Until we are capable of serious speech again—i.e., are re-born, are men `[speaking] in a waking moment, to men in their waking moment' (XVIII, 6) - -our words do not carry our conviction, we cannot fully back them, because either we are careless of our convictions, or think we haven't any, or imagine they are inexpressible. They are merely unutterable (Cavell, 1981, p. 34). STUDENT WRITING IN UNIVERSITY In recent years there has been an increase in the number and variety of methods used by universities to support students' writing at undergraduate and at Masters' levels. This is exemplified by more formal study preparation courses at induction, study skills packs and websites, taught courses on academic writing, and the appointment of tutors whose primary role is to support students with the development of academic and study skills. One particular study skills aid has been the writing frame, now used widely to support students in the preparation of summatively assessed written work. (An example is provided in the Appendix.) The writing frame is typically designed by lecturing staff to offer very structured support for their students' writing. The frame often supplies very detailed scaffolding of a particular type of written task, not only in respect of overall structure and organisation, but also with regard to required content in general and in specific terms, and of appropriate elements of language, style and compliance with academic conventions. The increasingly widespread use of writing frames, particularly in schools, tends to be seen as a positive move to encourage reluctant or struggling writers, and the writing frame's more general appeal in the school context lies in its potential to help develop children's confidence with some of the basic aspects of genre, of structuring writing and of enhancing textual cohesion. In the university, the writing frame appears to serve a rather different purpose from that in school contexts. Its use is ineluctably linked to formal student assessment rather than being used, as is generally the case in schools, as a developmental tool. Where students have been advised, or even required, to use the writing frame in presenting work for grading, the tutor can more easily assess the extent to which the student has complied with the requirements of the assignment. In this way, it is argued, the consistency of assessment decisions is increased, and standardisation of marking is more easily attained, especially in cases where large numbers of © 2010 The Author Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University ''3 assignments are being marked by different tutors. The writing frame typically guides students' work and may merely give simple content headings as prompts. More detailed writing frames perform an additional function and determine students' sentence structure, choice of words and forms of expression through the provision of model sentences from which students make selections or into which they insert the appropriate terms. Such tools, it is often argued, help students to articulate their ideas using an appropriate register and to comply with the more general conventions of writing in academia. The practice of using writing frames has long been established in adult literacy classes to support the development of writing, but more recently has been recognised by England's National Literacy Strategy for schools as a valuable resource for supporting children's writing skills across different curriculum areas (DfEE, 2000). Indeed, inspectorate bodies and curriculum advisors from different sectors of education highlight the use of such supporting strategies and applaud the 'scaffolding' that teachers are able to offer and the differentiation in teaching and assessment that such tools afford. Such initiatives, however, are not limited to European approaches to the teaching of writing. Annemarie Jackson's work in the United States shows how writing frames can be used effectively by teachers to model and to support narrative writing as pupils work towards independent composition (Jackson, 2003). The increasing use of the writing frame in the university might be attributed to two key factors. First, recent years have witnessed a shift, particularly in the United Kingdom, from an elite, to a mass higher education system as part of an agenda of widening participation to university education, and in addition a shift to a broader curriculum that includes vocationally oriented courses and programmes of professional training and development. The increasing number of non-traditional university entrants, from culturally, socially and linguistically diverse backgrounds may be one contributory factor in the need some universities perceive to support students in replicating the specific discourses of more traditional forms of academic writing. Some students, indeed, feel an uneasiness in relation to aspects of what is generally considered as 'academic writing'. This is not primarily the result of a lack of confidence, or even ability, with written—as opposed to oral—forms of expression as some may claim, but, as Theresa Lillis' empirical investigations appear to show, is symptomatic of some students' views that academic writing involves a conflict, even a denial of the self (Lillis, 2003). Given these not insignificant changes in the student population, and in light of the time constraints and resource pressures faced by universities, the difficult issue of supporting such student need is indeed a pressing one, and the writing frame appears to offer a desirable mechanism for supporting assessed writing. A second, and perhaps more compelling, reason for the prevalence of writing frames within the university is the culture of performativity that pervades assessment regimes. In many institutions students' work must meet particular learning outcomes in addition to specific assessment criteria. In an education system increasingly driven by market forces, the achievement rates on courses have rarely been subject to such scrutiny, and the need to provide a competitive edge in student support has rarely been so urgent. More significantly, students paying considerable sums of money in tuition fees naturally appear keen to protect their investment and improve the likelihood of their passing assessments through the use of aids specifically designed to help with each written assignment. Writing frames are one way of (-1) 2010 The Author "4 A. Fulford increasing the chance that students' written work is structured appropriately, contains relevant content and conforms to academic conventions, with the result that the likelihood of success, though not guaranteed, is enhanced significantly. But little consideration seems to be given to what type of learning is engendered by the use of the writing frame in a university education. Is such learning in some way artificial, and what might constitute a more authentic academic development? In considering how students are best served in terms of their academic development, attention needs to be drawn to the distinction between the writing frame as a particular manifestation of support for student writing, and other forms of induction to, or assistance with, aspects of academic work that enable, rather than restrict, the possibilities of thought. The approaches that enable students to develop their skills of confident argument in writing, or to defend and refine their ideas in the light of criticism, might rightly be considered as supporting legitimate educational aims in the university, and moreover, what we might call a student's writing voice is developed through learning these very skills. I argue that student writing can be affected detrimentally when it is merely constructed in response to such rigid frames. Moreover, in some cases the whole focus of the assessment appears changed. The use of the writing frame is driven and controlled by the pressures of the assessment. Writing frames seem to offer students an increased chance of success in assessment, and the university the possibility of an increase in student achievement rates. Indeed the writing frame used as a tool to serve to the needs of the assessment process reduces marking to a somewhat simplistic `tick-box' approach, rather than the considered assessment of students' knowledge, understanding, argument or critical thinking in a discipline. Marking of students' work in these cases is merely reduced dimished to an assessment of the extent to which the student has complied with the requirements of the writing frame. In a prevailing educational culture where assessment controls teaching methods to a seemingly ever increasing extent, it is not too bold a statement to say that writing according to the requirements of a frame is seen to be what writing is: indeed in some institutions, it champions what academic writing means. The unease felt by some university staff over the growth in the use of writing frames is partly one of level: what might be appropriate for introducing style and genre to school children or to adults in literacy classes is highly questionable in, for example, a Masters' level university education. To use an analogy from foreign language teaching: the use of student drills that is characteristic of many beginner classes is alien to the authentic speaking required in an advanced class. Just as the language spoken by the beginner level student who repeats the teacher's drill is far removed from what it means to speak a language, so an essay following the restrictive and prescriptive directives of the writing frame is in no way an example of what it means to write in the university. But it is not just an issue of level; the writing frame also raises a second question concerning the degree of support provided. If we imagine some kind of continuum of support for students' writing, where the valuable discussion between lecturer and student on approaching, for example, the essay, a critically reflective account or the writing up of the report, is at one end of the continuum, then the use of of a highly prescribed writing frame clearly sits towards the other end. Whilst this is suggestive of a problem merely of degree, I argue, in ways that will become apparent, that the most detailed forms of the writing frame, increasingly commonly used in the university, represent a qualitative shift of a very significant kind. This © 2010 The Author Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University II5 shift can be signified by a brief consideration of issues of form and content in writing. There is an inescapable and complex intertwining of concepts in any piece of writing, and the form in which such concepts are expressed. Martha Nussbaum elucidates the writer's art as follows: Certain thoughts and ideas, a certain sense of life, reach towards expression in writing that has a certain shape and form, that uses certain structures, certain terms. Just as the plant emerges from the seeded soil, taking its from from the combined character of seed and soil, so the novel and its terms flower from and express the conceptions of the author . . . Conception and form are bound together; finding and shaping words is a matter of finding the appropriate, and so to speak, the honorable, fit between conception and expression (Nussbaum, 1990, pp. 4-5). Advocates of the writing frame might argue that Nussbaum's comments only serve to show the usefulness of such a tool, enabling--they might call it 'empowering'—students to write, to seamlessly unite form and content. But this would be to entirely dismiss what is at the heart of Nussbaum's discussion of the writer's art: that a writer's text is 'fully imagined' and crucially for this discussion, all that makes up a piece of writing (form and content) 'flower from and express the conceptions of the author, his or her sense of what matters' (p. 5). And here is the very root of the problem for the writing frame: that it determines the content of a student's writing, not enabling the expression of her sense of what is important, but another's. Consider for a moment the sonnet and the haiku, both sophisticated poetic forms, each with its own established structural form which the poet follows. But such fauns are not in themselves restrictive, rather they are structures that are enabling, they release the possibility of thought. In contrast, what is most problematic about the writing frame is not particularly that it is a device for establishing structure, but that it is one that in determining content, to use Nussbaum's words, refuses the flowering of the author's expressions and of her sense of what matters; it strips the writer of her power not only as an author, but also as a thinker. VOICE IN EDUCATION Current educational discourses seem preoccupied with the notion of encouraging, developing and providing opportunities for the expression of student voice. As Paul Standish has pointed out, voice here is understood in a highly restricted sense (Standish 2004). The emphasis on voice is one that promotes student participation, be it in the classroom through discussion, or in students' contributions to organisational quality assurance and improvement processes through the completion of, for example, end of course questionnaires where voice is synonymous with the opinions of the customer, with gaining feedback, with individual student self-expression, and with the importance of hearing the voice of the hitherto silenced learner. This is evidenced in the proliferation of assignments that require such tasks as completing a learning biography; developing and maintaining a personal development portfolio; keeping a reflective learning diary, or of writing a critically reflective account of one's professional practice. Indeed, in education, self-expression, often termed 'reflective practice', has become something of a broadly unquestioned mantra. Such emphasis on self-expression can tend towards narcissism and a 2010 The Author Ii6 A. Fulford limited view of the individual as self-contained, as in some way attained, and therefore capable of voicing self-expression in an unproblematic fashion. Voice understood merely as self- expression, celebrates the finding, recognition and acknowledgement of the self without any sense of journeying towards that self that is characteristic of Emersonian moral perfectionism, or indeed of the role of the other in the perception of the self. Voice in education is often used with reference to the practices of writing shared by the academic community across a number of subject disciplines. Writing can be highly prescribed within many traditions, not only in a limited number where the rhetorical and linguistic structures are, arguably, most easily identified. The writing frame is prized in higher education because it is seen as a tool for the development of voice in writing. But Paul Stapletons's work (2002) highlights the problem with approaches to writing that give disproportionate emphasis to `voice' in relation to the actual content of the work. And this is the intractable problem of the most detailed forms of the writing frame when used in the university. Marketed as a tool of developing a student's academic voice, it not only determines style and structure, perhaps in a way that is useful for some students, but also the content and the very thrust of the argument itself. It is prescription not only of what might be said, but also of what can and must be said. If student voice is understood as the expression of an individual's grappling with the problems in her subject and her exploration of these through her writing such that the result is, to use Nussbaum's words, the expression of the 'author's sense of what matters', then the writing frame denies the very voice that it promises. The writing frame, therefore, gives voice not to the student, but to its author's interpretation of the perceived rules of the discipline in relation to how, and what, knowledge is presented and therefore privileged. Theresa Lillis' work illustrates how students' writing seems engaged with what amounts to a mere 'reproduction of official discourses' (Lillis, 2003, p. 193). She attempts to show that these practices are found particularly in much pedagogy of academic writing, because they recognise and aim to reproduce only certain powerful discourses, whilst denying voice to others. This often unthinking conformity with epistemological and textual conventions in academic writing—a conformity that is an inherent risk of the writing frame—leads to a form of academic voicelessness. In challenging what she terms ̀ monologic', though Emerson might call 'conformist', practices in education, Lillis draws on Bakhtin to argue strongly for a more dialogic approach to the pedagogy of academic writing, and for the bringing together of different discourses to create hybrid texts. There is a danger here, though, that Lillis' approach, with its emphasis on discussion and negotiation of assignment content, her desire for student writing to be open to what she terms 'external interests and influences' (p. 204) leading to hybrid texts as new ways to 'construct meaning', might lead to what Standish refers to as 'a kind of tokenism of expres sion' (Standish, 2004, p. 104). The so-called development of student voice using tools such as a writing frame, I argue, lead to a kind of voicelessness. It is as if the means by which the voice is developed can actually reinforce a state of voicelessness. The point to be made here is that the writing frame, a tool of academic voice tuition, has the potential—especially in the university —to repress thinking and to result in a state of academic voicelessness. The very idea of a writing frame embodies not only the authorised, monologic nature of much knowledge in some academic disciplines, but also reinforces accepted ways of its expression and presentation. The performative culture in higher education that embraces the use of such aids leads to the silencing © 2010 The Author Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University i 17 of the student and to formulaic learning that amounts to a faking of education itself. VOICE AND PHILOSOPHY In exploring here a richer sense of how student voice in writing might be understood, I draw on the understandings of the term that have been pursued in Stanley Cavell's philosophical writing. Voice as textually mediated pronouncement or enactment, a form of self-expression in writing, is highlighted by Timothy Gould in his exploration of the concept in what he calls the method of Stanley Cavell's philosophy. For Gould, voice is a necessary condition of human expression (though is neglected and repressed by certain forms of philosophy): 'I learned to hear the question of the voice as epitomizing an entire region of questions about the means by which human beings express themselves and the depth of our need for such expression' (Gould, 1998, p. xv). Cavell's writing, its intricacies; it deliberate obfuscations; the breadth of its literary and film allusions; its ploys to slow the reader down; in sum, its style, is his philosophical project, the expression of his voice. In what follows, I want to explore voice somewhat differently, as a notion that incorporates aspects of personal expressiveness, writing style, as authenticity, but also as a more complex term that is concerned with the person an individual is; with her having a language; the relationships she has with her community; her responsibility to her language and her society, that is, her responsibility to say what she means. It is voice understood in these terms that is at risk of being silenced in the university. Voicelessness and Conformity With the use of a rigid frame, writing takes on the literal meaning of composition, that is, of putting together. But the far richer sense of composition, which involves a crafting of language, is lost. Let me offer the following analogy. Suppose a cabinet maker, a master craftsman, were creating a bespoke piece of furniture, the end product would be unique, and, upon inspection, the hand tooled joints, the marks of the plane, the depth of polish, would all be evident. This would be, however, a very different piece of furniture from the shop-bought, flat packed, ready to assemble piece that contains all the necessary elements, together with clear instructions for the order of assembly. Perhaps the idea of an apprentice here would be a useful one, especially as the origin of the word lies in its meaning as 'someone leaming'—apprentis, as distinct from `someone being taught' . Moreover, Heidegger states that the work of the teacher is more difficult than that of the learner, because 'what teaching calls for is this: to let learn' (Heidegger, 1968, p. 15). For Heidegger, the craft of the apprentice is not learned by gathering knowledge or by repeated practice only. Stanley Cavell, in discussing Heidegger's What is Called Thinking, makes a similar point when he quotes from Emerson: "'Truly speaking, it is not instruction, but provocation, that I can receive from another soul." What translation will capture the idea of provocation here as calling forth, challenging?' (Cavell, 1990, pp. 37-38). What is more important, wherein lies true learning, is in developing a response to the different woods and to `the shapes slumbering within them' . Surely the crafting of language is no different. This is (rD' 2010 The Author 118 A. Fulford suggestive of the apprentice recognising the possibilities of the wood in the same way as the student releasing the possibilities of thought in her writing. What is needed in the pedagogy of academic writing is not an approach that merely leads to unthinking observance, but the facilitation of student voice that recognises the importance of crafting, and of artistry. This is not a requirement for endless creativity; rather it is a moving away from the prevalent idea of the assignment with its rigid criteria that can be measured, to consider again the essay with its roots in essayer, to attempt or endeavour. Whilst the craftsman and apprentice analogy illustrates the expression of individual voice, Cavell is also concerned with the political, the community's voice, and he finds richer senses of this in readings of Ralph Waldo Emerson and of Henry David Thoreau. Whilst Emerson rejects conformity in favour of self-reliance, this is no mere individualism; conformity is a threat to democratic society, but self- reliant individuals benefit society, its religion, arts and culture. Non-conformity, characterised by aversive thinking, reminds us of Thoreau's description of thinking as being: 'beside ourselves in a sane sense' (Thoreau, 1854/1999, p. 123). 'Writing', Cavell claims, 'is the aversion of conformity, is a continual turning away from society, hence a continual turning toward it, as if for reference . . . One might call this process of writing deconformity' (Cavell, 1996, p. 66). Recovery of Voice If a student's voice has been repressed by the educational practices of academic writing to which she is subject, how might he recovery of voice be characterised? First, what is required is an initiation into language as it were, that previously has been blocked or frustrated for the student by particular educational practices. This is not an easy, once for all event, but rather part of an ongoing relationship with words that Thoreau describes as being our father tongue. Acquiring the father tongue is characterised by a finding of ones's own way rather than by an unthinking reliance on the monlogues imposed by others. Finding one's own voice, indeed one's own way, is part of the teaching of Thoreau's Walden: 'I desire that there be as many different persons in the world as possible; but I would have each one be careful to find out and pursue his own way, and not his father's or his mother's or his neighbor's instead' (Thoreau, 1854/1999, p. 65). Second, as Cavell highlights from his readings of a genre of 1940s Hollywood film that he terms the 'Melodramas of the Unknown Woman' the recovery of (a woman's) voice from the monologues of a man, is through a form of conversation with another, a turning away from one form of language to embrace another. In the films, Cavell highlights the role of the other involved in this conversation as crucial for the recovery of voice (Cavell, 1996, 2004). I want to argue that in the university, the tutor is the 'other' who initiates the conversation that develops the student's voice in her writing. LESSONS FOR THE PEDAGOGY OF ACADEMIC WRITING What, then, does all this imply for the pedagogy of academic writing and for what it is to write in the university? One significant point is that writing frames, particularly in their most detailed forms, may well deny the student voice that they aim to facilitate because they stifle the release CO 2010 The Author Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University 1.9 of the possibilities of thought in writing through their prescription of content as well as structure. A further point is that student voice in academic writing cannot be forced through a tool such as a writing frame, for to do this is to subject students to a form of ventriloquism. Writing frames facilitate an easy and unquestioning reliance on established traditional forms, that can be a path to mere conformity. The development of voice for the student is through a process of initiation into the father tongue, into a form of language that may have been claimant and suppressed by academic practices such as the writing frame. But just as Thoreau's father tongue is an ongoing process, one of growth, of daily observance, so is the development of student voice. The discussions in this paper have implications for both the student and the academic writing tutor. If the student is truly to find voice, in whatever discipline she studies, then she must see this not as something merely 'acquired' through the mastery of technical skills. Just as the apprentice to the master craftsman watches and is aware of all the skill and artistry that comprise a unique piece of furniture, and as Thoreau's reader develops an understanding that she must find her own way of accounting for her life and language, so the student, embarking on academic writing should avoid thinking that the acquisition and demonstration of a limited number of techniques is the end of a journey. A student needs to recognise not only the denial of her voice and the denial of herself, but also the enormity of what the journey to recovery of her voice will entail. Curricula for academic writing must surely deal seriously with what Cavell terms the `grown-up social state of deafness to one's voices' (Cavell, 1994, p. 35). Recognition of, to use Emerson's term, the 'unattained self, is indeed 'a step in attaining it' (Cavell, 1990, p.12), and the process of its attainment, 'something we repetitively never arrive at, but rather, . . . a process of moving to, and from, nexts' (ibid.). Lillis calls for a re-examination of what knowledge is privileged in academia, and for the inclusion in student writing of different discourses to foreground the students' own experiences of the world. Whilst this might succeed in altering the tenor of students' academic writing in a limited fashion, what Cavell draws attention to in his discussion of writing philosophy, is to its nature as `autobiographizing, deriving words from yourself (Cavell, 1994, p. 41). Should this not also be a characteristic of academic writing, the kind that promotes students' self reliance, develops their autonomy as writers and which recognises their ongoing acquisition of the father tongue? The recovery of voice involves a readiness to be receptive to the new, to depart from settled ways of thinking or writing, to use Thoreau's celebrated pun, to embrace both 'mourning' and `morning' . Such a mourning, a leaving of some words behind, is necessary in order to aspire to others and be found by others. This aspect of the recovery and development of voice is notably absent from Lillis' discussions. Whilst she demonstrates successfully that students feel voiceless in the face of the academic writing practices and assessment requirements of many universities, her proposed solutions at best offer only a temporary outlet for self-expression at a given moment in time, and risk the very prescription and performativity of certain forms of academic writing which her design approach was intended to overcome. If the denial of voice is a denial of the self, then the recovery of voice is a finding of the self and the expression of voice a continual process of re-finding one's self. Any curriculum for academic writing should recognise the denial of the self that mere mastery learning suggests, and the ongoing possibilities for the creation of the self that voice coaching affords. The continual creation of the self, through the development of voice, is, for Cavell, akin to a re-birth; not a physical experience, but a re-birth © 2010 The Author 120 A. Fulford into language, into 'serious speech', that is, into the father tongue. This is suggestive of a different and compelling notion of voice, one that speaks loudly to the academic community: voice is not something that can, or should, be taught and learned through an aid such as a writing frame, but rather developed as an expression of the worded nature of our individual and political lives. NOTE 1. Cavell (1996, p. 3) identifies the following films as representative of the genre: Stella Dallas (1937) Now Voyager (1942) and Gaslight (1944). REFERENCES Cavell, S. (1981) The Senses of Walden (San Francisco, North Point Press). Cavell, S. (1990) Conditions Handsome & Unhandsome: The Constitution of Emersonian Moral Perfectionism (Chicago, The University of Chicago Press). Cavell, S. (1994) A Pitch of Philosophy: Autobiographical Exercises (Cambridge, Harvard University Press). Cavell, S. (1996) Contesting Tears: The Hollywood Melodrama of the Unknown Woman (Chicago, The University of Chicago Press). Cavell, S. (2004) Cities of Words: Pedagogical Letters on a Register of the Moral Life (Cambridge, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press). Department for Education & Employment (DfEE) (2000) The National Literacy Strategy: Grammar for Writing (DfEE0107/2000 London, DfEE). Gould, T. (1998) Hearing Things: Voice and Method in the Writing of Stanley Cavell (Chicago, The University of Chicago Press). Heidegger, M. (1968) What is Called Thinking (New York, Harper & Row). Jackson, A. (2003) Narrative Writing Instruction for Primary Grades: A Project Using Writing Frames, Cue Words and Sentence Starters (unpublished MSc dissertation, Connecticut State University). Lillis, T. (2003) Student Writing as 'Academic Literacies': Drawing on Bakhtin to Move from Critique to Design, Language and Education, 17.3, pp. 192-207. Nussbaum, M., (1990) Love's Knowledge: Essays on Philosophy and Literature (Oxford, Oxford University Press). Standish, P. (2004) In Her Own Voice: Convention, Conversion, Criteria, Educational Philosophy & Theory, 36.1, pp. 91-106. Stapleton, P., (2002) Critiquing Voice as a Viable Pedagogical Tool in L2 Writing: Returning the Spotlight to Ideas, Journal of Second Language Writing, 11, pp. 177-190. Thoreau, H. D (1854/1999) Walden (Oxford, Oxford University Press). © 2010 The Author Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University I 21 ************** Appendix Writing Frame for Final Assessment of BA in Education: Introduction to Research—year 1 Core Module This frame provides a structure for your consideration of the issues raised by planning to undertake a piece of small scale empirical research. Following the guidelines below will enable you to meet the module learning outcomes. You should note the headings and detail required against which you will be assessed: 1. Introduction (200 words) Identification of research question or hypothesis 1.1 Introduce your questions. E.g. 'This small scale study proposes to answer the following question(s): . . ' 1.2 Description of context for the research (national or regional policy/organisational) E.g. `This research is of current importance in the field of . . . because of . . . 2. Justification of approach to the research (400 words) 2.1 State your broad approach to the study: is it interpretive or positivist? 2.2 Situate your research within the field. Answer the following questions: (i) Is this an entirely new field of research? If not, what distinctive approach are your taking (methodologically; with your sample; with data analysis?); (ii) What existing research is there in your field—historical and current? E.g. 'Although research has been carried out in this area over the last . . . years (give citations), the most current work is being undertaken by . . . (give citations).' 2.3 Justification of why the research fits into one of the categories—or how it crosses the boundaries E.g. 'Although this research will be of a broadly qualitative nature as it will use . . . as its main data collection method, the use of . . . demonstrates that quantitative data will also be considered because . . . 3. Description of and justification for proposed research method(s) (1000 words) 3.1 Justification for the choice of research method or methods 3.2 Describe each method in turn. Answer the following questions (i) What does the literature say are the advantages of your method(s) for the kind of question(s) you are posing? Give citations to texts from the indicative reading list; (ii) What other methods might you have chosen, and why did you reject them? 3.3 Analysis of any issues of triangulation. What kind of triangulation will you use (methodological triangulation? participant triangulation? triangulation in analysis?) Why? 3.4 In this section you should also cover: © 2010 The Author 122 A. Fulford • internal validity of the method(s); reliability of the method(s) • a discussion of population and justification for the size of the sample • method (s) of sampling (random, purposive, stratified?) Discuss the effect of the sample and sampling method on the data 4. Ethical issues (300 words) 4.1 To introduce this section, define ethics within the research process. (use citations and/or quotes from the module notes). Show knowledge of the various guidelines affecting educational research—e.g. BERA guidelines. 4.2 Show how you would approach ethical issues in your research. Answer the following questions: (i) How would you gain institutional ethical clearance? (ii) how would you gain informed consent? (iii) What measures would you put in place to ensure participant confidentiality? Ensure that you append copies of your documentation as appendices to your work. 4.3 In this section you should also cover: • Ethical issues in the collection of data (you should take a position on taping and video taping participants; what are the advantages/disadvantages of taping and transcribing over taking notes?) • Ethical issues in the writing up of data (for example, participant editing) • Storage of data, access to and destruction of data • Power relationships in the research process 5. Data analysis (400 words) 5.1 For each type of data you collect, include a section on how you will analyse it. Specify the process of data analysis (make reference the relevant literature covered in the module). In particular, cover the following areas: • Consideration of ICT versus manual methods • How you will deal with anomalies in your data • Critical discussion of your own positionality and its effects on the data analysis process • Generalisability (external validity) of the data and issues of demographics 5.2 Remember to relate this section to work that has already been done in your field. E.g. `Whilst the studies undertaken by . . . and . . . (citations) focussed on . . . in the data analysis process, my plan is to . . . because . . 6. Conclusion (200 words) 6.1 You must show awareness of the difficulties that can arise in the research process and of the cyclical, rather than linear, nature of much educational research. Answer the following questions: (i) How might you need to adapt your research plans? (ii) How might funding of your research or institutional commissioning affect your plans? How might timescales affect your plans? How might the research be developed given additional resources? © 2010 The Author
work_lgzrfryyxngxbdlpld4eorem34 ---- Dictionnaire des personnages du roman quebecois. 200 personnages des origines a 2000, and: Le Quebec et l'ailleurs. Apercus culturels et litteraires, and: D'autres reves. Les ecritures migrantes au Quebec. Actes du Seminaire international de Venise (15-16 octobre 1999), and: Les etudes quebecoises a l'etranger. Problemes et perspectives (review) Dictionnaire des personnages du roman quebecois. 200 personnages des origines a 2000, and: Le Quebec et l'ailleurs. Apercus culturels et litteraires, and: D'autres reves. Les ecritures migrantes au Quebec. Actes du Seminaire international de Venise (15-16 octobre 1999), and: Les etudes quebecoises a l'etranger. Problemes et perspectives (review) Paula Banks University of Toronto Quarterly, Volume 74, Number 1, Winter 2004/2005, pp. 113-119 (Review) Published by University of Toronto Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:00 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/utq.2005.0054 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/180487 https://doi.org/10.1353/utq.2005.0054 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/180487 sciences humaines 113 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 Par ailleurs, l�appareil de notes est très développé; toutes les personnes nommées ou à peu près ont droit à une note de bas de page, ce qui rend la lecture aisée. Cependant, ces notes n�expliquent pas toujours le contexte immédiat de certaines lettres, contexte perdu après un siècle pour le commun des mortels. Ainsi, dans les lettres 275–277, Conan s�élève contre le désir d�élever un monument à Rodolphe Forget à Saint-Irénée (Malbaie). Est-ce parce qu�il est contre la conscription ? parce qu�il boit trop ? Elle semble indiquer un méfait très grave, qui rend ridicule l�érection d�un monument. Le monument sera élevé et le lecteur qui n�est pas spécialiste de l�époque ne saura pas pourquoi. Somme toute, le volumineux J�ai tant de sujet de désespoir se révélera certainement une manne pour les chercheurs, moins pour la qualité littéraire de la correspondance que pour ce qu�elle laisse entrevoir d�une femmes de lettres, du réseau qui a permis la publication de son �uvre et d�une époque entièrement investie par le religieux. (NICOLE CÔTÉ) Georges Desmeules et Christiane Lahaie, Dictionnaire des personnages du roman québécois. 200 personnages des origines à 2000 Québec, L�instant même, 328 p., 24,95$ Le Québec et l�ailleurs. Aperçus culturels et littéraires, s. la dir. de Robert Dion Études francophones de Bayreuth/Bayreuther Frankophonie Studien, vol. 5 Bremen, Palabres Editions, 2002, 164 p. D�autres rêves. Les écritures migrantes au Québec. Actes du Séminaire international de Venise (15–16 octobre 1999), s. la dir. d�Anne de Vaucher Gravili, préface d�Anna Paola Mossetto Venise, Supernova Edizioni, 2000, 185 p. Daniel Chartier, Les études québécoises à l�étranger. Problèmes et perspectives suivi d�une chronologie et d�une liste des centres d�études québécoises Québec, Éditions Nota bene, coll. NB Poche, 110 p., 8,95$ Voici un titre stimulant pour les gens qui s�intéressent à la littérature québécoise, que ce soit des étudiants, des professeurs, voire des lecteurs du grand public. Les auteurs du Dictionnaire des personnages du roman québécois se sont donné pour but un travail quasiment impossible, mais tout à fait passionnant : faire le bilan des personnages littéraires au Québec pendant deux siècles. Projet de longue date (les auteurs disent avoir commencé à y penser dans les années 1980), il s�agissait initialement de regrouper une centaine de personnages « issus de notre littérature nationale ». Desmeules et Lahaie se sont inspirés des travaux d�Ajame et Bruckner (300 héros et personnages 114 lettres canadiennes 2003 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 du roman français, Paris, Balland, 1981) et de Laffont et Bompiani (Dic- tionnaire des personnages littéraires et dramatiques de tous les temps et de tous les pays : poésie, théâtre, roman, musique, Paris, Robert Laffont, 1982). Puisque la littérature québécoise est beaucoup plus jeune que celle de la France et qu�il n�existe évidemment pas autant de « classiques », l�ouvrage de Desmeules et de Lahaie traite naturellement d�un corpus plus restreint. Ils ont d�ailleurs choisi un genre particulier (le roman), une date de com- mencement très spécifique pour le corpus, 1837, soit l�année de publication du premier roman écrit en français au Québec, et une date finale, l�année 2000. Une courte introduction sert à présenter les entrées du Dictionnaire. Les auteurs font un bref commentaire sur le personnage de roman et spécifi- quement sur celui du roman québécois; figures maternelles, paternelles, homosexuelles, historiques, et ainsi de suite. Ensuite, la forme des entrées est discutée : comme dans un dictionnaire typique, la présentation suit une formule logique et économique. On donne le nom propre du personnage (nom de famille, prénom), le titre du roman dans lequel il figure, la date de la première édition de l��uvre dans lequel il figure et le nom de l�auteur. Certains protagonistes sont identifiés par un surnom ou par la simple désignation « anonyme », le cas échéant. La fiche signalétique inclut des informations telles que l�origine ethnique ou nationale, l�âge, les traits physiques et le(s) lieu(x) de résidence. Bien sûr, les données varieront selon le personnage et en fonction des choix narratifs des auteurs. L�exposition, c�est-à-dire le « c�ur » de chaque article, décrit les gestes principaux du personnage ainsi que ses caractéristiques psychologiques et idéologiques. Comme le constatent les auteurs « [i]l s�agit là de données brutes » : ils ne prétendent nullement être exhaustifs; il est plutôt question de tracer une esquisse à partir de laquelle les lecteurs et les lectrices peuvent comprendre et apprécier le rôle et l�importance de ces personnages, autant au sein de leurs histoires que dans la littérature québécoise en général. Alors on se demande qui figure dans ce Dictionnaire ? Il y a, par exemple, Vieux Os du Cri des oiseaux fous; Maude, le personnage éponyme de Suzanne Jacob; Catherine des Chambres de bois; Gregory Franc�ur d�Une histoire américaine; Maria Chapdelaine, Alexandre Chenevert, etc. Des personnages importants n�y figurent pas : La Grande Sauterelle (Pitsé- mine), de Volkswagen blues, peut-être le personnage féminin le plus important dans l��uvre de Jacques Poulin (elle est pourtant mentionnée dans la fiche du protagoniste, Jack Waterman). Et seul Stevens Brown, parmi tous les narrateurs des Fous de Bassan, mérite une fiche indépen- dante. Chaque lecteur ou lectrice de cet ouvrage aura ses propres idées en ce qui concerne les deux cents personnages les plus importants dans l�histoire de la littérature québécoise. Si le personnage en question n�a pas sa propre fiche, il est fort probable que l��uvre dans laquelle il figure est là ou qu�il est mentionné quelque part comme personnage secondaire. sciences humaines 115 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 Le Dictionnaire des personnages du roman québécois renferme en outre trois index (des auteurs, des personnages et des titres) très utiles pour avoir une référence rapide. Cet ouvrage ne prétend nullement remplacer le Dictionnaire des �uvres littéraires du Québec, mais il a bien sa place, car c�est un livre écrit avec passion, offrant des portraits variés qui reflètent à leur tour une culture toujours en évolution, à la fois riche et éclatée. À lire et à garder sous la main. * * * Le cinquième volume dans la série « Études francophones de Bayreuth » a pour thème le Québec, et en particulier la littérature québécoise contem- poraine. Regroupant une bonne dizaine d�articles, Le Québec et l�ailleurs présente les points de vue de plusieurs québécistes et spécialistes dans le domaine de l�altérité. Il est fort difficile de faire un compte rendu adéquat de ces articles, car ils foisonnent tous d�idées riches et intéressantes. Dans son introduction, Robert Dion explique le thème principal qui réunit toutes les études dans le volume, à savoir les diverses formes que prend l�altérité dans la culture et dans la littérature québécoises : l�attirance pour l�ailleurs et pour l�é- tranger, l�ouverture à l�Autre, les rapports tangibles et la représentation. C�est le brassage des populations au Québec, le multiculturalisme, la crise identitaire à la fois chez les Québécois « de souche » et chez les immigrants. Bref, c�est l�importance de la diversité au sein de la culture et de la littérature québécoises. Le premier article, de Robert Major, s�intitule « Au c�ur du continent ». Il s�agit d�une analyse très intéressante des discours sur le fleuve Saint- Laurent, à travers les siècles, dans des écrits aussi divers que les Relations des Jésuites, A Yankee in Canada de Henry David Thoreau et les poèmes de Louis Fréchette. Major étudie le symbolisme du fleuve comme repère, comme frontière et comme ouverture sur l�ailleurs. Dans le deuxième article, « La rhétorique de l�ailleurs dans le récit littéraire québécois », Frances Fortier remarque que la quête d�identité du « nous » collectif est supplantée désormais par celle d�un « je » dans son espace intime. Il est surtout question de l�écriture de l�intime dans cet article. Fortier étudie des textes écrits depuis les années 1980 qui traitent de l�appropriation de l�ailleurs : la présence de plus en plus importante des traductions d��uvres étrangères, des écrivains venus d�ailleurs, et des écrivains québécois écrivant sur l�ailleurs, dont Roch Carrier et Victor-Lévy Beaulieu, par exemple. Elle analyse aussi la polysémie de ce mot « ailleurs ». En fin de compte, comme elle le souligne, il y a aussi un « dépaysement » des genres qui figure au niveau du récit même. L�article de Jósef Kwaterko, « L�imaginaire diasporique chez les romanciers haïtiens du Québec», est une étude du caractère « postnational » 116 lettres canadiennes 2003 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 de la littérature du Québec contemporain. En analysant des �uvres écrites par des auteurs haïtiens comme Dany Laferrière, Kwaterko parle de l�intégration des écrivains francophones venus d�ailleurs et de leur statut d�« autres » au sein de la littérature et de la culture québécoises. Il compare les attitudes par rapport au « pays » chez des écrivains québécois (tels Aquin, Ferron, Godbout) à celles des écrivains haïtiens (dont Etienne, Phelps) et il parle de la « double inadéquation» des personnages, des deux solitudes � celle de la littérature québécoise et celle de la littérature migrante. Enfin, il discute des conséquences de l�entrée de la littérature migrante dans la littérature dite « légitime » au Québec. Marty Laforest, dans « Quelques images indirectes de l�ailleurs. Le discours des Montréalais ordinaires », se sert d�une approche sociolinguis- tique pour étudier l�expérience de l�altérité dans la grande ville multicultu- relle de Montréal. Elle analyse ainsi les « ailleurs rêvés », les « ailleurs goûtés » et les « ailleurs côtoyés ». Les extraits d�interview et l�analyse qui les suit sont fascinants et parfois surprenants. Dans « L�ici et l�ailleurs dans la vie et l��uvre de Gabrielle Roy », Gudrun Föttinger fait l�analyse d�un corpus très spécifique et très bien connu, mais la perspective sur l�altérité est tout à fait nouvelle. En effet, qui pourrait mieux représenter l�altérité que Gabrielle Roy, une écrivaine francophone du Manitoba, accueillie par le Québec comme une des siennes, et d�ailleurs une auteure qui s�est intéressée très tôt aux minorités au Canada. Les détails biographiques de l�auteure sont rapportés pour souligner le dé- veloppement des thèmes du multiculturalisme et de l�altérité dans l��uvre régienne. Dans « Géopolitique ducharméenne », Élisabeth Haghebaert fait une relecture de l��uvre de Réjean Ducharme à la lumière des événements et des changements sociaux survenus depuis la Révolution tranquille. Au moment où Ducharme écrivait, la société québécoise était beaucoup plus homogène. En ce sens, Ducharme était très en avance sur son temps, car l�altérité, la question du rapport à l�Autre, est centrale dans son �uvre. Robert Dion, dans «The Dragonfly of Chicoutimi. Un cas extrême d�hétéro- linguisme ? », étudie une pièce « française » écrite an anglais; l�altérité est au c�ur même de ce paradoxe. Dion analyse ici la cohabitation textuelle des langues, l�hétérolinguisme en tant que métaphore de l�altérité. Selon Dion, le fait français au Québec ne peut être dissocié complètement de l�anglais, ni être complètement monolingue. La question linguistique devient alors identitaire. L�avant-dernier article, « Un caillou dans le soulier nord-américain. Pourquoi les Allemands, à l�égard du Québec, oscillent entre rejet et fascination », de Lothar Baier, renverse la thématique développée dans les articles précédents. Plutôt que de considérer comment le Québec conçoit l�ailleurs, l�auteur se penche sur la façon dont l�ailleurs et spécifiquement les pays de langue allemande voient le Québec. sciences humaines 117 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 Enfin, Sherry Simon (« Trieste ») clôt le volume par une belle « lecture » de la ville italienne de Trieste, par le biais de Maigris, de Svevo et de Joyce. Dans cet endroit se mêlent la « vitalité » et le « désordre » et naît ainsi une sorte d�« idéal ». Comme on le voit bien, ce petit volume renferme des articles dont la richesse et la diversité, ainsi que le thème commun de l�altérité, fascinent, comme c�est d�ailleurs le cas pour la culture et la littérature québécoises. * * * Les Actes du premier Séminaire International du Centro Interuniversitario di Studi Quebecchesi traitent toujours de l�altérité, mais cette fois-ci sous un aspect particulier, à savoir les écritures migrantes. Les thèmes incluent le métissage, la créolisation, la migration, le cosmopolitisme et enfin l�influence des écritures migrantes sur la culture, et vice-versa. Comme l�affirme Anna Paola Mossetto dans sa préface, ces chercheurs et auteurs se sont mis d�accord sur la nécessité de « maintenir dans l�Indéterminé», de relancer constamment le débat sur l�écriture migrante. L�article de Régine Robin s�intitule « Les champs littéraires sont-ils désespérément monolingues ? Les écritures migrantes ». C�est une belle introduction au concept de l�altérité. Robin remarque que le français n�appartient plus à la France, que la langue est nécessairement hybride, plurielle. Il faut noter aussi qu�au Québec la langue n�est pas la culture et que l�écrivain de la migration, tout en partageant le même code linguis- tique, ne peut pas s�y reconnaître. L�écriture hybride relève donc d�une langue à la fois sienne et autre. Robin se penche sur la littérature juive pour faire ses analyses. L�article de Abla Fahroud, « Immigrant un jour, immigrant toujours, ou comment décoller une étiquette ou se décoller de l�étiquette », est rédigé au « je » et offre une perspective tout à fait personnelle, celle de l�auteure migrante elle-même, parlant de ses sentiments et de son point de vue personnel. Au Québec, elle est orientale; à l�étranger, elle est Québécoise. Elle offre des extraits de plusieurs de ses �uvres, dont Jeux de patience, Le bonheur a la queue glissante et Apatride. Fulvio Caccia, dans « Les écritures migrantes entre exotisme et éclec- tisme », considère les écritures immigrantes dans leur contexte mondial; d�ailleurs, le phénomène n�est nullement propre au Québec. Il propose une histoire de la définition de la « littérature nationale » au Québec et parle du rapport entre les écritures migrantes et les concepts de « valeur » et de postmodernité, puis aborde des thèmes spécifiques dont l�exil, l�éclectisme, la révolution, l�inceste et la colonisation, entre autres. Anthony Phelps offre « Variations sur deux mots. Écritures/Migrantes, Migration/Exil». Ses réflexions sur son état d�Haïtien, d�exilé et d�écrivain au Québec mettent en relief la sémantique de ces quatre mots, et ce, de 118 lettres canadiennes 2003 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 manière fascinante : «Écriture : ce qui est figé. Migrante : ce qui bouge ». Son style mi-télégraphique mi-poétique réussit très bien et porte à la réflexion. À savourer. L�écrivain Pan Bouyoucas, dans « De quelle origine est ce personnage ? », parle aussi de ses expériences personnelles, mais de façon tout à fait unique. D�origine grecque, élevé au Liban, Bouyoucas est venu au Québec pour finir ses études. Il parle de ses débuts littéraires et de la façon dont la critique le boudait, semble-t-il, puisqu�il n�était pas Québécois de souche. Il a donc décidé d�écrire sous un pseudonyme. Il parle des « modèles » littéraires au Québec et de son sentiment d�être « un trait d�union planté dans l�île de Montréal ». Dans « Écrivaines migrantes et éthique », Lucie Lequin se penche sur l�écriture des femmes migrantes. Elle souligne que la figure de l�immigré dans la littérature québécoise est en fait antérieure aux années 1980 (pensons à Maria Chapdelaine, au Survenant, à Trente arpents). Lequin fait l�analyse de quatre romans : Un amour maladroit, de Monique Bosco; La dot de Sara, de Marie-Célie Agnant; L�ingratitude, de Ying Chen, et Le bonheur a la queue glissante, d�Abla Farhoud. Dans un seul paragraphe d�une vingtaine de pages, Simon Harel parle de « Mémoires de l�identité, mémoires de l�oubli : formes subjectives de l�écriture migrante au Québec ». Selon Harel, la littérature migrante s�af- firme comme un désir d�échapper à la politique et comme une « déliaison de l�appartenance collective ». Harel analyse le(s) rôle(s) particulier(s) de l�écrivain migrant au sein de la société québécoise. La littérature migrante « a permis de défaire l�unanimité du discours identitaire ». L�ouvrage offre finalement une entrevue : « Pour une nouvelle culture et une langue de la migration. Entretien avec Marco Micone ». L�auteur italo-québécois raconte ses expériences personnelles et offre son point de vue sur les implications culturelles engendrées par le processus d�immigra- tion. Ce volume est très précieux, car il renferme non seulement des écrits théoriques mais également des perspectives quasi autobiographiques d�écrivain(e)s. La cohabitation est parfaite et donne envie d�en lire plus. * * * Daniel Chartier présente encore une autre perspective sur l�altérité ou, si l�on veut, un sujet connexe : il s�agit d�une analyse du développement récent des études québécoises à l�étranger. Comme le titre du livre l�indique, il y a trois volets principaux. La première partie, qui s�intitule « Méthodologie, problèmes et perspectives des études québécoises dans le monde », discute de l�importance de ces nouvelles perspectives « étrangè- res » sur la culture et la société québécoises. En premier lieu, Chartier rappelle l�histoire de l�intérêt des étrangers pour le Québec, soulignant le sciences humaines 119 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 fait que ce dernier n�est pas si récent qu�on pourrait le croire. Il parle de l�essor des « études canadiennes » pendant les années 1970, discipline qui incluait initialement les études canadiennes-françaises. Chartier décrit le travail des « pionniers » des études québécoises « modernes » dans plusieurs pays étrangers et explique que c�est en grande partie l�intérêt pour ce mélange de francité et d�américanité qu�est le Québec qui a provoqué l�essor des études québécoises pendant les trois dernières décennies. Chartier remarque que, pendant les années 1990, on a vu naître des associations nationales et internationales, telles l�American Council for Quebec Studies (ACQS) et l�Association internationale des études québécoi- ses (AIÉQ), qui ont facilité et encouragé la collaboration des chercheurs à travers le monde, créant ainsi un réseau international. Il parle également du changement, ou mieux, de l�évolution des programmes d�études fran- çaises au niveau universitaire, qui se transforment en des programmes d�études francophones. En même temps, on a vu la naissance et l�essor des programmes d�études canadiennes et, au sein de ces derniers, une recon- naissance de la spécificité des études québécoises. Ce sont ces deux mouvements qui sont largement responsables de l�établissement et de l�épanouissement des études québécoises à l�étranger. Chartier termine son discours par des réflexions sur les défis posés par la pluridisciplinarité qui marque souvent les études québécoises à l�étranger, ainsi que sur les problèmes et les perspectives d�avenir. La deuxième partie, qui compte une dizaine de pages, est une chronologie des études québécoises (1958–2001), et la troisième partie, d�une quarantaine de pages, une liste des départe- ments, instituts et centres universitaires qui se consacrent en tout ou en partie aux études sur le Québec (au Québec et à l�extérieur du Québec). Clairement écrit et facile à lire, ce livre offre un excellent résumé du développement des études québécoises à l�étranger. Comme le souligne l�auteur, c�est un phénomène que les Québécois eux-mêmes trouvent à la fois flatteur et surprenant. Après avoir lu ce livre, on voit bien que c�est un phénomène beaucoup plus important qu�on ne le pense. (PAULA BANKS) François Ouellet, Passer au rang du père. Identité sociohistorique et littéraire au Québec Québec, Éditions Nota bene, coll. Essais critiques, 2002, 115 p., 20,95$ Comment Passer au rang du père aborde-t-il, dans un essai à la fois clair et concis, à la problématique de la figure du père dans l�identité sociohisto- rique et littéraire au Québec ? D�abord, le projet de François Ouellet est nettement balisé. Il s�agit de comprendre le parcours politico-historique du Québec à partir de la métaphore paternelle. Pour réaliser cela, l�essayiste nous convainc de la pertinence d�une lecture psychanalytique de la société québécoise. Cette lecture s�organise autour du meurtre du père originel, tel
work_ll2jdkui7zcixiby3xpgd37hgy ---- Organizing phenological data resources to inform natural resource conservation Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 Contents lists available at SciVerse ScienceDirect Biological Conservation j o u r n a l h o m e p a g e : w w w . e l s e v i e r . c o m / l o c a t e / b i o c o n Organizing phenological data resources to inform natural resource conservation 0006-3207 � 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2013.07.003 ⇑ Corresponding author at: National Coordinating Office, USA National Phenology Network, 1955 East Sixth Street, Tucson, AZ 85721, United States. Tel.: +1 520 419 2585. E-mail address: alyssa@usanpn.org (A.H. Rosemartin). Open access under CC BY-NC-SA license. Alyssa H. Rosemartin a,b,⇑, Theresa M. Crimmins a,b, Carolyn A.F. Enquist a,c, Katharine L. Gerst a,b, Jherime L. Kellermann a,b, Erin E. Posthumus a,b, Ellen G. Denny a,b, Patricia Guertin a,b, Lee Marsh a,b, Jake F. Weltzin a,d a National Coordinating Office, USA National Phenology Network, 1955 East Sixth Street, Tucson, AZ 85721, United States b School of Natural Resources and the Environment, University of Arizona, Tucson, AZ 85721, United States c The Wildlife Society, 5410 Grosvenor Lane, Suite 200, Bethesda, MD 20816, United States d U.S. Geological Survey, 1955 East Sixth Street, Tucson, AZ 85721, United States a r t i c l e i n f o a b s t r a c t Article history: Received 1 December 2012 Received in revised form 29 June 2013 Accepted 4 July 2013 Available online 26 July 2013 Keywords: Data integration Climate adaptation Multi-taxa monitoring National-scale database Phenology Changes in the timing of plant and animal life cycle events, in response to climate change, are already happening across the globe. The impacts of these changes may affect biodiversity via disruption to mutu- alisms, trophic mismatches, invasions and population declines. To understand the nature, causes and consequences of changed, varied or static phenologies, new data resources and tools are being developed across the globe. The USA National Phenology Network is developing a long-term, multi-taxa phenolog- ical database, together with a customizable infrastructure, to support conservation and management needs. We present current and potential applications of the infrastructure, across scales and user groups. The approaches described here are congruent with recent trends towards multi-agency, large-scale research and action. � 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Open access under CC BY-NC-SA license. 1. Introduction Global climate change represents one of the greatest contempo- rary threats to biological conservation not only because its effects are non-homogenous across marine and terrestrial systems (Bur- rows et al., 2011; Loarie et al., 2009), but also because variation in these effects compounds the differential responses of species, communities and ecosystems (Chen et al., 2011; Sekercioglu et al., 2007). Negative consequences of these effects include changes in species interactions and temporal mismatches (Wal- ther, 2010; Yang and Rudolf, 2009), increased risk of species extinctions (Cahill et al., 2013; Maclean and Wilson, 2011), and loss of critical ecosystem services (Mooney et al., 2009; Thackeray et al., 2010). An effective conservation response must be broadly coordi- nated and informed by a range of scientific approaches with diverse data sources (Dawson et al., 2011). Observations of biodi- versity taken across spatial and temporal scales are central to this information base, yet the long-term monitoring programs needed to generate these data are typically under-prioritized and under- funded by non-governmental organizations and governmental agencies in the United States (Lovett et al., 2007). Many US federal resource management agencies now require climate response strategies as part of conservation and management planning pro- cesses (e.g., US Fish and Wildlife Service, US National Park Service, US Forest Service). Although new guidance aimed at preparing for climate-related changes is appearing with increased regularity in scientific, professional, and web-based outlets (Girvetz et al., 2009; Groves et al., 2012; West et al., 2009), there remains a paucity of climate-relevant, broad-scale, multi-taxa biodiversity data for making well-informed conservation and management decisions. Changes in plant and animal phenology, such as the timing of flowering, fruiting, breeding, and migration represent a coherent fingerprint of climate change impacts across the globe (Parmesan, 2007; Parmesan and Yohe, 2003; Root et al., 2003). Thus, as a key indicator of the effects of climate change on biodiversity, pheno- logical information is a critical component of the conservation toolkit (Janetos et al., 2012; Parry et al., 2007). For example, vulner- ability assessments, in which agencies and organizations evaluate http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.biocon.2013.07.003&domain=pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2013.07.003 mailto:alyssa@usanpn.org http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2013.07.003 http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/journal/00063207 http://www.elsevier.com/locate/biocon http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ A.H. Rosemartin et al. / Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 91 their conservation goals relative to observed and projected climate impacts, are now part of the recommended practices for respond- ing to climate change (Glick et al., 2011). In this context, phenolog- ical data can be used to evaluate whether changes in species’ phenology are tracking changes in climate (Cleland et al., 2012; Willis et al., 2008), specifically as a measure of sensitivity and adaptive capacity (e.g., phenotypic plasticity), two of the three variables deemed essential to the vulnerability assessment process (Bagne et al., 2011; Parry et al., 2007; Young et al., 2010). However, existing phenology data resources tend to be limited geographi- cally and taxonomically, and vary substantially in their method of collection (Betancourt et al., 2005; Forrest and Miller-Rushing, 2010). Phenology has played an important role throughout human his- tory from 16th century European vintners (Maurer et al., 2009) to American naturalists and conservationists such as Henry David Thoreau (Miller-Rushing and Primack, 2008) and Aldo Leopold (Leopold and Jones, 1947). The history and approachability of phe- nology make it well-suited to public participation (Primack and Miller-Rushing, 2012). Globally, established and nascent national networks engaging both professional scientists and amateur natu- ralists (e.g., in the United Kingdom, Germany, France, the Nether- lands and Turkey) collect, store and share phenological information (Schwartz et al., 2013) . In the United States, a parallel effort, the USA National Phenology Network (USA-NPN, usanp- n.org), recently emerged to provide a free, web-based, full-service phenological monitoring program and database (Schwartz et al., 2012). By providing protocols and a data management infrastruc- ture standardized across multiple taxa and bioclimatic regions, the USA-NPN enables climate-informed biodiversity conservation for organizations and land management agencies with limited re- sources for adaptation. Here, we describe the USA-NPN’s online phenological monitoring program and database, collaborative part- nerships, and applications of these resources across the country. 2. Organizing and utilizing phenological data resources for conservation in the United States 2.1. The USA national phenology network The USA National Phenology Network was established in 2007 to collect, store and share historical and contemporary phenologi- cal data on a national scale to address the growing needs for this information (Schwartz et al., 2012). The USA-NPN serves science and society by promoting a broad understanding of plant and ani- mal phenology and its relationship with climatic and environmen- tal change. The USA-NPN serves not only as a data repository, but also as a hub of phenology-related activities for researchers, prac- titioners, decision-makers, and the public. In this way, the USA- NPN aims to foster a phenology ‘‘community of practice,’’ facilitat- ing increases in knowledge and understanding specific to phenol- ogy through participation, interaction, discourse, and the establishment of best practices (Kania and Kramer, 2011; Lave and Wenger, 1991). To increase the quantity and quality of phenological data re- sources in the United States, the USA-NPN developed a compre- hensive phenological monitoring infrastructure that includes standardized protocols, an online monitoring program called Nat- ure’s Notebook, the National Phenology Database (NPDb), and a suite of tools to facilitate use of these resources. This infrastructure accommodates a range of audiences, from individual scientists and trained volunteers (‘‘backyard naturalists’’ or ‘‘citizen scientists’’) to federal research and management programs such as the National Park Service and the US Global Change Research Program’s National Climate Assessment, private organizations such as botanic gardens and conservation groups, and public extension programs, such as Master Gardeners. The overall approach sup- ports regional question-driven research and scientific discovery by providing data resources at the national level and a framework for examining the response of the biosphere to climate variation and change at multiple spatial and temporal scales (Jones et al., 2010). 2.2. Nature’s notebook Nature’s notebook (www.nn.usanpn.org) is an online phenologi- cal monitoring program that uses standardized status-based proto- cols developed by the USA-NPN for in-situ monitoring of plants and animals (Denny et al., in preparation). Ground-based organis- mal data for plants and animals entered through Nature’s Notebook are stored in the NPDb and integrated with historical phenological data sets (Fig. 1). Data are freely available for download, synthesis and visualization with external data resources (e.g., physical data). Nature’s Notebook currently supports data collection, storage and use for 243 animal species (including fish, insects, reptiles, amphibians, birds and mammals) and 654 plant species (including coniferous and deciduous trees, shrubs, forbs, grasses and cacti) for the professional scientist, resource manager and naturalist audi- ences. Over 100 partner groups and 2000 observers have partici- pated in the program since 2009. The following sections describe key components and features of the Nature’s Notebook information architecture. 2.2.1. Tools for data entry Participants in Nature’s Notebook enter data through a browser- based interface or free iPhone or Android mobile applications. The first step to log phenology observations is to register, using a name and a valid email address (anonymous contributions are not ac- cepted). Next, the participant registers a location, or ‘‘site’’ for observing. Participants then register individual plants and/or cre- ate a checklist of animal species they will observe at the site. Final- ly, participants print customized paper datasheets to take into the field for documenting up to 16 days of phenophase status observa- tions (Fig. 2). After making observations, participants transcribe them from the paper datasheets into the online Nature’s Notebook system. Alternatively, participants may log observations, as well as add new sites, plants and animals, via mobile apps. 2.2.2. Tools for data download and visualization Once entered into the NPDb, data are accessible instantaneously to the individual collecting and submitting the observations in tab- ular format, and to the public through advanced data visualization and download tools. The visualization tool allows users to select species, states or a geographic area (by bounding box) and use a time-slider to animate spatiotemporal changes in phenology (Fig. 3). To support exploration of relationships between phenology and climatic patterns, gridded monthly climate data surfaces from PRISM (Parameter-elevation Regressions on Independent Slopes Model; http://www.prism.oregonstate.edu/) can also be displayed in the background (Auer et al., 2011). A three-panel graph allows users to compare the phenology of species or organisms across years or locations. Data and graphics can be downloaded in several formats. A filterable data download tool allows for further custom- ization of output, by partner group, date range, species, location and phenophases. Data may also be entered or accessed dynami- cally through web services. Metadata (compliant with the Federal Geographic Data Committee’s ‘‘Content Standard for Digital Geospatial Metadata’’), versioning information and supplementary information on sites, organisms and observers are available for each data file. http://www.nn.usanpn.org http://www.prism.oregonstate.edu/ 3 Milkweed-3: Do you see…? Status Initial growth No Leaves Yes Flowers or flower buds Yes Open flowers Yes Fruit No Ripe fruit No Recent fruit or seed drop No Monarch: Do you see…? Status Active adults Yes Flower visitation Yes Migrating adults No Mating No Active caterpillars No Caterpillars feeding No Date 07/05/12 Time 4:30 pm Site Wilson Park Plant Milkweed-3 Observer Willow Tamias Fig. 2. Example of data collection instance. In this example, an observer records flowering of her registered common milkweed plant (‘‘milkweed-3’’) at her ‘‘Wilson Park’’ site, together with observations of an active adult monarch butterfly on July 5, 2012 (photo credit: Howard B. Eskin). Products Curation and integration Sources Data collected via Nature’s Notebook National Phenology Database Historical data sets Climate Data Visualization & Synthesis User interfaces Data Download Nature’s Notebook Bulk upload tools Fig. 1. Information architecture diagram for USA-NPN data resources. Data enters the USA-NPN system from current Nature’s Notebook participants and historical sources, is stored in the National Phenology Database and is subsequently available for download, and visualization with auxiliary data (unpublished image courtesy of Wim van Leeuwen, University of Arizona, 2010). 92 A.H. Rosemartin et al. / Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 2.2.3. Data storage and integration All data collected through Nature’s Notebook are stored in the NPDb, a MySQL relational database (Widenius et al., 2002). The NPDb is also intended to serve as an archive for historical and con- temporary phenological datasets collected following protocols other than the standardized protocols developed by the USA-NPN. As a pilot project for historical data integration, the USA-NPN integrated 15 000 event-based records from historic lilac phenology observing efforts, dating back to 1955 (Schwartz et al., 2012). In the interest of furthering the accessibility, visibility and traceability of the data resources (Arzberger et al., 2004), datasets will be formally published, with unique digital object identifiers (Brase, 2004), and federated with data clearinghouses (e.g., Data- ONE, Knowledge Network for Biocomplexity). 2.3. Public participation in Nature’s Notebook and issues of data quality and compliance Public participation in scientific data collection has dramatically increased recently (Silvertown, 2009); technological advances to support distributed participation in such efforts have shown simi- lar rapid advances (Dickinson et al., 2012). Involving the public in data collection can both reduce costs and increase the spatial and Fig. 3. Screen capture of the USA-NPN visualization tool’s graph interface comparing common lilac (Syringa vulgaris) leafing and blooming phenophases in 2012 and 2013 across the United States (screen capture on May 16th, 2013). The record-breaking early spring of 2012 can be seen in the earlier leaf and bloom dates for common lilac in the top panel. A.H. Rosemartin et al. / Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 93 temporal coverage of monitoring programs (Devictor et al., 2010). Added benefits of involving the public in scientific data collection include an increased awareness of natural history and the scientific method, as well as increased community engagement among par- ticipants (Brossard et al., 2005; Cooper et al., 2007; Cosquer et al., 2012). While some have expressed concern over quality and reliability in data collected by non-professionals (Foster-Smith and Evans, 2003; Genet and Sargent, 2003), there is growing evidence that cit- izen science projects provide valuable results (Boudreau and Yan, 2004; Haklay, 2010; Lovell et al., 2009). To rapidly develop a long-term, national scale, multi-taxa data resource, the USA-NPN is recruiting and retaining thousands of volunteer and professional observers to participate in Nature’s Notebook. Given nationwide public participation in Nature’s Notebook, the USA-NPN has ad- dressed issues of data quality, data use and attribution, federal compliance, and liability, described below. 2.3.1. Quality assurance and quality control A number of quality assurance measures have been imple- mented to minimize the amount of inaccurate data entering the NPDb. For example, when entering data, participants select from lists of predefined values for species, date, phenophase status and intensity, rather than filling in free text fields. Datasheets match the online user interface in terms of color, font, layout and order of species to facilitate accurate transcription. Observers have access to extensive training materials, including resources for spe- cies identification and guidance for selecting sites and species. Fi- nally, validation rules in the user interface prevent observations on future dates and illogical values for phenophase status. In addi- tion, post-processing (quality control) measures are in place, such as the provision of site and organism level metadata to enable the identification of outliers by data end-users. Other measures, including flagging species out of range and phenophases out of sea- son are under development. 2.3.2. Policies Policies to protect individuals and institutions are as important as technological infrastructure to the utility and persistence of data resources. The USA-NPN has developed policies for data use and attribution, as well as policies related to liability (available at www.usanpn.org/terms). Under US law, federal agencies must be cleared by the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) before col- lecting information from the public. To remove this barrier for fed- eral partners interested in engaging the public in data collection, the USA-NPN obtained OMB clearance (Control #: 1028-0103) for information collection by the public via Nature’s Notebook. 2.4. Collaborations and partnerships The USA-NPN engages partners at many levels, understanding that the programs and technologies it provides are supportive of the actions taken by individuals and organizations. Nature’s Note- book provides a flexible and extensible infrastructure suitable for use by a wide range of organizations, and is a ready-to-use tool for many applications. Organizations, such as nature centers and arboreta, interested in tracking phenology for the purpose of engaging people with the natural world, often use Nature’s Note- book, to avoid developing their own observation protocols, data ar- chive integration and visualization tools. Nature’s Notebook can also be adapted in a variety of ways to support local to regional conservation and management goals or questions. The USA-NPN works with its partners to provide customizations, which depend on scientific questions of interest, geographic and taxonomic scope, audience, logistics and resources available. These services include: partner affiliation for regis- tered participants, organization-specific data visualization and download, landing pages and project-specific recruitment and retention efforts. Organizations already using this model include university researchers, US National Parks, and state and county Cooperative Extension programs (Table 1; www.usanpn.org/ partner/current). A recent example of a regional collaboration is the California Phenology Project (CPP; www.usanpn.org/cpp), an effort estab- lished by universities and National Parks across California, which leverages tools developed by the USA-NPN to understand how cli- mate change is impacting species and ecosystems. California has particularly high species diversity within a wide range of ecosys- tems, and is expected to have unique and diverse responses to cli- matic variation and change (Kueppers et al., 2005). For example, precipitation often plays a greater role than temperature in cueing phenological activity in Mediterranean habitats (Peñuelas et al., 2004), and deciduous plants in semi-arid systems frequently exhi- bit multiple leaf-out cycles in a single season. To capture these potentially diverse responses, phenological monitoring has been underway since 2011 in seven park units that represent three bio- geographic regions: mountain, desert, and coastal. The effort aims to establish the influence of environmental factors on phenological metrics, such as onset and duration of flowering. Analyses have fo- cused on the role of precipitation in driving phenological patterns and understanding spatial phenological patterns across broad envi- ronmental gradients for widespread species that occupy multiple habitat types. Ultimately, these data will inform management deci- sions by providing national parks with baseline phenological information on ecologically important species, and will support http://www.usanpn.org/partner/current http://www.usanpn.org/partner/current http://www.usanpn.org/cpp Table 1 Phenology data supports applications with societal benefits across geographic scales. Arborists Tree phenology data supports effective timing of herbicide and fungicide spraying Municipal Saguaro National Park Buffelgrass and native vegetation phenology inform optimal control windows (Fig. 4) Municipal Maine SeaGrant, Signs of the Seasons Nature’s Notebook connects the public with climate change research, including experiential learning focused on the local impacts of climate change (Posthumus et al., 2013) Regional Natural Resource Managers Phenology information informs vulnerability assessments in terms of sensitivity and adaptive capacity (Glick et al., 2011; Young et al., 2010) Regional Researchers, foresters, arborists Leaf out data, combined with remotely-sensed phenology data, informs models to predict future atmospheric and ecological conditions (Jeong et al., 2013) Regional State Health Departments, commercial allergy medicine distributors Flowering phenology for allergenic species supports predictions of timing and intensity of allergy seasons (e.g., www.usanpn.org/nn/jpp) Regional Western Hummingbird Partnership Flowering data for hummingbird nectar resource plants across western migratory corridors can be combined with hummingbird presence data to understand potential spatial and temporal mismatch Regional Environmental Protection Agency Lilac leaf and bloom dates (The Spring Indices) have been identified as indicators of climate change impacts (EPA 2012) National Natural Resource Managers Data on phenology and phenotypic plasticity support predictions of species vulnerability to climate change (Cleland et al., 2012; Glick et al., 2011) National Pollinator Partnership/NAPPC, farmers Crop flowering and bee phenology data shed light on temporal mismatch, and can inform valuation of pollination as an ecosystem service National USDA Natural Resource Conservation Service, Grassland Reserve Program Nesting times of protected bird species can inform Grassland Management Plans, allowing participants to comply with the program guidelines and receive federal funding National Atmospheric Scientists, Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change First leaf and flower data integrated across continents serve to understand and predict atmospheric circulation patterns Global 94 A.H. Rosemartin et al. / Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 planning for the effects of climate change on species activity, inter- actions, and distributions. The CPP is typical of the USA-NPN’s collaborations in that the partnering organization provides much of the human and social infrastructure, while the USA-NPN provides protocols and tools for data collection, entry, long-term archive, visualization and download. This significantly reduces the cost of developing a phe- nology project for partners and provides a platform for standard- ized data collection across diverse and sometimes remote or inaccessible regions such as national parks and wildlife refuges. Continued adoption of Nature’s Notebook will eventually enable Fig. 4. Buffelgrass phenology near Tucson, Arizona. Canopy foliar greenness (solid line; % and November 2012 along Pima Canyon trail near Tucson, Arizona, USA. Closed circles rep dates; boxes highlight potential manual control windows. Note that canopy foliar green Notebook provide for reporting canopy greenness in six categorical classes. cross-project and cross-site comparisons and synthetic analyses of data collected by many distinct efforts. 2.5. Current data resources The USA-NPN has developed a taxonomically, spatially and temporally rich data set through the implementation of the tools, policies and collaborations described above. As of May 2013, the database contained 2 064 419 records, reported by 2400 observers at 3500 sites across the nation, on 16 000 organisms. With the completion of the first version of the monitoring and cyber ; mean ±1 standard deviation) for buffelgrass, Pennisetum ciliare, between July 2010 resent sampling dates; closed triangles represent the presence of seeds on sampling ness was estimated to the nearest 5%, while the standardized protocols in Nature’s A.H. Rosemartin et al. / Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 95 infrastructure, and new and increasingly active partnerships, we expect to see sustained growth and expansion of these data re- sources into the future. 2.6. Applications A wide range of public agencies and private organizations are partnering with the USA-NPN to build a greater understanding of how phenological information can be used to inform conservation issues related to invasive species, ecosystem services, biogeochem- ical processes, species vulnerability to climate change, and the effi- cacy of adaptive management. Here we present an overview of these applications (Table 1) and illustrate the uses of Nature’s Note- book data in support of invasive species management and predic- tive modeling of deciduous tree leaf out. Phenology data inform invasive species management by enabling the identification of reproduction and green-up win- dows—the two timeframes that are critical for mechanical removal or herbicide application. For example, in desert habitats of the southwestern US, the invasive perennial grass Pennisetum ciliare (buffelgrass) is expanding exponentially and threatens biodiversity by disrupting fire and soil moisture regimes (Olsson et al., 2012; Rogstad, 2008; Rutman et al., 2002). Managers seek to minimize inadvertent spread of propagules during mechanical control and to maximize photosynthetic uptake of herbicide during chemical control activities. Thus, to inform future control efforts, researchers collected seed production and canopy foliar greenness data using Nature’s Notebook for a population of buffelgrass in the foothills of the Santa Catalina Mountains outside of Tucson, Arizona, USA. They found that, because seeds are almost always present on the plants, there are only brief windows of opportunity for mechanical control to minimize seed spread (e.g., July 2011, Fig. 4). Local land managers seek to expand this research, in order to inform the timing of existing invasive abatement treatments. Phenology data at a much broader scale is important for under- standing global biogeochemical cycles and climate change feed- backs, particularly in a predictive framework (Peñuelas and Filella, 2001). Predictive climate models using leaf out data for deciduous trees (collected through Nature’s Notebook), show leaf budburst across the northeastern United States advancing by up to 17 days by 2100, as well as a swifter spring ‘‘green wave’’ under multiple emission scenarios (Jeong et al., 2013). These changes have implications for migratory birds dependent on foraging for in- sects among young leaves, as well as global carbon and water bud- gets (Ewert and Hamas, 1996; Jeong et al., 2013). 3. Discussion Key climate-relevant biodiversity variables monitoring are re- quired to inform this new era of conservation and management (Pereira et al., 2013). As species vary in their responses to changing climate conditions, the probability of trophic mismatches is ex- pected to increase, often resulting in negative consequences for population dynamics (Conroy et al., 2011; Thackeray et al., 2010; Yang and Rudolf, 2009) that, in turn, may lead to increased risk of species extinctions, non-native species invasions, loss of ecosys- tem functions, and decreased provision of ecosystem services (Ca- hill et al., 2013; Schweiger et al., 2008). Long-term, multi-taxa phenological data are critical to support scientists and managers in confronting the uncertainty and variability in species and eco- system responses to ongoing variation and change. Over the past five years, building on the efforts of the prior fifty years (Schwartz et al., 2012), the USA-NPN has engaged partners and individuals, from neighborhood organizations to large, com- plex agencies, in developing a robust data set together with flexible tools and processes that serve stakeholder needs in many contexts (Table 1). As the USA-NPN continues to mature, development will focus on customization of data entry, output and decision-support tools for particular stakeholder groups and conservation needs. As evidenced by the range of initial applications, the USA-NPN is developing a valuable, national data resource. These data can be used to assess ecosystem services, species interactions, biologi- cal invasions, species vulnerability and the efficacy of adaptive management. As parallel advances in data collection, analysis, inte- gration and access take place in the fields of climate modeling, genetics and species distributions, new and exciting avenues of re- search into the causes and consequences of species phenology, as well as near- to long-term forecasts, will become possible (Pau et al., 2011). In addition, the USA-NPN’s Nature’s Notebook supports community-based monitoring, opening avenues for constituent engagement in confronting climate-related challenges for biodi- versity conservation. Nature’s Notebook can be leveraged as an edu- cational tool to increase scientific literacy and to foster in participants a meaningful, local connection to the abstract and large-scale challenge of climate change. Moreover, the USA-NPN is a model for international efforts which seek to standardize data collection across species and land- scapes. With several well-established and other incipient national- scale efforts to organize phenology research (Schwartz et al., 2013), the USA-NPN is taking steps to share methods and technologies internationally, including the development of protocols that align to the international agricultural standard for phenology data (BBCH; Biologische Bundesanstalt, Bundessortenamt and CHemi- sche Industrie) and support for an emergent version of Nature’s Notebook in Turkey. Beyond sharing tools and best practices, we also hope to see globally-integrated phenological data resources in the future. Today’s conservation challenges call for an unprecedented stan- dardization and integration of data collection efforts (Reichman et al., 2011). Recent trends towards multi-agency, landscape-level research and action (Austen, 2011; Rickenbach et al., 2011) are en- hanced by monitoring tools and approaches, such as those de- scribed here, that cross taxonomic, public-private and geographic boundaries. Moreover, advancing, web-enabling and standardizing phenological data resources in the United States holds promise for understanding biological responses to climate impacts. 4. Contributions AHR led the development of the manuscript; TMC, CAFE, KLG, JLK, EEP and JFW contributed ideas and sections of text. All authors contributed to the development of the data resources, infrastruc- ture and efforts described here. Acknowledgements We would like to thank Abraham Miller-Rushing and Kathryn Thomas, as well as Bruce Wilson, Mark Schwartz, Julio Betancourt, Angela Evenden, Brian Haggerty, Elizabeth Matthews and Susan Mazer for their contributions to these efforts. We thank Andrea Thorpe for insightful comments on an earlier draft. 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NatureServe, Arlington, VA. http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0260 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0260 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0260 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0265 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0265 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0270 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0270 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0275 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0275 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0275 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0275 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0280 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0280 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0285 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0285 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0285 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0290 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0290 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0290 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0295 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0295 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0300 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0300 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0006-3207(13)00233-4/h0300 Organizing phenological data resources to inform natural resource conservation 1 Introduction 2 Organizing and utilizing phenological data resources for conservation in the United States 2.1 The USA national phenology network 2.2 Nature’s notebook 2.2.1 Tools for data entry 2.2.2 Tools for data download and visualization 2.2.3 Data storage and integration 2.3 Public participation in Nature’s Notebook and issues of data quality and compliance 2.3.1 Quality assurance and quality control 2.3.2 Policies 2.4 Collaborations and partnerships 2.5 Current data resources 2.6 Applications 3 Discussion 4 Contributions Acknowledgements References
work_lmvwnf4ysvdznaywqou6yhu47m ---- Poetic Guard Poetic Guard Daniel Leary American Book Review, Volume 32, Number 4, May/June 2011, pp. 26-27 (Review) Published by American Book Review DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/abr.2011.0083 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/447527 https://doi.org/10.1353/abr.2011.0083 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/447527 Page 26 American Book Review Poetic GuarD Daniel Leary poEtiC AMusEMEnt Raymond P. Hammond Athanata Arts, Ltd. http://www.athanata.com 136 pages; paper, $14.95 “I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face?” “I looked at my face in the mirror and saw Open Admissions.” The first line is from Walden (1854). I was 15 when it woke me, and I felt a chill and—and what?—an imaginative stretch? The second line is my very own. It is from an exercise in a poetry course I observed and participated in while evaluat- ing new teachers at CCNY. I was 45 and had lost my way. The difference between the two lines is what Raymond P. Hammond’s book is about. Henry David Thoreau is touched by the Muse and what imagination is. In the second line, I was into my Open Admissions failure and not wanting to openly admit it. Hammond makes a persuasive, unsettling case that contemporary American poetry has become as institutionally deluded as I was in the seventies, that American literary instruction has become the stan- dardized, academically sponsored product of-by-for democratic mediocrity. The American Poetic Muse may not be dead, but she’s got the throat clearing of a nervous versifier. There’s hope! A champion has arrived. You won’t believe me, but it’s on the back cover of Poetic Amusement. Raymond P. Hammond guards the Statue of Liberty as “a law enforcement officer” by day—I’m not kidding—and guards the American Muse by night as Editor of The New York Quarterly, a literary journal. And in his book, he guards the Muse—energetically and persuasively marshalling impressive material in her defense. If that dedication extends to his day job, I can only say that anybody who blows up the Statue of Liberty is in big trouble. I come away from the book with my jaw ajar, thinking Hammond a personified oxymoron—passive/aggres- sive, contemporaneously traditional and patriotically un-American. Before we get to the good stuff, I best polish off reviewer’s chores. The title? Smarter ones have guessed it already. Amusement. That initial “A” prefix negates “Muse.” Hammond is at verses that lack the Muse, lack inspiration, verses passing themselves off as poetry. It’s a playful etymology, the only whimsy in this straightforward book. As I muse on it, the title is straightforward too, since uninspired verse slithers around boredom by being amusing or bemusing— being entertainment or a puzzlement—in short, a way of killing time. While we’re tidying up, add another hat to Hammond’s juggling act: the cop/editor was also a graduate student at NYU, writing this book as his thesis while pursuing an MA. The thesis was completed in 2000 and cites no material after 1999. Don’t let that put you off. It’s not written in dis- sertationese, and it’s not old hat but twirling perkily into our computerized pixilation. It says a great deal about Hammond that he elected for an MA rather than an MFA. There was a sacrifice involved. We’re talking about security. The MFA is a terminal degree equivalent to a PhD in matters of academic evaluation and employment and can be awarded—according to a disgruntled English department chair—after two years of relentless “poetry” writing. I should correct myself: yes, the book is about what poetry is, but equally it’s about the MFA and how it undermines poetry. Hammond, this editor-of-a-student, realized what was and is happening and began to blow his policeman’s whistle. What is happening is dubbed “po’ biz” in college circles. Yes, you’ve guessed this one too. Hammond calls the whole MFA boondoggle “the poetry industry” and claims that conformity is the name of the game if one wants to excel…. Therefore, one learns to write like other contemporary American poets in order to win contests, because the contests are judged by those same contemporary American poets. These students also conform because they need to complete their MFA in order to compete in the job market. Tied in with this completing the MFA is the need, on a weekly basis to produce a poem for re- view in the workshop…. The university, then, becomes the legitimizing aspect for the poet’s work. The matriculated students, sorcerer’s apprentices all, further conform to the po’ biz as they become teachers of classes that gratifyingly over-enroll— gratifying to teachers and administrators—to produce more weekly poetry weakly, thus generating more teachers, etc., etc. The result? The academic cess- pools overflow, meaning that there is no room left for new appointees—certainly no tenured lines—even if their versified efforts bob up in po’ biz journals relentlessly. The MFA is indeed terminal and raises the question: is American poetry in the same terminal cesspool? Hammond makes a persuasive, unsettling case that contemporary American poetry has become as institutionally deluded. This academic po’ biz overflow took me by sur- prise as I read about it in Hammond’s little but very important book. In my beginning paragraph—check it out—is my end. Back in the seventies, I gave the poetry-writing teacher a rave evaluation. I would have accepted “amusement” straight in describing class goings-on, but I recall using “refreshing,” refreshing for me certainly, a burnt-out case enjoy- ing students enjoying the work/play of making paddy/waddy verses—more importantly, enjoying the teacher’s bringing in a real poem to see how John Donne handled it and students on the brink of experiencing what a chilling expanding a poem is—allusive-elusive-delusive-never-conclusive. I realize now that the teacher was violating po’ biz if the rules had ossified already. She was—as the theory goes—discouraging her students by exposing them to excellence. What I saw were students challenged as they saw how serious was their fun. Alright, alright, probably not all of them. Indulge me for a paragraph while I make an instructive parallel. Four years ago, I enrolled in a beginner’s drawing class, and in doing a final assign- ment, I astonished myself by sketching what I saw in a mirror—a mirror again!—producing an image that many agreed looked recognizably like me. I was proud, delighted with my achievement as were most of the others with their self-images. We knew more about perspective, proportion, shading, knew more about what a real artist can sometimes achieve, knew a bit of how she achieved it, and knew that in our present state, we were nowhere near doing so. We had no intention of giving an art class or seeking an agent to pass us off as the new millennium’s Pablo Picasso, the likes of, God help us, Julian Schnabel. Now, the good stuff, the oxymoronic Ham- mond’s three-way championing of the Muse. Passive/Aggressive. I am not concerned with Hammond’s psychic condition, just describing the strategy and tactics he takes in his book. He is there and not there as others confront the po’ biz that he finds destructive to teachers, to their students, and to poetry in America. He uses the term “meta-criticism” in the preface to describe his wide historical approach that avoids specific literary examples while denigrat- ing the impact of our contemporary poetic practices. However distanced he is in theory, he detests the po’ biz and says as much in his own words, but in at least 40 percent of the book, our hero humbly steps aside. He lets recognized poets and critics, contemporaries as well as voices from the past, be heard on what a poem is and what must be present for it to be written. What is surprising is how well his tactics work. Our ears are not bent by an arrogant unknown but per- suaded by a living tradition. Like a few good teachers I’ve experienced, he’s both a sage on stage and a guide along side. He weaves the quotations smoothly and persuasively. Not till the end, when I read his list of “Works Consulted”—well over a hundred—and riffled through the index, did I appreciate how he assembled such a variety and made them one voice with his own voice intertwined. In the index, those cited nine times or more are Sylvia Beach, Charles Bukowski, T.S. Eliot, Donald Hall, Denise Levertov, J. D. McClatchy, Ezra Pound, Rainer Maria Rilke, and throw in the most-quoted of the critics: Dionysius Longinus, Edmund Wilson, and Harold Bloom. In the text, the citations are not a series of clippings, not quotations strung together. His 90 pages of exposition become a symposium on the nature, the value, the mystery of poetry, i.e., the Muse. Leary continued on next page Page 27May–June 2011 Leary continued from previous page Innovative Traditionalist. Again recall the opening paragraph. Hammond weaves the tradition- alist T.S. Eliot with the path-blazing critic Harold Bloom. With both of them in mind, he innovates, or perhaps I should say reinstitutes, an approach to poetry writing that takes us back to classroom I sat in 35 years ago. Eliot, in a timeless essay of 1917, “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” tells us that poetry—that literature—is a living organism, that when a poet—I mean a poet—creates, he engages in a form of magic realism, capturing the present and changing the past: Lear’s five iambic tolling “Never”s become more—more livable?, containable?, under- standable? By a psychic milometer in the listener’s consciousness when Donne challenges death, when Dylan Thomas commands, begs his father to hold on for another breath. Hammond combines this ongo- ing creative immortality with Bloom’s insight into creative despair, that the poet must always live with death, with his knowledge that it has all been done: “The covert subject of most poetry for the last three centuries has been the anxiety of influence, each poet’s fear that no proper work remains for him to perform.” I’ve penciled in the margin “beautifully put” alongside a passage from Seamus Heaney that Hammond approvingly quotes. It conveys the battle that writing poetry is and underscores what Ham- mond/Heaney want from an ideal poetry-writing class: What is involved, after all, is the replace- ment of literary excellence derived from modes of expression originally taken to be canonical and unquestionable. Writers have to start out as readers, and before they put pen to paper, even the most disaffected of them will have internalized the norms and forms of the tradition from which they wish to secede. Un-American Patriot. “Po’ biz”: even the term itself in its shoddy, showbiz, throw-awayness, its corrupt familiarity, is a public acknowledgment that the groves of academe have set up shop in the market place, have become part of a cynically taxless plutoc- racy with mediocrity for all. My reading of po’ biz may be somewhat between the lines, but “mediocre” or some variations of the word must occur in this book at least four score and seven times. I will say this in Raymond P. Hammond’s defense before the recently reconvened House Committee, that he is in good company. From Alexis de Tocqueville who was a qualified admirer of America near its beginning to Jonathan Franzen’s musings about Freedom’s end, there have been many who saw the seeds of decay in its median, consumer mediocrity. Hammond does not dream the American dream. He does not pretend with the rest of us that all men are equal, all potential poets, painters, posers, million- billion-trillion-aires. A democracy’s ability to thrive depends upon a large middle class. It also depends upon the rule of the majority. Both of these factors create a dependence upon the median. From strip malls to Mickey Mouse, our society is one in which a middle class and resultant ambivalence toward the arts flourishes. Most poetry written today reflects this mediocrity. My one reservation about this un-American decla- ration is the exclusive attack on the middle class. According to economists, if this ever-so profitable recession for banks and businesses and their sidekick politicians continues, there will soon be no middle class. Why not put some of the blame on the unedu- cated wealthy: the products of our business schools, our technical institutes, for that matter our colleges of the humanities that award MFA degrees to the readably unread? Consumerism “consumed by that which it was nourished by”: why only yesterday Thanksgiving was consumerized into the day before Black Friday adventing into White Xmas. Let’s end with the poets. Here’s Wordsworth, two hundred and three years ago, in one of those poems MFA candidates are taught to avoid: The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! Those powers wasted, hearts discarded, are what would have allowed the best to aspire beyond the world. That’s why Hammond is a patriot as well as being outrageously un-American. He’s calling us beyond mediocrity. You can summon the “power” as soul or imagination or muse, Muse—and I’m winging it now—and the Muse exists only when an imagina- tion, a heart, a soul, reaches beyond consciousness to something on the verge of being apprehended. Robert Browning gave words to what I’ve been groping for since Thoreau’s opening line, when Browning has his Andrea del Sarto, who never quite stretched far enough, settling as he did for a handful of gold and a twirl of girl, Browning has him sigh, “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, / Or what’s a heaven for?” For quite a while now, at Canisius College, Syracuse University, Bowling Green State University, Fordham University, City College of New York, La Université de Paris, Daniel Leary has been demonstrating and encouraging having a poem by heart. serPent curve Stephanie Rauschenbusch WhAt’s lEft Susan Sindall Cherry Grove Collections http://www.cherry-grove.com 80 pages; paper, $18.00 Susan Sindall has been writing, reading, and publishing her poems for a long time, and as an editor of Heliotrope has also encouraged other poets to publish. More recently, she has studied with Ellen Bryant Voigt at Warren Wilson College’s MFA poetry program. Her newest book, What’s Left, is a tremendous achievement—a sort of reckoning up of all that she has experienced, sensed, observed, and remembered in her entire life and of all that’s lost or left behind. There are many themes in this book, and they inter- weave gracefully with each other. Among them is music—as in “From Brahms’ Letter Thanking Robert Schumann”: Tenderness, you see, trembles at the edges of everything. Water slips over rocks at the inlet, enlarging the pebbles through the water’s tender moving. Your hands, poised above the keyboard— your nerves’ tricky fires on the piano keys: those sparks, their tortures: we know them… In Italy, for instance, as I watched Clara reach for the ripe figs; how gently she cupped each scrotum : those sacks, fleshy, yellow, and seed-filled— just seeing them generates the notes. Here we have brilliant shoptalk among musi- cians about where notes of music arise—from tenderness, from seeing water move over stones, from watching a woman handle and eat figs so sexual they are likened to testicles. This is an “ars poetica” but also a metaphysical discussion about geology and geography, about water and its mean- ings, about stones and their meanings, a discussion which appears in many other poems in this beauti- fully crafted book. From “Gros Ventre Valley,” we read this stanza: Water writes its own calligraphy. Water gathers rocks, hugs boulders to its sides, spreads them grandly in a long serpent curve, the hem of the water’s skirt. So we find here the geological “serpent curve” echoed throughout the book—introduced actually in the first poem, “After,” in which she sees them dangling everywhere, loops tangled in the branches, heads or tails, indecipherable…. The snake appears even in “Akhmatova’s Fountain House” in which the poet descries a boa constrictor (in a photo?) suffocating a rabbit. Snakes begin to seem objective correlatives, or even symbols, for inspiration, as they were in Stanley Kunitz’s poem about his Provincetown garden. What’s Left is a tremendous achievement. But to go back to “Gros Ventre Valley.” How many poets could reckon with death as baldly as in the couplet, “Not much between me and death. / Not enough years left”? This is another leitmotif of the book—death’s approach and its meaning in the midst of life. There are several wonderful elegaic poems dedicated to the poet’s mother and father—who are curiously both seen as under water. In “Voices,” “the great pike, enormous curve of pisces, / smiles my father’s smile.” In “Offshore,” the poet realizes when her mother speaks out loud to her, You must have been beside me for months beside me swimming, as our fingers Rauschenbusch continued on next page
work_lo3g37gkufekvmib7nwrci464e ---- [PDF] Who Measures the World? Alexander von Humboldt's Chimborazo Climb in the Literary Imagination | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1111/J.1756-1183.2009.00061.X Corpus ID: 55043270Who Measures the World? Alexander von Humboldt's Chimborazo Climb in the Literary Imagination @article{Schaumann2009WhoMT, title={Who Measures the World? Alexander von Humboldt's Chimborazo Climb in the Literary Imagination}, author={C. Schaumann}, journal={The German Quarterly}, year={2009}, volume={82}, pages={447-468} } C. Schaumann Published 2009 History The German Quarterly On June 23, 1802, Alexander von Humboldt, Carlos Montufar, Aime Bonpland, and three guides attempted to climb the Andean peak Mount Chimborazo, which at 6267 meters (20,561 feet) was thought to be the highest mountain in the world. The ascent was one of the highlights of Humboldt’s legendary five-year research trip to the Spanish colonies in the Americas that began in 1799 in the Canary Islands and continued to Venezuela, Cuba, Columbia, Ecuador, Peru, Mexico, and the United States. Unlike… Expand View via Publisher warwick.ac.uk Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 6 Citations View All Figures from this paper figure 1 figure 2 figure 4 figure 6 figure 7 View All 5 Figures & Tables 6 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Social Class and the Production of Mountain Space: The historical geographies of the Seattle Mountaineers, 1906-1939 T. Christian Geography 2017 Save Alert Research Feed Stratified, destratified, and hybrid GIS : organizing a cross-disciplinary territory for design M. Carlsson Geography 2013 2 Save Alert Research Feed Eighteen Hundred and Eleven: Poetry, Protest and Economic Crisis E. Clery History 2017 3 Save Alert Research Feed Identity (De-)Formation in the Jungles of the Amazon Sarah Fernandes Grootz Geography 2014 Save Alert Research Feed Psicólogos europeos en los países andinos (Bolivia, Ecuador y Perú) durante la primera mitad del siglo XX* European Psychologists in Andean Countries (Bolivia, Ecuador, and Peru) in the First Half of the 20th Century Ramón L eón Geography 2014 Save Alert Research Feed The Spatial Imagination of Accelerated Globalization in Contemporary German-language Novels Brooke D. Kreitinger Sociology 2012 Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-6 OF 6 REFERENCES Picturing Tropical Nature N. Stepan Sociology 2001 134 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Alexander von Humboldt: Revolutionizing Travel Literature Oliver Lubrich Monatshefte 2004 7 Save Alert Research Feed The Humboldt Current: Nineteenth-Century Exploration and the Roots of American Environmentalism A. Sachs History 2006 23 Save Alert Research Feed Wo ist Carlos Montúfar? : über Bücher Daniel Kehlmann Art 2005 2 Save Alert Research Feed Der Maler ist immer im Bild. Alexander von Humboldts Beschreibung seiner Reise in eine neue Welt Wolfgang Griep History 2003 1 Save Alert Research Feed “ Vom Brocken zum Himalaja . Goethe ’ s ‘ Höhen der alten und neuen Welt ’ und ihre Wirkungen . ” Picturing Tropical Nature 2001 Related Papers Abstract Figures 6 Citations 6 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE
work_lq642obedfh7vevpgdmg7wzc7u ---- value and zero. Even though thermal radiation is completely chaotic, an almost perfect interference pattern can be seen in such a set-up for small time delays. However, when the time delay becomes larger than a temperature-dependent quantity called the coherence time, the amplitude of the oscillations with respect to the maximum value quickly decays and the minimum value is no longer zero. Benea-Chelmus et al. observed this behaviour in their experiment at about room temperature (300 kelvin) and found that the coherence time agreed with theoretical predictions. If the temperature is lowered to a few kelvin, radiation in the terahertz frequency range, which is relevant to such experiments, is suppressed. For example, at 4 K, there are effectively no photons that have frequencies larger than 0.2 THz. As a result, in the standard set-up, the maximum amplitude of the oscilla- tions drops to zero and there is no evidence of correlations. Remarkably, Benea-Chelmus and colleagues found that they could still observe correlations in their version of the set-up at 4 K. They interpret these signals as a direct signature of correlations in the electric field of the vacuum. The authors achieved this feat because of a sophisticated detection scheme. Based on a branch of research known as nonlinear optics, the scheme simultaneously provides two key components that can be pictured in terms of a modified Mach–Zehnder interferom- eter (Fig. 1b). The first is a pair of elements called temporal gates that ‘observe’ electric fields in ultrashort time windows — the two observations differ by a time delay. In Benea-Chelmus and colleagues’ experiment, these gates are implemented by auxiliary ultra- short pulses of near-infrared light that interact with the vacuum in a nonlinear optical crys- tal. The second is a pair of detectors that are directly sensitive to the electric fields that have passed through the temporal gates and to the correlations in these fields. B ene a-C helmus et al. note t hat t he maximum amplitude of the oscillations, although non-zero, was so small that up to one trillion individual detection events at each value of the time delay were required for the correlations to be discernible f r o m m e a s u r e - ment-induced ran- dom fluctuations (shot noise). Such a large number of events took about 3 hours at a repeti- tion rate of 80 MHz. An intriguing aspect of the experiment that deserves further investigation is the effect of the detection procedure, including the use of temporal gates, on the measured fields — a phenomenon called quantum back-action7. Previous work has described how photons materialize in a vacuum for hypothetical, short-lived observers that, because of the finite speed of light, can access information only from restricted regions of space-time, called space-time diamonds8. By consider- ing multiple observers in such settings, it has been shown that the photons display quantum correlation called entanglement9. The field of quantum optics began with sim- ple experiments that probed amplitude and intensity correlations in optical fields, but now witnesses and applies sophisticated entangle- ment-based protocols in nascent quantum technologies. Perhaps the authors’ results are the first steps towards ultrafast quantum optics that will one day observe and control the entanglement that lies hidden in the space- time vacuum and in non-trivial ground states of interacting light–matter systems. ■ Andrey S. Moskalenko is in the Department of Physics, Korea Advanced Institute of Science and Technology, Daejeon 34141, South Korea, and in the Department of Physics, University of Konstanz, Germany. Timothy C. Ralph is at the School of Mathematics and Physics, The University of Queensland, St Lucia, Queensland 4072, Australia. e-mails: moskalenko@kaist.ac.kr; ralph@physics.uq.edu.au 1. Riek, C. et al. Science 350, 420–423 (2015). 2. Benea-Chelmus, I.-C., Settembrini, F. F., Scalari, G. & Faist, J. Nature 568, 202–206 (2019). 3. Young, T. Phil. T. R. Soc. Lond. 92, 12–48 (1802). 4. Arndt, M. & Hornberger, K. Nature Phys. 10, 271–277 (2014). 5. Ananthaswamy, A. Through Two Doors at Once: The Elegant Experiment That Captures The Enigma of Our Quantum Reality (Dutton, 2018). 6. Grangier, P., Roger, G. & Aspect, A. Europhys. Lett. 1, 173–179 (1986). 7. Braginsky, V. B. & Khalili F. Y. Quantum Measurement (Cambridge Univ. Press, 1992). 8. Martinetti, P. & Rovelli, C. Class. Quant. Grav. 20, 4919–4931 (2003). 9. Su, D. & Ralph, T. C. Phys. Rev. D 93, 044023 (2016). M I L E S F . W I L K I N S O N Convent iona l w is dom holds t hat modifying a gene to make the encoded protein inactive — ‘knocking out’ the gene — will have more severe effects than merely reducing the gene’s expression level. However, there are many cases in which the opposite occurs. In fact, the knockout of a gene sometimes has no discernible impact, whereas the reduction of expression (knockdown) of the same gene causes major defects1. Off-target or toxic effects of the re agents used for gene knockdown have sometimes been found to be the culprit2, but not always3, leaving one to wonder what else could be responsible. El-Brolosy et al.4 (page 193) and Ma et al.5 (page 259) provide an intriguing solution to this paradox. The authors identify a molecular mecha- nism that activates the transcription of genes related to an inactivated gene, thereby com- pensating for the knockout. The existence of such a genetic compensation response was ini- tially suggested by earlier studies, most nota- bly the discovery3 that knockout of the eg fl7 gene in zebrafish upregulates the expression of genes that encode proteins related to those encoded by eg fl7. This upregulatory response was triggered only by mutation of eg fl7, and not by eg fl7 knockdown, thereby explaining why knockdown caused biologi- cal defects, whereas knockout largely did not. Similar observations have been made for other genes3,6, suggesting the existence of a general compensatory mechanism. How does the compensatory mechanism work? By studying the effects of a variety of mutations in zebrafish embryos, both El-Brolosy et al. and Ma et al. found that the upregulation of compensatory genes is specifi- cally triggered by mutations that generate short nucleotide sequences known as premature termination codons (PTCs). These sequences — also known as nonsense codons — signal the early cessation of the translation of messenger RNAs into proteins. Thus, an apt name for this upregulatory response is nonsense-induced transcriptional compensation (NITC). The role of PTCs in NITC suggested the involvement of an RNA-degradation pathway called nonsense-mediated RNA decay (NMD), because NMD is also triggered by PTCs7. In support of this idea, El-Brolosy and colleagues M O L E C U L A R B I O L O G Y Genetic paradox explained by nonsense Gene mutations that truncate the encoded protein can trigger the expression of related genes. The discovery of this compensatory response alters our thinking about genetic studies in humans and model organisms. See Article p.193 & Letter p.259 “The authors found that they could still observe correlations in their version of the set-up at 4 kelvin.” 1 1 A P R I L 2 0 1 9 | V O L 5 6 8 | N A T U R E | 1 7 9 NEWS & VIEWS RESEARCH © 2019 Springer Nature Limited. All rights reserved. © 2019 Springer Nature Limited. All rights reserved. observed that a protein called Upf1 — one of the main factors involved in NMD — is required for NITC. Further support came from Ma and co-workers’ discovery that PTCs that do not trigger NMD also failed to elicit NITC. The two papers provide several lines of evi- dence suggesting that the agent that triggers NITC is the PTC-bearing mRNA generated from a mutant gene (Fig. 1). For example, both groups found that NITC is largely prevented when transcription of the mutant gene is com- promised. As evidence that the PTC-bearing mRNA must be degraded by NMD to elicit NITC, El-Brolosy et al. found that injection of ‘uncapped’ mRNA, which is inherently unsta- ble, into zebrafish embryos elicited NITC, whereas ‘capped’ (stable) mRNA did not. Both groups found that NITC is mediated by increased transcription of genes that are ancest ra l ly rel ate d to t he mut ant gene. The increased transcription of these gene paralogues was accompanied by increased occupancy of the genes’ promoter regions by H3K4me3 — a transcription-inducing form8 of a DNA-binding protein called histone H3. The two groups went on to find that NITC depends on the COMPASS protein complex, which catalyses8 the formation of H3K4me3, thereby providing further evidence that this H3 modification has a role in the increased transcription of the gene paralogues. How could a decaying mRNA specifically trigger transcriptional upregulation of genes similar to itself, but not of unrelated genes? On the basis of the finding that some factors required for the decay of RNA in the cytoplasm also ‘moonlight’ as transcriptional regulators in the nucleus9, El-Brolosy et al. posit a model in which cytoplasmic-RNA decay factors asso- ciated with PTC-bearing mRNA travel to the nucleus and recruit histone modifiers to activate the transcription of related genes. Specificity is provided by the RNA fragments generated by NMD, which bind to complementary nucleo- tide sequences in the gene paralogues (Fig. 1). This model also predicts that heterozygotic zebrafish, which have both a mutant and a wild-type copy of a gene, will upregulate the expression of the wild-type gene. Indeed, both research groups found that this is the case. A key discrepancy between the two papers is that El-Brolosy et al. found that knockout of the upf1 gene prevented NITC, whereas Ma et al. observed that NITC was not impaired by knockdown of Upf1, nor by knockdown of the NMD factors Upf2 and Upf3b. It remains to be seen whether this apparent discrepancy results from the use of different approaches for perturbing Upf1, from introducing PTCs in different genes, or from other factors. An intriguing discovery made by Ma et al. is that NITC requires the Upf3a protein, an enig- matic NMD factor that was previously shown10 to either repress or modestly promote NMD, depending on the mRNA targeted for degrada- tion. The authors found that Upf3a interacts with several components of the COMPASS complex, and increases H3K4me3 occupancy at the promoter regions of upregulated para- logue genes. These findings led Ma et al. to propose that Upf3a recruits the COMPASS complex to gene-paralogue promoters to generate the H3K4me3 mark responsible for activating gene transcription. The discovery of NITC will probably alter how genetic studies are interpreted and conducted in the future. For example, the unexpected finding that healthy humans typically have several loss-of-function muta- tions11 can now potentially be explained by compensation conferred by NITC. When constructing genetically engineered model organisms, it will be important to make mutants that do not trigger NITC, to avoid biological defects being masked. Indeed, NITC might explain why many knockouts produce few biological changes in mice, whereas chemical agents that block or activate the same targets have profound effects12,13. El-Brolosy et al. demonstrated that NITC provides protective compensation not only in zebrafish embryos, but also in mouse cell lines. NITC’s reach might extend much fur- ther than this, given that gene knockouts in diverse organisms have been shown to produce less-severe defects than corresponding gene knockdowns1. How broadly does NITC act in a given organism? El-Brolosy et al. and Ma et al. together identified eight zebrafish genes and four mouse genes that, when mutated, trigger the NITC mechanism, but it remains unclear whether this is a property of most genes. It is also unknown what dictates NITC’s strength and specificity. Both research groups identi- fied some specific mutant genes and mutations that trigger NITC only weakly, implying that there are factors yet to be understood that modulate NITC. NITC adds to the arsenal of mechanisms that confer robustness on organisms in response to mutations. Indeed, NITC provides hope even when a gene has been completely inactivated by mutation. In the words of the writer Henry David Thoreau: “If we will be quiet and ready enough, we shall find compensation in every disappointment.” ■ Miles F. Wilkinson is in the Department of Obstetrics, Gynecology, and Reproductive Sciences, University of California, San Diego, La Jolla, California 92093, USA. e-mail: mfwilkinson@ucsd.edu 1. El-Brolosy, M. A. & Stainier, D. Y. R. PLoS Genet. 13, e1006780 (2017). 2. Kok, F. O. et al. Dev. Cell 32, 97–108 (2015). 3. Rossi, A. et al. Nature 524, 230–233 (2015). 4. El-Brolosy, M. A. et al. Nature 568, 193–197 (2019). 5. Ma, Z. et al. Nature 568, 259–263 (2019). 6. Zhu, P. et al. J. Genet. Genom. 44, 553–556 (2017). 7. Popp, M. W.-L. & Maquat, L. E. Annu. Rev. Genet. 47, 139–165 (2013). 8. Howe, F. S., Fischl, H., Murray, S. C. & Mellor, J. BioEssays 39, 1600095 (2016). 9. Haimovich. G. et al. Cell 153, 1000–1011 (2013). 10. Shum, E. Y. et al. Cell 165, 382–395 (2016). 11. MacArthur, D. G. et al. Science 335, 823–828 (2012). 12. Brooks, P. C. et al. Cell 79, 1157–1164 (1994). 13. Bader, B. L., Rayburn, H., Crowley, D. & Hynes, R. O. Cell 95, 507–519 (1998). This article was published online on 3 April 2019. Figure 1 | Proposed mechanism for mutation-induced biological compensation. El-Brolosy et al.4 and Ma et al.5 report that mutations that lead to the production of truncated, often non-functional proteins indirectly activate the expression of related genes, to provide functional compensation. a, The mutations observed to trigger this process generate DNA sequences (red star) that lead to the production of messenger RNA molecules for which translation is prematurely terminated. b, These sequences also trigger mRNA degradation by a process called nonsense-mediated RNA decay (NMD), which both studies implicate in the compensatory response. c, El-Brolosy et al. propose that mRNA fragments generated by NMD bind selectively to complementary nucleotide sequences in related genes, and carry unknown regulatory factors to induce transcription. One of these factors might be Upf3a, an NMD factor that Ma et al. show is crucial for the transcriptional compensatory mechanism. They also find that Upf3a interacts with COMPASS — a protein complex that activates gene transcription by modifying one of the histone proteins (H3) with which genes are packaged in the nucleus. Both groups find that COMPASS is integral to the genetic compensatory response. a c b COMPASS Related gene H3 modi�cation H3 Cytoplasm NMD Upf3a? mRNA Nucleus Gene Mutation Functional compensation Activated transcription 1 8 0 | N A T U R E | V O L 5 6 8 | 1 1 A P R I L 2 0 1 9 NEWS & VIEWSRESEARCH © 2019 Springer Nature Limited. All rights reserved.
work_lquhyojo3bbzhlbh5mwkjyeqr4 ---- TERRA INCOGNITA: LITERARY MAPS AND NATURE REPRESENTATIONS IN JON KRAKAUER'S INTO THE WILD 64 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild 1 anguage lies at the heart of our current environmental crisis. As Bate notes, literature "[affects] how we understand ourselves, how we think about the ways in which we live our lives" 2 . When discussing or writing about the environment, we must 1 Undergraduate student at the Faculty of Social Sciences and Humanities of the New University of Lisbon (FCSH-UNL), currently in the final year of his BA (Modern Languages, Literatures and Cultures – English and North American Studies). Co-author (with Ana Brígida Paiva) of a paper entitled "Rebelling in Macau through Cross-cultural Matrimony: Emotional Landscape(s) and Strategies of Acceptance and Exclusion in Henrique de Senna Fernandes' 'The Bewitching Braid' (1993)", presented at the International Conference on Macau Narratives (FCSH-UNL/CETAPS/CHAM) at the Orient Museum (09/05/2013) and already submitted for publication. Participation in a discussion panel, held at the same Conference, entitled "Narrativas Pessoais em torno de Macau: A Viagem para Portugal e o Processo de Adaptação de Jovens 'Nascidos e Criados' em Macau". 2 This article is dedicated to all professors from the English and North American Literature department of the Faculty of Social Sciences and Humanities, New University of Lisbon (FCSH-UNL), with special thanks to Professor Ana Isabel Queiroz (FCSH-UNL/IELT), who taught me everything I know about Eco-criticism, and to Professor Miguel Alarcão (FCSH-UNL), for his support and contribution to make this publication possible. L 65 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild therefore be aware of how we represent the natural world if we are to change our understanding of, and actions towards, it. As such, a study of literature that includes nature metaphors is not only current, but an imperative one. 3 The corpus which will be the object of our analysis is Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild (1996), a non-fictional account of Chris McCandless' rejection of globalized society and subsequent journey into the Alaskan wilderness where, after 112 days of attempting to transcend himself, he dies of starvation. Being a non-fictional text, Into the Wild's representations of Nature are the literary sample which is supposed to be closer to "reality"; however, there are still subtle metaphors present throughout the narrative.4The purpose of this article is to analyze three metaphors used in literary contexts and to understand if one is able to move past these metaphors into a place of understanding the nature of man's relationship with wildernesses. Ecocriticism is a word still not registered in the Oxford English Dictionary, whereas eco- centric, eco-feminist, and eco-friendly are, the last one being added in 1989. Most people are more familiar with the term "environmentalism", which refers to a concern with the environment, whereas ecocriticism "addresses how humans relate to non-human nature or the environment in literature"(Johnson, 7). This study is mainly concerned with eco-criticism as a means of analyzing how metaphors can be unethical. According to Laurence Coupe, eco- criticism involves examining literature as a means of moving "beyond duality, beyond the opposition of mind and matter, subject and object, thinker and thing, [only then] there is the possibility to 'realise' nature"(1). In order to specifically demonstrate the origins of Krakauer's metaphors, Romanticism, as a reaction to the Enlightenment period, will be briefly examined in comparison to current reactions to globalization. Regarding Romanticism's relationship with eco-criticism, it would seem that many eco-critical texts do begin with or acknowledge the Romantic period as one of the milestones in the "nature writing" genre. However, the intuition to search for this "symbiosis" both precedes and follows the Romantic period. The idea of connecting with nature as a means of reconnecting with the self has remained with many cultures, since there has been industrial forces threatening nature and simpler ways of living. The most recent 66 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild resurgence of Romantic thinking could be viewed as a response to globalization and the environmental crisis. Globalization has stirred up a variety of social movements and political activism, as has the environmental crisis; however, as our understanding or ways of seeing the world change, so must our understanding of literature and the use of language that reflects that world. Romanticism, as it occurred traditionally in the eighteenth century, favoured nature "[which] was least touched by the hand of man, high mountains, deep forests and windswept lakes" (Cranston, 15). In 2000, Laurence Coupe's The Green Studies Reader represented a movement to formally marry green studies with Romantic literature by using the term "Green Romanticism"(13), apparently for the first time. Coupe's book examines traditional Romantic writers such as Henry David Thoreau and William Blake as early eco-critics, linking the green to the romantic explicitly in history. If we consider that "our perception of nature is a human construct [that can be] revealed through study of metaphors"(Adkins, 2), Krakauer's wilderness text becomes a poignant source of man's need for an environmental ethos and a shift in conceptualization which is hampered by the excessive use of metaphorical representations of Nature. Regarding this, in "Into Thick Air: Metaphors That Matter", Katherine Ericson identifies six metaphors (objective, enemy, animal, disease, spirit, goddess) used by Krakauer in another one of his books - Into Thin Air (1997); however, there is no mention that Krakauer uses a distinct, and more simple, group of metaphors in Into the Wild: Nature as a refuge, Nature as an objective, and Nature as an antagonist. Thus, for the remainder of this article, we will proceed to the analysis of these three metaphors which are present in the text. The first metaphor to be examined is Nature as a refuge, a place of healing. As such, individuals idealize natural places as a means of offering solutions to their own existential problems. It seems that individuals are able to find solace and peace in nature; they are able to think in ways they would be unable to do in urban spaces, which are commonly associated with stress, congestion, claustrophobia, and powerlessness. If one considers the history of medicine or pharmacology, nature can, in fact, heal us physically. Although it is likely that Romantic thought still remains in contemporary consciousness, and many of its poets have certainly contributed to an appreciation of natural spaces, the environmental movement seeks an ethic that Romantic thinkers throughout history have not always come to. In reaction to industrialization, the Romantic Movement favoured Jean Jacques Rousseau's concept of nature, one still removed from man's touch. From this 67 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild statement, it is obvious that nature, in opposition to man, the culture maker, is more desirable because of its apparent ability to provide transcendence, inspiration and freedom. The problem lies in the fact that globalization has obliterated much of the natural world that the Romantics and earlier periods knew and inhabited. As Cheryll Glotfelty noted in 1996, "we have reached the age of environmental limits, a time when the consequences of human actions are damaging the planet's basic life support systems. We are there." (xxi). Although there is a large body of people that longs for a simple, yet hard, life offered by a nature which no longer exists, it may be that they seek this life only in contrast to the complexity and convenience of our current culture. This sentiment abounds with Krakauer's protagonist and points to a growing environmental problem – and perhaps, more importantly, a spiritual one as well: we have not yet learned how to work with culture as a means towards happiness. Krakauer's "romantic types" look for narratives of a time when celebrity gossip did not trump family values and people found solace in home life. The problem is that these narratives are out of date. These texts inspire individuals to act because they see nature as the only means of spiritual renewal. However, by focusing on what we "get" out of nature, we create the idea that nature is a resource to be mined, such as a lumber yard or an oil platform, which is unethical. Also, because nature is not as plentiful in an age of globalization, individuals in Krakauer's text (himself included) are forced to seek remote wildernesses instead of city parks and back yards. Also, these individuals often go to remote places alone. As such, both man and nature are at risk of disappearing. Reading and taking inspiration from old perceptions about the reality of nature, Krakauer's men apply them to current wilderness places, creating a very dangerous discrepancy. Man's ability to live in wildernesses is no longer the norm; in fact, it is rare today. Texts, then, like Henry David Thoreau's Walden (1854) are powerful in their representation of the natural world as a place of transcendence and beauty; yet today the wild does not offer these experiences. Animals have been pushed closer to one another in the face of encroaching urban development, making contact with them potentially more dangerous. Wildernesses are disappearing daily, forcing would-be romantics and nature enthusiasts to seek out farther, deeper, and higher spaces more remote from civilization and, in many cases, rescue. 68 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild Krakauer's subjects, however, do not work within these new concepts, and we see that Romantic visions of nature prevail at the outset of their adventures. As Amy Clary notes, Krakauer's heroes are guided by "literary maps" as opposed to geographical ones (175) and the danger lies in the fact that with "wilderness areas [that] are understood solely as symbols or metaphors instead of as unique physical places … it becomes too easy to ignore the political and ecological forces that threaten them" (168). For Chris McCandless of Into the Wild, the literary maps that brought him to Alaska were provided by Henry David Thoreau and Jack London, the latter whom he claims in one of his now famous graffiti is "KING", and uses it as a catalyst to burn his money, abandon his parents and hitchhike into Alaska. McCandless was said to have been moved to visit Alaska by Jack London's The Call of the Wild. Even the title Into the Wild evokes London's first chapter in The Call of the Wild, "Into the Primitive", demonstrating London's pervasive voice. Of course, Chris McCandless's story is not unlike Buck's (incidentally, McCandless's own dog was named Buck): born into a life of privilege and destined to follow in his father's footsteps, Buck is taken (McCandless, on the other hand, chooses to go) into the wilds of Alaska, where he learns to survive without the comforts of society while discovering his newly awakened primitive identity. Obviously, there are major differences in that Buck is a dog and McCandless does not become primitive, although he does discover a new identity. Most importantly, London writes of Alaska during the Klondike Gold Rush, a time when it was possible to change one's life entirely if one could make his way there. Alaska, in particular, as a refuge is not an implausible metaphor for this time. However, the idea that Alaska offers McCandless the only opportunity for reinvention is a 69 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild foolish one. Perhaps it might be suggested that, in a time when globalization has minimized the amount of wilderness places, we learn alternative ways to find our identities within the urban spaces that surround us by looking inward, rather than outward, for healing. Instead, McCandless preferred to live in a world that exists primarily in the values offered by the literature he read. Amy Clary notes that Into the Wild is "so awash in literary references … that its emphasis on the literary seems to preclude any consideration of the materiality of the 'wild' into which McCandless walks" (168). Literature is able to convey the values of any particular culture and, as such, London's early twentieth century Alaska differs immensely from Krakauer's Alaskan landscape in the early nineties. In the end, McCandless misunderstood the complexities of London's writing, choosing instead only the ideas that served his journey. Chris McCandless's trip to Alaska "was to be an odyssey in the fullest sense of the word, an epic journey that would change everything" (Krakauer, 22). However, the idea that nature can somehow solve one's problems is a faulty one. Nature is no more a refuge for one's spiritual problems than it is a dumping ground for one's unwanted material garbage. This attitude results, quite often in Krakauer's text, in death because it causes individuals to ignore signs of danger and trek ill-prepared into isolated places. McCandless thought he could invent a whole new life for himself by going to Alaska. As Krakauer writes, "Alaska has long been a magnet for dreamers and misfits, people who think the unsullied enormity of the Last Frontier will patch all the holes in their lives… People from Outside, … they'll pick up a copy of Alaska magazine, thumb through it, get to thinkin', 'Hey, I'm goin' to get on up there, live off the land, go claim me a piece of the good life'" (4). McCandless was one of those, guided by literary maps (not just magazine articles) as opposed to literal ones, a point which contributed to his death. He took Thoreau's writings as "gospel" (28) and was fascinated by Jack London's "glorification of the primordial world … [but he] seemed to forget they were works of fiction, constructions of the imagination that had more to do with London's romantic sensibilities than with the actualities of life in the subarctic wilderness" (44). The many problems with Chris's seemingly ideal plan include the fact that he did not know how to hunt, had little provisions and did not understand that "winter, not summer, is the preferred season for traveling overland through the [Alaskan] bush" (165). As Krakauer notes: In coming to Alaska, McCandless yearned to wander uncharted country, to find a blank spot on the map. In 1992, however, there were no more blank spots on the 70 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild map - not in Alaska, not anywhere. But Chris, with his idiosyncratic logic, came up with an elegant solution to this dilemma: He simply got rid of the map. In his own mind, if nowhere else, the terra would thereby remain incognita (174). Chris McCandless's intentional rejection of a map (in order to create wilderness in his mind) is a key contention with many of Krakauer's readers. Amy Clary argues that Chris McCandless did not die in the Alaskan wilderness because he intentionally disposed of a topographical map; he died because "he carr[ied] too much of the past with him – too much literary history, and too much nostalgia for wild frontier landscapes…that can no longer be found in most of the contemporary U.S." (172). Perhaps this also explains Chris's decision to go forward into Alaska without a map. While McCandless was undoubtedly influenced by Jack London and Henry David Thoreau, Clary claims that McCandless "misread" the principles of their texts (177) and 71 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild overlooked the "literary nature" of the narratives (Krakauer, 179). What mattered to McCandless was the "idea" of wilderness, the "idea" of living off the land (176), rather than the material reality of Alaska's drastically changing sub-arctic conditions. Into the Wild's refuge metaphor seems to support an opposition between nature and culture, especially since Chris McCandless was seeking a spiritual overhaul and, it is posited by the book, that he indeed achieves it in the wilds of Alaska. Krakauer writes that Chris was "satisfied…with what he had learned during his two months of solitary life in the wild" (168). Although this part of Into the Wild does reinforce that nature is a refuge from one's problems, it does note that what Chris learns, in part, is that society is necessary, that "happiness is only real when shared" (189). It seems that, from his lonely vantage point in the wilderness, he looks to society now as a means of reconnecting. However, this understanding is a subtle one and may be overlooked by those looking to follow in McCandless's footsteps. After believing nature to be a refuge, nature then becomes man's objective. If this "thing" can heal us or make us happy, we have to have it. A problem with this, besides the fact that it permits man to attain the object at whatever cost, is that it breeds competition and risk- taking among the seekers, leading many to believe that they are separate from one another, as well as separate from the object. Jon Krakauer's text is rife with the prevailing attitude that man is not connected to nature, rather that nature, usually a wild or desolate landscape such as the Alaskan tundra, is the object of man's desire. With regard to separateness, Krakauer's hero does "connect" with nature physically by traversing its various landscapes, but a fundamental understanding that man and nature cannot be separated is missing, that "we" and "it" might simply be thought of as "us". Without this idea, it is easy to believe that nature is below man and can therefore be conquered, manipulated, controlled. Despite Chris McCandless's apparent love for natural places, he contributed to the objectification of those places. Almost everyone who encountered Chris McCandless knew that Alaska had become his objective: "Charlie: But like I was saying, Alaska, - yeah, he talked about going to Alaska…" (42); Jan Burres: "I thought Alex had lost his mind when he told us about his 'great Alaskan odyssey,' as he called it. But he was really excited about it. Couldn't stop talking about the trip." (45); Ronald Franz: "He confided that he was biding his time until spring, when he intended to go to Alaska and embark on an 'ultimate adventure'"(51); Wayne Westerberg: "That spring, however, McCandless's sights were fixed unflinchingly on Alaska. He talked about it at every opportunity" (66). More than an objective, Alaska had become his obsession. 72 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild However, objectives can make one blind to reality, to the obvious: one cannot "conquer" something that one is intrinsically a part of, nor is Alaska a safe place to test this theory. As one of the last true wilderness places, Alaska is unforgiving and those not prepared for its hardships are bound to find real danger. McCandless demonstrates his idea that Alaska was conquerable, which indicates his understanding of it as an object, by arriving there ill-prepared (he carried more books than he did food) and to many who responded to Krakauer's Outside magazine article (the article which was later adapted into the actual Into the Wild book), this added up to a "willful ignorance [that] amounts to disrespect for the land" (Krakauer, 72). Although Into the Wild does make a strong argument about the kind of person McCandless was (someone who was not suicidal or mentally ill), it does allow that he misunderstood the land he thought he could vanquish. Krakauer offers McCandless's diary entries from his stay in an abandoned Alaskan bus as evidence that he intended to eventually walk out of the bush; that he did not have a death wish. These entries, however, also present his overarching desire to subjugate the land. Krakauer notes, "… Under the heading "LONG TERM" [McCandless] drew up a list of more ambitious tasks: map the area, improvise a bathtub, collect skins and feathers to sew into clothing, construct a bridge across a nearby creek, repair mess kit, blaze a network of hunting trails"(165-166). By adding trails, mapping the area, and fashioning bathing facilities, McCandless's intentions would ultimately rob the land of the very essence he sought it out for. This demonstrates his poor understanding of his place and role within nature. The metaphor of separateness is not a new one. It is a standard idea that students in the western tradition learn that one of the primary conflicts in literature (ergo in life) is "man versus nature". This third metaphor materializes only after Christopher McCandless enters into wilderness places, such as the Alaskan tundra, and discovers that nature is not the way they thought it would be; however, this is due to their misconceptions of the true "nature" of nature. Nature as an antagonist comes from the idea that nature (when personified) simply refuses to comply with man's desire to conquer it, which is rooted in the objective metaphor and denies nature's rights. More than denying nature the right to exist outside our metaphors, we fight against nature that does not submit to our will. Here nature is a worthy antagonist, almost equal in that it is often difficult to defeat it (and in some cases it is not even defeated). Although this metaphor promotes violence against nature, it does acknowledge nature's power and some kind of equality with man. Also interesting is that nature here means to harm; as Katherine Ericson points out, "[t]hese creatures… fight to the death. So humans have the right 73 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild to destroy in order to preserve themselves and emerge triumphant"(88). If one finds himself in a fight for his life, respect for the enemy is foolish, even suicidal, and preservation is reserved solely for the self. Rowe furthers this idea by writing that "when Mother Nature is conceived as a harlot or witch, we need feel no sympathy for her. We are not flesh of her flesh, and we owe nothing to her. We are important and she is not, a perilous falsehood (143). Into the Wild presents antagonistic metaphors; however, Krakauer is able to undo them later in the book by retracing McCandless's steps. Chris walks into "the wild" quite easily, hearkening to the siren call of the Alaskan mountain range. At first, Chris's adventure is free of any antagonists: he is lent some boots and a small homemade lunch from Jim Gallien, who dropped the hitchhiker off at the Stampede Trail; he literally walks the trail until he conveniently finds an abandoned bus outfitted with a bed and a stove; he has relatively decent luck hunting small but sufficient game and lives quite comfortably for the majority of 116 days. The first encounter with the idea that nature is an antagonist comes when Chris kills a moose. Due to his lack of knowledge about preservation methods for Alaska (he consulted hunters from South Dakota), the meat began to spoil more quickly than he was able to prepare it. McCandless here works against flies, maggots, and rot for six days before "abandon[ing] the carcass to the wolves" (Krakauer, 167). He considers the waste of the moose meat "One of the greatest tragedies of [his] life" (167). McCandless implies in his journals that he is responsible for the waste and not nature when he writes "I now wish I had never shot the moose" (167), which points clearly towards an environmental ethic. The similarity between Chris and Coleridge's Mariner is somewhat obvious, although purely coincidental. Like the Mariner shot the Albatross in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1798), Chris killed the moose. The Mariner was cursed and underwent multiple hardships at sea; McCandless had to deal with his own difficulties in the wilderness. Instead of nature, both characters, viewed from an eco-critical perspective, ought to be seen as their own, real antagonists. Secondly, McCandless's ease in attaining the object of his desire is reversed when he attempts to leave Alaska. Upon reaching in April the Teklanika river, which he was required to cross, it was half-frozen and permitted his passage. In July, when Chris again tried to cross the river, it was "at full flood, swollen with rain and snow melt from glaciers high in the Alaska Range, running cold and fast…The water, opaque with glacial sediment and only a few degrees warmer than the ice it had so recently been, was the color of concrete. Too deep to wade, it rumbled like a freight train" (170). In order to return home, Chris (afraid of water) would have to 'negotiate' the river. In his journal, 74 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild he wrote "Disaster. … Rained in. River look impossible. Lonely, scared" (170). Certain that he would be unable to defeat the river, Chris returned to what Krakauer describes as "the fickle heart of the bush" (171). Chris's understanding of nature has shifted into an antagonistic force where previously he had "walked" into the wild, but he is now "trapped" in it. Nature here seems most vicious: allowing a man to pass into its folds, enjoy a stay there, then allow him to see his way out, and prevent him from leaving, ever. Krakauer, however, does achieve an ethic here because, during his journey to the bus one year after Chris's death, he notes that McCandless was, in fact, not trapped in the wild. There was a gauging station about twenty minutes from the Stampede Trail with an aluminum basket used to ferry hydrologists from one side of the river to the other. When Krakauer arrives at the station, the basket was on Chris's side of the river (the bus side) and, had he known about the station (if he had carried with him a topographical map instead of a literary one), "salvation" would have been his (174). Although it seems that nature was an antagonistic force that Chris McCandless was, at times, up against, Krakauer clarifies that Chris was really up against himself in going to and dying in Alaska. When we discuss our current environmental crisis, we might note the use of "our"; it is our crisis in the sense that we are also responsible for it. Our conception of nature as a refuge, object, or antagonist allows us to ignore recycling initiatives or throw garbage into the ditches from a car window without remorse. Literature, of course, is not to blame for the metaphors we use, but it can also be a tool for change or not. Becoming aware of how we use language to understand everyday reality is possible when writers include ethical metaphors in their texts, or, at least, reflect upon the negative implications of using outdated modes of perception. Ecology offers a view of nature that is inclusive of man. Together, man and nature are one system in the universe and until we are able to understand that our separateness is simply an illusion, nature (and oftentimes we forget that this includes man) remains in peril. It has been our purpose in this article to highlight literature's responsibility towards the Earth, by demonstrating that ethical uses of language can change our actions. By looking at Krakauer's unethical metaphors and ourselves, in the same manner he has looked at his metaphors and himself, one is able to move into a place of understanding about the nature of man's relationship with wildernesses. "Getting away" to nature does not serve nature or man. As many of Krakauer's characters realize, their problems simply await them. Nature, as a refuge, eludes protection. The refuge metaphor leads Krakauer's characters to objectify nature and compete against one another to obtain it; as such, it is argued that objectifying nature 75 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild creates the opportunity for man to take risks that he fails to see are real and deadly. Regarding nature as an antagonist: this metaphor is a result of the first two and is the most prolific one in Krakauer's texts. We think that if nature is standing in our way, or threatening our lives, we must take the necessary actions to prevent human loss because humans are superior to nature. Also, the necessary actions can include leaving pollution behind, commercializing wildernesses, altering the land or weather systems, and wasting natural "resources". In conclusion, the environmental crisis as we currently know it reflects our own struggle to come to terms with modernity. As such, nature, in addition to the use of eco- criticism as a means to better understand nature through literature, shows us that it is possible to change; it is necessary to change, and it is our responsibility to change, by searching for an alternative and eco-critical paradigm of nature representations in literature. Bibliography 1) Works cited: Adkins, Kaye. 2003. "Serpents and Sheep: The Harriman Expedition, Alaska, and the Metaphoric Reconstruction of American Wilderness", in Technical Communication Quarterly 12.4, 423-37. . Accessed 05.03.2013. Bate, Jonathan. 2000. The Song of the Earth. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Clary, Amy. 2009. "(Un)Mapping the Wild: Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, Thoreau's Walden, and the Textuality of Wilderness", in On and Off the Page: Mapping Place in Text and Culture. Ed. M. B. Hackler. Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Pub., 167-185. Coupe, Laurence. 2000. The Green Studies Reader: From Romanticism to Ecocriticism. London: Routledge. Cranston, Maurice. 1994. The Romantic Movement. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Ericson, Katherine. 2006. "Into Thick Air: Metaphors That Matter", in A Wilderness of Signs: Ethics, Beauty, and Environment After Postmodernism. Ed. Jordon Joe. Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Pub., 85-93. Glotfelty, Cheryll and Harold Fromm. 1996. The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press. Krakauer, Jon. 1996. Into the Wild. New York: Anchor Books. http://dx.doi.org/10.1207/s15427625tcq1204_5 76 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild Philips, Dana. 2003. The Truth of Ecology: Nature, Culture, and Literature in America. Oxford: Oxford UP. Raskin, Jonah. 2011. "Calls of the Wild on the Page and Screen: From Jack London and Gary Snyder to Jon Krakauer and Sean Penn", in American Literary Realism 43.3, 199-20. . Accessed 05.03.2013. Rowe, Stan. 2002. Home Place: Essays on Ecology. Edmonton: NeWest Press. 2) Works consulted: Buell, Lawrence. 1995. The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Massachusetts: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. --------------------. 2005. The Future of Environmental Criticism: Environmental Crisis and Literary Imagination. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Fausset, Hugh l'Anson. 1962. "Rousseau and Romanticism", in Romanticism: Points of View. Eds. Robert F. Gleckner and Gerald E. Enscoe. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Garrard, Greg. 2004. Ecocriticism. London: Routledge. Hanssen, Caroline. 2011. "'You Were Right, Old Hoss; You Were Right': Jack London in Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild", in American Literary Realism 43.3, 191-7. . Accessed 05.03.2013. Heise, Ursula K.. March 2006. "The Hitchhiker's Guide to Ecocriticism", in PMLA 121.2, 503-516. . Accessed 05.03.2013. Johnson, Loretta. December 2009. "Greening the Library: the Fundamentals and Future of Ecocriticism", in Choice, 7-13. Kollin, Susan. Spring-Summer 2000. "The Wild, Wild North: Nature Writing, Nationalist Ecologies, and Alaska", in American Literary History 12.1/2, 41-78. . Accessed 05.03.2013. London, Jack. 1999. The Call of the Wild. Irvine: Saddleback Classics. Olwig, Kenneth R.. December 1996. "Recovering the Substantive Nature of Landscape", in Annals of the Association of American Geographers 86.4, 630-653. . Accessed 05.03.2013. Siddall, Stephen. 2009. Landscape and Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/amerlitereal.43.3.0198 http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/amerlitereal.43.3.0191 http://www.jstor.org/stable/25486328 http://muse.jhu.edu/ http://www.jstor.org/stable/2564345 77 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild Press. Thoreau, Henry David. 1995. Walden; Or, Life in the Woods. New York: Dover.
work_lr44g6sfrngs3kwv67mzra73cy ---- ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 73 Civil and/or laic religions Maria Serafimova South -West University, Blagoevgrad, Bulgaria Address correspondence to: Maria Serafimova, Department of Sociology, South -West University “Neofit Rilski”, "Ivan Mihaylov" 66, 2700 Blagoevgrad, Bulgaria; Phone: +359 73 885 501; Email: serafimova@swu.bg Objective. In postmodern culture, individuals explore ways to orient their worlds by a certain “invisible” religiosity, which penetrates throughout the so-called secular societies. The existence of societies is impossible without religions, neither the authentic ones, nor the so-called “earthly”, civil or laic religions. This is the transition from institutional religions to something that can be defined as "personal religion", a type of religiosity in which individuals construct their own conceptual systems. Methods. Both quantitative and qualitative methods have been used in an attempt to obtain the necessary authentic and thorough information. This means that data from a representative survey have been combined with an additional analysis of discussions within focus groups and with the results of participant observation and interviews for the purposes of the final analysis. Results. Bulgarians have a healthy dose of skepticism. This is due to their high level of education and not least to their alertness and inquisitive nature in real life, including faith. Many people are influenced by popular culture. Originally, the main elements of human culture, including religion, are phenomena with great momentum. They change slower and more difficult than other phenomena. Most people say that the path to the temple can be found in a different way. Unfortunately, young people turn to religion only when something bad happens to them, if they suffer, or if they have a dilemma that excites them. Conclusions. If “traditional” and “modern” are two ideal-typical poles, the present day Bulgarian society is situated somewhere in the middle between both of them. In all cases, it is a mixture that combines the pole of traditionalism, defined through continuity with the past, and the pole of modernity, defined by change, novelty and innovation. Keywords: ecology, family, religions, sacred, profane Introduction Probably one of the greatest ironies of our postmodern world is that we have more capacity for communication than at any other time in the history of humanity and yet, there is a widespread feeling of disconnection. We are preoccupied with distractions while at the same time we are being bound to a stark feeling of loneliness. In postmodern culture, individuals explore ways to orient their worlds. They find themselves amidst a sea of chaotic relativity and have a greater need to bring meaning to their lives. In such a situation, an ascertainment like God is dead unexpectedly turn out to be accompanied by a certain “invisible” religiosity, which penetrates throughout the so-called secular societies. That is why the existence of societies is impossible without religions – neither the authentic ones, nor the so-called “earthly”, civil or laic religions. mailto:serafimova@swu.bg ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 74 Culture Society is a product of various human activities and is characterized by cultural originality. Any time, any age, any stage of social development has the features and characteristics of their culture and cultural developments. This essential characteristic is inevitably associated with conscious human individuals and groups that have a particular historically determined humanistic coefficient, which allows the researchers to distinguish natural from cultural reality. At the same time, researchers get into the specifics of cultural reality, remaining in the position of objective observers. The development of each culture is associated with the creation of new values, which are the benchmark of people’s social activities. Culture enhances personal autonomy rights and covers knowledge, art, morality, and faith. The essence of culture is related to goal setting and action, regardless of the nature. Culture consists in emphasizing the social value of humans. As if, the difference between cultures seldom revealed for what it is – a natural phenomenon, people generally accept it as something monstrous or outrageous. One of the main characteristics of the world is cultural diversity. People from different cultures live, work, learn together and constantly look for ways to accept and understand each other. Problem areas of difference exist in every society, in every community, but should not be construed static, nor as a static object. Accordingly, the concept of diversity of human culture is not static. No doubt, people have created different cultures due to geographic distances, the specific characteristics of the environment and the ignorance of the rest of mankind. Furthermore, the differences are due to the isolation and the proximity. Culture fits inside created by generations, store experiences and decisions of past eras. It is a human expression and affirmation, but also provides opportunities for the future. Civilization Civilization is an important matter in a category that over the past three centuries gradually accumulated and painted colourful and dramatic pictures of a diverse cultural and historical process of mankind. At the end of 18 th century, it appeared that the idea of civilization contained mainly a new image for the human being and society. Civilization is an academic concept, which combines approaches of sociology, anthropology, cultural studies, and their interpenetrations from the middle of 20 th century until present. Civilization is related to education and politeness, but it includes a general overall improvement of the material and intellectual level of a group or community. It became the tradition of connecting with more countries, civilization of human life, and society. This tradition started from Immanuel Kant and reached Nikolai Berdyaev, connected the material civilization, technical and external aspects of human life activity. In their view, the advance of modern Western culture has left vast numbers of people in a state of spiritual and psychological alienation. The rapid pace of technological change, the dominance of huge, impersonal institutions, and the bewildering complexity of modern society has left many individuals feeling adrift, isolated, and lacking a sense of meaning or purpose of their lives. Society as a reality sui generis it has its own peculiar characteristics, which are not found elsewhere and which cannot be met again in the same form in the rest of the whole universe. The representations that express it have an absolutely different content from purely individual ones and we may rest assured in advance that the first adds something to the second. ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 75 Collective representations are the result of an immense cooperation, which stretches out not only into space but into time as well; to make them, a multitude of minds have associated, united and combined their ideas and sentiments; for them, long generations have accumulated their experience and their knowledge. Religion The sociology of religion is primarily the study of practices, social structures, historical backgrounds, development, universal themes, and roles of religion in society. There is a particular emphasis on the recurring role of religion in nearly all societies today and throughout recorded history. Sociologists of religion attempt to explain the effects of society on religion and the effects of religion on society. In my opinion, there can be no substantive definition of religion. If the notion of religion is de-substantialized, what remains of it is, as far as possible, a way of believing which is compatible with the idea of tradition. Its contents are not defined a priori and they refer to the way of validating a given collective memory. The object of religion is alive, reborn, spreads, and dissipates, moved to the "critical times". The task of sociologists is to track and analyse these transformations. The specific features of every religion can be read and interpreted sociologically. Sociologists of religion study religious facts, both past and present. These objective phenomena must also be treated as social facts, which can be explained by other social facts. In other words – to construct them, classify them, compare them, treat them within the relationship and conflicts in a society, recessed community in certain groups. In the study of religion, sociologists are interested in social context, social impact, social significance, role, nature and functions of a religion in society, the interaction of religion with other spheres of social life. Religion may be broadly defined as, the human quest for the Holy or Sacred, the experience of it, and the response to it. This universal human activity expresses itself in at least three ways: in thought (the intellectual expression), in action (the practical expression), and in fellowship (the communal expression). These complex religious expressions comprise the subject-matter of the academic study of religion. The sacred and the profane Sacred places function as some fixed reference points in the secular world. They offer a potential avenue for bridging the gap between the secular and the spiritual. The labyrinth of human relations with the sacred is incredibly complex and impassable. Sacred places connect very different and important realities. According to Emile Durkheim, the human conscience regards the sacred and the profane as two different kinds, two worlds that have nothing in common. Durkheim defines society by its symbolic boundaries: it is the sharing of a common definition of the sacred and the profane, of similar rules of conducts and a common compliance to rituals and interdictions that defines the internal bonds within a community. He posits that the boundaries of the group coincide with those delimitating the sacred from the profane. In The Sacred and Profane, Mircea Eliade begins his discussion of sacred place as it relates to the idea of the "holy" in Rudolph Otto's work The Holy. He agrees with Otto that the sacred is not some abstraction that has very little to do with our everyday lives. Eliade presents the three building blocks of every sacred place: disruption, orientation, and communication. These categories are important not only for understanding the sacred place. Sacred place then, in Eliade's thinking, "breaks upon" a profane world – a world in which there is no ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 76 difference. As opposed to so much of modern or new age thinking, a sacred place is a place of disruption and difference. Profane space or chaotic space would be a world where there are no differences, where place is the same in that one place and is no more significant than another. Creation without difference would be a creation without sacred place. The whole world then would be a profane space, which, of course, is a world of chaos, confusion, and relativity. Another way of saying this is that in our postmodern culture individuals’ look at themselves in order to orient their worlds. Yet we need more than ourselves to bring meaning to our worlds. Nevertheless, the sacred in its’ classical form seems to be losing ground. What are your sacred places? On say everything – from being alone in a car, to spending time in the desert, a barn, or a field, to a particular table in a coffee shop. No doubt, sacred space exists for the primary purpose of placing us in communion with the sacred world. Because we live in a secular world, because we no longer live in the garden, we experience great alienation, and it is here that sacred place offers the potential avenue to bridge the gap between the secular and the sacred. Eliade reminds us that we yearn for sacred place so we can find a fixed point in an otherwise relative world. All of the religious answers constitute the sacred universe of traditional societies, but it could be included in the creation of a modern sacred. In a condition, that “sacred” doesn’t mean only “religious”, religion could help to legitimate the purposes and actions of society, to strengthen the determination of people, to help build up a sense of identity. Religion could help to legitimate the purposes and actions of society, to strengthen the determination of the people, to help build up the sense of identity. This is the transition from institutional religions to something that can be defined as personal religion, a type of religiosity, in which individuals construct their own conceptual system. People construct their meaningful dispositive for themselves and are free to choose any religion or religious group to belong. Deep ecology In traditional societies, the individual exists only as far as taking its place in a group, a place that is often destined from birth in a social hierarchy. It is governed by the collective beliefs, rules and norms shared by all present that are not in dispute - transcendence based on social connections and "pre"-mythical past and valuable. The past is no longer an idyllic world, which stands as reference. It is an imperfect world and a subject of dispute. The modern man of the 21 st century chooses his preferred beliefs and values in a pluralistic world, where conflicting values co-exist and are subject to the critique of reason. He is surrounded with satellite television, radio, e-mail, computer networking, fax machines, and of course the Internet. There is a profusion of data, but very little knowledge that connects people. There is a deluge of information, but very little wisdom that helps him live skilfully. The religious man is more like a nomad, that hardly defines his time travelling and because he changes the places where he lives more often. Everyone is free to adopt and abandon the symbolic content of religious systems that they like. The dialogue between religions and ecology promises to be one of the most effective, because in practice the belief, religious values can oppose the inexorable forces of aggression, destruction and poor spirits. Ecology reminds of itself. It is becoming more and more evident how vast its field of study is. Ecological motives and considerations should become a major factor when governmental ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 77 decisions are taken. The norms and recommendations of ecologists are ignored all too often, and this is caused mostly by objective reasons but also by subjective ones. In societies that are connected with nature, not against its face to make it obey, and found it both its extension and its impact, certainly have kinship between the sacred and the political. Both categories can be defined simultaneously as the principles and the relationships that they suggest "match" each other. In the present situation of changes and transformations "things" obtain another different meaning. This creates a sense of doubt, confusion and transience. Putting it differently, more and more people realize that we must “live simply so that others may simply live”. (Mahatma Gandhi) The new environmentalism, which has been termed deep ecology or ecosophy, earth wisdom, gives rise to potent eco-theology and eco-psychology movements. The term deep ecology was coined by the Norwegian philosopher Arne Naess in 1972, based on the earlier work and inspiration of persons such as Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, Robinson Jeffers, Aldo Leopold, Rachel Carson, David Brower, et al. Deep ecology has been elaborated in numerous books and articles since then by Naess and many other voices. Naess and George Sessions articulated a deep ecology platform in 1984. Here are the 8 points of this deep ecology platform, as posited by Naess and Sessions: “1. The well-being and flourishing of human and non-human life on Earth have value in themselves (synonyms: intrinsic value, inherent worth). These values are independent of the usefulness of the non-human world for human purposes. 2. Richness and diversity of life forms contribute to the realization of these values and are also values in themselves. 3. Humans have no right to reduce this richness and diversity except to satisfy vital needs. 4. The flourishing of human life and cultures is compatible with a substantially smaller human population. The flourishing of non-human life requires a smaller human population. 5. Present human interference with the non-human world is excessive, and the situation is rapidly worsening. 6. Policies must therefore be changed. These policies affect basic economic, technological, and ideological structures. The resulting state of affairs will be deeply different from the present. 7. The ideological change will be mainly that of appreciating life quality (dwelling in situations of inherent value) rather than adhering to an increasingly higher standard of living. There will be a profound awareness of the difference between being big and being great. 8. Those who subscribe to the foregoing points have an obligation directly or indirectly to try to implement the necessary changes.” (Naess., 1995, p.68) Environmental culture is not an independent and isolated phenomenon. It exists in certain socio-cultural context and there is a bilateral interdependence. The inherited culture is influenced by the environment – geographical, material, institutional, organizational and cultural components and at the same time it affects this background. On a personal level, environmental culture is in relation to age, education, social background, value systems, and individual life strategies. Unfortunately, anyone who sees our horrific and pressing environmental woes and who joins with others in the great work of educating friends, colleagues and the general public is going to have a hard time saying anything without sounding like one of those “grieving greenies” or “spoil- sports.” Within the empirical survey, carried out in the course of the project Transformation of the national value system and its synchronization with European patterns: the development of environmental culture as an indicator of transition of European values in the Bulgarian Society (Head Assoc. Prof. Dr. A. Mantarova and funding from National Science Fund of the Bulgarian ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 78 Ministry of Education, Science, and Youth, 2010), environmental culture was described as a complex social phenomenon, alternating historical unity of consciousness and behaviour related to the interaction society - nature in all its forms. Furthermore, based on information gathered during the survey conducted in the Blagoevgrad region in March 2010, we will present and analyse the basic parameters of the environmental culture of the population aged 18 and more, in the area and its main dependencies. The sociological surveys show that state of the environment is assessed as a very serious problem by 28.6 % of respondents and as a serious one - by 39.4%. A more detailed look at the information indicates the presence of inter-group differences in the assessment of the situation. Negative evaluations were given more frequently by young people - between 18 and 29 years (72.9% and in the sample – 67.4%), by highly educated people - 79.3 %. Instead, for the respondents between 50 and 59 years, a much more serious problem is unemployment (which they are much affected, and their prospects for returning to active working life are rather limited). The problem is described as less important by the low-educated groups. Conclusions Young people have a natural predisposition to build environmentally adapted worldview. This is the beginning of what should be followed to achieve the new thinking, new methodology, new approach, and new behaviour in today's global environmental situation. For the average Bulgarian, faith has little importance for the general development of the country. The roles of faith and religion in Bulgaria are so very secondary, even within Eastern Europe. They can influence neither the models for public conduct, nor the personal morality of citizens. The effect of modern mass culture in all of its forms serves as an addition to the traditionally neglectful attitude of Bulgarians towards faith before 1989. The invading secularism of the West mingles itself with the atheistic heritage from the Communist era. This process concerns the young generation most deeply. Popular culture, pseudo-folkloric music and all the new tendencies of modern day life have a dominant role in a young person’s view of life. Things like morality, faith or knowing the Bible seem like a secondary problem. Many among the young are more susceptible to ideas of occultism and exorcism than to those coming from the Churches or the Word of God. In conclusion, the atheistic period in the history of Bulgarian society is an important factor for the spiritual vacuum in Bulgarian society, but a more serious reason for it - is the period of transition leading to total carelessness - economic and spiritual carelessness. Young people need spiritual direction and they’re not the only ones, because in modern society and its dynamic rhythm, the material side of things prevails. We are witnessing not only a material crisis, but also a profound spiritual one. The spiritual is inverted to the point that kept the material and where available, can be said that there is some form of native flashes that are not organized in any process. Regardless of the logic of profanation and secularization of the modern world, there seems to be a process of reversion to the sacred – to the modern sacred. In their efforts to note at the same time the loss of influence that the institutional religions suffer, and the dispersions of the religious symbols in modern societies, a lot of researchers use the term sacred. Sacred things with their immunity offer the ultimate meaning of everyday life, because within the limits of the profane it is impossible to find such meaning. Because of this the existence of societies is impossible without religions – neither authentic, nor the so-called “earthly”, civil or laic religions. ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 79 References 1. Bell, D., 1991. The Winding passage. New Jersey: Transaction Publishers. 2. Berger, P., 1969, The Sacred Canopy. New York: Garden City. 3. Crisp, T., Religion and Dreams. Dream hawk. Available on: [Accessed 31.03.2015] 4. Durkheim, E., 1999, Suicide. (Maria Serafimova, scientific editor foreword). Sofia: Sofia S.A. 5. Durkheim, E., 1998, Elementary Forms of Religious Life. (Maria Serafimova, Lilyna Yanakieva, translation). Sofia: Sofia S.A. 6. Eliade, M., 1961. The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion. New York: Harper Torchbooks. 7. Fourastié, J., 1981. Ce que je croix. Paris: Gallimard. 8. Hervieu-Leger, D., 1993. La Religion pour mémoire. Paris: L.E. CERF. 9. Arne Naess, “The Deep Ecological Movement: Some Philosophical Aspects,” in George Sessions (Ed.), Deep Ecology for the 21st Century: Readings on the Philosophy & Practice of the New Environmentalism, Shambhala, 1995, p. 68. 10. Smart, N., 1999. Dimensions of the Sacred: An Anatomy of the World Beliefs. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1999. 11. *** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mircea_Eliade [Accessed 31.03.2015] http://www.dreamhawk.com/d-relig.htm http://www.dreamhawk.com/d-relig.htm http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mircea_Eliade Life
work_lse3laiya5asxic46ps2hevhva ---- untitled D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 rstb.royalsocietypublishing.org Introduction Cite this article: Post E, Høye TT. 2013 Advancing the long view of ecological change in tundra systems. Phil Trans R Soc B 368: 20120477. http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2012.0477 One contribution of 11 to a Theme Issue ‘Long-term changes in Arctic tundra ecosystems’. Subject Areas: ecology, environmental science Keywords: Arctic, climate change, long-term studies, tundra biome, warming Author for correspondence: Eric Post e-mail: esp10@psu.edu & 2013 The Author(s) Published by the Royal Society. All rights reserved. Advancing the long view of ecological change in tundra systems Eric Post1 and Toke T. Høye2,3 1The Polar Center, and Department of Biology, Penn State University, 208 Mueller Lab, University Park, PA 16802, USA 2Department of Bioscience, Aarhus University, Grenåvej 14, 8410 Rønde, Denmark 3Arctic Research Centre, Aarhus University, CF Møllers Allé 8, building 1110, 8000 Aarhus C, Denmark Despite uncertainties related to sustained funding, ideological rivalries and the turnover of research personnel, long-term studies and studies espousing a long- term perspective in ecology have a history of contributing landmark insights into fundamental topics, such as population- and community dynamics, species interactions and ecosystem function. They also have the potential to reveal sur- prises related to unforeseen events and non-stationary dynamics that unfold over the course of ongoing observation and experimentation. The unprece- dented rate and magnitude of current and expected abiotic changes in tundra environments calls for a synthetic overview of the scope of ecological responses these changes have elicited. In this special issue, we present a series of contri- butions that advance the long view of ecological change in tundra systems, either through sustained long-term research, or through retrospective or pro- spective modelling. Beyond highlighting the value of long-term research in tundra systems, the insights derived herein should also find application to the study of ecological responses to environmental change in other biomes as well. 1. Introduction Both long-term studies and studies adopting a long-term perspective are instrumental, if not critical, to revealing the complex interactions that shape, characterize and drive ecological systems. Such studies are, furthermore, of prime value in understanding the ecological implications of global climate change. In many cases, however, long-term studies in ecology have been initiated for reasons other than those concerned with detecting and characterizing conse- quences of climate change. This is especially true in the case of studies that were initiated before the onset of the recent anthropogenic warming trend, and in the case of studies that have developed secondarily out of long-term records that have since been co-opted for use in climate change studies. We argue that the long view of ecological change is particularly important during periods of rapid change and where data sources are limited. In tundra systems, where abiotic conditions are undergoing rapid and pronounced change [1], a long-term perspective on eco- logical change may derive from continuous, multi-annual data, or, where such data are lacking, may depend on retrospective or prospective analyses. In this special issue, we present a series of papers representing both types of approach with the aim of advancing the long view on ecological change in tundra systems. 2. Landmark long-term studies in ecology Whether initiated as ecological investigations or simply out of an interest in natu- ral history, long-term studies and studies conducted with a long-term perspective have in general been instrumental in exposing the complexities of species inter- actions and the role of these in ecological responses to environmental change [1]. A classic example of the heuristic value of long-term studies in ecology is the ongoing investigation initiated in 1958 of wolf – moose dynamics in Isle Royale National Park, USA. One of the many epistemological highlights of this study is the evolution of insights into predator – prey dynamics it has generated, from the simple notion of wolf limitation of moose abundance, to the more http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1098/rstb.2012.0477&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2013-07-08 mailto:esp10@psu.edu rstb.royalsocietypublishing.org PhilTrans R Soc B 368:20120477 2 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 nuanced understanding of the selectivity of wolf predation on certain age classes of moose, to the role of winter weather in wolf kill rates of moose, to the role of wolf disease outbreaks in moose dynamics, and ultimately, to the secondary role of wolf predation relative to climatic fluctuation in moose dynamics and abundance on the island [2]. Such an evolution of our understanding of the nature of the complex interac- tions among climate, pathogens and predation in herbivore population dynamics would, quite obviously, have been impossible in the absence of continuous, long-term research. Perhaps more interestingly, however, the Isle Royale wolf – moose study highlights the value of long-term and continuous studies in capitalizing upon unexpected developments to the benefit of improving our understanding of and appreciation for ecological complexity. In contrast to the Isle Royale wolf – moose study, the time series of observations comprising the Marsham phenological record [3] was not initiated as an ecological study, and yet it is perhaps one of the best-known long-term datasets on indi- cators of spring that has been adapted for the study of ecological responses to climate change. Comprising obser- vations of up to 27 phenological events in 20 species, including the timing of flowering and leafing out in plants, and appearances or vocalizations of birds, amphibians and butterflies, the Marsham phenological record was initiated by Robert Marsham on his estate in Norfolk, England, in 1736, and continued through five generations of his descen- dants [4]. Although obviously not initiated with the intent to investigate ecological consequences of climate change, the Marsham phenological record has been used to illustrate long-term species-level responses to fluctuations and trends in weather and climate [4,5]. Notably, analyses of the Marsham record have demonstrated variation among species in the extent to which their springtime phenologies have changed over two centuries [4], as well as differences among species in the proximal drivers of variation in their springtime phenol- ogies [6], thereby supporting the notion of individualistic species’ responses to climate change. Similarly, analyses of phenological observations recorded by Henry David Thoreau in New England, USA, and contemporary repeat sampling of similar observations in the same area have provided important insights into changes in community composition [7] and species-specific variation in rates of phenological response to climate change [8,9] that would not have been possible in the absence of such a long-term perspective [10]. Whereas long-term studies, such as that on Isle Royale, produce powerful datasets that can reveal non-stationary dynamics (i.e. those attributable to differing drivers as the time series and investigators’ understanding of the system-level nuances expand) [11,12], studies with a long-term perspective may not necessarily produce long-term datasets, but may expand upon historic datasets or use retrospective analyses to produce insights into long-term dynamics and processes [13,14]. Studies of the nesting ecology of tits in the UK initiated decades ago [15] have since, for example, provided compelling case studies of the role of resource availability and timing in con- sumer responses to climate change [16 – 18]. Persistent, ongoing monitoring of body condition and birth rates in polar bears in Western Hudson Bay, Canada, begun in 1981, eventually resulted in the first evidence of population ecological conse- quences in this species of recent warming [19]. Long-term observations of the annual timing of clutch initiation among Mexican jays breeding in the Chiricahua Mountains in Arizona, USA, produced seminal insights into the role of rising minimum monthly temperatures in egg-laying trends in avian species [20]. Long-term experimentation involving multi-annual exclusion of granivorous rodents in the Chihuahuan Desert revealed lagged responses to the El Niño Southern Oscillation and the relaxation of competition among members of this guild, neither of which would have been elucidated through shorter nor discontinuous experiments [21,22]. The demonstration of lagged responses to species removals and legacy effects of environmental disturbance are two key features of studies with long-term perspective. The local extinc- tion of grizzly bears and wolves from the southern Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, for instance, promoted, over one and a half centuries, the irruption of moose, decline of riparian wil- lows browsed by moose, and subsequent decline of neotropical migratory birds specialized upon nesting among riparian zone willows [23]. Long-term surveys of heavily logged areas of forest in Kibale National Park, Uganda, conducted over nearly three decades, were necessary to reveal the legacy effects of this disturbance on the recovery of primates, populations of some species of which continued to decline decades after log- ging [24], illustrating the importance of the extinction debt deriving from habitat destruction [25] that may also apply to species’ responses to climate change [26,27]. In contrast to the extremely long-term datasets applied to the study of ecological responses to climate change that characterize some mid- and lower latitude systems, such as the aforementioned Marsham record [4,6,28] and more recently published records from continental European [29] and Mediter- ranean systems [30 – 32], in tundra systems long-term datasets and multi-decadal studies are, with the occasional exception [33], comparatively rare. There are multiple explanations for this, among which logistical challenges inherent to conducting ongoing research in remote locations is clearly important. Perhaps for this reason, retrospective, prospective and com- parative studies are often employed in tundra systems to derive long-term perspective on ecological dynamics and trends in response to past and expected climate change [1,34]. In our judgement, the examples given above from lower lati- tudes demonstrate that unique insights can be gained from adopting a long view on ecological change either through long-term observations at the same site, by detailed studies of novel phenomena, or through modelling temporal dynamics. We argue that such an approach is imperative to understanding and adapting to the dramatic abiotic changes projected for the Arctic. The papers in this special issue employ multiple approaches to the study of long-term changes in tundra ecosys- tems along four major thematic lines, and will, we hope, stimulate new initiatives necessary for current and future understanding of this rapidly changing biome. 3. Plant phenology A previous analysis of long-term phenological monitoring data from the high Arctic demonstrated that mean pheno- logical advancements averaged across observations of the timing of flowering in plants, emergence in arthropods and egg-laying in birds were much stronger than similar reports from temperate latitudes [35,36]. The magnitude and appar- ently linear nature of these phenological advances raise the question of whether they will be sustained in the context of ongoing warming. The degree of potential phenological rstb.royalsocietypublishing.org PhilTrans R Soc B 368:20120477 3 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 advance within the lifespan of the individual is, after all, con- trolled by limits to phenotypic plasticity. The alleviation of current environmental constraints on the timing of life- history events by climate change may result in thresholds in plant phenological responses to warming [1]. With long- term observations of the timing of flowering from an Arctic and a subalpine site, Iler et al. [37] in this issue assess whether phenological variation in recent decades provides evidence of such nonlinear responses. As Iler et al. report, their results provide surprisingly little evidence of nonlinear patterns of flowering phenology in response to environmental variation, although some species appear to be approaching their limit in responding to earlier snowmelt. In contrast, a separate analy- sis in this issue by Oberbauer et al. [38] using long-term control (observational) data from the circum-Arctic dis- tributed International Tundra Experiment initiated in 1990 reveals minimal phenological advancement across the com- piled dataset. Instead, the observed phenological dynamics were highly species- and site specific, and the lack of any observable overall trend is, the authors contend, likely due to strong interannual variability in annual temperatures and variability among sites in long-term climatic trends [38]. 4. Dynamics among and within species The notion that Arctic ecosystems are inherently simple and form ideal test beds for understanding ecosystem properties such as stability and resilience prevails, despite numerous examples of complexity in food web structure [39], species diversity [40] and trophic interactions [41] from high-latitude systems. Olofsson et al. [42] provide a compelling example in this issue of a shift in long-term vegetation dynamics from ostensible regulation by rather predictable dynamics towards more complex dynamics once a new component of the eco- system becomes more important. In this case, field-layer vegetation accumulated over 15 years was eliminated by the combination of a major caterpillar outbreak and an increase in disease severity of a pathogenic fungus infecting the dwarf-shrub Empetrum hermaphroditum. Such an example supports the need for long-term observational and experimental studies because, similar to the Isle Royale study, it questions the generality of the results of shorter term studies. In another install- ment to this issue, Gauthier et al. [43] present unique information on long-term dynamics of multiple trophic levels from the Canadian high Arctic, demonstrating that directional trends in phenology, demography and life-history changes at their site are rare, despite its warming trend. These results are at odds with the strong trends documented at Zackenberg in high Arctic Greenland [44], but confirm apparent regional variation documented by Oberbauer et al. [38]. The results presented by Gauthier et al. [43] also suggest that, for at least one aspect of their monitoring programme, changes in graminoid biomass, sampling less frequently (every other year) would have revealed similar results, while shorter yet continuous time series would have yielded potentially contrasting results. While few clear cases of trophic mismatch imposing demographic consequences at the population level have been published [45,46], the datasets required to assess their importance are rare in most systems, particularly the Arctic. In this issue, Kerby and Post [47] expand upon observations initiated in 1993 [48] at a long-term study site near Kangerlus- suaq, Greenland, of the timing of plant phenology and reproduction by two herbivores with contrasting life-history strategies, caribou and muskoxen [1]. Characterizing caribou and muskoxen as species representative of income and capital breeding strategies, respectively, Kerby & Post [47] illustrate that mismatch with the timing of resource availability exerts negative demographic consequences in an income breeder but not in a capital breeder, and urge the application of this conceptual framework in other studies of match/mismatch. Mismatches are not confined to trophic interactions among species. In fact, there is a growing awareness that mis- matches can also happen within species [46,49]. Sex-specific phenology is often associated with territoriality and the com- petition for mates [50,51]. For instance, in birds, males typically arrive on breeding grounds before females, and early arrival is associated with higher reproductive success [52]. In arctic ground squirrels, winter hibernation imposes a challenge to time spring arousal so that it coincides with the optimal time for breeding. In this species, males emerge before females, and Sheriff et al. [53] in this issue demonstrate that males at an Alaskan site with late snowmelt accelerate the time between end of hibernation and emergence relative to males at another Alaskan site with earlier snowmelt. Males at the early site emerge despite incomplete sexual maturation, presumably because early emergence is critical for access to females. The authors base their findings on long-term data on interannual variation in male emergence phenology acquired by implanting temperature loggers in the abdominal cavity of individual male arctic ground squir- rels. Using this approach, Sheriff et al. [53] were able to assess correlations among different phenological events in the life cycle of this species, illustrating how males adapt their repro- ductive phenology to interannual variation in prevailing environmental conditions at the time of arousal in spring. Only through such detailed physiological studies can we begin to understand the extent to which organisms may exhibit phenotypic plasticity in response to climate change. 5. Long-term vegetation dynamics and ecosystem function One of the oldest ongoing tundra studies is that at the Abisko Scientific Research Station in subarctic Sweden. In this issue, Callaghan et al. [54] present a comprehensive overview of the multitude of ecological changes that have been observed through ongoing observations and experiments conducted at and around the Abisko site since 1913. Among the insights deriving from this remarkably sustained and inter-disciplinary history of research is that ecological dynamics at and around Abisko have been characterized by the full suite of complex- ity characteristic of ecological dynamics across the Arctic as a whole, including increased vegetation growth and range expansion, as well as decline and, in some cases, stasis in vegetation growth. While the recent literature includes many examples of species ranges expanding northwards [55], it is also increas- ingly clear that multiple factors (e.g. dispersal limitation and biotic interactions) interact to determine how species distri- butions will respond to climate change [1,56 – 58]. Greenland is presently host to a more depauperate flora than most other parts of the Arctic at similar latitudes, ostensibly owing to its climatic and glacial history [59]. Greenland is therefore a suit- able study system for quantifying the potential for colonization rstb.royalsocietypublishing.org PhilTrans R Soc B 368:20120477 4 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 by non-native shrub and tree species as well as their migra- tional lags. Normand et al. [60] in this issue address this problem by applying both a physiologically based tree line model and species distribution models of an array of shrub and tree species currently found in Greenland or occurring elsewhere in high-latitude regions. Using both palaeoclimatic data from different periods back to the Last Glacial Maximum and data deriving from climate change projections, Normand et al. [60] conclude that the envelope of suitable climatic con- ditions for many of these species has existed in Greenland for several thousand years, despite their lack of establishment. Pre- sumably, the distributions of these species, and their absence in climatically suitable areas of Greenland, are likely due to limit- ation by other factors than climate itself. In a future climate context, this study suggests that unintentional assisted migration by humans may be important in determining the rate and location of spread of new plants species in Greenland [60]. The so-called shrubification of the Arctic tundra biome that the contribution by Normand and colleagues addresses in Greenland is due to the presumably warming-driven spread of woody plants [61]. Such a transition towards an increasingly woody and leafy tundra biome may have important implica- tions for ecosystem carbon exchange because of the increased photosynthetic capacity potentially deriving from such a tran- sition. Shaver et al. [62] contribute the results of a pan-Arctic model of net ecosystem carbon exchange (NEE) parametrized using data collected over several field seasons at tundra sites in Alaska, Greenland, Norway (Svalbard) and Sweden [63,64]. The results of their model indicate an intriguing con- vergence across the Arctic tundra biome in drivers of NEE, despite the array of ecosystem diversity it represents: namely, nearly all (i.e. 75%) of the variance in NEE across the Arctic tundra biome is explained by a small suite of variables, includ- ing leaf area index [62]. This insight should improve the efficiency and accuracy of future efforts to model and analyse the consequences of increasing shrubification of the Arctic for ecosystem carbon dynamics at the biome level. 6. Extreme events The final installment in this special issue is a thorough case study of a recent and extensive tundra wildfire that occurred in Alaska near the Anaktuvuk River in 2007. In their paper, Bret-Harte et al. [65] quantify the magnitude and rate of vegetation recovery following the massive displacement of long-term carbon accumulation that resulted from this fire. The Anaktuvuk River fire was one of the first major tundra fires and the largest ever on the North Slope of Alaska, releas- ing an estimated 2.1 Tg of carbon to the atmosphere, an amount similar to the total annual net primary production of the entire tundra biome [66]. An estimated 37 years of carbon accumulation, and nearly 400 years of nitrogen accumulation, was combusted in the fire [66]. Four years after the fire, Bret-Harte et al. revisited the site and quantified the vegetation recovery and nitrogen dynamics at sites of severe and moderate burn severity, as well as in nearby unburned tundra as a proxy for pre-fire vegetation and soils. The authors conclude that vegetation recovery has been rapid so far, re-growth from sur- viving underground parts was extensive, and that vascular plant communities were on track towards re-establishment of previous vegetation communities [65]. Importantly, however, the bryophyte species found were mainly disturbance-adapted species, and non-vascular biomass had recovered less than vas- cular plant biomass, suggesting that continued monitoring will be necessary to determine the full trajectory and compositional nature of the recovery [65]. There is yet more to learn about long-term changes in eco- logical systems by advancing the long view, either through promoting and maintaining long-term studies, or through con- ducting research with a long-term perspective, both forward and backward in time. In addition, there is much to be learned about the nature of long-term studies themselves in the litera- ture about their value beyond the data and insights they generate. Others have emphasized the challenges inherent to long-term research in ecology, some of which may be cir- cumvented by shorter term studies adopting a long-term perspective. Highlighting these here, as we conclude this introduction, serves to remind us, and, we hope, remind policy-makers and funding agencies, of the qualities that characterize such studies by virtue of surmounting them for the goal of securing precious data. To paraphrase others, the success of such research requires anticipating and adapting to variability in space and time not only of the study system itself, but also to the succession of investigators involved [67]. As well as sustained interest on the part of said investigators, continued financial resources, surviving the ‘threat of rival ideologies’, and the support of host institutions are also all vital components of successful long-term research in ecology [2]. To this we would add our own, final, requirement: that of the willingness of the individual scientist and those they leave behind each field season to make the personal sacrifices required by such sustained devotion to ongoing research. In each of the papers in this special issue, this last is the inconspicuous essen- tial ingredient that led to its contribution to advancing the long view of ecological change in tundra systems. Acknowledgments. We thank the contributors to this special issue for their participation in the conference ‘Tundra Change: the Ecological Dimension’, hosted by the Department of Bioscience at Aarhus Uni- versity, Denmark, and supported by a grant to T.T.H. from the Danish Agency for Science, Technology, and Innovation. We also thank Helen Eaton for her assistance with the organization and pro- duction of this special issue. Funding statement. E.P. is grateful for support for this effort from the US National Science Foundation Office of Polar Programs under the grant ‘Timing is Everything: Seasonality and Phenological Dynamics Linking Species, Communities, and Trophic Feedbacks in the Low- versus High Arctic’. References 1. Post E. 2013 Ecology of climate change: the importance of biotic interactions. Monographs in Population Biology. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 2. 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work_ltyjjsuzv5bmte5lwviicuufwa ---- ACTA 2 2004 Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 131 GENOMA Y BIOÉTICA: UNA VISIÓN HOLÍSTICA DE CÓMO VAMOS HACIA EL MUNDO FELIZ QUE NOS PROMETEN LAS BIOCIENCIAS Jean-Luc M.J. Antoine* Resumen: La idea de la ciudad utópica es casi tan antigua como el pensamiento humano. Ella consiste en una sociedad teóricamente perfecta y transparente donde todo está perfectamente controlado y, en consecuencia, los ciudadanos podrían alcanzar la felicidad. En este artículo pretendemos reflexionar, mediante una perspectiva holística –y con ejemplos prácticos como la clonación, células troncales y eugenismo–, acerca de la sociedad genética actualmente en ciernes, la que, a pesar de presentarse como una potente herramienta para alcanzar una ciudad utópica, sería hoy imposible por los numerosos riesgos y peligros existentes. Por tanto, creemos importante un análisis sobre la bioética y el progreso, antes de seguir adelante. Palabras clave: Genética, bioética, clonación, eugenesia, células troncales GENOME AND BIOETHICS: AN HOLLISTIC VISION OF THE WAY WE MARCH TOWARDS THE HAPPY WORLD BIOSCIENCES PROMISE Abstract: The idea of an utopian city is almost as old as human thinking. It consists in a society theoretically perfect and transparent where everything is under control, so that citizens could achieve happiness. In this article, using a historical perspective, we pretend to reflect, with practical examples such as cloning, stem cells and eugenics, on a genetic society which is blossoming and in spite of presenting itself as a strong tool to achieve the utopian city, this would not be possible due to the warning for many risks and dangers. Therefore we believe it is important to carry out an analysis on bioethics and progress, before moving on. Key Words: Genetics, bioethics, cloning, eugenics, stem cells GENOMA E BIOÉTICA: UMA VISÃO HOLÍSTICA PARA O MUNDO FELIZ QUE NOS PROMETE AS BIOCIÊNCIAS Resumo: A idéia da cidade utópica é quase tão antiga como o pensamento humano. Consiste numa sociedade teoricamente perfeita e transparente onde tudo está perfeitamente controlado, onde consequentemente os cidadãos poderiam alcançar a felicidade. Neste artigo pretendemos refletir, mediante uma perspectiva holística –e com exemplos práticos como a clonagem, células tronco e eugenismo–, acerca da sociedade genética atualmente em cernes, a que, apesar de apresentar- se como uma potente ferramenta para alcançar uma cidade utópica, hoje seria impossível pelos numerosos riscos e perigos existentes. Portanto, cremos que é importante e necessário fazer uma análise sobre a bioética e o progresso, antes de seguir enfrente. Palavras-chave: Genética, bioética, clonagem, eugenesia, células tronco * Doctor en Genética Humana Correspondencia: jeanluc368@yahoo.fr ORIGINALES Genoma y Bioética - J. L. Antoine 132 “Pensad por cuenta propia y dejad que los demás disfruten del derecho a hacer lo mismo.” Francois Marie Arouet Voltaire Introducción: la ciudad utópica La genómica y la proteómica son neologis- mos de reciente creación que aumentan la lista de las nuevas siglas y técnicas bárbaras que son puestas a disposición de todos, y que han en- trado con fuerza en nuestras mentalidades, cul- turas, discursos y vocabularios. Es hoy común afirmar que las últimas aplicaciones de la ge- nética van a afectar la intimidad de nuestras vidas y que constituirán los fundamentos de una nueva sociedad: el último avatar del mito secu- lar de la ciudad utópica. Sin embargo, estos nuevos logos y las miríadas de siglas, tales como FIV, MBE o PCR, son también símbolos de un cisma cre- ciente en el seno de la nueva sociedad, la cual tiende a dividirse entre “los que saben” y “los que no saben”, entre los “nuevos cultos” y los “nuevos ignorantes”. El distanciamiento social así creado en la aldea global(1) está por gene- rar nuevas castas de individuos (los gobernan- tes y los gobernados, los poseedores y los des- provistos, los privilegiados y los ignorados) dentro de un sistema que va mucho más allá del simple uso de nuevas técnicas y tecnolo- gías y que está bajo el gran control de los mer- cados y de sus iniciados. La nueva Babel tiene el gran riesgo intrínseco de distanciar más aún a los ciudadanos, en lugar de englobarlos en una supersociedad basada en la idea de una nueva democracia fundada sobre la ecuanimi- dad, la igualdad de oportunidades, los derechos a la dignidad y a la felicidad. La gran profu- sión de conocimientos y descubrimientos, así como de las tecnologías que derivan de ellos, todos encauzados por el “gran capital global” y por los políticos fieles o resignados al mando vertical de este último, están generando nue- vas capas sociales transversales a nivel plane- tario, las cuales vienen a adicionarse a las ver- ticales ya existentes en cada país, cada región, cada cultura, cada religión. La utopía de To- más Moro está tomando cuerpo en un mundo global que tiende a perder sus ideales demo- cráticos y, sobre todo, sus ideales de felicidad. La utopía es una técnica de gestión social de los hombres, ubicada bajo el signo de la ra- zón. La ciudad utópica, que debería ser total- mente transparente, está dando lugar, más bien, a una aterradora transparencia del individuo. En efecto, la medicina predictiva, por ejemplo, bajo la presión de las aseguradoras o de los empleadores, podría permitir que información sobre nuestra salud y nuestro posible destino médico esté a disposición de terceros. Ligado de cerca a lo anterior, se encuentra el valor moral que tiene y tendrá la ideación y la concreción de la nueva ciudad global: ¿bajo qué términos éticos estamos construyendo el futuro de nuestras proles? “La felicidad para todos” es el lema que aparece en todas las dis- cusiones sobre el tema, pero tenemos muchos ejemplos históricos de nuevas tecnologías que sirvieron más a la destrucción que a la felici- dad. Es más: ¿quién determina las bases éticas, legales y políticas del uso de tales o cuales tec- nologías? Son aquellos que pertenecen a esa casta de “los que saben” y que dentro de sus centros, escuelas, universidades, capillas y tem- plos determinan lo “bueno” y lo “malo” basa- dos en ideas varias y, a veces, muy discutibles acerca de la felicidad para todos. La utopía clásica nace en el siglo XVI con las convulsiones intelectuales ocasionadas en Occidente por el descubrimiento de América y el consiguiente choque cultural que éste oca- sionó. La utopía emerge en el oscurantismo de la Edad Media, y no es casual el sorprendente paralelismo que se bosqueja entre ese sombrío Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 133 pasado y la ciudad utópica que se está levan- tando sobre la base de un diseño vertical de mando, de castas intelectuales, culturales y socioeconómicas, alentada por la moral pensa- da desde arriba en aras de un mundo mejor, un mundo justo, un mundo feliz para todos. La genómica y sus productos benefactores en la ciudad utópica En este capítulo trataremos algunos ejem- plos de aplicaciones directas y controversiales acerca de los productos biomédicos de la genómica, después de recordar, brevemente, cuál es el concepto de genómica, con el propó- sito de poner sobre el tapete el debate y los interrogantes bioéticos que dichas aplicaciones implican. La genómica como ciencia El neologismo “genómica” se refiere a la ciencia del desciframiento del genoma, ya sea humano o de otras especies. El genoma huma- no es el conjunto de genes que determinan lo que somos biológicamente y –tal vez en parte– intelectualmente. Ese conjunto tiene una base química llamada ADN (ácido desoxirribonu- cleico) que se encuentra dentro del núcleo (karion) de cada una de las células que compo- nen tejidos, órganos y organismos, y que está compuesto de un alfabeto de cuatro bases ele- mentales ordenadas según esquemas muy com- plejos. Esas cuatro bases están organizadas en 23 pares de cromosomas independientes al in- terior del núcleo celular y componen el alfabe- to de unas frases equivalentes a 3.000 millones de letras, las cuales corresponden, luego de varias “traducciones” y “manipulaciones” bioquímicas, a algunas decenas de miles de genes (algunos pretenden que son algunos mi- les) que determinan los caracteres y sus siste- mas de funcionamiento y regulación (por ejem- plo, el color de los ojos, el metabolismo del azúcar, la estatura, entre otros). Un gen puede determinar un solo carácter o intervenir en va- rios de ellos, y un carácter puede derivar de la acción de un solo gen o de varios, la mayoría de ellos siendo multigénicos. Es más, un juego de genes o un gen aislado puede expresarse en un momento y en un lugar dado y no en otro, así como algunos se expresan en un tipo de cé- lulas y no en otro y viceversa; esto permite que exista la “diferenciación celular”, vale decir: esto hace la diferencia entre una célula del hí- gado y una célula de la piel, pese a que ambas contienen el mismo ADN en cantidad y en ca- lidad. Ahí radica la dificultad de dilucidar el funcionamiento de nuestro genoma. Entre todos los individuos que pueblan la tierra, se considera que existe una similitud exacta de 99,9% de todos los genes del genoma, el 0,1% restante hace que seamos distintos uno del otro. Tenemos apenas el doble de genes que una mosca del vinagre (drosofila melanogaster) y existen animales que tienen mucho más que los humanos; la diferencia evolutiva reside en cómo se relacionan y funcionan dichos genes. Un gen o un grupo de genes alterados pueden promover una enfermedad y, de hecho, la ma- yoría de las patologías tienen una base genéti- ca (por ejemplo, el cáncer, la esquizofrenia o la diabetes). Es preciso mencionar que, en este nivel, “genético” no significa “hereditario”, pues para que así sea debe existir una altera- ción génica en las células germinales (reproductivas). Tenemos la convicción de que muchos genes –si no todos– son “inductibles”, es decir, están presentes en el genoma, pero requieren de fuer- zas exteriores (tales como el medio ambiente, la educación, la psicología, la presión social, entre otras) para expresarse. Muchas enferme- dades se explican, desde ya, por la influencia del medio ambiente (mutaciones e induccio- nes), y se descubre cada día que varias conduc- Genoma y Bioética - J. L. Antoine 134 tas psicológicas –hasta sociales– encuentran su explicación en esta aseveración. Lo que hoy sabemos representa sólo pala- bras escritas en un millón de páginas, con rela- ciones horizontales e hipervínculos entre ellas, sin que sepamos lo que significan realmente. Hasta el momento se identificaron menos de 2.000 genes relacionados con 1.500 a 1.800 enfermedades humanas. Faltan por lo menos veinte años, según las predicciones, para cono- cer el funcionamiento de todos los genes, ya que se debe estudiar en profundidad sus pro- ductos primarios (las proteínas) a través de la nueva ciencia que se llama “proteómica”. Fi- nalmente, es preciso mencionar que, pese al desconocimiento del funcionamiento y de la regulación génica, existen muchos marcadores que admiten, desde ya, establecer probabilida- des acerca de la ocurrencia de enfermedades, hecho que permite tanto la prevención de su aparición, como el peligroso control preocupa- cional por parte de las empresas o de las asegu- radoras. Algunos ejemplos elegidos y controversiales de los productos biomédicos de la genómica La clonación humana, el uso de embriones y de células troncales El hombre occidental tiende a buscar la in- mortalidad. Pese a su inexorabilidad, él sigue bus- cando vías para vivir más y mejor, “rejuvenecer” y, sobre todo, no morir. Entre el “morir bien” o eutanasia –en cuyo debate no entraremos por ser irrelevante en este artículo– y el no morir, el occi- dental demuestra un temor a la muerte, a lo des- conocido, a la pérdida de sus bienes, cuerpo e iden- tidad, como ser humano y ser social. No ocurre así en las civilizaciones orientales cuyas filoso- fías de vida son muy distintas. La clonación (también llamada “transferen- cia nuclear” o reproducción exacta –teórica- mente– de un individuo a partir de la introduc- ción de un núcleo celular somático –piel, por ejemplo– en el óvulo enucleado de una mujer y, después, de dicho producto en el útero de la misma) permite llegar a la obtención de un ser idéntico al donante del núcleo. Teóricamente –de nuevo– el proceso se puede repetir de ma- nera indefinida y obtener, de ese modo, colo- nias de clones de la misma persona. En un ni- vel técnico, el cigoto clonal y las células des- cendientes de este último no pueden ser toda- vía las fotocopias exactas de la célula donante de núcleo, dada la influencia de otros factores, tales como el ADN mitocondrial del óvulo enucleado receptor que proviene de la mujer donante y otros agentes citoplásmicos y proteicos. Sin embargo, podemos considerar que los avances de la tecnociencia permitirán, con relativa rapidez, llegar a resolver ese tipo de problemas, lastimosamente a través de la misma clonación. Otro problema biológico re- side en que, para obtener un solo clon, debe sacrificarse una gran cantidad de fetos así pro- ducidos. Esto presenta un gran problema ético, puesto que se está jugando con la suerte de muchas vidas humanas en pos de obtener un “producto” particular. Además de los problemas y de los peligros técnicos aparecen muchos interrogantes éticos. Varios de ellos, que serán descritos en páginas ulteriores, toman en consideración problemas y litigios específicos de la bioética y de los sis- temas humanos. Sin embargo, no tenemos res- puestas aún acerca de la validez de la clona- ción de seres humanos. Sus panegiristas más entusiastas apuntan a la inmortalidad del hom- bre a partir de su exacta reproducción (raelistas); otros aseveran que no estamos frente a un problema ético sino médico, que permiti- rá a personas estériles tener sus propios hijos a través de la doble técnica clonación-fecunda- ción in vitro (Antinori y Zavos); R. Seed afir- ma que la clonación permitirá llegar a tener los Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 135 conocimientos necesarios para frenar el enve- jecimiento y, tal vez, revertirlo, así como estu- diar la influencia del ADN mitocondrial en la senectud celular. Es cierto que existen opciones muy prome- tedoras en cuanto a salud y calidad de vida: un infarto cardíaco podría ser tratado y eliminado gracias a la clonación de las células del mismo corazón que reemplazarían a las lesionadas. En el mismo orden de ideas, la clonación de teji- dos y órganos permitiría tener bancos persona- lizados de material de reemplazo totalmente inmunocompatibles en caso de enfermedad o destrucción. De ahí a solucionar todos los pro- blemas de injertos de órganos y tejidos falta poco; pero ¿es preciso llegar a clonar un indi- viduo entero para guardarlo en un banco de material biológico en caso de que sea necesa- rio injertar al “original”? Sin contar con que el “original”, inmortal y “reparable” a voluntad, podría caer fácilmente en un sistema de vida totalmente descontrolado (fumar y beber sin límite, drogarse, contraer y difundir enferme- dades, por ejemplo) sin necesidad de creer en cualquier tipo de existencia moral. Por otro lado, podrían, también, para evitar esas conductas anárquicas, generarse terribles tiranías totalitaristas y represivas. Todo esto podría conducir a otro tipo de caos: es otra vi- sión posible de la ciudad utópica. Otros problemas éticos esenciales surgen a un nivel social y espiritual: ¿será el clon un ciu- dadano de idéntico “nivel” que el original, con los mismos derechos y deberes? ¿O un indivi- duo de segunda categoría, apto para enviar a explorar otros mundos, trabajar en condiciones peligrosas y servir a los “originales”? En ese caso, no sería tan “grave” su pérdida, pues se- ría “material desechable y directamente reem- plazable a bajo costo”. Ahí surge el tema de la fuerza que puede ejercer el sistema económico sobre las decisiones éticas y políticas, el cual será considerado más adelante. ¿Tendrán esos “seres” un alma? ¿Serán iguales ante Dios, ante los creyentes, ante la metafísica? Lo cierto es que si un día logran llegar a ser biológicamente idénticos, nunca lo serán como individuos pro- piamente dichos, pues existen muchas varia- bles ambientales, educacionales, psicológicas, sociales y espirituales que no pueden ajustarse. El problema espiritual nunca podrá ser resuel- to y esto representa una condicionante ética de gran peso. Otro asunto ligado muy de cerca a la clona- ción es el de las células troncales o células madre (stem cells). Se trata de células embrio- narias –en gran mayoría– de muy temprana edad (antes de la implantación intrauterina, a un nivel de desarrollo llamado “blastocisto”). Esas células son pluripotenciales, vale decir, son capaces, naturalmente, de transformarse y reemplazar a cualquier tipo de las 200 varieda- des de células del organismo humano. Su ori- gen es el embrión, “original” o clonado. Si bien es cierto que las esperanzas terapéuticas del uso de dichas células son enormes –reemplazo o corrección de órganos y tejidos, terapia celular en numerosas enfermedades (diabetes, Parkinson, lesiones medulares, entre otras)–, también despiertan problemas bioéticos impor- tantes. El principal consiste en saber si esta- mos usando simples células o bien si se trata de seres humanos vivos en potencia. Existe un debate casi imposible de resolver acerca de la existencia de una persona humana (real o potencial) a ese nivel de desarrollo em- brionario. La Iglesia Católica Romana, a tra- vés de su autoridad espiritual superior, ha de- cretado, basada en numerosas reflexiones y ase- sorías, que la vida existe en el momento de la fecundación. Otros dicen que sin el doble even- to fecundación-implantación no existe vida. El pensador utilitarista australiano Peter Singer, Genoma y Bioética - J. L. Antoine 136 en entrevista al diario “Las Últimas Noticias” –Santiago de Chile 1 de septiembre de 2004, página 4–, argumenta: “¿Cuándo comienza la vida? Es la pregunta equivocada […] no creo que haya ninguna significación moral en ello […] no debemos preguntarnos cuándo comien- za la vida, sino en qué minuto la vida adquiere un estatus que hace que el acabar con ella sea intrínsecamente algo malo”. También se debe considerar la noción de persona y de concien- cia: ¿cuándo existe la persona? ¿Existe en un “montículo” de células sin sistema nervioso, sin órganos, sin cerebro, o se considera solamente como persona “en devenir”? ¿Tiene alma el blastocisto? Las mismas preguntas se pueden plantear en relación con la conciencia, impera- tiva en la existencia de la persona como tal. Todas las grandes religiones promueven el res- peto a la vida, pero también apoyan el derecho humano a vivir sana y dignamente. ¿Debe la ética orientarse a salvaguardar el derecho a la felicidad y a la dignidad de la mayoría o de to- dos? O ¿debe la ética salvaguardar a cualquier precio la idea de vida, la esencia divina de la vida, aunque sea en potencia? Podríamos lle- gar a lo que muchos considerarían como ab- surdo: ¿hay vida humana, persona y alma en devenir en las células germinales? Aunque no hayan pasado por la fecundación y cuenten con la mitad del lote cromosómico, también son vidas potenciales. ¿Qué pasa, entonces, con la natural destrucción de la gran mayoría de ellas? ¿Qué pasa con el tema de la polución nocturna y del onanismo masculino, con el de las rela- ciones sexuales sin afán reproductivo o, sim- plemente, que no llegan a la fertilización? El eugenismo y el diseño del “homo geneticus” Eugenismo (del griego eu, bien, y gennân, nacimiento) significa literalmente “bien nacer”. El eugenismo es una técnica que busca mejo- rar a la sociedad humana según los conocimien- tos en la materia. Hoy dicha técnica se basa en la genética. Existen dos tipos de eugenismos. El “eugenismo pasivo” trata, esencialmente, de la elección natural que aparece siempre en el momento de optar por rasgos genéticos útiles para la supervivencia de la especie. La mayo- ría de los animales de sangre caliente de am- bos sexos buscan la “mejor” pareja. Una forma muy liviana sería la elección de un cónyuge. Ese tipo de eugenismo no está controvertido, pero sí el “eugenismo activo”, que es mucho más discutible. El eugenismo existe desde los tiempos más remotos, pero el moderno nace con Francis Galton (1822-1911), psicólogo y fisiólogo in- glés, primo de Charles Darwin y pensador victoriano muy adinerado. El es inventor del vocablo (eugenics) –aunque también utilizó el término “viricultura”–, a raíz del cual fundó la Galton Chair of Eugenics en el University College de Londres1. Su formulación del eugenismo se basa en la búsqueda del mejora- miento de las reservas (stock) humanas y en prevenir el deterioro del potencial genético del hombre(2)2. La noción de eugenismo se popu- larizó rápidamente entre los científicos e inte- lectuales de su época. Su trabajo culminó en la búsqueda del mejoramiento racial (race improvement) como eugenismo(3). Sin embar- go, Galton no conocía los trabajos de Gregor Mendel acerca de la transmisión de los carac- teres hereditarios y no podía distinguir entre, por una parte, el mejoramiento genético de los humanos por selección de los caracteres here- ditarios estimados como deseables y/o la su- 1 Para más información, consultar [Sitio en Internet] Disponible en http://www.galton.org 2 Ver: Galton F. Eugenics: its Definition, Scope and Aims. American Journal of Sociology 1904; X(1). En esta publicación se presenta, asimismo, un interesante debate entre Galton, G.B. Shaw, H.G. Wells, entre otros, acerca del eugenismo. Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 137 presión de caracteres estimados como indesea- bles, y, por otra, el mejoramiento de los indivi- duos a través de intervenciones acerca de sus condiciones de vida. Él se inspiró directamen- te en los trabajos y las enseñanzas de Darwin, muy influenciado por Malthus. En breve des- cripción, los principios del eugenismo de Galton se basan en el concepto de compensa- ción de la pérdida de los mecanismos de selec- ción natural. Las leyes del eugenismo de Galton han sido ampliamente debatidas y discutidas y han ins- pirado a un gran número de filósofos y pensa- dores. También han sido tergiversadas a lo lar- go del siglo XX, en particular por los nacionalsocialistas desde 1933. La nueva “ver- sión” del eugenismo nazi consistía en favore- cer la fecundidad de los humanos considera- dos como superiores (política pronatalista, apo- yo familiar, por ejemplo) y, a la vez, prevenir la reproducción de los humanos considerados como inferiores o bien no deseables a nivel eugénico (los criminales, homosexuales, entre otros). No hubo que esperar que Hitler llegase al poder para que una mayoría de políticos ale- manes fueran favorables a ese tipo de eugenismo. Por ejemplo, la ley de 1934 acerca de la esterilización eugénica se instaló gracias a la participación activa del doctor Gütt (médi- co, alto funcionario), del jurista Falk Ruttke y del psiquiatra y genetista suizo Ernst Rüdin. Así, 400.000 alemanes fueron esterilizados entre 1934 y 1945, representando el consenso de la casi totalidad de los miembros de la comuni- dad médica alemana. Luego vinieron las exterminaciones planificadas de gitanos y ju- díos y la esterilización de mestizos, mulatas, norafricanos, indochinos, entre otros grupos. Es interesante notar que esa forma de eugenismo se basaba sobre una noción considerada como mítica de la “raza aria”, también conocida como “raza nórdica” o “raza alpina”. El eugenismo alemán y sus variantes suecas y estadouniden- ses no eran actos aislados de algunos perver- sos, sino un proceso de eliminación sistemáti- ca, basado en técnicas científicas y organiza- das por la administración. Sobre la base de tales antecedentes resulta fácil entender que el eugenismo tenga una con- notación casi exclusivamente negativa. En par- ticular, cuando tenemos a disposición las he- rramientas genéticas necesarias para aplicarlo. En general, el eugenismo conserva muchos detractores (en Alemania, debido al shock que provocó el eugenismo nazi, es casi imposible abordar el tema: pasó a ser una especie de tabú). En otros países el eugenismo está siempre a la orden del día cuando se trata de “mejorar” la especie humana, el individuo, o de eliminar enfermedades potenciales, genes defectuosos y otras fallas biológicas. Una de las escuelas más interesantes es la francesa, dada la enorme ac- tividad en la materia. El eugenismo negativi- zante (que no contempla la libre elección) es una noción que muchos han tratado de cambiar en pos de ayudar al ser humano. Otros nunca aceptaron que el término “eugenismo” fuera asociado a una noción positiva. Está claro que la comunidad judía es la primera en oponerse a tal asociación. Así, nacieron muchas acomoda- ciones del término, las cuales le hicieron per- der todo sentido posible (eugenismo positivo, negativo, activo, “bien entendido”, nuevo, sua- ve, benevolente, científico, humanista, entre otras variadas acepciones). Todas las aplicaciones –o casi– del desci- framiento del genoma humano son herramien- tas potentes que deberían permitir la práctica de un eugenismo benevolente, pero, a la vez, pueden ser utilizadas con fines muy negativos. La clonación, la corrección de genes defectuo- sos, la eliminación de enfermedades genéticas y/o hereditarias, la elaboración de medicamen- tos “personalizados”, la prevención de enfer- medades altamente probables, la utilización de Genoma y Bioética - J. L. Antoine 138 embriones y de células troncales, los transplan- tes de órganos, los xenotransplantes y hasta los transgénicos, son técnicas aptas para participar de manera eficiente en cualquier tipo de eugenismo. La cuestión consiste en saber si es realmente útil o necesario tratar de perfeccio- nar tanto la especie humana. Al tratar de res- ponder a esto estamos nuevamente frente al concepto de “ciudad utópica”, que se transfor- ma en “utopía genética” con el deseo de llegar a perfeccionar a ultranza al ser humano, trans- formándolo en lo que podríamos llamar el homo geneticus. Es preciso recordar que una de las peculia- ridades de la sociedad utópica(4) es la volun- tad de dominio y control integral de la natura- leza y, por extensión, del ser humano. Existe, no obstante, una natural asociación entre uto- pía y eugenismo. Según R. Rutier, el eugenismo es consustancial a la utopía pues ambos resul- tan del intenso afán de perfeccionar al hombre. Desde Platón a Campanella la ciudad utópica se caracteriza por un eugenismo de estado intervencionista que pretende administrar la reproducción humana. Hoy en día, tal como lo vimos bajo la influencia de Galton durante los siglos XIX y XX, el riesgo se inicia con la tole- rancia de un eugenismo individualizado y de- mocratizado. El teatro de Aristófanes, que en- juicia la ciudad de la República de Platón, así como las “contrautopías” del siglo XX (Huxley, Bradbury, Zamiatine), mostraron el elevado peligro para el individuo de renunciar a su pro- pia libertad a favor de una dicha colectiva, pues- to que la realización de las utopías conduce al totalitarismo y al desamparo de los hombres, vale decir, hacia la exacta antítesis de sus pro- pósitos iniciales. Finalmente, no podríamos cerrar este capí- tulo sin mencionar el concepto de “ortogenie” (orthogénie), propuesto por el francés Pierre Simon, con el fin de borrar definitivamente la noción de eugenismo3. Según Cohen4, “...la ortogenie se refiere a los medios médicos que tienen como objetivo una reproducción volun- taria, elegida, permitiendo a las parejas dar a luz niños con buena salud, en la perspectiva de una armonía y de un bienestar familiar”. Es un concepto de no coerción, fundado sobre la li- bertad de elección de los padres y sus deseos de tener un hijo sano. De todos modos, cree- mos, subyace en estas nociones de derecho a la reproducción de niños con buena salud, de ar- monía y de bienestar familiar –aunque sea in- voluntario y basado en cierta noción altamente ética de libertad y de no coerción– la misma ideación de una ciudad utópica, de una genéti- ca utópica y, por consiguiente, de un eugenismo latente y peligroso. Conforme a estos razonamientos, podemos preguntar si es éticamente deseable mejorar lo más posible la especie humana. El debate que- da abierto y promete largas controversias que podrían permitir que se apliquen las herramien- tas biomédicas actuales antes de tener una opi- nión inequívoca. Reflexión. La bioética y su lugar en las decisiones en las biociencias y biotécnicas La bioética emite propuestas basadas en un concilio que reúne a los representantes del pen- samiento moral y que pone, teóricamente, to- dos los estamentos y componentes de la socie- dad alrededor de la mesa. No existe para legis- lar y no es una ciencia, pues no se basa en el método científico, sino en un método en sí ca- 3 “Orto” significa derecho y “genie” deriva de genética, sin embargo, con el propósito de no referirse a la “ortogénesis”, o idea según la cual los organismos vivos evolucionan en una dirección determinada estimulados por una fuerza interna, se adoptó el término “ortogenie” que engloba, a la vez, los conceptos de norma y de gen. 4 Cohen J. Eugénisme et orthogénie. Extracto de los proceedings de la jornada de estudio del 4 de marzo de 1997 sobre eugenismo y reproducción, en París, Francia. Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 139 racterizado por un conjunto de herramientas prácticas y un debate permanente. Algunos factores de riesgo y peligro en las tomas de decisión Existen varios peligros que pueden poner en jaque a las leyes o decretos, debido al tiem- po que se requiere para elaborar estos últimos. Un ejemplo es la clonación de seres humanos o el uso de embriones para la experimentación antes de que existiesen leyes que reglamenta- ran el uso de dichas tecnologías. A mediados de 2001, prestigiosas revistas internacionales, como Time, Wired y Focus publicaron a la clo- nación humana como tema principal, dedicán- dole la portada completa y acentuando sus re- flexiones sobre la conjetura –que varios cientí- ficos sustentaron–, según la cual el primer clon humano se crearía antes del final del mismo año. Mientras muchos países no tienen ningu- na ley sobre el tema, ni siquiera opiniones fun- dadas, otros han optado por legislaciones total- mente opuestas (por ejemplo, EE.UU., Europa y China). Este vacío deja abierta la puerta a quienes desean clonar el ser humano por razo- nes a menudo muy cuestionables. Por ejemplo, los médicos Antinori y Zavos, que argumenta- ron que la decisión de clonar es únicamente médica y no ética, ya que apunta al derecho de las personas a reproducirse. A la vez, se hicie- ron una enorme publicidad. Otro ejemplo es el de la secta raeliana, la cual, apoyada en livia- nas creencias y con la ayuda de grandes respal- dos económicos de fuentes desconocidas, ya está tratando de clonar humanos y se ufana de haberlo logrado hace tiempo. También existe el peligro de la influencia de fuerzas mayores, como el libre mercado en las sociedades liberales, las que se nutren de su creciente economía y que, por lo tanto, depen- den de ellas. La gran rapidez del progreso tec- nológico versus la lentitud de las propuestas éticas en la elaboración de leyes y en la adapta- ción social constituye un factor de riesgo que pone sobre el tapete la eventual necesidad de controlar la velocidad del mismo progreso en pos de velar por la no maleficencia y la justi- cia. De todas maneras, se crea un dilema cuan- do se toma en consideración la necesidad de favorecer la velocidad del progreso como fac- tor participativo en las economías y en el me- joramiento de la salud de los individuos. Adicionalmente, existen reales “batallas” entre las escuelas de pensamiento (moral reve- lada, ética de consenso, utilitarismo, raciona- lismo, materialismo, entre variadas posturas) que permiten aumentar la distancia entre “lo que se dice” y “lo que se hace”. A título de ejem- plo, dos perspectivas totalmente opuestas: la posición católica romana y el materialismo co- munista en cuanto a clonación humana y uso de embriones humanos se refiere. En ambos casos, prima el dogma: la Iglesia se sustenta en la letra de la Santa Biblia (revelada por Dios mismo y, por tanto, incuestionable) y los mate- rialistas maoístas en el dogma de la suprema- cía del todo en detrimento de las partes (de los valores del sistema sobre los del individuo). Uno se opone mientras el otro acepta, afirmán- dose ambos en el principio de una moral de tipo “canónica” y, por ende, indiscutible. Propuestas facilitadoras del necesario concilio en la bioética relacionada con los productos de la genómica Las distintas interpretaciones de los pensa- mientos se vuelven cada vez más centrípetas en cuanto a la genómica y sus productos. La supremacía de la subjetividad ortodoxa sobre la objetividad obtenida por la observación y el debate, metaposicionados en la ética aplicada (bioética) producen discrepancias paralizantes en las propuestas morales. Creemos que un nuevo paradigma conciliador podría ser la pues- Genoma y Bioética - J. L. Antoine 140 ta en “estado de metanoia” (es decir, con lo que está “más allá del pensamiento o del conoci- miento”), enfatizando “la percepción unitaria” que se encuentra en la base de casi todas las creencias y religiones del mundo. Otra aproximación ofrece la escuela de pen- samiento llamada “trascendentalista”, con in- fluencias de Kant y el neoplatonismo, el roman- ticismo inglés y la filosofía hindú; movimiento ideológico que fue propio de las ex colonias inglesas independientes de los EE.UU. en la década de 1830. Ralph Waldo Emerson fue su figura principal y algunos de sus integrantes fueron Bronson Alcote, Margaret Fuller, Theodore Parker, William Channing, Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman, el Conde León Tolstoi y el mismo Mohandas K. Ghandi. En esencia, Emerson define su libro Naturaleza (1936)(5) como un ensayo dedicado a la ética natural, luchando arduamente contra un calvi- nismo predominante, fruto del racionalismo del siglo XVIII y de las ideas de la Revolución Francesa que favorecieron la doctrina en boga en la nueva América independiente. Está claro que el trascendentalismo contie- ne los gérmenes del pensamiento de “estado de metanoia” antes mencionado y demuestra, a través de sus más fieles defensores y adeptos, que puede ser una propuesta unitaria y univer- sal de ética teórica y práctica, sin oponerse y sin defender las escuelas de pensamiento en lucha, antes mencionadas. Finalmente, cabe destacar que los movimientos heterodoxos y progresistas, tanto en psicología (desde Reich y, particularmente, desde Perls) como en filo- sofía, antropología y religión (acercamiento de las religiones y filosofías cristianas a las reli- giones y filosofías hinduistas, budistas y taoístas, tanto como a las sufíes, judías y mu- sulmanes) han progresado en ese sentido a lo largo del siglo XX y siguen hoy en día un ca- mino alentador hacia el unitarismo espiritual y humano. Conclusiones La sociedad “genética” que se está bosque- jando no es la “ciudad utópica” de Tomás Moro, pero es un resurgimiento, una nueva forma re- visada por la modernidad y los progresos de la tecnociencia. Después de habernos extendido sobre el posible futuro de los productos de la genómica y de las dificultades y riesgos de argumentar la propuesta bioética, debido a sus debilidades intrínsecas y extrínsecas, así como de haber esbozado una vía posible de conciliación en la ética práctica que podría, eventualmente, per- mitir la unificación de las escuelas de pensa- miento, creemos que, tal como están las cosas hoy en día, sería tal vez indispensable propo- ner una moratoria acerca de la finalidad de los productos de la genómica. El genoma, en su fase actual de desciframiento, no permite aún llegar a practicar el eugenismo, no permite to- davía fabricar medicamentos personalizados, practicar transplantes e injertos “perfectos”, entre sus variadas aplicaciones, pero sí permite ya la clonación y el uso de células embriona- rias, así como clonar individuos, aunque con dificultad. Estamos a la puerta de una nueva era y estamos elaborando la ciudad utópica con todas las dificultades y los peligros que hemos expuesto. Nos parece imprescindible llegar a consensos muy amplios, tomando en conside- ración a todos los pueblos, países, estamentos, religiones y culturas antes de seguir en la vía que hemos emprendido. El propósito es adap- tar mejor la bioética a un espíritu universal y, así, proponer soluciones viables a la humani- dad. Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 141 Referencias 1. Castells M. La era de la información: economía, sociedad y cultura. Madrid: Alianza; 1998. 2. Galton F. Eugenics: its Definition, Scope and Aims. American Journal of Sociology 1904; X(1). 3. Galton F. Hereditary Genius. London: Macmillan; 1869. 4. Bacon F. La Nouvelle Atlantide. Paris: Flammarion; 1995. 5. Emerson R. The conduct of life. Nature & other essays. London: Dutton & Co.; 1908. Bibliografía Beck U. La sociedad de riesgo. Barcelona: Paidós; 1998. Harris J. Clones, genes, and immortality: ethics and the genetics revolutions. Oxford: Oxford University Press; 1998. Harris M. Materialismo cultural. Madrid: Alianza; 1982. Jonas H. El principio de la responsabilidad. Ensayo de una ética para la civilización tecnológica. Barcelona: Herder; 1995. Lolas F. Bioética. Santiago de Chile: Editorial Universitaria; 1998. Nussbaum M, Sunstein C, eds. Clones and clones: facts and fantasies about human cloning. New York: Norton & Company; 1998. Singer P. Ética práctica. Cambridge: Cambridge University press; 1995.
work_lxjrn5yydbbppizq4hvctrofby ---- Creative citizen science illuminates complex ecological responses to climate change COMMENTARY Creative citizen science illuminates complex ecological responses to climate change Abraham J. Miller-Rushinga,1, Amanda S. Gallinatb,c, and Richard B. Primackd Climate change is causing the timing of key behaviors (i.e., phenology) to shift differently across trophic levels and among some interacting organisms (e.g., plants and pollinators, predators and prey), suggest- ing that interactions among species are being dis- rupted (1, 2). Studying the phenology of interactions, however, is difficult, which has limited researchers’ ability to zero in on changes in specific interactions or on the consequences of mismatches. In PNAS, Hassall et al. (3) use a combination of citizen science tech- niques to investigate the effects of climate change on dozens of specific interactions. They focus on a Bates- ian mimicry complex involving stinging bees and wasps, stingless syrphid flies (also known as hoverflies) that mimic their appearance, and avian predators. The meth- ods used by Hassall et al. (3) continue an upsurge of innovations in climate change ecology research, in which the role of citizen science is expanding to pro- vide new approaches to complex challenges. Citizen Science Has a Long History in Ecology and Climate Change Citizen science (i.e., the participation of nonspe- cialists in scientific research) has yielded important contributions throughout the history of ecology (4). Our understanding of ecological and phenological responses to climate change, in particular, has benefited from long-term observations collected by individuals and networks, like those of naturalists Henry David Thoreau and Robert Marsham (5, 6) and historical phenology and weather observation networks (7), and the ongoing insect monitoring schemes used by Hassall et al. (3). It is this type of citizen science—enthusiastic volunteers collect- ing and submitting field observations—that many people imagine when they think of citizen science in ecology. In fact, the amount of data being gener- ated from these types of observations is staggering; citizen scientists have recorded hundreds of mil- lions of observations, yielding much of the existing data describing how flowering, bird migration, and insect flight times are changing (8–10). These observations, as many as there are, account for only a small portion of the growing breadth of projects and ways to engage citizen scientists (11). For example, citizen scientists are categorizing, describing, and transcribing digital im- ages and museum specimens (12); community mem- bers are working jointly with researchers on all stages of some research projects (13); and volunteers are de- veloping new technologies for open research (14). Why Studying Interactions or Mismatches Is Hard The methodology of Hassall et al. (3) gives us a way to approach notoriously difficult-to-study questions about species interactions and temporal mismatches. Ecologists have speculated that phenological mis- matches may be occurring throughout nature, disrupt- ing ecological relationships; however, this speculation has been accompanied by surprisingly little evidence Fig. 1. The online game Hassall et al. (3) created to identify hymenopteran model (Right) and syrphid mimic (Left) pairs, in action. aAcadia National Park, National Park Service, Bar Harbor, ME 04609; bDepartment of Biology, Utah State University, Logan, UT 84322; cEcology Center, Utah State University, Logan, UT 84322; and dDepartment of Biology, Boston University, Boston, MA 02215 Author contributions: A.J.M.-R., A.S.G., and R.B.P. wrote the paper. The authors declare no conflict of interest. Published under the PNAS license. See companion article 10.1073/pnas.1813367115. 1To whom correspondence should be addressed. Email: abe_miller-rushing@nps.gov. www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1820266116 PNAS Latest Articles | 1 of 3 C O M M E N T A R Y D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1073/pnas.1820266116&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-01-04 https://www.pnas.org/site/aboutpnas/licenses.xhtml mailto:abe_miller-rushing@nps.gov https://www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1820266116 (15). Research is limited by the difficulty of examining interactions in the field and the possibility that mismatches may be uncommon or quickly corrected by evolutionary processes (15), and many interactions are hidden or would take too much time to observe. In cases of mimicry, like those studied by Hassall et al. (3), iden- tifying model-mimic pairs can require complex measurements and comparisons of morphology. As a result, testing the influence of shifts in phenology on the fitness of organisms is rare (but see refs. 16 and 17). In the case of model species, mimics, and predators, measuring the fitness consequences of phenological change can require experiments to test predator preference or behavior, but such experiments are difficult to carry out and might have un- expected artifacts depending on their design. New Approaches to Investigating Interactions In recent decades, new technologies have paved the way for more indirect approaches—for example, environmental DNA, satellite tracking, and time-lapse videos or camera traps—to investigate interactions among species. These techniques enhance our ability to assess which species are in the same locations at the same times and to document occurrences of specific interactions that might get captured on camera. But they leave open questions about the nature of interactions and the consequences of phe- nological shifts on interacting species. The approach of Hassall et al. (3) shows one way to fill these gaps; their unusual method- ology allowed them to investigate dozens of interactions across complex trophic relationships. Each step of their approach dem- onstrates a unique value of citizen science that other researchers might find useful in their own work. First, rather than observing model-mimic relationships directly in the field or using feeding tests with birds, Hassall et al. (3) created an online game in which citizen scientists could rate the visual similarities of co-occurring pairs of syrphids and hymenop- terans based on size, shape, color, hairiness, and other characters (Fig. 1). Over the course of a year, volunteers (recruited via Twitter) submitted 30,300 ratings and identified 237 high-fidelity model- mimic pairs out of 2,352 potential combinations, with results that correlated strongly with pigeon experiments. This technique demonstrates the value of citizen science to allow researchers to assess pairwise combinations faster and in greater numbers than can be achieved using traditional methods. Variations on this method could be appropriate for other studies involving mor- phological comparisons, such as in other model-mimic or cam- ouflage studies, or studies of specimens collected during bioblitzes or biodiversity inventories. Second, Hassall et al. (3) analyzed over a million records of syrphid fly, bee, and wasp abundance from two long-term citizen science monitoring projects in the United Kingdom. This exten- sive dataset showed that hymenoptera emerge earlier, on average, than syrphid flies, and that the spring emergence of hymenopterans is advancing faster than that of syrphids in response to warming temperatures. This study adds to the growing body of research using citizen science data to document shifts in species phenology and interactions, including community-level interactions at single locations (18), possible interactions across trophic levels (1), and known interactions (2). Third, Hassall et al. (3) developed a virtual reality game to sim- ulate model-mimic-predator interactions in different phenological scenarios. Instead of offering live hymenopterans and syrphids to birds in complicated feeding experiments, or using data-intensive and highly parameterized computational algorithms, 45 humans took on the role of bird predators in a game. Participants were recruited from the University of Leeds and surrounding areas and were compensated £5 for their time. They gained points by feeding on benign mimic syrphids and lost points when they ate stinging model hymenopterans. Participants had to identify mimics against complex backgrounds, a simulation of the challenges that bird predators face in deciding whether or not to feed on an insect. The results of the game showed that model species (i.e., bees and wasps) perform best (i.e., had highest survival rates) when they are active before the syrphid mimics. Mimics, on the other hand, per- form best when the phenology of model species and mimics overlaps and occurs randomly from the perspective of predators. In PNAS, Hassall et al. use a combination of citizen science techniques to investigate the effects of climate change on dozens of specific interactions. And predators do best when either the model bees and wasps emerge first or when the syrphid mimics emerge first, with con- sistency. This creative game-based approach worked because researchers could be fairly confident that decisions made by hu- mans in simulations were similar to those previously observed in animal-based experiments and results from algorithms and neural nets. This technique could be promising in other ecological systems in which human behavior and decision making provides an added value, such as in other predator-prey, competition, or mutualism interactions. Fourth, in the final phase of their study, Hassall et al. (3) re- turned to the long-term citizen science data to analyze changes in the phenology of the interacting species as the climate warms in light of what they discovered about the fitness benefits and costs of different phenological scenarios. They found that the phenol- ogy of many model bee and wasp species is shifting so that they appear before mimic syrphid species. These shifts create new situations that benefit bees and wasps and bird predators, while reducing the circumstances during which syrphids do best (over- lapping phenology) and worst (mimics emerge first). These con- clusions result from the synthesis of three citizen science tools, each of which benefitted from different styles and values of par- ticipant contributions, and each of which provided a different piece of this complex story. What Next? The approaches of Hassall et al. (3) avoid labor-intensive field research and sometimes impossible-to-get direct observations of interactions in nature. We are confident that researchers will find many more applications for these techniques. Most obviously, similar methods might be applied to other Batesian mimicry sys- tems such as those occurring in butterflies, in which there are models, mimics, and bird predators (e.g., 19). This approach might also be applied to other complex species interactions such as some predator-prey interactions, or to human activities such as bushmeat hunting or fishing strategies. Moreover, the results of Hassall et al. (3) have intriguing im- plications and raise questions about their generality and how they play out in nature. Is selection driving these changes in phenology or are the hymenopteran model species just more phenotypically plastic than the mimic syrphids? The predictions generated from this study (and other such studies) should also be tested with field studies of the target species. Do syrphid mimics really do worse 2 of 3 | www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1820266116 Miller-Rushing et al. D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 https://www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1820266116 when they emerge before hymenopteran models? And do birds and hymenopterans do better when models emerge before mimics? The approaches of Hassall et al. (3) add to the growing crea- tivity of citizen science in ecology and climate change research. New technologies, the collection and sharing of large datasets, and greater online access to historical data and museum speci- mens contribute to this growth, as does the willingness and in- terest of so many people to participate in scientific projects. We hope that ecologists continue to apply new, innovative approaches to pressing current problems like understanding ecological responses to climate change. Acknowledgments We thank Rick Bonney, Christopher Hassall, Tom Sherratt, and Jake Weltzin for comments on earlier versions of this paper. The findings and conclusions in this paper are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the views of the US Government. 1 Thackeray SJ, et al. (2016) Phenological sensitivity to climate across taxa and trophic levels. Nature 535:241–245. 2 Kharouba HM, et al. (2018) Global shifts in the phenological synchrony of species interactions over recent decades. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 115:5211–5216. 3 Hassall C, Billington J, Sherratt TN (2019) Climate-induced phenological shifts in a Batesian mimicry complex. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA, 10.1073/pnas.1813367115. 4 Miller-Rushing A, Primack R, Bonney R (2012) The history of public participation in ecological research. Front Ecol Environ 10:285–290. 5 Sparks TH, Carey PD (1995) The responses of species to climate over two centuries: An analysis of the Marsham phenological record, 1736-1947. J Ecol 83:321–329. 6 Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ (2012) Uncovering, collecting, and analyzing records to investigate the ecological impacts of climate change: A template from Thoreau’s Concord. Bioscience 62:170–181. 7 Schwartz MD, ed (2003) Phenology: An Integrative Environmental Science (Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, The Netherlands), p 564. 8 Chandler M, et al. (2017) Contribution of citizen science towards international biodiversity monitoring. Biol Conserv 213:280–294. 9 Theobald EJ, et al. (2015) Global change and local solutions: tapping the unrealized potential of citizen science for biodiversity research. Biol Conserv 181:236–244. 10 Parmesan C, Yohe G (2003) A globally coherent fingerprint of climate change impacts across natural systems. Nature 421:37–42. 11 Shirk J, et al. (2012) Public participation in scientific research: A framework for deliberate design. Ecol Soc 17:29. 12 Ellwood ER, et al. (2015) Accelerating the digitization of biodiversity research specimens through online public participation. Bioscience 65:383–396. 13 Fernandez-Gimenez ME, Ballard HL, Sturtevant VE (2008) Adaptive management and social learning in collaborative and community-based monitoring: A study of five community-based forestry organizations in the western USA. Ecol Soc 13:4. 14 Austen K (2015) Environmental science: Pollution patrol. Nature 517:136–138. 15 Renner SS, Zohner CM (2018) Climate change and phenological mismatch in trophic interactions among plants, insects, and vertebrates. Annu Rev Ecol Evol Syst 49:165–182. 16 Zimova M, Mills LS, Nowak JJ (2016) High fitness costs of climate change-induced camouflage mismatch. Ecol Lett 19:299–307. 17 Reed TE, Jenouvrier S, Visser ME (2013) Phenological mismatch strongly affects individual fitness but not population demography in a woodland passerine. J Anim Ecol 82:131–144. 18 Ovaskainen O, et al. (2013) Community-level phenological response to climate change. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 110:13434–13439. 19 Ries L, Mullen SP (2008) A rare model limits the distribution of its more common mimic:Atwist on frequency-dependent Batesian mimicry. Evolution 62:1798–1803. Miller-Rushing et al. PNAS Latest Articles | 3 of 3 D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1
work_lzvs2gn3vbaodo54ltu4qncxmy ---- Sad Paradise: Jack Kerouac’s Nostalgic Buddhism religions Article Sad Paradise: Jack Kerouac’s Nostalgic Buddhism Sarah F. Haynes Liberal Arts & Sciences Department, Western Illinois University, Macomb, IL 61455, USA; sfhaynes77@gmail.com Received: 15 February 2019; Accepted: 10 April 2019; Published: 13 April 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: Jack Kerouac’s study of Buddhism started in earnest in 1953 and is traditionally believed to have ended in 1958. This paper considers the relationship between Kerouac’s Buddhist practice and his multi-layered nostalgia. Based on a close reading of his unpublished diaries from the mid-1950s through mid-1960s, I argue that Buddhism was a means of coping with his suffering and spiritual uncertainty. Kerouac’s nostalgic Buddhism was a product of orientalist interpretations of the religion that allowed him to replace his idealized version of his past with an idealized form of Buddhism. Keywords: Buddhism; Kerouac; Buddhism in America; nostalgia 1. Introduction1 Twentieth-century American writer Jack Kerouac spent his early adulthood enjoying an unfettered existence as he traveled around the United States in search of adventure, wisdom, and good times.2 At the forefront of Kerouac’s writing during the 1950s was the pursuit of experience. For Kerouac and fellow Beat Generation writers in post-World War II America, life was meant to be embodied. That is, lived, performed, and felt. Experienced. The Beat Generation was a movement that greatly valued the accumulation of sensory experiences, whether realized through drugs, jazz, literature, religion, or sex. In the late 1950s, Kerouac pulled away from his contemporaries, alienating his friends and fellow writers through his conservative politics, uncontrollable alcoholism, frequent moves, unhealthy attachment to his mother, and a likely undiagnosed depression.3 Kerouac’s mental state is of importance here as it is connected to his nostalgic sentiments and his turn to Buddhism in the 1950s. This essay focuses on Kerouac’s Buddhist Period in 1953–1958 through the mid-1960s, a time during which he withdrew from his fellow Beat writers. Of primary concern is the role of nostalgia in the development of Kerouac’s Buddhist practice. The following explores the connection between Kerouac’s Buddhist practice and his multilayered nostalgia. Though Kerouac’s nostalgia can be categorized into three separate areas, their boundaries are blurry. In what follows, I consider Kerouac’s nostalgia for his pre-World War II life, his pre-fame life, and his nostalgic Buddhism. Roughly, his nostalgia corresponds to pre-1945, 1945–1957, and 1953 onwards. I argue that nostalgia provided Kerouac with a means of coping with his internal and spiritual conflicts, but in the end resulted in the replacement of his idealized version of his past with an idealized form of Buddhism. On the one hand, his pre-WWII and pre-fame nostalgia are a by-product of modernity. On the other, his nostalgic Buddhism is more complex and a legacy of romantic, orientalist perspectives of Asia and its 1 Many thanks to Marylou Murray for her insightful comments on early drafts and her excellent skills as an editor. Also, I extend my gratitude to Mary Catherine Kinniburgh and Lyndsi Barnes of the New York Public Library for their guidance and knowledge of the Kerouac collection. 2 Though Kerouac’s two most popular novels, On the Road and The Dharma Bums, were published in 1957 and 1958, they are based on his travels and experiences from 1947–1950 and 1955–1957, respectively. 3 Though not a medical doctor or psychologist, I am basing this additional factor on a detailed reading of Kerouac’s diaries from the early 1950s to his death in 1969. See Johnson for a discussion of Kerouac’s depressive episodes, exacerbated by his use of alcohol and Benzedrine. Religions 2019, 10, 266; doi:10.3390/rel10040266 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/2077-1444/10/4/266?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel10040266 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2019, 10, 266 2 of 11 religions. Ultimately, his own nostalgic sentimentalities, as seen in his novels and poetry, resulted in the commodification of his image and cemented his status as a pop culture icon, a status he deeply despised, but which continues unabated to this day. This paper is part of a larger project that examines Kerouac’s impact on the development of Buddhism in America. It is based on approximately one hundred hours of archival research conducted during three separate trips to the Berg Collection at the New York Public Library (NYPL) between January 2017 and October 2018.4 The NYPL houses the majority of Kerouac’s diaries, notebooks, and other unpublished writing. The documents most relevant for the topic under discussion include Kerouac’s published works, as well as his unpublished diaries and notebooks in which he obsessively recorded his day-to-day life, then meticulously catalogued. More specifically, the analysis considers his unpublished works for a nearly fifteen-year period from the mid-1950s to the late 1960s.5 All but ten of Kerouac’s fifty-five diaries were consulted, in addition to miscellaneous documents in the Berg Collection’s enormous Kerouac collection.6 2. On Nostalgia The study of nostalgia remains a popular topic across a wide variety of academic disciplines—medicine, psychology, history, and sociology, to name a few.7 Boym writes, “Nostalgia (from nostos—return home, and algia—longing) is a longing for a home that no longer exists or has never existed. Nostalgia is a sentiment of loss and displacement, but it is also a romance with one’s own fantasy.”8 Furthermore, “[a]t first glance, nostalgia is a longing for a place, but actually it is a yearning for a different time–the time of our childhood, the slower rhythms of our dreams. In a broader sense, nostalgia is rebellion against the modern idea of time, the time of history and progress. The nostalgic desires to obliterate history and turn it into private or collective mythology, to revisit time like space, refusing to surrender to the irreversibility of time that plagues the human condition.”9 Thus, nostalgia is a modern condition, a byproduct of technological advancements. For Kerouac, his nostalgia was mediated by postwar technological developments including movies and music, as well as air travel and infrastructure improvements such as the interstate system. Twenty-first century scholarship no longer considers nostalgia a completely negative affliction. Rather, nostalgia is now viewed as part of a creative process, full of potential and enabling individuals to cope with major life changes.10 In fact, Batcho notes that nostalgia is now viewed as a fundamental component of human experience which, though often bittersweet, can enhance one’s mood and serve as a means to maintain self-identity.11 However, as will be seen below, the nostalgia in Kerouac’s writing reveals an individual struggling with attachments to an idealized past, much like the understanding of nostalgia depicted by Pierro, Pica, et al.: “People look to the past to provide a narrative structure for their lives, to make sense of regretted mistakes, and to forge a sense of belonging by recalling and affirming relationships with attachment figures.”12 Moreover, attachment to the past can be propel one forward into a more positive mode of being. For Kerouac, his nostalgic tendencies allowed him to fully actualize and mature his spiritual nature, resulting in his interpretation of Buddhism and incorporation of it into his life. As Boym notes, “[m]odern nostalgia is a mourning for the impossibility 4 The New York Public Library Berg Collection houses the Kerouac Collection which it acquired in 2001, but did not open to the public for research until 2006. The collection that is comprised of ninety manuscript boxes worth of material. 5 Kerouac gradually stopped writing in his daily diaries in the mid-1960s with very few entries in the two years leading up to his death in October 1969. 6 The ten diaries not consulted were those that pre-dated the start of Kerouac’s Buddhist Period in December 1953. 7 For an examination of the history of nostalgia, see Boym. 8 (Boym 2001, p. xiii). 9 (Boym 2001, p. xv). 10 (Atia and Davies 2010, p. 183). 11 (Batcho 2013, p. 170). 12 (Pierro et al. 2013, p. 653). Religions 2019, 10, 266 3 of 11 of mythical return, for the loss of an enchanted world with clear borders and values; it could be a secular expression of a spiritual longing, a nostalgia for an absolute, a home that is both physical and spiritual, the Edenic unity of time and space before entry into history. The nostalgic is looking for a spiritual addressee.”13 Thus, Kerouac’s nostalgic Buddhism is unsurprising considering his earlier nostalgia, romantic longings, and ongoing spiritual quest. In other words, it is a continuation of the spiritual longing found in his pre-Buddhist Period writing. 3. On Kerouac In March 1922, American literary and pop culture icon, Jack Kerouac, was born into a working-class French-Canadian Catholic family in Lowell, Massachusetts. Kerouac’s early childhood experiences, particularly the death of his older brother Gerard and indeed the town of Lowell itself, greatly shaped his identity, religious beliefs, and nostalgic sensibilities. Kerouac’s autobiographical publications, known collectively as the Duluoz Legend,14 revolve around his life as a young man in postwar America, but spend a significant amount of time reflecting on his childhood experiences. Regarding Kerouac’s religious practice, the Duluoz Legend is a coalescence of his childhood Catholicism and the Buddhism he turned to at the age of thirty-one. In 1957, at the age of thirty-five, Kerouac garnered attention from mainstream America, and quickly gained a global audience, with the publication of his controversial novel On the Road.15 The novel catapulted Kerouac to fame for a number of reasons. First, On the Road shattered the postwar dream of suburban America as it advocated for a lifestyle that was the complete antithesis of the materialism and conformity of postwar mainstream society. Second, as with his fellow Beat writers, salacious topics and antinomian behavior—drug use and homosexuality, for example—were in the forefront of his writing. And finally, Kerouac’s writing style was unique; his methodology was controversial and his spontaneous prose much criticized for its lack of traditional narrative structure. While On the Road remains his most famous work, Kerouac, in his short life of forty-seven years, was a prolific writer, both published and unpublished.16 On the Road introduces readers to his early interest in Buddhism and what was for the 1950s an unconventional lifestyle, a life driven by wanderlust and the pursuit of Truth. Buddhism became the cornerstone of later novels and poetry, specifically The Dharma Bums, Mexico City Blues, and Desolation Angels. Throughout his books, readers find Kerouac conflicted about his religious beliefs. As he had been raised Catholic by French-Canadian parents, Kerouac’s interest in Buddhism was a source of both internal and familial conflict, his mother, whom he called Mémère, and sister unable to understand his appreciation of Buddhism. This conflict is fully realized in a posthumous publication of Kerouac’s more personal writings, Some of the Dharma (1999), a scattered collection of poems, prose, and scribblings on Buddhism. In addition to his Duluoz Legend accounts and musings on Buddhism, Kerouac also wrote more “traditional” Buddhist texts, most notably Scripture of the Golden Eternity (1960) and the posthumously published Wake Up: Life of the Buddha (2008).17 13 (Boym 2001, p. 8). 14 The books that should be included in the Duluoz Legend are often debated by Kerouac scholars, regardless of the fact that Kerouac listed the novels in a 1960 diary. See the following link for a summary of the debate and a photo of the 1960 diary entry: http://thedailybeatblog.blogspot.com/2018/02/jack-kerouac-duluoz-legend.html. 15 The commonly told story is that Kerouac wrote On the Road in a spontaneous burst of creativity fueled by Benzedrine over a roughly three-week period in 1951. While not entirely false, Kerouac had worked on earlier drafts and, while he did complete a draft in a three-week period, the novel is largely based on his very detailed daily diary entries taken during his travels. 16 On 20 October 1969, Kerouac experienced an internal hemorrhage, complicated by cirrhosis, from which he was unable to recover due to the damage inflicted by decades of alcohol abuse. The number of published Kerouac books includes: fourteen novels, eight posthumously published novels, thirteen books of poetry, five works of non-fiction, and multiple collections of letters and interviews. 17 Kerouac’s retelling of the Buddha’s life story is unsurprising considering the centrality of Aśvaghos. a’s Buddhacarita to his study of Buddhism. The Buddhacarita is a Sanskrit composition from the early second century C.E. and offers a retelling of the Buddha’s life story. Written in the style of an epic poem, the text is divided into twenty-eight sections that detail the http://thedailybeatblog.blogspot.com/2018/02/jack-kerouac-duluoz-legend.html Religions 2019, 10, 266 4 of 11 Kerouac’s nostalgia was deeply connected to post-World War II America, reflecting a yearning for his childhood and the town of his youth, both of which were highly idealized and complemented the heavily romanticized lifestyle promoted in his writing. Looking beyond his printed works to his unpublished diaries and personal correspondence gives us a glimpse of a Kerouac overcome by a nostalgia not fully articulated in his published works. This paper considers more heavily the Buddhist elements of his spiritual writing and how he reconciled his religious practice with the nostalgia that, I argue, was complicit in his faithful return to the Catholicism of his youth. Towards the end of his life, Kerouac’s nostalgic longing for his New England childhood surpassed his nostalgia for an idealized Buddhist practice. Kerouac’s pre-fame nostalgia was rooted in his childhood and a product of postwar modernity. Whereas, his nostalgic Buddhism was the product colonial orientalist perspectives. The aim of this paper is not to provide a detailed discussion of Kerouac’s Buddhist practice. Furthermore, the following does not delve into the question, frequently raised in discussions of Kerouac’s Buddhism, of the legitimacy or authenticity of said practice. In many ways, the question of authenticity is irrelevant. For the purposes here, it is important to note that regardless of how deeply Kerouac understood Buddhism, his interpretation of Buddhism continues to influence the development of Buddhism in America. As Borup notes in his discussion of Buddhism and popular culture, it is important “ . . . to analyze such popularization, entertainmentization and mediatization of Buddhism not as deviant misunderstandings in a neo-liberal consumer market, but as cultural phenomena with their own rationale in a broader perspective. Rather than seeing ‘content’ (teaching, practice, institution) as the only prime mover, such developments are understood here as framing conditions and transmission technologies in the overall transformation and adaptation processes of the religion.”18 I will note that Kerouac’s Buddhist practice is far more complex than typically portrayed. Most accounts limit his Buddhist practice to a very short period of time, 1953–1958, his so-called “Buddhist Period.” A detailed reading of his unpublished materials presents a far different picture and a much longer engagement with Buddhism that in fact continued into the mid-1960s. It is true that he returned to Catholicism later in life, arguably having never left it entirely behind, but his diaries attest to a continuous interest in Buddhism that is often overlooked and not clearly presented in his published works. Kerouac’s diaries reveal an individual attached to an idealized past—his brother, his hometown, and his Catholicism, attachments he was aware of and attempted to work through with the help of Buddhism. Following the publication of On the Road in 1957, Kerouac’s increasing fame was matched by his increasing alcohol intake. His diaries reveal his struggle with the subculture—Beat Generation—he had helped create, and his resultant feelings of alienation from his contemporaries in both New York and the Bay Area. The Beat lifestyle with its unattached, non-conforming wanderlust featured in his writing conflicted with his nostalgic remembrances, thus feeding his sense of alienation. Pierro, Pica, et al. note that, “one of the primary functions of nostalgia is to induce positive mood or a sense of belongingness.”19 Yet, Kerouac’s fixation on his idealized past only served to further separate him from his friends and his Buddhist practice and propelled him into Mémère‘s Catholic embrace. Kerouac’s nostalgia can be placed into three overlapping categories: (1) Pre-World War II nostalgia for his hometown, his childhood, his French-Canadian, Catholic identity, and his brother and father; (2) Nostalgic Buddhism that ebbed and flowed from 1953–1969; (3) Pre-fame nostalgia for the period between 1945 and until 1957 characterized by travel, writing, and Beat friendships. Buddha’s life from beginning to end. There are several English translations of the text. Kerouac read Samuel Beal’s 1883 translation from the 5th-century C.E. Chinese text by Dharmaks. ema and E.B. Cowell’s 1894 translation from the extant Sanskrit, both of which are included in F. Max Müller’s collection Sacred Books of the East. 18 (Borup 2016, p. 42). 19 (Pierro et al. 2013, p. 654). Religions 2019, 10, 266 5 of 11 Like many in postwar America, Kerouac longed for a simpler past in the wake of the suburbanization of the country, as the burgeoning middle class pursued the American Dream. However, his postwar nostalgia was more than a yearning for simpler times; for Kerouac, his nostalgic focus on the prewar years was a focus on his childhood, and more specifically on his family’s heritage and home, on his deceased father, and, most importantly, on the divine nature of his brother. Kerouac’s personal identity was greatly defined by the suffering he experienced as child in his hometown of Lowell, Massachusetts, and was memorialized in the Duluoz Legend. In the early twentieth century, Lowell was a small but thriving mill town with a “Little Canada” neighborhood with a significant francophone population. It is the francophone community in Quebec to which Kerouac’s family traced their roots, and which Kerouac idealized in his published and unpublished writing. Kerouac’s Duluoz Legend reveals a significant amount about his childhood in New England, romanticizing the very few years during which his family was intact. For example, Visions of Gerard paints a picture of a happy, loving family despite Gerard’s debilitating illness. Kerouac affectionally recollects Christmas morning in 1925 and the gifts each child received.20 He ends the scene, “I basked in all this just like you would expect someone who deserved it, to bask in eternal bliss . . . ”21 A few pages later, Kerouac tenderly reminisces about a seemingly perfect family breakfast. “But comes morning and a temporary cessation of his pain and Ma’s up making oatmeal in the kitchen, the steam from the stove is fragrant and comes and steams Gerard’s bedroom window and gives everything a wonderful new quality of gladness, of simple attempt—he earth and the flesh be harsh, but there’s comradeship below–‘I’m making you some nice oatmeal, Gerard, and some nice toasts—wait another five minutes, I’ll put you that on a tray and we’ll have a nice breakfast together.’”22 When Kerouac was four, nine-year-old Gerard died of rheumatic fever. Kerouac’s father turned to alcohol to assuage his grief, while Mémère, a frequent drinker herself, turned towards her Catholic faith. Throughout his diaries and Visions of Gerard, Kerouac prays to his older brother, refers to him as a saint, and in many instances as an angel. For the Catholic Kerouac, the turning of his older brother into a guardian angel makes sense. The yearning for help with confronting his own suffering, and that of his dying brother’s, was a recurring theme in Kerouac’s writing. It was these experiences of suffering that made Buddhism so attractive to Kerouac. Ultimately, changing the angelic Gerard to a bodhisattva. For instance, several diary entries attribute great compassion to Gerard despite the immense suffering he experienced as a boy, and in an entry as recent as May 1961, Kerouac prays to Gerard, alongside Jesus, Mary, and Avalokiteśvara. A clearer expression of Gerard’s bodhisattva status is found in Visions of Gerard, Kerouac writes in poetic form: “O Lord, Ethereal Flower, Messenger from Perfectness, Hearer and Answerer of Prayer, Raise thy diamond hand, Bring to naught, Destroy, Exterminate— O thou Sustainer, Sustain all who are in extremity— Bless all living and dying things in the endless past of the ethereal flower, Bless all living and dying things in 20 Visions of Gerard was written during Kerouac’s Buddhist Period in 1956 but was not published until 1963. It serves as the first entry in the Duluoz Legend even though it was written later than some of his other autobiographical works. 21 Visions of Gerard, (Kerouac 1987, p. 67) 22 Visions of Gerard, (Kerouac 1987, pp. 70–71). Religions 2019, 10, 266 6 of 11 the endless present of the ethereal flower, Bless all living and dying things in the endless future of the ethereal flower, amen. Unceasing compassion flows from Gerard to the world even while he groans in the very middle of his extremity.”23 For Kerouac, Gerard’s bodhisattva-like abilities extended beyond that of a guardian angel to include caring for all the suffering beings in the face of his own hardships. For Kerouac, his childhood experiences and family’s French-Canadian heritage had lasting impacts. Both of Kerouac’s parents were born in Quebec and moved south to Massachusetts via New Hampshire in search of jobs in the booming mill towns of New England.24 Kerouac’s nostalgia extended to ancestors whom he had never met. He longed for the homeland of his ancestors, so attached to this familial identity that he traveled to France in the hopes of tracing his ancestry through Canada back to France. His family had settled in a community of French-Canadians in Massachusetts prior to his birth, yet, he wrote nostalgically about Quebec.25 Though born in America, Kerouac’s attachment to Canada is found in his writing. Skinazi writes in reference to Kerouac in On the Road “ . . . employing a language and heritage that hearken back to French Canada to create artful pictures of the American road . . . ”26 His French-Canadian heritage was intrinsic to his being, as Beaulieu notes, “Because Jack always identified with French Canada it never occurred to him to say he was Franco-American.”27 It has been argued elsewhere that Kerouac’s books are by their very nature spiritual, his quest while on the road a spiritual journey.28 His unpublished diaries are largely focused on religious matters, allowing the reader to trace the ebb and flow of his religious practice. In December 1953, Kerouac was introduced to Buddhism by fellow On the Road traveler Neal Cassady.29 Kerouac’s earlier diaries, prior to 1953, reflect his prior knowledge of Hinduism and Buddhism, most certainly influenced by his appreciation of nineteenth-century Transcendentalist writers such as Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Walt Whitman. While staying at the Cassady’s house, Kerouac began his study of Buddhism, having gone to the San Jose public library to check out books on Buddhism. Kerouac’s diaries and personal correspondence from late 1953 into 1954 reveal that he committed himself quite quickly to the teachings of the Buddha. Kerouac and the Beat Generation rose to fame through the postwar alienation that crept across America. The key players of the Beat Generation thrived on the margins of American society, both in their lives and in their writing.30 Kerouac’s novels championed a life on the fringes, instead of a life spent chasing the American Dream as portrayed in the 1950s and 1960s on The Adventures of Ozzy and Harriet and Leave it to Beaver. The other irony that the nostalgia he felt for the prewar freedom of the road, a breaking away from the American Dream through travel and Buddhism, ultimately resulted in his pop icon status. 4. On Kerouac’s Buddhism Despite being credited with popularizing Buddhism in America and the prevalence of Buddhism in several of his novels and poetry collections, as well as the publication of three Buddhist focused 23 Visions of Gerard (Kerouac 1987, p. 70). 24 See Maher Jr. for details about both sides of Kerouac’s family. 25 Kerouac’s family spoke a French-Canadian dialect. In 2014, a book containing Kerouac’s previously unpublished French writings was published called La vie est d’hommage. 26 (Skinazi 2010, p. 52). 27 (Beaulieu 1979, p. 122). 28 See Gewirtz, (Gewirtz 2007, chp. 5) “The Buddhist Christian.” 29 Neal Cassady was never influenced by Buddhism to the same extent as Kerouac and later Allen Ginsberg. However, in the early to mid-1950s, the period during which Kerouac turned to Buddhism, Cassady and his wife Carolyn were reading the teaching of clairvoyant Edgar Cayce. 30 See Panish for a discussion of the idealized and essentialized perspective Kerouac adopts towards racial minorities in his writing, particularly, The Subterraneans (Kerouac 1994). Religions 2019, 10, 266 7 of 11 works, his Buddhist practice has yet to receive a book-length consideration.31 His published works present Buddhism as the answer to his suffering and in line with the spontaneity and freedom he expounds in rejection of postwar America. This is evident early in The Dharma Bums when Ray Smith (Kerouac’s character) describes Japhy Ryder (Gary Snyder’s character). Regarding Japhy’s vast knowledge of Buddhism, Ray says, “[h]e knew all the details of Tibetan, Chinese, Mahayana, Hinayana, Japanese and even Burmese Buddhism but I warned him at once I didn’t give a goddamn about the mythology and all the names and national flavors of Buddhism, but was just interested in the first of Sakyamuni’s four noble truths, All life is suffering. And to an extent interested in the third, The suppression of suffering can be achieved . . . ”32 For Kerouac, and his character Ray, Buddhism could be reduced to a salve for the human condition.33 In accordance with his source material and western conceptions of Buddhism, Kerouac was less concerned with the mythology and ritual of the religion than the manner in which it alleviated his suffering. In chapter five, Japhy says, “[y]ou know when I was a little kid in Oregon I didn’t feel that I was an American at all, with all that suburban ideal and sex repression and general dreary newspaper gray censorship of all our real human values but and when I discovered Buddhism and all I suddenly felt that I had lived in a previous lifetime innumerable ages ago and now because of faults and sins in that lifetime I was being degraded to a more grievous domain of existence and my karma was to be born in America where nobody has any fun or believes in anything, especially freedom.”34 And later in his sutra, titled The Scripture of the Golden Eternity, published in 1960, when recalling a religious experience, he writes, “[i]t was perfect, the golden solitude, the golden emptiness, Something-Or-Other, something surely humble. There was a rapturous ring of silence abiding perfectly. There was no question of being alive or not being alive, of likes and dislikes, of near or far, no question of giving or gratitude, no question of mercy or judgment, or of suffering or its opposite or anything.”35 Kerouac’s suffering, whether brought on by his addictions or as a result of his postwar pessimism, made sense when he discovered Buddhism. His nostalgia for his youth, brother, and idealized family were replaced by a romanticized Buddhism. Through an analysis of his unpublished diaries, Kerouac’s Buddhism comes into focus as more complex than previously depicted/believed, serving as influential force and constant in his life from 1953 to the mid-1960s. When the above quote from The Scripture of the Golden Eternity is read alongside Kerouac’s unpublished works from the time the sūtra was written in 1956, we get a clear picture of his involvement with Buddhism. For instance, at the time Kerouac wrote his published sutra, he was also working on an extensive rewrite and reinterpretation of the Diamond Sūtra that remains unpublished but will be discussed below. Kerouac’s entry point into the study of Buddhism was, for the most part, late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century translations, including F. Max Müller’s fifty-volume collection titled Sacred Books of the East, and Dwight Goddard’s A Buddhist Bible, which contains many translations of Buddhist sutras, and includes: Laṅkāvatāra Sūtra, Diamond Sūtra (Vajracchedikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra), and Heart Sūtra (Prajñāpāramitāhr. daya). 36 Kerouac’s diaries clearly indicate that the Diamond Sūtra most resonated 31 Also, (Giamo 2000; Haynes 2005; Lardas 2000; Tomkinson 1995). 32 (Kerouac 1986, p. 12). 33 Kerouac’s archival documents, not limited to his diaries, often refer to the miracle of the Dharma and its ability to alleviate suffering. In a diary entry from early 1961, he refers to the Buddha as nothing more than realistic about suffering and the way out of it. 34 (Kerouac 1986, p. 31). 35 (Kerouac 2001, p. 59). 36 When one examines the source material in Kerouac’s diaries, both Goddard and Müller are the most commonly cited, but Kerouac’s interaction with Goddard’s text makes it the overwhelming favorite. It can be argued that the favoritism Kerouac showed for Goddard’s text is likely due to its ease of transport, as it is known that he stole a copy from a library that he said he’d eventually return (See his September 8, 1958 letter to Allen Ginsberg). Whereas, the size of Müller’s collection would have been prohibitive for Kerouac’s ongoing study of Buddhism. Though a fifty-volume collection of translations, Sacred Books of the East contains nine volumes of Buddhist texts, and at least seven were consulted by Kerouac. To a lesser extent, Kerouac also consulted Paul Carus’ The Gospel of Buddha for translations of Buddhist texts. All three collections can be found online at www.sacred-texts.com. www.sacred-texts.com Religions 2019, 10, 266 8 of 11 with him. Initially, his interest in Buddhism was not limited to a particular school, as he read whatever he had access to, which in postwar America was not a lot. However, the majority of the material he read was Mahāyāna in origin and, more often than not, Zen in orientation. One can well argue that the prevalence of Zen in Kerouac’s writing and Buddhist practice was reflective of his friendship with Gary Snyder and Philip Whalen and of the fact that Zen was popular amongst his peer group and, more broadly, white American males than other types of Buddhism in 1950s America.37 Kerouac was inconsistent in his adherence to a particular school of Buddhism. He was critical of different schools at different points in his life, as reflected in both his published and unpublished writing. For instance, he told Snyder, “I’m not a Zen Buddhist, I’m a serious Buddhist, I’m an old-fashioned dreamy Hinayana coward of later Mahayanism.”38 Here, Kerouac’s vision of his Buddhist practice parallels his idealized vision of the religion. However, in his diaries and in a 1958 letter to Allen Ginsberg, Kerouac was often dismissive of the “Hinayana earlier crude moral stratagems.”39 Regardless of his inconsistency, Kerouac’s diaries are overwhelmingly focused on Mahāyāna texts and teachings. As noted above, the overwhelming concern for Buddhist Kerouac was the religion’s focus on suffering (duh. kha). The premature death of his brother, his desire to be respected as a writer, and his struggles with alcoholism were, for Buddhist Kerouac, hurdles he was unable to overcome. His diaries reflect the near constant turmoil he experienced. It makes sense that he turned to Buddhism with its focus on attachment and desire it resonated with him and his yearning for the past and ongoing drinking problem. A close reading of his diaries reveals that Buddhism offered him a modicum of, though temporary, relief. While not drinking any less, he was cognizant of and accepted his problems and Buddhism seemed to provide him with a means to understand and deal with his addictions and past experiences. In many ways, Kerouac replaced his nostalgia for his past with a romanticized, nostalgia Buddhism. Kerouac had limited access to Buddhism when compared to the average twenty-first century American. With A Buddhist Bible as his guide, Kerouac immersed himself in the study of sūtras, including the “transliteration” of sūtras, and his attempts to translate them into French.40 He engaged with Buddhism in any form available to him, eventually finding Buddhist friends in Gary Snyder and Whalen.41 A few years into his Buddhist practice, at the urging of Snyder, Kerouac composed his own sūtra titled The Scripture of the Golden Eternity in 1956 although it remained unpublished until 1960. In addition to producing the above sūtra, Kerouac spent countless hours writing about Buddhism in his diaries. Eventually, he collected the material into the posthumously published Some of the Dharma. While Some of the Dharma contains a significant amount of Kerouac’s thoughts on Buddhism, it only touches the surface of his Buddhist poetry, diaries, and personal correspondence, included in his unpublished works. For instance, during his time in Northport, New York with Mémère, Kerouac wrote another short unpublished sūtra called The Northport Sūtra.42 The Northport Sūtra is a dialogue between Kerouac and a nameless individual on the ignorance of existence where he uses a tree as an example. After a discussion of the existence and non-existence of the tree, Kerouac concludes by asserting the emptiness of all things and that compassion is what characterizes people and the Golden Eternity.43 Kerouac wrote hundreds of Buddhist-themed haikus, drunken scribbles, and even the start 37 Gary Snyder, the character Japhy Ryder in The Dharma Bums, greatly informed Kerouac’s Buddhist practice. Snyder later received Zen training in Japan from where he continued to offer Kerouac advice via mail. Additionally, in postwar America, Zen was continuing to gain in popularity. For instance, D. T. Suzuki was active during Kerouac’s Buddhist Period. Kerouac and Ginsberg met Suzuki in New York City in the summer of 1957. See Nicosia for additional details, p. 579. 38 (Charters 1994, p. 248). 39 (Charters 1999, p. 171). 40 Kerouac incorrectly referred to copying and typing of sutras as his “transliterations.” 41 Snyder and Whalen were Kerouac’s closest friends with an interest in Buddhism. Allen Ginsberg turned to Buddhism long after Kerouac grew disillusioned with it. Interestingly, though not surprisingly, William S. Burroughs had little tolerance for Kerouac’s Buddhist practice. 42 NYPL 19.47—The Northport Sūtra is signed by Kerouac and dated 12 September 1958, Northport, NY. 43 Kerouac often referred to nirvān. a as the golden eternity. Religions 2019, 10, 266 9 of 11 of a movie script called Being a Tathāgata. Most of this material remains unpublished; however, in 1956, Kerouac did publish some of his Buddhist poetry in the Berkeley Bussei, a Bay Area publication of the Berkeley Young Buddhist Association put out by the Berkeley Jōdo shinshū community. In yet another example of the intensity of Kerouac’s Buddhist studies, just as he famously wrote and typed On the Road in the form of a scroll, he wrote a new version of the Diamond Sūtra onto a scroll nearly ten feet in length.44 His scroll version was The Diamond Vow of God’s Wisdom. However, his diaries refer to the Diamond Sūtra more often as The Diamondcutter of Perfect Knowing or simply The Diamondcutter. Kerouac’s rewriting of the text was done to facilitate his actual practice of Buddhism. The scroll is divided by days of the week which correspond to one of the six perfections (pāramitā) and ending with samādhi on Saturday. Kerouac’s division of the text by day reflects the meticulousness with which he dated and catalogued his writing, but arguably, was also meant to offer discipline for his practice and an easy entry point in to the canonical literature for the Americans he hoped to convert to Buddhism. Kerouac has been referred to as a literary Buddhist and is often criticized for his lack of sustained meditation practice. Though in an account of the time Kerouac spent with his friends Whalen, Snyder, and Ginsberg, Fields writes, “[e]xcept for Snyder, who sat regularly on his rolled-up sleeping bag for half an hour or so every morning, and Whalen who sat occasionally, the Buddhism was mostly literary. Kerouac’s sitting remained idiosyncratic.” Fields then quotes Whalen, “he [Kerouac] was incapable of sitting for more than a few minutes at a time . . . His knees were ruined by playing football . . . They wouldn’t bend without great pain, I guess. He never learned to sit in that proper sort of meditation position. Even had he been able to, his head wouldn’t have stopped long enough for him to endure it. He was too nervous. But he thought it was a good idea.”45 To discount Kerouac because of his physical inability to “sit in that proper sort of meditation position” reflects the western Buddhist focus on meditation as an essential element of practicing Buddhism, when in fact millions of Buddhists then and now spend very little, if any, time practicing meditation. Regardless, Kerouac’s diaries from spring and summer 1959 and into 1960 reveal he continued to engage in meditation and yoga practice well beyond the end of his so-called “Buddhist Period” (1953–1958). Kerouac’s Spring 1960 diary reveals his interest in Buddhism remained high. In mid-April, he meditated, followed by weeks of work on his version of the Diamond Sūtra throughout May, ending with yoga postures and breath work.46 Not surprisingly, Kerouac did not distinguish between his Buddhist meditation practice and Hindu Yoga. A conflation that remains common amongst modern western Buddhists.47 Furthermore, Kerouac’s picking and combining of elements from different religious traditions and types of Buddhism was standard in his attempts to find relief from his suffering. The nostalgic nature of Kerouac’s Buddhism is evident in how he engaged with the Buddha and his teachings in an idealized, romanticized manner. In Some of the Dharma, Kerouac writes, “[t]he great mystery and astonishing discovery of Indian Philosophy or Buddha is, that in reality there is only perfect emptiness and silence and all this rigamarole we see, hear, feel, taste, smell, touch and think about is originating from that first defilement of individuation . . . ”48 In his posthumously published life of the Buddha, Wake Up!, Kerouac writes: “People didn’t know that the actual Buddha was a handsome young prince who suddenly began brooding in his father’s palace, staring through the dancing girls as though they weren’t there, at the age of 29, till finally and emphatically he threw up his hands and rode out to the forest on his war horse and cut off his long golden hair with his sword and sat 44 The scroll is located in the NYPL archive. In May 2017, I requested to view the scroll but was unable to due to its fragile state. I requested that the NYPL Conservation Department repair the scroll and, in October 2018, I was able to open, read, and photograph the scroll. The scroll is dated as November 11, 1957, Orlando, Florida, U.S.A. 45 (Fields 1992, p. 214). 46 NYPL 57.4 Diary 21 Spring 1960. 47 See Andrea R. Jain (Jain 2014) Selling Yoga: From Counterculture to Pop Culture for additional discussion of the conflation of Hindu yoga and Buddhist meditation. 48 Some of the Dharma, (Kerouac 1999, p. 11). Religions 2019, 10, 266 10 of 11 down with the holy men of the India of his day and died at the age of 80 a lean venerable wanderer of the ancient roads and elephant woods. This man was no slob-like figure of mirth, but a serious and tragic prophet, the Jesus Christ of India and almost all of Asia.”49 The image of the Buddha portrayed in the above passage is representative of Kerouac’s nostalgic Buddhism, idealized and romanticized, and very much a product of the orientalist translations that served as his source material. In both his published and unpublished writing, Kerouac romanticized and idealized places, people, music, and religion. Five years later, in his diary from the Summer of 1960, Kerouac reminisces about the past, common in his diaries from the 1960s, and noted the nostalgia he experienced while serving as a fire lookout. And earlier in the diary, in what appears to be a lengthy drunken entry, he writes about the benefits of Zen practice and returning to the dharma in order to teach others.50 These entries reveal a suffering Kerouac, determined to return to a time, a place, and the Buddhism that alleviated his pain, albeit a short-lived respite. The very thing that made it possible for Kerouac to capture the popular imagination was his ability to present himself as an unhappy, suffering individual, ensnared by his nostalgia, who presents a romanticized lifestyle as the salve to ease society’s pains. When looking at Kerouac’s Buddhism and considering his romantic longing for the wisdom of the Buddha, the issue of orientalism needs to be addressed. The majority of Kerouac’s Buddhist reading materials were nineteenth- and early twentieth-century English translations of Buddhist texts, including the work of D. T. Suzuki. Thus, the texts were translated by individuals rooted in colonial and orientalist perspectives, and often biased and filtered through a Christian lens. Undoubtedly, Kerouac perpetuated the essentialism and orientalism that characterized his source material. 5. Conclusions The nostalgia Kerouac felt for his youth and pre-fame life were supplanted when he encountered postwar American Buddhism. His study of the religion provided him with the means to understand his suffering and attachment to the past and, through its colonial orientalist lens, he was able to formulate a version of Buddhism built on his romantic tendencies. Ironically, Kerouac’s nostalgia for prewar life espoused in his two most famous novels resulted in one of the anxieties that caused him the most suffering—fame. Kerouac’s non-religious nostalgia and his pursuit of direct experience led to his solidification as an American pop culture icon.51 His novels, in their rejection of modern 1950s–1960s America, laid the groundwork for his enshrinement in the pop culture hall of fame, representative of the process of commodified nostalgia. The lifestyle that Kerouac nostalgically wrote about in a quasi-religious, mystical manner is what made him popular, and resulted in the commodification of all things Kerouac related, which was exactly the consumerism of postwar America that he condemned. In its commodification of Buddhism and Kerouac, American popular culture has perpetuated the idealized images prevalent in Kerouac’s nostalgia, including his orientalist-mediated Buddhism. Funding: This research received no external funding. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References Atia, Nadia, and Jeremy Davies. 2010. Nostalgia and the Shapes of History. Memory Studies 3: 181–86. [CrossRef] Batcho, Krystine Irene. 2013. Nostalgia: The Bittersweet History of a Psychological Concept. History of Psychology 16: 165–76. [CrossRef] [PubMed] 49 Wake Up!, (Kerouac 2009, p. 7). 50 NYPL 57.5 Diary 22 Summer 1960. 51 Kerouac’s image, writing, and Buddhism have been used for many years. Some examples of this commodification include: t-shirts, bookmarks, word art, four Hollywood movies in fifteen years (which he tried to do during his life), a promotional campaign for The Gap, excerpts from On the Road read aloud during a Volvo commercial, and the online travel company Orbitz ran a series of On the Road retro promotional posters to commemorate its sixtieth anniversary. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/1750698010364806 http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/a0032427 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/23646885 Religions 2019, 10, 266 11 of 11 Beaulieu, Victor-Lévy. 1979. Jack Kérouac: Essai-Poulet [A Chicken Essay]. Translated by Sheila Fischman. Toronto: The Coach House Press. Borup, Jørup. 2016. Branding Buddha–Mediatized and Commodified Buddhism as Cultural Narrative. Journal of Global Buddhism 17: 41–55. Boym, Svetlana. 2001. The Future of Nostalgia. New York: Basic Books. Charters, Ann. 1994. Kerouac: A Biography. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Charters, Ann. 1999. Jack Kerouac: Selected Letters 1957–1969. New York: Penguin Books. Fields, Rick. 1992. How the Swans Came to the Lake: A Narrative History of Buddhism in America. Boston: Shambhala. Gewirtz, Isaac. 2007. Beatific Soul: Jack Kerouac on the Road. New York: Scala Publishers. Giamo, Benedict F. 2000. Kerouac, the Word and the Way: Prose Artist as Spiritual Quester. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Haynes, Sarah F. 2005. An Exploration of Jack Kerouac’s Buddhism: Text and Life. Journal of Contemporary Buddhism 6: 171–89. [CrossRef] Jain, Andrea R. 2014. Selling Yoga: From Counterculture to Pop Culture. New York: Oxford University Press. Kerouac, Jack. 1986. The Dharma Bums. New York: Penguin. Kerouac, Jack. 1987. Visions of Gerard. New York: Penguin. Kerouac, Jack. 1994. The Subterraneans. New York: Grove Press. Kerouac, Jack. 1999. Some of the Dharma. New York: Penguin. Kerouac, Jack. 2001. The Scripture of the Golden Eternity. San Francisco: City Lights Publishers. Kerouac, Jack. 2009. Wake Up: A Life of the Buddha. New York: Penguin Books. Lardas, John. 2000. The Bop Apocalypse: The Religious Visions of Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Burroughs. Champaign: University of Illinois Press. Pierro, Antonio, Gennaro Pica, Kristen Klein, Arie W. Kruglanski, and E. Tory Higgins. 2013. Looking Back or Moving On: How Regulatory Modes Affect Nostalgia. Motiv Emot 37: 653–60. [CrossRef] Skinazi, Karen E. H. 2010. Jack Kerouac’s ‘America’: Canadian Revisions of ‘On the Road’. American Studies 51: 31–59. [CrossRef] Tomkinson, Carole. 1995. Big Sky Mind: Buddhism and the Beat Generation. New York: Penguin Books. © 2019 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14639940500470031 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s11031-013-9350-9 http://dx.doi.org/10.1353/ams.2010.0119 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction1]Many thanks to Marylou Murray for her insightful comments on early drafts and her excellent skills as an editor. Also, I extend my gratitude to Mary Catherine Kinniburgh and Lyndsi Barnes of the New York Public Library for their guidance and knowledge of the Kerouac collection. On Nostalgia On Kerouac On Kerouac’s Buddhism Conclusions References
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work_m3b6fazzxfe3xea25uqjmqppsq ---- Reading Elizabeth von Arnim Today Isobel Maddison, Juliane Römhild and Jennifer Walker Elizabeth von Arnim is usually remembered as a novelist whose comic writing immortalised a leisurely life of privilege among flowers. Her first book, Elizabeth and Her German Garden (1898) and The Enchanted April (1922) are probably still her best known works. But to know only this is to belie the complexity of her writing and of her place as an author during the first forty years of the twentieth century. Born Mary Annette Beauchamp in Sydney, Australia, on 31 August 1866, she was the youngest of six children. In 1870, when she was three years old, the family left Sydney and went to live in London. Here she developed keen interests in history, literature, art and music. Her musical gifts were nourished at the Royal College of Music, where her principal study was the organ. Soon she was considering a career as a professional musician. At the age of twenty-two, however, while staying in Rome with her parents, she met the newly widowed Graf Henning von Arnim-Schlagenthin, a member of the Prussian aristocracy and a friend of the Wagner family. They became engaged and the Count took her to Bayreuth where she was introduced to the heart of German high society, performing organ works by Liszt for his daughter, Cosima Wagner. In February 1891, she and the Count von Arnim were married in London. By now fluent in German as well as French, she began a new life as a member of the Prussian aristocracy in Berlin. Three daughters were born in quick succession, leaving their mother with little time for music or books until, in the spring of 1896, she visited her husband’s country estate at Nassenheide (now Rzedziny, Poland) near the Baltic Sea. She immediately fell in love with it and decided to live there, far from Berlin and the demands of Prussian society. She had arrived in her ‘German Garden’. Inspired by the beauty of this place, her best-selling novel, Elizabeth and Her German Garden, was published anonymously by Macmillan two years later. The true identity of the author was, for some time, a closely guarded secret but ‘Elizabeth’ became famous. While living at Nassenheide, seven further highly successful novels were written and published as being ‘By the Author of Elizabeth and Her German Garden’. Following the death of the Count von Arnim in 1910, she and her five children left Prussia. Dividing her time now between London and her Chalet Soleil near Crans Montana, Switzerland, von Arnim hosted many famous literary and intellectual figures of the day, including Earl Francis Russell (older brother of Bertrand Russell) whom she married in February 1916. The marriage was a disaster and they separated three years later, though never divorced. The war years saw the deaths of several close friends and family members, including her youngest daughter, Felicitas, who died in Germany aged sixteen. In the 1920s, von Arnim (now known as the Countess Russell) was able to return to her Chalet where she formed a deep friendship with her young cousin Katherine Mansfield, who was staying at the resort for health reasons. She also embarked on a romantic relationship with a young man, Alexander Stuart Frere-Reeves (later president of Heinemann). During these years, she wrote two of her best novels: Vera (1921), and The Enchanted April (1922). During the 1930s, she made her home at the Mas des Roses in Mougins on the French Riviera. Once again, she created a garden, enjoyed her many dogs, and wrote several more works, including the semi-autobiographical All the Dogs of My Life (1936). The threat of war in 1939 forced her to flee to the United States of America, where two of her daughters and her son were living. While there, her last novel, Mr Skeffington (1940), was a great success with her American readers. However, living away from home and staying in hotels and inns without a library was not easy and her health suffered. Elizabeth von Arnim died of the complications of influenza in a hospital in South Carolina, early in 1941. Her ashes, at her request, were returned to England after the war where they were mingled with those of her brother, Sydney, in the churchyard of St Margaret’s, Tylers Green, Penn, in Buckinghamshire. Inscribed on her commemorative plaque in the churchyard are the words ‘Parva sed apta’ (small but suitable). The words had, as ever, been chosen by von Arnim herself, though those who remembered her were rather less low key in their estimations: as Bronwyn Stern wrote to Hugh Walpole, ‘What a devil she was, but what good company’ (Stern 24 Feb 1941: Maddison, xxii). This is borne out by von Arnim’s connections and wide association with a loose group of influential artists and thinkers in the early twentieth century. Elizabeth von Arnim was a valued member of the English literary and intellectual life of her time. Her crowd included George Bernard Shaw, Maud Ritchie, H.G. Wells (who is believed to have been her lover), Augustine Birrell, George Santayana, Bertrand Russell, George Moore, Dame Ethel Smyth, John Middleton Murry, Frank Swinnerton, James Cobden-Sanderson, Max Beerbohm and Vernon Lee. In the early 1900s both E.M. Forster and Hugh Walpole were tutors to von Arnim’s children at Nassenheide. In her heyday von Arnim was a literary celebrity, widely read and admired for her wit. L.P. Hartley, for instance, argued in 1934 that she was ‘among the most important novelists of to-day’ (Sketch: 72). Von Arnim was reviewed positively alongside Elizabeth Bowen, Jean Rhys, Dorothy Richardson and May Sinclair. Among her reviewers was also Katherine Mansfield, whose early writing was undoubtedly influenced by von Arnim’s work. By re-inserting Elizabeth von Arnim into the cultural milieu of which she was a significant part, recent critics have been able to re-revaluate her writing and rescue her from the posthumous neglect she has suffered until recent times. Her writing has, of course, always been regarded as women’s writing: a female author writing primarily for women readers and, as in other cases, this is likely to have contributed to her increasing neglect. As early as 1929, however, J.B. Priestley was speaking of von Arnim as an author of ‘feminine fiction’ (Evening News: 11), while Vernon Fane, a reviewer of her final novel, Mr Skeffington, was arguing in 1940 that ‘feminists galore’ might be writing fiction, but ‘Elizabeth’s strongest characteristic is her femininity’ (Sphere: 152), albeit in the first half of the twentieth century the terms ‘feminist’ and ‘feminine’ were not necessarily contradictory. Frequently the critical diction attached to von Arnim’s work in the 1920s and 30s tips over from ‘feminine’ through ‘feminist’ to ‘feline’ (Daily Telegraph: 6) as a way of capturing von Arnim’s use of satire in a lexis increasingly stained with pejorative gendered associations. Von Arnim’s work was largely forgotten until Virago republished several of her novels as ‘classics’ in the 1980s, and today scholars are interested in her writing precisely because of its complicated oscillation between ‘feminine’ and ‘feminist’.1 Understandably, all critical responses struggle to identify an appropriate and fixed classification for von Arnim’s hybrid writing, which moves deftly between outright social satire, the diary form, the country house novel, the (uneasy) romance and, occasionally, the Gothic genre. In an acknowledgment of this complexity, recent critics have re-contexualised von Arnim’s writing amidst the shifting classification of ‘the middlebrow’, which has provided a welcome platform to engage with her work within an increasingly ‘legitimate’ academic framework.2 This is not to define von Arnim’s work as middlebrow, but to regard it as caught within a series of shifting discourses that helped shape its reception, and which contributed to its increasing critical neglect. Her writing is being given a new, and welcome, lease of critical life and a fresh airing.3 So what kind of writer emerges from this collection of essays? While recent research on von Arnim in the context of the middlebrow has done much to raise her academic profile, the authors in the first part of this issue break new ground by offering fresh perspectives on von Arnim’s use of genre and her loose engagement with Modernist styles. Jennifer Shepherd’s essay resituates the garden novel as a form of imperial romance. While von Arnim’s nationalism and Elizabeth’s complex femininity has been examined before, Shepherd reads them together under a new paradigm, thereby offering a different angle on genre and gender. Next, Rachel O’Connell takes earlier research into Elizabeth’s hyperfemininity to a new level by exploring the nexus between Elizabeth’s gendering and form in her discussion on how the auto- eroticism of von Arnim’s protagonist is facilitated by the introspective genre of the garden diary. The next two essays by Jennifer Walker and Nick Turner offer detailed analyses of von Arnim’s unique style as a response to the modern condition. Walker discusses the musicality and stylistic proximity to Modernist fiction of In the 1 See, for example, Juliane Römhild, Femininity and Authorship in the Novels of Elizabeth von Arnim: At Her Most Radiant Moment, New Jersey: Fairleigh Dickinson, 2014. 2 See: Erica Brown, Comedy and the Feminine Middlebrow Novel: Elizabeth von Arnim and Elizabeth Taylor, London: Pickering & Chatto, 2013, and Isobel Maddison, Elizabeth von Arnim: Beyond the German Garden, Farnham: Ashgate, 2013. 3 See: Jennifer Walker, Elizabeth of the German Garden: A Literary Journey, Brighton: Book Guild, 2013. Mountains (1920). Turner explores von Arnim’s modern blend of Naturalism and Realism in The Pastor’s Wife (1914). Both authors offer a welcome new direction in von Arnim studies in exploring von Arnim’s Modernist affinities beyond her relationship with Katherine Mansfield. The essays in the second part of this issue discuss the pronounced intertextuality of von Arnim’s novels. While her talent for friendship has been well explored by her biographers, less has been written on von Arnim’s literary affiliations, the intertexts and influences in her work. The contributors to this journal break new ground in exploring von Arnim’s connections with writers such as Dickens, George Elliot, Daphne du Maurier, Henry David Thoreau, Max Beerbohm, Virginia Woolf, George Bernard Shaw and others. They broaden our understanding of her wide range of inspirations beyond the tradition of women’s writing in which her novels have mostly been discussed so far. Rachel Galvin opens this section with an exploration of the garden as a space of female autonomy and notes the connections between Elizabeth and Jennifer Dodge, the heroine of von Arnim’s later novel Father (1931), which so far has escaped critical attention almost entirely. Her essay shows that the garden motif remained central to von Arnim’s thinking even in later years. The exhilarating aspect of horticultural self-liberation is picked up by Juliane Römhild, who demonstrates how von Arnim draws on Henry David Thoreau and William Wordsworth to write about joy in The Solitary Summer (1899). Fiona Tomkinson’s essay on ‘The Pious Pilgrimage’ (1900), an additional chapter to Elizabeth and Her German Garden, demonstrates that the ghost Elizabeth encounters in a visit to her childhood garden has spectral ancestors in Dickens’s Great Expectations and other authors. While von Arnim’s affinities with Austen and the kinship between Vera (1921) and Rebecca (1938) have been discussed, Ann Herndon Marshall shows how the concept of a ‘natural’ femininity intersects with power in Austen, George Eliot and Daphne du Maurier, thereby adding historical depth to von Arnim’s critique of femininity. The issue closes with Isobel Maddison’s analysis of the satirical and broadly political cross-currents between von Arnim’s Introduction to Sally (1926), a novel previously unexplored, and texts by two of her friends: G.B. Shaw’s Pygmalion (1914) and Max Beerbohm’s Zuleika Dobson: Or an Oxford Love Story (1911). Her essay reveals the interplay of von Arnim’s wide ranging personal and literary affiliations beyond the tradition of female satirists. As the authors of this issue show, much remains to be done. The factors that led to Elizabeth von Arnim’s critical neglect may now be re-evaluated as precisely the qualities that make the scholarly exploration of her work so rewarding. Defying easy categorisation, we can now read von Arnim as a feminist satirist of complex personal and artistic affiliations, whose distinctive voice was inspired by both contemporary stylistic experiments and the literary traditions of the Nineteenth century. Her writings continue to inspire readers and intrigue scholars. Elizabeth von Arnim’s status as a central literary figure of early Twentieth century British fiction will continue to grow. Works Cited Arnim, Elizabeth von (1898) Elizabeth and Her German Garden, London: Macmillan. --- (1899) The Solitary Summer, London: Macmillan. --- (1900) ‘The Pious Pilgrimage’, Elizabeth and Her German Garden, London: Macmillan. --- (1914) The Pastor’s Wife, London: Smith. --- (1920) In the Mountains, London: Macmillan. --- (1921) Vera, London: Macmillan. --- (1922) The Enchanted April, London: Macmillan. --- (1926) Introduction to Sally, London: Macmillan. --- (1931) Father, London: Macmillan. --- (1936) All the Dogs of my Life, London: Heinemann. --- (1940) Mr Skeffington, London: Macmillan. Beerbohm, Max (1911), Zuleika Dobson: Or An Oxford Love Story, London: Heinemann. Brown, Erica (2013) Comedy and the Feminine Middlebrow Novel: Elizabeth von Arnim and Elizabeth Taylor, London: Pickering & Chatto. Dickens, Charles (1861), Great Expectations, London: Chapman and Hall. Fane, Vernon (1940) Sphere, 3 Feb, p. 152. Hartley, L.P. (1934) ‘The Literary Lounger’, The Sketch, 9 Jan, p.72. Maddison, Isobel (2013) Elizabeth von Arnim: Beyond the German Garden, Farnham: Ashgate. Maurier, Daphne du (1938 rpt 1997), Rebecca, New York: Harper. Priestley, J.B. (1929) ‘The Sentimental Sex’, Evening News, 1 Feb, p. 11. Römhild, Juliane (2014) Femininity and Authorship in the Novels of Elizabeth von Arnim: At Her Most Radiant Moment, New Jersey: Fairleigh Dickinson. Shaw, George Bernard (1914), ‘Pygmalion: A Romance in Five Acts’, Everybody’s Magazine vol xxxi. G.B Stern (1941), ‘To Hugh Walpole’, 24 Feb 1941, in Maddison, p. xxii. Walker, Jennifer (2013) Elizabeth of the German Garden: A Literary Journey, Brighton: Book Guild. West, Rebecca (1931) ‘Feline Wit’, Daily Telegraph, 10 Apr, p. 6. ---
work_md4wbp7xnraujiyqryfkjidf44 ---- Student Records: The Harvard Experience HARLEY P. HOLDEN T H E PASSAGE OF THE FAMILY EDUCATION RIGHTS AND PRIVACY ACT in 1974, the con- cern and confusion surrounding the Buckley Amendment, and the questionable use of student records by government agencies have made particularly timely the discus- sion of access to and confidentiality of student records. But I will touch upon these important subjects only in passing, leaving to my colleagues their detailed discus- sion. My aim in this paper is largely historical, to show through the experience of one large and old university the research use of student records and the importance of their permanent retention for researchers of the future. The ubiquitous student-folder did not appear upon the Harvard scene until the 1890s. Nevertheless, for the two and one-half centuries previous to that decade, the records of students at Harvard are many and varied. While we cannot produce a detailed record for every student who attended Harvard in the seventeenth century, we can for many. Student records for this period are found among the papers of the university presidents and in the recorded minutes of the Harvard Corporation and Board of Overseers, the two Harvard governing bodies, as well as in surviving diar- ies and commonplace books. Detailed records of student board, room, and other expenses may be found in the records of the steward, butler, and treasurer. A close study of these records will indicate how much (and in some cases what type) food a student ate, how much beer he drank, and how much he was fined for various infrac- tions of the college laws. In the majority of cases, this information can be deter- mined for individuals. Through an overall study of such material, the individual student can be placed within the social and intellectual tenor of his times. By the third decade of the eighteenth century, an organized faculty was formed at Harvard, and their records became another important source of information on stu- dents. As is still the case in some small, private secondary schools, the Harvard faculty of this period discussed students individually, particularly if academic fail- ings or conduct were in question. The results of these discussions appear in the min- utes of the Harvard faculty and are an unbroken record of information about indi- vidual students from the 1720s to the end of the nineteenth century. For the record of the eighteenth century, the District Reports and Disorders Papers are important also. The former consist of the records of how students kept their rooms and who their roommates were, and what repairs were required; the latter concern participa- tion of students in various riots and disruptions. Beginning early in the nineteenth century, student records became more numer- ous and more varied. We have available for different periods such records as absen- ces from recitation, admission books, class rank lists, concentration cards, course lists, disciplinary material, final returns, general exams, grade sheets, language requirement results, parentage cards, prayer cut records (daily chapel attendance The author is curator of the Harvard University Archives. The American Archivist Vol. 39, No. 4 October 1976 461 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 462 THE AMERICAN ARCHIVIST—October 1976 was compulsory at Harvard until 1886), rank scales, record cards, summons books, and withdrawals. Marking or grading, as we know it, was a nineteenth-century de- velopment. Before that, at least at Harvard, academic grading was a matter of pass or fail. To make academic judgment of a student, the tutor, instructor, or professor relied largely on themes, forensics, and recitations. The issuance of grades at Harvard began in 1827 with the aggregate system. Under this system students received a certain number of points or aggregates for themes, recitations, orations, and other endeavors. The total number of aggregates accumulated during a four-year period determined academic rank within a class. Thus, by looking at the system as a whole, biographers and other researchers can determine the comparative academic achievement of such nineteendi-century Har- vard notables as James Russell Lowell, Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Henry David Thoreau. For the decade between 1876 and 1886, students were marked by a combi- nation of aggregates and percentages. In 1886 came the present letter system of marking. This is not an exhaustive (and I hope not an exhausting) recitation of the stu- dent records available for research at Harvard for the period ending with the nine- teenth century. What I hope to show is that there is a rich body of student records available for researchers at the university and, I am sure, at many of its sister institu- tions. With very few exceptions, these records prior to the 1890s are fully available to competent scholars to use in a great variety of ways. Recently, a biographer sent for my inspection sixty double-spaced typewritten pages of information that he had accumulated on the college career of Henry Adams, A.B. 1858. This information was culled from the great variety of our official student records and from supplementary material in our collections on Harvard professors, student publica- tions, organizations, and biographical class material. One manuscript volume kept by a Harvard undergraduate organization contains a pornographic poem in Henry Adams's unmistakable handwriting. This poem and the other material discovered in the Harvard Archives by the biographer reveal much about the education of Henry Adams that does not appear in his book of that title. We have now come to the dawn of the twentieth century and to the era of the stu- dent folder and student record card. The Harvard University Archives contains approximately six-thousand Hollinger boxes of student folders for the period circa 1890 through 1970, and about one-hundred Hollinger boxes of student grade-cards. Until the 1920s the folders were thin, containing the basic information on the appli- cation form, the secondary school grades, and letters of recommendation. Begin- ning in the 1920s, the amount of information, and its variety and diversity, accumu- lated until, in the 1950s, there gradually emerged a folder of material containing a detailed account of the child and youth from birth to the age of approximately twenty-two. Restricted now? Of course. But, a century from now, a biographer's dream. The content of the Harvard student folders of the past forty years has changed, of course, by administrative whim and by state and federal regulation. The typical Harvard folder over this period, however, contains an application form with date and place of birth; citizenship; father's and mother's names, place of birth, national- ity, education, and occupation; parent's marital status; school attended by appli- cant; extracurricular activities; list of offices held; honors received; teams played on; names of persons recommending applicant; essays on why applicant wants to go to college and why to Harvard; a photograph; and the applicant's autograph. At some periods, an essay on a particularly significant educational experience has been D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 STUDENT RECORDS 463 required as well. Also in the folder are generally found the applicant's secondary- school transcript, a report on health, college semester grade reports, application for house assignment, administrative board reports on academic status, and details of various college encounters and experiences such as probation and leaves of absence. Of particular interest for the scholar are the letters of recommendation and com- ment written by teachers, principals, parents, tutors, and professors. It has long been the custom at Harvard to ask the parents of incoming freshmen for a letter of comment on their son. They reveal much about both the parents and the student. If only we had such letters by John and Susanna Adams about their son John, or from Increase and Maria Mather about their son Cotton, or from Thomas and Lydia Hancock about their nephew John. We do have them, presumably, for the twentieth century John Adams's, Cotton Mathers, and John Hancocks who have gone to Har- vard. Once a student is admitted to Harvard, a folder is created for him and, through his freshman year, is on file in the freshman dean's office. After the freshman year, the folder is transferred to the house (Harvard has a house system for upperclassmen similar to the college system at Oxford and Cambridge) where, generally, he will reside until graduation. It is here that the bulk of the file accumulates. The folders remain in the house after graduation, for the five-year period when professors are called upon most to write letters of recommendation. A number of professors have been particularly talented at writing these letters. Some are masterpieces of insight and prose style. How priceless would be similar letters written by Plato about Aris- totle or by and about other great teacher-student relationships through the ages. Harvard does not claim, to my knowledge, any Platos or Artistotles; but it is obvious that such letters will prove invaluable to those who study and write about such Har- vard men as John F. Kennedy and Henry Kissinger. The student folders containing this important research material are kept strictly confidential. When they are trans- ferred to the archives, five years after the student graduates, the folders are kept in a room with special locks and may be recalled only by the dean of the college or the registrar of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences. The most extensive use of Harvard's student records of the seventeenth and eight- eenth centuries has been made by Samuel Eliot Morison in his extensive and detailed histories of Harvard, and by my predecessor as Harvard archivist, Clifford K. Shipton, in writing volumes 4 through 17 of the series known as Sibley's Harvard Graduates. Besides serving as custodian of the Harvard University Archives and as director of the American Antiquarian Society, C. K. Shipton continued a project begun by Harvard Librarian John Langdon Sibley in the 1850s of gathering together all known information about Harvard graduates and presenting it in the form of compendious biographies. Sibley covered the classes of 1642 through 1689. After Sibley's death, the biographical project languished for half a century. In the 1930s, C. K. Shipton assumed the mantle of Sibley editor. By the time of his death, in December 1973, he had completed work on the members of the Class of 1771. One may wonder at the usefulness of producing a biography of every one of Harvard's graduates; but until the nineteenth century most of the prominent men, particu- larly in New England, who received a college education received it at Harvard or at Yale. In these brief biographies is gathered together all available information about the graduate's writings, his ancestors and descendants, and other matters that may serve as sources for research. Shipton always considered his biographies of obscure graduates more important than biographies of the famous. For gathered here, in these seventeen volumes, is a storehouse of information on the origins, occupations, D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 464 THE AMERICAN ARCHIVIST—October 1976 beliefs, and accomplishments of several thousand educated men of the American colonial period. These volumes have already served as the basis for many studies, sociological as well as historical. On the first two decades of the subjects' lives, most of the detail in them is based on Harvard student records. Harvard student disciplinary records have figured prominently in the Sibley- Shipton biographies. As already mentioned, there is much of this material available in the steward's and butler's records of the seventeenth century and in the faculty records of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Another good source is the disorders papers, recording instances of student insurgence and unrest that have occurred periodically throughout Harvard's history, from rancid butter riots in the seventeenth century to the student political and social unrest of the 1960s and early 1970s. All was recorded at Harvard, much has been preserved. The need for the con- fidential treatment of such material is obvious. None has been released yet concern- ing students of the twentieth century or even the end of the nineteenth, such as some material I came across recently marked "Cases of cheating and lying, 1890-1898." But in the perspective of history, after the elapse of a century or two, does it really injure our sensibilities or prove embarrassing to distant descendants to know that John Hancock, A.B. 1754, while in college, was involved in getting a Negro slave drunk and was degraded four places in rank (but was restored upon humble confes- sion); that Robert Treat Paine, A.B. 1754, forged a paper as a student; that Elbridge Gerry, A.B. 1762, was admonished for negligence in attending college prayers; that Samuel Adams, A.B. 1740, was "fined for drinking prohibited liquors"; or that Henry David Thoreau, A.B. 1837, was admonished for making a noise at prayers? I think not. Such information has certainly added to the interest of the Sibley- Shipton accounts, delighted genealogists, and can aid biographers and other researchers in developing a more complete picture of the man and of the milieu, social customs, and behavior of his era. Harvard student records of the seventeenth through the nineteenth centuries have been used extensively by numerous researchers besides Morison and Shipton. Recent studies have included such subjects as the occupations of fathers and sons, the economic and social background of nineteenth-century Harvard professors who were also Harvard graduates, religious backgrounds of students, parentage and social backgrounds of college athletes, early lives and backgrounds of naval officers, and separate accounts of student disorders at Harvard in the 1760s and 1830s. The last named use, by Robert A. P. McCaughey, about a student rebellion of the 1830s, is significantly entitled: The Usable Past. There are many ways that we can learn from the past through the varied use of student records. What of research use of student records of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the greatest concern in most colleges and universities? As I have mentioned, these records of the student-folder era at Harvard are still considered highly confidential. Nevertheless, qualified researchers with the permission of the literary heirs and the consent of appropriate Harvard officials have made detailed use of Harvard undergraduate and graduate records for biographical, literary, and political studies of such well-known former Harvard students as E.E. Cummings, John Dos Passos, Thomas Wolfe, Theodore Roosevelt, W. E. B. DuBois, Alan Seeger, John Reed, Wallace Stevens, Robert Frost, T. S. Eliot, and Syngman Rhee. Even richer and more nearly complete records exist, presumably, for such more recent Harvard luminaries as Christian A. Herter, John Phillips Marquand, Nor- man Mailer, John Updike, Henry Kissinger, Eliot Richardson, James Gould Coz- zens, and the three Kennedy brothers. When the need for privacy diminishes and D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 STUDENT RECORDS 465 with the consent of the heirs, a rich collection of material lies waiting for the schol- ar. May it be preserved. While those of us who are archivists and historians may realize and appreciate the value of student records for research in the social sciences and the humanities, sim- ilar feelings may not be shared by "hard-nosed" administrators and legislators. To them the problems, both real and imaginary, of confidentiality, and legal and stor- age considerations, may make the retention of these records more bother than they feel the records are worth. Possibly, the great value of student records for medical research, with promised or at least anticipated, immediately useful and tangible results, may help convince them of the necessity for the retention of the materials. A great deal of medical research had been done at Harvard through the use of stu- dent records. Al though medical records at the university, in the form that we usually envision them, go back only about fifty years, there are related records that are nearly a century old. The most important of these were compiled through the efforts of Dudley Allen Sargent, assistant professor of physical training and director of the Hemenway Gymnasium from 1879 through 1919. During that forty year period, Sargent gathered and bound in large folio volumes detailed physical and strength test measurements on all Harvard students. These records, together with records of athletic participation, have provided and will provide in die future source material for medical research. I should also mention that Sargent and his associates took nude photographs of most students. These have been used extensively for the study of body types. I do not, I hope, need to add that these are stored under secure condi- tions with very limited access, at Harvard's Peabody Museum of Archeology and Ethnology. I suppose it could be argued, at least facetiously, that since our scientific community does not hesitate to publish photographs of scantily clad native chiefs from New Guinea or the South American jungles, that community should not hesi- tate to feature photographs in the National Geographic or Natural History Maga- zine of Harvard graduates who became our chiefs of state. Harvard does have a Committee on Research and the Use of Human Subjects that governs the use of student medical records. Information for outside researchers gen- erally is provided only in coded or numbered form. Psychiatric records, which do not come under the jurisdiction of the Harvard Archives, have not been used so far for research. As the chairman of the Committee on Research and the Use of Human Subjects pointed out to me, medical records are much more objective and statistical than psychiatric records. The patient input is much clearer in physical medical rec- ords and less prone to subjective interpretation. With the consent of the students concerned, some investigations have been made to determine whether there is a correlation between those who visit the Harvard Health Services for medical and those who visit for psychiatric reasons. Results are not fully conclusive, but through the use of student records it has been found that those who have psychiatric prob- lems tend to have physical problems as well. Early in this century, Harvard admission records were used for a study of longev- ity. Admission records, from the beginning, have generally included date of birth. The information, combined with the usually accessible death dates, led to useful conclusions on the longevity of one large segment of college educated Americans. The Sargent physical and strength measurement records, as well as later student records, both medical and academic, have been used by Ralph S. Paffenbarger, Albert Damon, and others for studies of chronic disease in former college students, particularly the study of early precursors of fatal coronary heart disease, precursors of suicide in early and middle life, characteristics in youth predisposing to fatal D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 466 THE AMERICAN ARCHIVIST—October 1976 stroke in later years, and characteristics in youth predisposing to hypertension, sui- cide, and accidental death in later life. Some of their conclusions are that high blood pressure, cigarette smoking, and failure to participate in sports predispose toward heart disease and stroke. Early signs of suicide tendency were identified in the stud- ies and brought to the attention of college and university administrators and health officials. Among the conclusions of the researchers were that health educators should be encouraged to mold good health habits among students and to initiate long-term programs formulated to reduce or delay death from coronary disease and stroke. Suggested approaches include weight control, regular physical exercise, and abstinence from cigarette smoking both as students and in later life. Another major study at Harvard, employing both medical and other types of stu- dent records, is The Harvard Study of Adult Development (The Grant Study). For this project, under the current directorship of George E. Vaillant, 268 college sophomores were studied in great depth in 1939-42 and have been followed at roughly two year intervals ever since. These were Harvard students selected for rea- sons of physical and psychological health, and they now comprise a resource that is useful in studying the determinants of healthy adaptation to retirement and to the aging process, as well as the study of the antecedents of mental health and/or mental illness. Another similar study was begun with Harvard students in 1964-65. Other medically oriented studies at Harvard have included equipment design and a comparison of the longevity of Harvard oarsmen with those who did not participate in college sports. The potential value of these student records for future research is incalculable; the benefits for mankind are tremendous. We have considered the historical and medical use of student records, but there is also the legal factor for purposes of social security and other benefit information. Also, during the past decade, with its questioning of established procedures, the university lawyers have frequently called upon the Harvard Archives for back- ground material on procedures a century or two centuries old. A couple of years ago, the university was challenged as to whether it had been and was making proper use of scholarship money left by one William Stoughton, a member of the Class of 1650, who had died in 1701. Through the use of the scholarship records in the archives, which have taken many different forms over the centuries, the law researchers were able to determine, with but few omissions, the identity and place of residence (an important factor in this case) of recipients of Stoughton scholarship aid. Had it been necessary for them to extend their research back a full two and one-half centur- ies to Stoughton's death, I believe they could have, with a few gaps, done so. There were a number of scholarships available at Harvard by the eighteenth century. John Adams benefited from the Hollis scholarship and John Hancock from the Flynt scholarship. We have had it brought to our attention, many times, that seemingly obscure stu- dent records can yield "pay dirt." Until the 1890s, library charging records were reg- ularly maintained and preserved at Harvard. For the nineteenth century, these are in large, bound, folio volumes widi a page for each student for each academic year. By examining these records, scholars can determine what Ralph Waldo Emerson or Henry David Thoreau or Theodore Roosevelt read as students, the volumes and authors who may have helped to shape their thinking at an impressionable age. Possibly, a study of the college reading of Richard Henry Dana and Francis Park- man would reveal that there was more than eye trouble that made the former take leave of absence from college for two years before the mast and the latter hit the Oregon Trail. There is at least a chance that their early college reading as well as D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 STUDENT RECORDS 467 their physical afflictions may have influenced them toward non-academic adven- ture. Several days before I began writing this paper, a member of our staff had the occa- sion to examine one of our most obscure and little-used files, the correspondence for the Sheldon Fellowships for student study abroad. There in the records for the period just prior to the First World War was discovered a cache of T. S. Eliot mate- rial, letters of comment on him by well-known Harvard professors and Eliot's own reports on his study abroad. Close examination of this material, I think, will reveal influences on his early poetry. There may be similar material in this small box of correspondence about Eliot's contemporaries Conrad Aiken and Walter Lipp- mann. We had not had time yet to look. Through more than three centuries of wars, fires, and political and social change, Harvard has been fortunate enough to preserve its records from destruction. We are living now in a period of change and unrest, uncertain even of the moral and ethical character of our government. It is a period when those responsible for the creation and retention of student records question the advisability of saving this material. I am reminded of my visits to numerous Anglican churches and cathedrals in En- gland, where Oliver Cromwell's Roundheads, the English seventeenth-century Red Guards, acting out of political and religious fervor, wreaked havoc with memorials, smashed stained-glass windows, and destroyed other features of artistic and historic merit. These treasures had existed for three centuries before the Roundheads and have existed, in a marred condition, for three centuries since. I urge my fellow archivists and administrators to preserve student records, to act with deliberation and judgment, so that we will not be classed as the archival Roundheads of the twentieth century. New f°rfTb/77 You Are Invited . . . to write for your personal copy of our exciting new catalog. The largest collection of Library/AV equipment, furniture, and supplies in the world. Over 250 new items; almost 13,000 listings in all. An indispensable tool, and it's free to those who can use it! The Highsmith Co., Inc. P.O. 25/3500 Foil Atkinson, Wl 53538 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021
work_me6ae274mjctncl5bej5gxjjj4 ---- UDK 82.09:502 Jožica Čeh Steger Filozofska fakulteta, Univerza v Mariboru EKOLOGIZACIJA LITERARNE VEDE IN EKOKRITIKA1 Ekokritika se je kot posebna disciplina literarne vede uveljavila v devetdesetih letih prej- šnjega stoletja najprej v anglo-ameriškem prostoru in nato razširila po evropskih ter azijskih državah. Po začetni omejenosti na preučevanje podob in posameznih žanrov narave je v svo- je raziskovalno področje vključila različne teoretske koncepte narave, odnose med kulturo in naravo ter človekom in okoljem oziroma književnost v celoti ter pomembno prispevala k spoznanju, da je človek določen ne le z družbenimi razmerji, marveč v enaki meri tudi z naravnim okoljem. Prispevek se osredinja na razvoj ekokritike, njena predmetna področja, vprašanja v zvezi z ekološko funkcijo književnosti in na posamezne prvine ekokritiške ana- lize književnega besedila. Ključne besede: ekološka kritika, literarna ekologija, kulturna ekologija, ekološka funk- cija književnosti, ekofeminizem Ecocriticism as a special discipline of literary criticism in the 1990s first took hold in the Anglo-American world and from there it spread to the countries of Continental Europe and Asia. After being initially limited to the study of images and genres of nature, its scope of research later broadened to include various theoretical concepts of nature, relationships between culture and nature, man and the environment, i.e., literature as a whole, and contrib- uted significantly to the realization that man is defined not only by social relations, but to the same extent by natural environment. The article focuses on the development of ecocriticism, its subject areas, questions related to the ecological function of literature, and to individual elements of ecocritical analysis of a literary text. Keywords: ecocriticism, literary ecology, cultural ecology, ecological function of litera- ture, ecofeminism 0 Uvod Literarna veda je v zadnjih desetletjih prejšnjega stoletja v svoje raziskovalno področje ob kategorijah rase, razreda in spola slednjič dodala še okolje. Čeprav smo v današnjem času priča vsesplošni ekologizaciji znanosti, številnim diskurzivnim praksam o perečih ekoloških vprašanjih in globalni ekološki krizi, je ekokritika, ki se je kot anglo-ameriška literarnovedna disciplina etablirala šele v devetdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja in je na poseben način povezana z ekologijo in okoljskimi gibanji, še zmeraj precej na obrobju literarnovednega zanimanja. Začetki ekologije (gr. oikos – dom, logos – duh, nauk) segajo v drugo polovico 19. stoletja. Ta izraz je leta 1866 prvi uporabil zoolog Ernst Haeckel v svoji knjigi Generelle Morphologie der Organi- 1 Razprava je nastala v okviru programske skupine P6-0156 (Slovensko jezikoslovje, književnost in poučevanje slovenščine). Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://srl.si 200 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij smen, s katero je v nemškem prostoru prispeval k uveljavitvi Darwinove2 evolucijske teorije, ekologijo pa definiral kot nauk o naravnih domovanjih oziroma kot biološko znanost o interakciji med organizmi in njihovim anorganskim svetom. Ekologija v svoje predmetno področje sprva ni vključevala človeka, saj je bila omejena na preučevanje odnosov med rastlinskimi in živalskimi organizmi ter nji- hovih odnosov do okolja. Z nastankom humane in pokrajinske ekologije v dvajsetih letih prejšnjega stoletja, ki sta se začeli ukvarjati s človekovim vplivom na okolje,3 je ekologija kot prvotno biološka veda prestopila območje čistega naravoslovja.4 V zadnjih desetletjih minulega stoletja je prišlo do močne ekologizacije družboslovne in humanistične znanosti. Kljub temu da je ekologija pogosto kritična do večkrat po- enostavljenega prenašanja ekoloških pojmov v družboslovje in humanistiko, so v za- dnjem času nastale številne nove znanstvene discipline (politična ekologija, kulturna ekologija, ekološka estetika, ekološka etika, ekolingvistika, ekokritika idr.). Do pre- nosov naravoslovnih pojmov v družboslovje (npr. v sociologijo) je prihajalo že v 19. stoletju, vendar tedaj predvsem z namenom, da bi se družboslovne vede konstituirale kot znanosti, medtem ko smo od zadnjih desetletij prejšnjega stoletja priča vsesplošni ekologizaciji na spoznavni in praktični ravni. S široko ekologizacijo družbe in kultu- re so v današnjem času povezana tudi prizadevanja za paradigmatske spremembe v razumevanju družbenega razvoja, narave, življenja, etike idr. (Kirn 2004: 20). 1 Ekologija in okoljska gibanja Za širšo prepoznavnost ekologije so pomembno vlogo odigrala moderna okolj- ska gibanja. Pojavila so se v šestdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja kot odziv na silovit razvoj tehnike in industrializacije, ki sta povzročili velike spremembe v naravnem okolju in zahtevali od etično ozaveščenega človeka razmislek o tem, kako preprečiti preveliko širjenje industrije in tehnike v okolje ter kako prebuditi v človeku okoljsko zavest in odgovornost za ohranitev okolja tudi za prihodnje generacije,5 ko je bilo na pobudo neformalne mednarodne skupine Rimski klub objavljeno poročilo o mejah 2 Prve pomembnejše ekološke značilnosti (prilagajanje, naravna selekcija, boj za obstanek, izumiranje vrst, različni odnosi med organizmi, njihova interakcija z okoljem idr.) je opisal že Darwin leta 1859 v knjigi O izvoru vrst (điKić 2000: 9). 3 Pojem ekološki se danes nanaša na ekologijo kot biološko vedo in vključuje tudi družbene, kulturne, tehnične vidike razmerij človeka z naravo (Kirn 2004: 11). S širitvijo termina okolje, ki zajema vse prosto- re, v katerih je prisoten človekov vpliv, se v strokovnem jeziku vse bolj izgublja pojem narava. V ekologiji se uporablja v smislu neokrnjene narave, divjine oziroma okolja, v katerega človek ni posegel ali le v naj- manjši meri. V primerjavi z naravo označuje okolje prilagojeno ali spremenjeno naravno okolje, na podlagi česar ločimo spremenjeno oziroma oblikovano naravno okolje ter grajeno ali urbano okolje. 4 V SSKJ (1987: 554) je razložena kot »veda o odnosu organizmov do okolja«, kar samo po sebi ne izključuje človekovega odnosa do okolja. Ekološki leksikon (điKić idr. 2001: 9) med drugim opozarja, da prihaja v praktični rabi pogosto do nesprejemljivega poistovetenja ekologije z naravo- in okoljevarstvom in da je potrebno ločiti med ekologijo kot znanstveno vedo ter naravo- in okoljevarstvom kot uporabnima deloma te znanosti. 5 Tudi v slovenskem prostoru se je organizirano gibanje za varstvo okolja začelo v sedemdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja. Različne naravovarstvene organizacije so bile povezane v leta 1971 ustanovljeno Sku- pnost za varstvo okolja Slovenije. Tedaj najvidnejši slovenski borec za okoljska vprašanja Aleš Bebler je na primer izražal močno zaskrbljenost zaradi gradnje nuklearke v Krškem. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 201 rasti prebivalstva in gospodarstva.6 Moderna okoljska gibanja opravljajo v sodobni potrošniško usmerjeni družbi nujno in pomembno vlogo njenega korektiva. Prav tako predlogi o varovanju okolja in trajnostnem razvoju v današnjem času niso več zgolj v domeni zelenih strank, ampak so zapisani v programih vseh vidnejših strank tudi pri nas. Kljub vedno bolj izdelanim znanstvenim in političnim izhodiščem se okoljska gibanja še zmeraj prepogosto opirajo na romantično in utopično socialistično kritiko tehnike in kulture kakor tudi na agrarno romantiko in domačijstvo (Goodbody 1998: 20). 2 Ekokritika – nastanek in razvoj Ekokritika (ang. ecocriticism) kot literarnovedna disciplina je najprej nastala v anglo-ameriških akademskih krogih. Kljub temu da je okoljsko gibanje v ZDA zaži- velo že na začetku 20. stoletja, se je ekokritika kot posebna disciplina literarne vede na ameriških univerzah uveljavila šele v devetdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja. Eden od razlogov za njeno pozno uveljavitev tiči v literarni vedi druge polovice 20. stoletja oziroma v prevladujočih vplivih poststrukturalističnih usmeritev, ki ne priznavajo objektivnega statusa zunajtekstualne predmetnosti in jo razlagajo le v smislu druž- benega konstrukta. Odločilno vlogo za uveljavitev ameriške ekokritike raziskovalci (star re 2010: 16) največkrat pripisujejo omizju Ecocriticism: The Greening of Literary Studies, predstavljenem leta 1991 na osrednji letni konferenci MLA (Modern Language As- sociation). Pri omizju in naslednje leto pri ustanovitvi Društva za študij literature in okolja (Association for the Study of Literature and Environment, ASLE)7 je sodelo- vala tudi univerzitetna profesorica Cheryll Glotfelty z Univerze v Nevadi (Reno),8 ki je s Haroldom Frommom leta 1996 izdala zbornik The Ecocriticism Reader: Land- marks in Literary Ecology, s katerim se je ekokritika na ameriških tleh dokončno uveljavila, omenjeni zbornik pa velja še danes za eno najpogosteje citiranih eko- kritiških del. GlotFelty (1996: xix) je že v uvodnem delu tega zbornika definirala ekokritiko kot vedo, ki preučuje povezave med literaturo in fizičnim okoljem,9 in v kontekstu feministične ter marksistične literarne vede poudarila njeno politično vse- bino. V devetdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja se je ekokritika institucionalizirala tudi 6 Gre za poročilo The Limits to Growth, ki so ga leta 1972 objavili Donnela in Deniss Meadows ter njuni sodelavci s Tehnološkega inštituta v Massachusettsu. Še istega leta je bilo prevedeno tudi v nemščino (Die Grenzen des Wachstums). Do konca sedemdesetih let je bila knjiga prevedena v več kot trideset jezi- kov (v slovenščino leta 1974) in prodanih je bilo čez štiri milijone izvodov. Na podlagi analiz planetarnih fizičnih omejitev in računalniških izračunov je prineslo to poročilo pesimistične scenarije o možnostih za preživetje človeštva. Kljub pričakovanemu razvoju tehnike naj bi človeštvo v naslednjih sto letih doseglo absolutno mejo ob sicer nespremenjenih dejavnikih, kot so rast prebivalstva, industrializacija, onesnaževa- nje okolja, proizvodnja hrane in izkoriščanje naravnih surovin (goodbody 1998: 19−20). 7 Od leta 1993 izhaja pri ASLE tudi interdisciplinarno zasnovana revija ISLE (Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment). 8 Prav Cheryll Glotfelty je leta 1990 na Univerzi Nevada (Reno) prevzela prvo univerzitetno stolico za literarne in okoljske študije (Studies in Literature and Environment) (hoFer 2007: 32). 9 Na vprašanje, kaj je ekokritika, si je GlotFelty (1996: xix) odgovorila: »Symply put, ecocriticism is the study of the relationship between literature and the physical environment.« Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 202 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij v Veliki Britaniji, in sicer pod imenom zelene študije (Green Studies). Tamkajšnji ekokritiki so podobno kot njihovi ameriški kolegi združeni v društvo ASLE-UK in izdajajo revijo Green Letters. Zanimanje za ekokritiko se je v zadnjih letih precej razširilo tudi po deželah Daljnega vzhoda. Več sorodnih organizacij ASLE je nastalo v Indiji, Japonski, Koreji, Tajvanu idr. (star re 2010: 20). V nemškem govornem prostoru lahko konec prejšnjega stoletja govorimo le o zametkih ekokritike, ki so se rojevali znotraj kateder za anglistiko in amerikanistiko. Manjše zanimanje nemške literarne vede za ekokritiko je Axel Goodbody (1998: 35) v uvodu zbornika Literatur und Ökologie pojasnil z naslednjima razlogoma: (1) Med germanisti naj bi obstajali zmotni pomisleki o politično-ideološki motivaciji ekokri- tike, ki naj bi bila le trobilo za agitacijski in trivialni ekološki realizem. (2) Odsotnost nemške književnosti o naravi oziroma literarne tradicije, ki bi bila podobna ameri- škemu žanru nature writing. Ekokritika se je v nemškem govornem prostoru začela vidneje uveljavljati šele na začetku našega tisočletja in posebej po letu 2004, ko je bilo ustanovljeno Evropsko društvo za preučevanje literature, kulture in okolja (Eu- ropean Association for the Study of Literature, Culture and the Environment, EASL- CE). V zadnjih dveh desetletjih je nastalo v nemščini nekaj zbornikov in monografij, ki jih lahko umestimo v območje ekokritike (Hubert zaPF 2002, 2008, Stefan hoFer 2007, Christa GreWe-volPP 2004, Catrin Gersdor F/Sylvia Mayer 2005, Urte stob- be, Ulrike Kruse, Maren er Misch 2010 idr.). V zadnjih letih se ekokritika pomembno uveljavlja tudi na Hrvaškem. Leta 2007 je na primer na Inštitutu za etnologijo in folkloristiko Univerze v Zagrebu izšel ob- sežen zbornik Kulturni bestijarij, v katerega sta urednici Antonija Zaradija Kiš in Suzana Marjanić uvrstili prispevke o kulturnem animalizmu s klasično etnoloških vidikov kakor tudi z vidikov etičnih pravic živali, kritike speciesizma, animalistične- ga ekofeminizma in zoolingvistike. Pred izidom je že drugi del tega zbornika (Knji- ževna životinja. Del 2. Kulturni bestijarij). Posebej velja opozoriti tudi na hrvaške publikacije o ekofeminizmu. V uredništvu Karmen Ratković10 je leta 2000 izšla eko- feminizmu posvečena tematska številka revije Treća, temu sta sledili monografiji o ekofeminizmu, leta 2006 Kulturalni ekofeminizam: simboličke i spiritualne veze žene i prirode avtorice Marije Geiger in naslednje leto Mitski aspekti ekofeminizma (2007) izpod peresa Mirele Holy s podrobno predstavitvijo zgodovine ekofeminizma oz. različnih ekofeminizmov, ki se v teoriji in v okviru gibanj polarizirajo v politični in spiritualni ekofeminizem. Na Slovenskem ekokritika še ni dosegla večje odmev- nosti. Za zdaj smo priča le posameznim razpravam.11 Nastajajo tudi prve ekokritiško obarvane diplomske naloge, projekti in konference.12 10 Karmen Ratković je soustanoviteljica Centra za ženske študije v Zagrebu, kjer vodi kolegij o ekofe- minizmu in globinski ekologiji. 11 Navajamo nekaj slovenskih ekokritiško zasnovanih razprav: Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekološko usmerjena literarna veda in Prežihove samorastniške novele, JiS 55/3−4 (2010), 53−62; Marjetka Golež Kaučič, Fol- klorni in živalski slovar v ustvarjalnem opusu Svetlane Makarovič, JiS 56/1−2 (2011), 31−48; Miha Javor- nik, Ekologija teksta in ruska literatura 20. stoletja, PK 30/1 (2007), 55−69; Jelka Kernev Štrajn, O možnosti ekokritiškega pogleda na tematizacijo »ne-človeške subjektivnosti« v literaturi, PK 30/1 (2007), 39−54; Branislava Vičar, Koncept narave v Jamnici: ekokritični diskurzivni pristop, JiS 55/3−4 (2010), 123−137. 12 Slovensko društvo za primerjalno književnost je letos organiziralo mednarodni simpozij pod naslo- vom Skozi ekologijo do literature (Jureta Detele), na Inštitutu za sredozemske humanistične in družboslov- Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 203 2.1 Ekokritika ali literarna ekologija? V ZDA je ekokritika kot posebna smer literarne vede nastala pod pojmom ecocri- ticism. Ta izraz je 1978. leta prvič v smislu prenosa ekoloških pojmov v literarno vedo uporabil William Rueckert v razpravi Literature and Ecology: An Experiment in Ecocriticism. Še pred tem je Joseph W. Meeker v razpravi The Comedy of Survi- val (1972) zapisal pojem literarna ekologija, s katerim je opredelil preučevanje biolo- ških tem in odnosov v literarnih delih (hoFer 2007: 33). Čeprav se je ecocriticism v anglo-ameriški vedi že dovolj dobro utrdil, obstajajo v angleških razpravah še zmeraj tudi drugačna poimenovanja, kot so literary-environmental studies, literary ecology, green cultural studies idr. (star re 2010: 18). Proti izrazu ecocriticism je še leta 2005 nastopil tudi Lawrence Buell13 in predlagal termin environmental criticism. V nemškem govornem prostoru se bolj kot ekokritika uveljavlja njena kulturnoe- kološka varianta, katere začetnika sta Gregory Bateson in Peter Finke. Kulturnoeko- loški model preučevanja književnosti oziroma književnosti kot kulturne ekologije je doslej najizraziteje izdelal Hubert zaPF (2002, 2008). Za angleški izraz ecocriticism se v nemščini pogosto uporablja beseda Ökokritik, čeprav zaradi prevelikih asociacij z literarno kritiko ni najbolj primeren izraz za posebno literarnovedno smer (hoFer 2007: 34). V nemški vedi se zapisujejo različni izrazi: Goodbody piše o ekološko usmerjenem opazovanju književnosti (1998: 11) in ekološko usmerjeni literarni kri- tiki (1998: 28). Hofer je v svoji monografiji Die Ökologie der Literatur (2007) v poglavjih o anglo-ameriški ekokritiki dosledno uporabljal z veliko začetnico pisani angleški izraz »Ecocriticism«, sicer pa zapisoval različna poimenovanja (ekologija literature, ekološka paradigma v literarni vedi, ekološko usmerjena literarna veda). Na precejšnje nelagodje nemške literarne vede v zvezi s poimenovanjem ekokritike opozarja tudi geselski članek v Metzlerjevem leksikonu Literatur- und Kulturtheo- rie, ki ga je avtorica Ursula K. heise (2004: 130) naslovila z angleškim in nemškim izrazom (Ecocriticism/Ökokritik). V slovenskih razpravah je sicer zaznati nihanje med različnimi poimenovanji, vendar se kljub asociacijam z literarno kritiko vse bolj uveljavlja izraz ekokritika. 2.2 Tematska področja, zvrsti in žanri ekokritike Ekokritika se je oblikovala iz različnih tematskih izhodišč, v ZDA najprej iz tra- dicije nature writing14 kakor tudi iz zanimanja za ameriške mite. Ameriški avtor- ne študije UP ZRS poteka pod vodstvom Nadje Furlan triletni (2010−2013) projekt z naslovom Teološki ekofeminizem in sodobna ekološka kriza. 13 Prim. njegovo delo The Future of Environmental Criticism. Environmental Crisis and Literary Ima- gination. (Oxford, 2005). 14 V ZDA je bila ekokritika sprva omejena na tipični ameriški žanr nature writing. Ta besedila s te- matiko narave so pogosto pisana v prvi osebi, vključujejo osebna opazovanja in čustvena doživetja narave ter filozofska razmišljanja o njej. Lahko so esejistična, avtobiografska, dnevniška, potopisna, tudi vmesne forme, ki vključujejo govore, komentarje, pridige idr. (Goodbody 1998: 27). Po Thoreauju kot utemeljite- lju nature writing sodijo med ameriške ustvarjalce tega žanra tudi Wendell Berry, John Muir, Leslie Silko, Mary Austin idr. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 204 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij ji so pisali o vplivu divje narave pri konstituiranju ameriške nacionalne identitete in ustvarili tako imenovani mit nature's nation (GreWe-volPP 2004: 2). Goodbody (1998: 27) zatrjuje, da lahko govorimo o nature writing, kadar izpolnjuje tri pogoje: posreduje informacijo o zgodovini narave, izraža subjektivno doživetje in filozof- sko interpretacijo narave. Osrednji avtor za ameriško ekokritiško preučevanje natur writing je transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau, ki se je v primerjavi z Emersono- vim15 filozofiranjem o naravi v resnici odpravil živet v divjino. V najbolj znanem in pogosto interpretiranem dnevniško-esejističnem delu Walden (1854) pripoveduje o svojem bivanju v utici ob jezeru Walden, o občudovanju narave, spoštovanju nečlove- ških bitij, povezanosti med človekom in naravo, duhom in materijo itd. Z omenjenim pisateljem se je podrobno ukvarjal tudi Lawrence Buell v svoji monografiji The En- vironmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture (1995), v kateri je predlagal pojem environmental writing za tako imenovano ekološko literaturo in jo opredelil kot razširjeno varianto nature writing ter ji dolo- čil naslednje značilnosti: 1) Ekološka literatura pripisuje nečloveškemu okolju več kot obrobno vlogo ter omogoča vpogled v zgodovino človeka in okolja. 2) Ekološka literatura razkriva emfatičnost do nečloveških bitij, zato v njej človekov interes ni edino legitimen. 3) Človekova odgovornost za okolje je del etične dimenzije ekološke literature, usmerjene v refleksijo, ki upošteva tudi človekove napake pri ravnanju z okoljem. 4) Ekološka literatura zasleduje nastajanje in izgubljanje naravnih prostorov ter pokaže na raznolikost odnosov med človekom in naravo. Spreminjanje narave je v njej vsaj implicitno posredovano (cit. po star re 2010: 23). V Veliki Britaniji se je ekokritika oblikovala iz drugačnih tematskih izhodišč. Za prototip ekološko usmerjene literature je izbrala angleško romantiko in za utemelji- telje ekološke zavesti razglasila romantične pesnike, kot so Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelly, Keats idr. To seveda ni presenetljivo, saj romantično literaturo in njeno poeti- ko v veliki meri določa prav razmerje med znanostjo oziroma razumom in naravo. S tega vidika je Kroeber (1994: 21) romantiko razglasil za prototip ekološke literature in njeno poetiko za prototip ekološko usmerjene literarne vede. Sistemizacijo teo- retskih osnov, predmetnih in raziskovalnih področij ekokritike z izborom besedil prinaša Laurence couPe v knjigi The Green Studies Reader. From Romanticism to Ecocriticism (2000). Izbor tekstov kaže na to, da je tematsko in raziskovalno podro- čje angleške ekokritike bilo že od vsega začetka drugače zasnovano kot ameriško, saj se ne omejuje na nature writing niti na besedila o ekološki problematiki, temveč nagovarja k raziskovanju zvrstno oziroma žanrsko različnih besedil. Coupe prište- va med osrednja raziskovalna področja ekokritike: (1) romantiko in moderno, zlasti z vidikov kritike modernizacije in tehnologije kot glavnih oporišč za predstavitev zgodovine ekološkega mišljenja, naravo- in okoljevarsta, (2) vlogo spomina in kultur spominjanja za oblikovanje okoljsko pomembnih drž in vrednostnih sistemov, (3) vlogo jezika, teksta in diskurzov za določitev zgodovinsko in kulturno raznovrstnih konceptov narave in kulture ter njunih funkcij, (4) pomen vladavin za človeško in ne- 15 Emerson seveda odmeva tudi v novejši ameriški književnosti. Z vplivi Emersona in pragmatizma na ameriško poezijo in misel 20. stoletja se med drugim raziskovalno ukvarja pesnik in univerzitetni profesor Andrew Epstein, znan tudi po odmevni knjigi Beautiful Enemies: Friendship and Postwar American Poetry (2006), v kateri so osrednje pozornosti deležni pesniki Frank O'Hara, John Ashbery in Amiri Baraka. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 205 človeško naravo z vidika spolnih, socialnih in etničnih kategorij, (5) opis specifičnih literarnih postopkov in nastanek ekološko usmerjene literarne zgodovine (Gersdor F 2005: 18). Ekokritika je svoje raziskovalno področje postopoma razširila na celotno knji- ževnost, ki jo opazuje z ekoloških vidikov (hoFer 2007: 90). Raziskuje različne koncepte in reprezentacije narave, kako se je narava v določenih obdobjih in v posa- meznih kulturah razvijala, kako je definiran pojem narave, katere vrednostne pred- stave in kulturne funkcije ima v književnosti, kako so v njej določeni odnosi med človekom in naravnim okoljem itd. Glotfelty je po analogiji s feministično teorijo Elaine Showalter določila tri razvojne stopnje ekokritike (hoFer 2007: 44). Na prvi stopnji si ekokritika prizadeva za ponovno odkritje narave v književnosti. Zanimajo jo različne, pogosto stereotipne upodobitve narave (arkade, raj, divjina, Mati Zemlja itd.) v književnem kanonu kakor tudi v besedilih z njegovega obrobja, mesto narave v razvoju književnosti, zakaj je narava pogosto izključena iz književnosti itd. Na drugi stopnji se ekokritika ukvarja z besedili, vrstami in žanri o naravi (npr. s poezijo narave, s pastoralnim romanom, z bukoličnim pesništvom, z idilo, z nature writing, z utopičnim in antiutopičnim romanom). Mesto teh žanrov je običajno na obrobju ali celo zunaj literarnega kanona, zato si ekokritika prizadeva za njihovo umestitev v literarni kanon ali za prevrednotenje njihovega mesta v njem. V ta sklop sodi zani- manje za posamezne avtorje ekološke literature kakor tudi za njihove kraje, kar lahko prispeva k razmahu okoljskega turizma. Na tretji stopnji se ekokritika osredini na te- oretska vprašanja, preučuje simbolne konstrukte narave, človeka in živali ter razmi- šlja z vidika ekološke paradigme o hierarhičnih dualizmih (kultura/narava, človek/ okolje, jaz/drugi, moški/ženska, duh/telo idr.) zahodne patriarhalne družbe. Razvoj ekokritike seveda ne poteka po strogo ločenih stopnjah. V sodobnem času je dosegla tretjo oz. teoretično stopnjo, vendar ohranja tudi prejšnji dve, jih teoretsko dopolnjuje in kritično motri. Mnogi očitajo ekokritiki teoretsko in metodološko neizdelanost, poststrukturalistične usmeritve pa še posebej trivialni realizem. Metodološko se na- slanja na različne smeri (na dekonstrukcijo, feminizem, kulturne študije idr.). Ursula K. Heise, avtorica geselskega članka v Metzlerjevem leksikonu Literatur- und Kulturtheorie (nü n ni nG 2005: 130−131), navaja, da so se v ekokritiki glede na metodološki pluralizem oblikovala štiri raziskovalna težišča: 1) Razumevanje prosto- rov oziroma metod, s katerimi spoznavamo naravne in umetne prostore, v kakšnem odnosu smo z njimi in kako skrbimo zanje. Pozornost je namenjena odnosom med lokalnimi oz. izkušenjskimi prostori in abstraktnimi okolji, kot sta država ali narod, povezavam med prostorskimi izkušnjami in drugimi dimenzijami kulturne identite- te, kot so spolna, rasna, starostna oziroma socialna pripadnost. 2) Ekokritika razisku- je, kako je v literaturi in kulturi definiran oziroma ubeseden odnos med človekom in drugimi živimi bitji v naravi. Čeprav je književnost že po jeziku v osnovi antropo- centrična, je obenem tudi medij za razkrivanje različnih stopenj antropocentrizma in drugih vrednostnih pogledov, kot so ekocentrizem, biocentrizem, veganstvo idr. Seveda se ob tem zastavljajo vprašanja, v kolikšni meri lahko književnost prispeva k spremembi človekovega vrednostnega pogleda na naravno okolje. V zvezi s tem se velja strinjati s tistimi, ki menijo, da književnost odpira drugačne in alternativne svetove ter vrednostne poglede, vendar nima prevzgojne funkcije. 3) Ursula K. Heise Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 206 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij opozarja, da je ekokritika v konfliktu z objektivističnim in s konstruktivističnim razumevanjem narave. Na eni strani so tako imenovani naivni realisti, ki postavljajo v književnosti v ospredje grozljive podobe sodobnega uničevanja naravnega okolja in trpinčenja nečloveških bitij, manj pa se posvečajo kritični refleksiji literarnega jezika ali strukturam ekoloških raziskav v naravoslovju. Zagovorniki konstruktivizma,16ki se navezujejo na poststrukturalistične teorije, trdijo, da imajo vsi diskurzi o naravi izhodišče v kulturi, da globalnih ekoloških povezav ni mogoče predstaviti s konven- cionalnim realizmom, obenem pa opozarjajo na to, da razume ekokritika nekatere ekološke pojme zelo ohlapno ali so ti sporni že v ekologiji (npr. harmoničnost ekosi- stema). 4) Posebno področje ekokritike predstavlja tudi razkorak med ekokritiko kot akademsko teorijo in političnim okoljskim angažmajem. V sodobnem času se ekokritika vse bolj odmika od shematskega raziskovanja odnosov med naravo in kulturo in se bolj posveča teoretskim opredelitvam nara- ve. Posebno zanimanje kaže za preučevanje živali oziroma za animalistične študije. Ekokritika je po začetnem zanimanju za upodobitve narave in divjine v nefikcijskih tekstih svojo pozornost preusmerila na okolje, še zlasti na urbane prostore (star re 2010: 28). Njeno tematsko področje se še zmeraj širi, zanimajo jo vprašanja o spremi- njanju naravnega okolja in o tako imenovani urbani divjini, povezave med okoljem, etničnimi skupinami in primitivnimi kulturami kakor tudi med ekokritiko in okolj- skim rasizmom, naravo in žensko idr. V času vse močnejših mednarodnih povezav je ekokritika razvila primerjalni vidik raziskovanja naravnega okolja v različnih na- cionalnih literaturah in povezovanje individualnih ter lokalnih upodobitev narave z globalno okoljsko problematiko. 3 Ekokritika in ekofeminizem Začetki ekološkega in feminističnega gibanja oziroma ekofeminizma17 segajo v sedemdeseta leta prejšnjega stoletja. Sredi osemdesetih let prejšnjega stoletja se je za- čel uveljavljati v akademskih krogih kot del širše ekokritiške discipline (holy 2007: 89) in temelji na predpostavki, da povzročajo sistemi prevlade in dualistično mišlje- nje, ki sestavljajo temelj zahodni civilizaciji, zatiranje ženske kakor tudi izkorišča- nje naravnega okolja. Ekokritika in ekofeminizem izhajata tudi iz skupnega cilja: osvoboditi žensko in naravo ter si prizadevati za odpravo rasnih, spolnih, etničnih, razrednih in drugih razlik oziroma za ukinitev odnosov med ljudmi in razmerij do naravnega okolja, ki temeljijo na kontroli, prilaščanju, posedovanju in izkoriščanju. Različni ekofeminizmi se najbolj razlikujejo v vrednotenju fizičnega oz. materialne- ga sveta, a tudi v predstavah o preddiskurzivnem in družbeno konstruiranem statusu narave in ženske. Socialni ekofeminizem se na primer zavzema za nedestruktivno 16 Pod pojmom konstruktivizem je mišljen objektivizmu nasproten metateoretski model, ki izhaja iz prepričanja, da nam svet in predmeti niso dani, ampak oboje konstruira človek s pripisovanjem pomenov (virK 2008: 228). 17 Izraz ekofeminizem je prvič zapisala Francoise d’ Eaubonne v knjigi La Féminisme ou la mort leta 1974, in sicer v smislu, da ženske bolje razumejo problematiko okolja, zato imajo več možnosti za uresni- čitev političnih sprememb, nujnih za ohranitev življenja na našem planetu. Kot oznaka za ekološko femini- stično gibanje se je uveljavil po letu 1978, ko ga je v svoji knjigi Gyn/ecology uporabila Mary Daly. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 207 držo do naravnega okolja in se osredinja na spolne zapise narave, vendar tudi na ostro kritiko povezanosti ženske in narave. Od te usmeritve odstopa spiritualni ekofemini- zem, saj izhaja iz mističnih predstav o povezanosti ženske z naravo in opeva idejo o t. i. Materi Zemlji. Ekokritika in ekofeminizem poudarjata povezanost oz. sožitje vseh živih (človeških in nečloveških) bitij ter pripisujeta naravi status subjekta. V primer- javi z obstoječim dualističnim mišljenjem, v katerem poteka človekov boj z naravo, gospodovanje naravi, izkoriščanje narave idr., želita vzpostaviti odnose mrežnega sožitja, sonaravnosti in medsebojne odvisnosti ter zagovarjata takšno intrinzično vrednost posameznih mrežnih elementov, ki se povezujejo z vsem obstoječim in hkrati ohranjajo pomen samostojnosti. Še posebej zanimiv je koncept ekokritiškega sebstva (jaza). Ta obstaja namreč kot kontinuiteta in diferenca, kar pomeni, da ohra- nja relativno samostojnost in je obenem v interakciji z Drugim, se ne stopi z naravo, kot to razlaga npr. globinska filozofija, vendar obenem presega dualistično miselnost patriarhalne družbe (GreWe-volPP 2004: 67). 4 Ekokritika in status narave Ekokritika pripisuje naravi18 pomembno, celo osrednje mesto. Naravno okolje v literarnih besedilih ni obravnavano kot nekaj obrobnega, ne predstavlja zgolj kulise, ozadja nekega dogajanja, mrtve materije ali pasivnega objekta. Narava prav tako ni razumljena kot projekcija človekovih potreb, predmet materialnega izkoriščanja ali ideološke zlorabe. Pogosto dobi status subjekta, čeprav mnenja ekokritikov glede tega niso enotna in nekateri nasprotujejo še posebej tako imenovani govoreči naravi. Vsekakor pa velja, da ekokritika priznava naravi, ki je postavljena v položaj Dru- gega, samostojno, od človeka neodvisno delovanje. Narava je sposobna delovanja in je samostojna, a hkrati tudi tako tesno povezana s človekom, da izginja nekda- nje dualistično razmerje med človekom in naravo, značilno za patriarhalno družbo (Greve-volPP 2004: 67). Kadar nastopa narava s samostojnim glasom, mora poseči po človeškem glasu, pri čemer moramo ločiti njen avtonomni glas od personifikacije narave v okviru antropocentrizma. Ekokritika analizira ubeseditve narave na ravni jezika, pridevkov, personifikacij, metafor in drugih podob narave. Vse to poteka z vidika ugotavljanja avtonomije oz. diference narave kakor tudi z vidika odvisnosti med naravo in človekom oziroma kulturo. 4.1 Koncepti in podobe narave Različne ekokritiške usmeritve izhajajo iz objektivističnih in konstruktivističnih konceptov narave. Prve se utapljajo v zelo naivnem realizmu, druge ne priznavajo 18 V slovensko književnost je narava po posameznih slavilnih in opisnih pesmih narave (V. Vodnik, L. Volkmer, Š. Modrinjak idr.) ter pastirski idili (U. Jarnik) opazneje vstopila v času romantike in realizma, in sicer s F. Prešernom (Krst pri Savici), S. Vrazom (Djulabije), z idilo kot pesniškim in pripovednim žanrom (F. Prešeren, S. Vraz, J. Stritar, I. Tavčar idr.), s pesmimi o naravi in živalih (J. Stritar, F. Levstik, S. Jenko, F. Gestrin idr.), s potopisnimi pesmimi (A. Aškerc, J. Stritar), s potopisi, z eseji, s pripovedno prozo naravo- slovne (F. Erjavec, F. Levstik, J. Mencinger, I. Tušek, J. Ogrinec idr.) in kmečko-vaške tematike (J. Jurčič, I. Tavčar idr.) ali z antiutopičnim romanom (J. Mencinger). Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 208 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij zunajbesedilnega statusa narave. S položaja vmesnega prostora med realističnimi in poststrukturalističnimi usmeritvami, kamor umešča ekokritiko na primer Stefan hoFer (2007: 53), priznava ekokritika naravo kot zunajbesedilno stvarnost in obe- nem poudarja, da so njene reprezentacije zmeraj tudi kulturni konstrukti. Gozd je na primer lahko ubeseden kot ekološki biotop, idilični prostor, lovišče ali prostor, v katerem domujejo zle sile. Če so upodobitve narave filtrirane skozi zavest kulture, le-ta ne more biti nevtralno ubesedena. S tega vidika je ekokritika kritična do tako imenovanih pojmov čiste, nedotaknjene oziroma neokrnjene narave. V človeško in nečloveško naravo so bolj ali manj vpisane posameznikove in kolektivne zaznave sveta, različne ideje in ideologije, ki jih je pri raziskovanju podob narave potrebno upoštevati in lahko povratno učinkujejo na človekovo ravnanje z okoljem.19 Različ- nim hierarhičnim dualizmom patriarhalne družbe, sistemom prevlade in spolnim označitvam narave se prav posebej posveča ekofeminizem. Z analizo podob, ki teme- ljijo na asociacijah ženske in narave, lahko odkrijemo njihovo stereotipnost, inven- tivnost in subverzivnost, prav tako pa opažamo tudi njihov morebitni negativni vpliv na človekovo ravnanje z naravnim okoljem. V raziskovalni spekter človeka in okolja, ki ob naravnem vključuje še urbano oko- lje, je ekokritika umestila tudi rasne, etnične, razredne, spolne in druge kategorije. Kot posebna disciplina literarne ali kulturne vede raziskuje na podlagi upoštevanja ekoloških spoznanj v celotni književnosti odnose med človekom/kulturo in naravo/ okoljem, pri čemer je pojem narava razumljen v smislu fizičnega oziroma člove- kovega okolja v določenem zgodovinskem obdobju. V njeno raziskovalno področje lahko ob literarnih spadajo tudi npr. filmske, slikarske, fotografske in druge oblike kulturnih reprezentacij odnosov med kulturo/človekom in naravo/okoljem (GreWe- volPP 2004: 89). 5 Ekološka funkcija književnosti Z uveljavitvijo ekokritike je postalo naravno okolje pomembno raziskovalno po- dročje literarne vede. Kot kulturnokritična disciplina usmerja pozornost na ekološke in literarne modele, ki dajejo prednost človeku in naravnemu okolju pred pridobi- tniškim in materialnim izkoriščanjem narave. Eno od pomembnih vprašanj, ki si jih ekokritika zastavlja na teoretski ravni, je vprašanje o družbeni vlogi »ekološke književnosti«. Gre za premislek, kakšno vlogo ima lahko književnost pri reševanju ekoloških vprašanj in oblikovanju ekološke zavesti. Na takšna vprašanja seveda ni 19 GreWe-volPP (2004: 1−7) opozarja na dekonstrukcijo ameriškega mita nature's nation, v katerem je narava konstruirana kot ideja za rasne, spolne, gospodarske, pokrajinske in nacionalne predstave njenih utemeljiteljev, tj. predvsem belopoltih anglosaških osvajalcev »divjega« Zahoda. Mit temelji na predstavi, da je imela neskončna divjina osrednjo vlogo pri oblikovanju ameriške nacije. Toda v sedemdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja so Richard Slotkin, Annette Kolodny, Donald Worster idr. razgalili enostranskost ame- riškega mita, ki v težnji po ustvarjanju enotne ameriške nacije izpušča številne vidike, med njimi ženske, etnične manjšine, realno topografijo, industrializacijo, pokrajinske razlike idr. Pokazali so na mit kot dis- kurz, ki je bil ustvarjen za določene socialne in politične namene in je vodil v izkoriščanje določenih slojev prebivalstva in narave v procesu kolonialnega osvajanja. Tudi raziskave o spolnih označitvah narave lahko razkrijejo, da je opevanje narave oziroma divjine kakor tudi žalovanje ob njeni izgubi v funkciji strategije imperialistične prakse, ki tako zakriva in hkrati stabilizira lastno prevlado. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 209 enoznačnega odgovora, vendar je jasno, da književnost ne more opisovati in poja- snjevati vzrokov ekološke krize, lahko pa je kritična do človekovih nerazumnih in škodljivih posegov v okolje, do izkoriščanja, zastrupljanja, spreminjanja in uničeva- nja naravnega okolja, pri čemer mora paziti, da ne preide v agitacijsko pisanje. Druž- bena vloga ekološke književnosti je lahko najbrž le v tem, po čemer se književnost bistveno loči od znanstvenega, moralnega, praktičnega in drugih oblik diskurza, to je, da v patriarhalni in potrošniško usmerjeni družbi odpira v estetsko zakodirani obliki raznovrstne možnosti človekovega sobivanja z živo in neživo naravo ter po- nuja ob prevladujočem antropocentrizmu vrednostno drugačne poglede na naravno okolje. V sodobnejši slovenski književnosti je to najizraziteje opazno v poeziji, prozi in esejistiki pisatelja in zagovornika narave Iztoka Geistra. Ekokritika je ozavestila prepričanje, da kultura ni le rezultat družbenih odnosov, temveč v veliki meri tudi ali predvsem človekovega odnosa do naravnega okolja. Na slednje nas, kakor zatrjuje Goodbody (1998: 25), opozarja tudi književnost starejših obdobij, iz katere se pravi- loma razbirajo spravljivejši odnosi med človekom in okoljem.20 Ko ekokritika ni več omejena na »ekološko« književnost, to je na tipične žanre o naravi, njene podobe ali na zbir ekoloških tem, kot so na primer onesnaževanje okolja, zastrupljanje zraka, vode, prsti, uničevanje biotske raznovrstnosti, in je raz- iskovalno področje razširila na odnose med kulturo/človekom in naravo/okoljem, tj. na književnost v celoti, se zastavlja vprašanje, ali ima književnost ne glede na te- matiko ob spoznavni, etični, estetski in še kakšni drugi tudi ekološko funkcijo. S tem vprašanjem se je doslej podrobneje ukvarjal Hubert Zapf. Opirajoč se na Petra Finkeja in njegovo teorijo kulturnih ekosistemov je izdelal trojni kulturnoekološki funkcijski model književnosti, tj. književnost kot družbenokritični metadiskurz, imaginacijski protidiskurz in regeneracijski interdiskurz.21 O analogijah med ekolo- škimi procesi in specifičnimi strukturami ter kulturnimi učinki literarne imaginacije je pisal že v svoji knjigi Literatur als kulturelle Ökologie (2002). Po Zapfu ustvarja književnost kritično-kreativno energijo. Ta se kot ekološka moč usmerja na kulturo, na oblike sporazumevanja in zavesti oziroma na kulturne sisteme, v katerih živimo, in s simbolnimi podobami presega ločnice med kulturo in naravo. Tezo o ekološkem razmerju med književnostjo in kulturo je pojasnil s posebnostjo literarnega diskur- za v sistemu dominantnih diskurzov kulture, kot so pravo, politika, gospodarstvo, znanost, morala idr.: »Ökologisch« kann diese Beziehung der Literatur zur Kultur genannt werden, weil Litera- tur das, was kulturell getrennt, pragmatisch instrumentalisiert und diskursiv vereindeuti- gt wird – etwa durch Politik, Wirtschaft, Recht, Moral, Ideologie, Wissenschaft −, wieder in einen lebendigen Zusammenhang untereinander und mit dem bringt, was ausgegrenzt oder marginalisiert wird, was aber zugleich für die Vitalität und Selbsterneuerungskraft der Kultur von entscheidener Bedeutung ist (zaPF 2002: 5).22 20 Prim. Stritarjevega Zorina in njegove Popotne pesmi, Tavčarjevo Cvetje v jeseni, Kranjčevo Povest o dobrih ljudeh idr. 21 Zapfov trojni model ekološke funkcije književnosti je podrobneje predstavljen v razpravi Ekološko usmerjena literarna veda in Prežihove samorastniške novele (čeH steger 2010: 54−55). 22 V prevodu se Zapfova teza glasi: Odnos med književnostjo in kulturo se lahko imenuje »ekološki«, ker književnost tisto, kar je v sistemu kulture ločeno, pragmatično instrumentalizirano in diskurzivno po- Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 210 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij Književnost ima torej kritično in prenovitveno vlogo, je senzorij in prostor za simbolične izravnave kulturnega neravnovesja in razvojnih napak, kritična je do dominantnih struktur moči, diskurzivnih sistemov in oblik življenja, ki izrinjajo, izločajo ali zatirajo tisto, kar je za kompleksno določitev človeka v sistemu kulture nujno potrebno. Po drugi strani je književnost z ubeseditvijo kulturno izrinjenih vse- bin in s sprostitvijo vitalnosti, večpomenskosti in dinamičnih obnovitev dogmatično otrdelih podob sveta in diskurzivne enopomenskosti prostor trajne, kreativne obnove jezika, zaznav in kulturne imaginacije (zaPF 2002: 4). Pomembnost Zapfovega kul- turnoekološkega modela književnosti je vsaj dvojna, predmetno področje ekokritike razširja na celotno književnost in poudarja, da razvija književnost ekološko zavest v sistemu kulture ne le v vsebinskih, temveč tudi v estetskih procesih. viri i n liter atur a Lawrence buell, 1995: The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Har- ward UP. Laurence couPe (ur.), 2000: The Green Studies Reader. From Romanticism to Ecocriticism. London: Routledge. Jožica čeH steger, 2010: Ekološko usmerjena literarna veda in Prežihove samora- stniške novele. Jezik in slovstvo 55/3−4. 53−62. Domagoj điKić idr., 2001: Ekološki leksikon. Gl. ur. Oskar P Springer. Zagreb: Barbat. Peter FinKe, 2003: Kulturökologie. Konzepte der Kulturwissenschaften. Ur. Ansgar in Vera Nünning. Stuttgart, Weimar. 248−279. Catrin GersdorF in Sylvia Mayer (ur.), 2005: Natur – Kultur − Text. Beiträge zu Ökologie und Literaturwissenschaft. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter. Cheryll GlotFelty in Harold FroMM (ur.), 1996: The Ecocriticism Reader: Land- marks in Literary Ecology. Athens: University of Georgia P. Marjetka golež Kaučič, 2011: Folklorni in živalski slovar v ustvarjalnem opusu Svetlane Makarovič. Jezik in slovstvo 56/1−2. 31−48. Axel Goodbody (ur.), 1998: Literatur und Ökologie. Zur Einführung. Axel Goodbo- dy (ur.): Literatur und Ökologie. Amsterdam: Rodopi. 11−40. Christa GreWe-volPP, 2004: Natural Spaces Mapped by Human Minds. Ökokriti- sche und ökofeministische Analysen zeitgenössischer amerikanischer Romane. Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag. Ursula K. heise, 2001: Ecocriticism/Ökokritik. Metzler Lexikon Literatur- und Kul- turtheorie. Ansätze – Personen – Grundbegriffe. Ur. Ansgar Nünning. Stuttgart, Weimar: Metzler. 128. enostavljeno − s politiko, z gospodarstvom, s pravom, z moralo, z ideologijo, z znanostjo −, na živ način ponovno poveže in združi s tistim, kar je bilo iz dominantnih diskurzov izločeno, potisnjeno na obrobje, a je odločilnega pomena za vitalnost in obnovitev kulture. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 211 Stefan hoFer, 2007: Die Ökologie der Literatur. Eine systemtheoretische Annähe- rung. Mit einer Studie zu Werken Peter Handkes. Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag. Mirela holy, 2007: Mitski aspekti ekofeminizma. Zagreb: TIMpress. Miha javorniK, 2007: Ekologija teksta in ruska kultura 20. stoletja. Primerjalna knji- ževnost 30/1. 55−69. Jelka Kernev štr aj n, 2007: O možnosti ekokritiškega pogleda na tematizacijo »ne- človeške subjektivnosti« v literaturi. Primerjalna književnost 30/1. 39−54. Andrej Kirn, 2004: Narava – družba – ekološka zavest. Ljubljana: Fakulteta za druž- bene vede. Karl Kroeber, 1994: Ecological Literary Criticism: Romantic Imagining and the Biology of the Mind. New York: Columbia UP. Suzana Marjanić in Antonija zar adija Kiš, 2007: Kulturni bestijarij. Zagreb: Insti- tut za etnologiju i folkloristiko, Hrvatska vseučiliška naklada. Donnella h. MeadoWs idr., 1974: Meje rasti: Poročilo za raziskavo Rimskega kluba o težavnem položaju človeštva. Prev. Gregor Berkopec. Ljubljana: CZ. William ruecKert, 1978: Literature and Ecology: An Experiment in Ecocriticism. The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Ur. Cheryll Glotfelty in Harold Fromm. Athens: University of Georgia P. 103−123. Alexander starre, 2010: Always already green. Zur Entwicklung und den litera- turtheoretischen Prämissen des amerikanischen Ecocriticism. Ökologische Transformationen und literarische Repräsentationen. Ur. Urte Stobbe, Ulrike Kruse, Maren Ermisch. Göttingen. 13−34. Urte stobbe, Ulrike Kruse, Maren erMisch (ur.), 2010: Ökologische Transformatio- nen und literarische Repräsentationen. Göttingen. Branislava vičar, 2010: Koncept narave v Jamnici: ekokritični diskurzivni pristop. Jezik in slovstvo 55/3−4. 123−137. Tomo virK, 2008: Moderne metode literarne vede in njihove filozofsko teoretske osnove. Metodologija 1. Ljubljana: Znanstvena založba Filozofske fakultete, Od- delek za primerjalno književnost in literarno teorijo. Hubert zaPF, 2002: Literatur als kulturelle Ökologie. Zur kulturellen Funktion ima- ginativer Texte an Beispielen des amerikanischen Romans. Tübingen: Max Nie- meyer. Hubert zaPF (ur.), 2008: Kulturökologie und Literatur. Beiträge zu einem transdis- ziplinären Paradigma der Literaturwissenschaft. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 212 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij suMMary Under the influence of increasing ecological crisis and ecological movements that proliferated in the late 1960s, ecologization of scholarship and society also emerged. The same period also saw the first examples of the introduction of the ecological paradigm into literary scholarship and the beginning of ecocriticism. The term was first used in 1978 by William Rueckert in the paper “Literature and Ecology: An Ex- periment in Ecocriticism.” However, the dominant post-structuralist trends were not favorably disposed towards the study of extratextual reality, therefore ecocriticism as an Anglo-American discipline of literary criticism was not able to make a full breakthrough until the 1990s. Ecocriticism was first limited to the study of images of nature, to typical ecologi- cal themes and genres about nature (nature writing, an idyll, a pastoral, a utopian novel, etc.). Presently it is still broadening its thematic area, however, it increasingly deals with theoretical questions, various concepts of nature and evaluative views of it, particularly with the criticism of anthropocentrism, relations between culture/ man and nature/environment, relations between environment and racial, class, gen- der, and ethical identity. A broader ecocritical discipline includes different varieties of ecofeminism; they differ mainly in whether or not they recognize the feminization of nature. In comparison with the existing hierarchic dualisms (me/other, culture/ nature, intelect/emotion, male/female, etc.) of the patriarchal society, ecocriticism advocates their surpassing. It compiled a network model of ecocritical textual analy- sis (GreWe-volPP 2004), in which special attention is accorded nature and its status as a subject, towards coexistence relationships and codependence of the network ele- ments, their intrinsic value that exists in connections with the Other and, at the same time, in the preservation of differences. Broadening the subject area of ecocriticism to all literature has also fueled inter- est in the question of the ecological function of literature without literature being related to particular ecological themes. Hubert zaPF (2002) – who finds its presence in the content and aesthetic processes of a literary work – in the framework of his cultural-ecological model assigned to literature a function of socio-critical metadis- course, imaginational counter-discourse, and regenerational interdiscourse. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 Powered by TCPDF (www.tcpdf.org) http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://www.tcpdf.org
work_mhj2ouzlx5hipn7qmlze5yelfm ---- Microsoft Word - 63-05.doc econstor Make Your Publications Visible. A Service of zbw Leibniz-Informationszentrum Wirtschaft Leibniz Information Centre for Economics Bosetti, Valentina; Locatelli, Gianni Working Paper A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks� Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Nota di Lavoro, No. 63.2005 Provided in Cooperation with: Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei (FEEM) Suggested Citation: Bosetti, Valentina; Locatelli, Gianni (2005) : A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks� Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks, Nota di Lavoro, No. 63.2005, Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei (FEEM), Milano This Version is available at: http://hdl.handle.net/10419/74248 Standard-Nutzungsbedingungen: Die Dokumente auf EconStor dürfen zu eigenen wissenschaftlichen Zwecken und zum Privatgebrauch gespeichert und kopiert werden. Sie dürfen die Dokumente nicht für öffentliche oder kommerzielle Zwecke vervielfältigen, öffentlich ausstellen, öffentlich zugänglich machen, vertreiben oder anderweitig nutzen. Sofern die Verfasser die Dokumente unter Open-Content-Lizenzen (insbesondere CC-Lizenzen) zur Verfügung gestellt haben sollten, gelten abweichend von diesen Nutzungsbedingungen die in der dort genannten Lizenz gewährten Nutzungsrechte. Terms of use: Documents in EconStor may be saved and copied for your personal and scholarly purposes. You are not to copy documents for public or commercial purposes, to exhibit the documents publicly, to make them publicly available on the internet, or to distribute or otherwise use the documents in public. If the documents have been made available under an Open Content Licence (especially Creative Commons Licences), you may exercise further usage rights as specified in the indicated licence. www.econstor.eu This paper can be downloaded without charge at: The Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Note di Lavoro Series Index: http://www.feem.it/Feem/Pub/Publications/WPapers/default.htm Social Science Research Network Electronic Paper Collection: http://ssrn.com/abstract=718621 The opinions expressed in this paper do not necessarily reflect the position of Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Corso Magenta, 63, 20123 Milano (I), web site: www.feem.it, e-mail: working.papers@feem.it A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks’ Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Valentina Bosetti and Gianni Locatelli NOTA DI LAVORO 63.2005 MAY 2005 NRM – Natural Resources Management Valentina Bosetti, Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Gianni Locatelli, DISCo, Università di Milano Bicocca A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks’ Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Summary Wilderness protection is a growing necessity for modern societies, and this is particularly true for areas where population density is extremely high, as for example Europe. Conservation, however, implies very high opportunity costs. It is thus crucial to create incentives to efficient management practices, to promote benchmarking and to improve conservation management. In the present paper we propose a methodology based on Data Envelopment Analysis, DEA, a non parametric benchmarking technique specifically developed to assess the relative efficiency of decision-making units. In particular, the objective of the discussed methodology is to assess the relative efficiency of the management units of the protected area and to indicate how it could be improved, by providing a set of guidelines. The main advantage of this methodology is that it allows to assess the efficiency of natural parks’ management not only internally (comparing the performance of the park to itself in time) but also by external benchmarking, thus providing new and different perspectives on potential improvements. Although the proposed methodology is fairly general, we have applied it to the context of Italian National Parks in order to produce a representative case study. Specifically, the choice of adequate cost and benefit indicators is a very important and delicate phase of any benchmark analysis. For this purpose, a questionnaire was used to investigate the opinions of Italian National Parks managers and stakeholders and to define the relevant indicators for the analysis. Finally, relevant policy implications for the case study are given. Keywords: Data envelopment analysis, Natural park management JEL Classification: Q01, Q26, Q56 Address for correspondence: Valentina Bosetti Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Corso Magenta 63 20123 Milano Italy Phone: +390252036938 Fax: +390252036946 E-mail: valentina.bosetti@feem.it 2 Introduction Since ancient eras, the idea of protecting portions of the land has appeared as a necessity. The reasons for this have intrinsically changed over time, going from the mere necessity of preserving hunting areas to the idea of biological conservation, which remains one of today’s driving causes. Although in different times and places, and motivated by different concerns, this idea has led to the same result: the conservation of ecosystems that would otherwise have disappeared. Indeed, if on the one hand the first example of a modern National Park is quite recent (Yellowstone, Wyoming, instituted in 1872), on the other hand, examples of protected areas can be traced back to game reserves. The first example, which can be dated back to 7.500-7000 B.C., shows the existence of hunting areas in archaeological sites in South-west Iran. During the history of Indo-European civilizations, the aristocracy used to create game preserves in forests with the effect of conserving wide pristine areas which solely a very restricted number of individuals could make use of. This was also the case for Italy where many areas which are still protected today, were originally game preserves. The preservation of wilderness is also linked to religious activities, for example the holy woods of Mediterranean cultures. During the Middle Ages, almost all of the forests surrounding monasteries were turned into preserves and the population was forbidden to harvest these areas. In Italy, the Apennine forest of Abetone and the “Foreste Casentinesi” National Park have been preserved to the present day thanks to the presence of eremitical places (Massa, 1999). However, the origins of the concept of ‘holy forests’ can be traced back to the Etruscan and Greek civilizations, when natural areas 3 surrounding towns were consecrated to divinities and any human activity was forbidden. The modern idea of protected areas, which underpinned the Yellowstone Park institution, was based on the recognition of the value of wilderness amenity and of the recreational services it produces. The American “Protection Ethics” sprung from the ideas of three naturalists: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau and John Muir. In their interpretation, for the first time wilderness was as important as religion. Nature could not be exploited for purely economic reasons. Moreover, the beauty of Nature had to be safeguarded in that its contemplation was recognized as a basic need for human beings; this ‘use value’, mainly centered on human needs, was at the foundation of this early protection ethic. At the beginning of the twentieth century, a new idea took shape: that of Gifford Pinchot. He based his thought on the philosophical outlook of John Stuart Mill and believed that preserving nature has first of all an economic rationale behind it. It was only around the 1950s that along with these different interpretations of nature’s conservation, essentially based on an anthropocentric perspective, a new thought emerged: that of Aldo Leopold. It was based on the recognition of the intrinsic value of the existence of nature and it constituted, in subsequent years, the foundation of modern evolutionary ecology. During the twentieth century, particularly in Europe, the erosion of territory, hence of ecosystems, due to human activities was dramatically increasing. This led to a growing concern for wilderness conservation issues, tracing back from the first meetings in Paris (1902) and London (1937), up to the 1987 report “Our Common Future”, prepared as a discussion basis for the Earth Summit held in Rio de Janeiro in 4 1992. During these subsequent meetings, the concept of a preserved natural area, the ‘natural park’, has undergone several successive transformations, until a new interpretation emerged. Natural parks should be government- managed territories, where development and preservation forces are kept in balance. Management should not only be concerned with environmental issues, but more broadly with the socio-economic features of the territory. Indeed, in a dynamic perspective, it might turn out more appropriate for conservation purposes, to open a protected area to some human activities, rather than to close it completely, preventing any development, even under a pure non-anthropocentric ethic of conservation. Indeed, it is now widely recognized that untouchable territories are bound to slowly disappear, because of land scarcity, and this is particularly true for highly populated areas as Europe. Therefore, in a long-term perspective, the involvement and sustainable development of human activities within protected areas may prove to be a win-win strategy. Within this enlarged vision, natural areas’ management entails the dynamic assessment of environmental quality indicators as well as the sustainability level of management activities, thus increasing the need for comprehensive indicators. Qualitative and quantitative indicators may support the decision- maker in comparing different realities, in evaluating the environmental and economic performance of its management’s policies, and in trying to forecast the effectiveness of potential changes in management strategies. There is a long tradition of benchmarking methodologies, however most of them are commonly restrained to cover an internal perspective and do not investigate how the analysed protected area is performing when compared to others. 5 The main objective of the present paper is the external benchmarking of protected areas. To this aim, it is necessary to introduce a common benchmarking methodology, capable of taking into account specific features of different realities. Data Envelopment Analysis (DEA) is an extremely flexible and useful methodology, which provides an indicator of the relative efficiency for each different analysed decision- making unit (in our case National Park Management offices), where efficiency is a measure of different features related to the environmental as well as to the economic or social impacts of the protected area. In this paper we present and discuss the application of DEA to the case of Italian National Parks. In order to create a common set of indicators, a preliminary questionnaire was administered to investigate the opinion of parks’ managers and other stakeholders at a qualitative level. A follow-up questionnaire was subsequently carried out in order to collect intertemporal quantitative data for all the indicators that were considered more relevant by managers and stakeholders. DEA analysis was carried out on the data set. The paper is organized as follows. Section 1 provides a brief literature review. In Section 2 a brief description of the DEA methodology is given, while in Section 3 the data set and the data collection methodology are discussed, together with the types of DEA analysis performed. Section 4 is a description of the main results and Section 5 concludes with a summary of the main findings along with the final remarks and future extensions. 6 1 DEA and the environment DEA is a multivariate technique for monitoring productivity and providing insights on the possible directions of improvement of the status quo, when inefficient. It is a non- parametric technique, i.e. it can compare input/output data, making no prior assumptions about the probability distribution under study. The origin of non- parametric programming methodology, with respect to the relative efficiency measurement, lies in the work of Charnes et al. (1978, 1979, 1981). DEA has been applied to several benchmarking studies and to the performance analysis of public institutions, such as schools (Charnes et al., 1981), hospitals (Nyman and Bricker, 1989), but also of private ones, such as banks (Charnes et al., 1990). An exhaustive analysis of its underlying theory and main applications can be found in Charnes et al. (1993), while a comprehensive literature review in Tavaresa (2002). Applications to environmental and resource management problems are less frequent. An interesting overview of the role of DEA in environmental valuation can be found in Kortelainen and Kuosmanen (2004), while a survey of indicators of firm’s environmental behavior can be found in Tyteca (1996). We briefly report some application studies in the following. Application Author Measure ecological efficiency Dyckhoff and Allen, (2001) Measure environmental impacts of different production technology De Koeijer, et al. (2002) Measure different systems of waste management Sarkis and Weinrach (2001) Measure efficiency of environmental regulation schemes Hernandez-Sancho et al. (2000) 7 2 Methodology Although DEA is based on the concept of efficiency that approaches the idea of a classical production function, the latter is typically determined by a specific equation, while DEA is generated from the data set of observed operative units (Decision Making Units or DMUs). The DEA efficiency score of any DMU is derived from the comparison with the other DMUs that are included in the analysis, considering the maximum score of unity (or 100%) as a benchmark. The score is independent of the units in which outputs and inputs are measured, and this allows for a greater flexibility in the choice of inputs and outputs to be included in the study. An important assumption of the DEA is that all DMUs face the same unspecified technology and operational characteristics, which defines the set of their production possibilities. The idea of measuring the efficiency of DMUs with multiple inputs and outputs is specified as a linear fractional programming model. A commonly accepted measure of efficiency is given by the ratio of the weighted sum of outputs over the weighted sum of inputs. It is however necessary to assess a common set of weights and this may give rise to some problems. With DEA methodology each DMU can freely assess its own set of weights, that can be inferred through the process of maximizing the efficiency. Given a set of N DMUs, each producing J outputs from a set of I inputs, let us denote by yjn and xin the vectors representing the quantities of outputs and inputs relative to the m-th DMU, respectively. The efficiency of the m-th DMU can thus be calculated as: 8 ⎥ ⎦ ⎤ ⎢ ⎣ ⎡ = = = ∑ ∑ = = Ii Jj xv yu e I i imi J j jmj m ,..,1 ,..,1 , 1 1 (1) where uj and vi are two vectors of weight that DMU m uses in order to measure the relative importance of the consumed and the produced factors. As mentioned, the set of weights, in DEA, is not given, but is calculated through the DMU’s maximization problem, that is stated below for the m-th DMU. 10 10 ,.,,.,1 1 .. max 1 1 ≤≤ ≤≤ =∀≤ ∑ ∑ = = i j I i ini J j jnj m v u Nmn xv yu ts e (2) To simplify computations it is possible to scale the input prices so that the cost of the DMU m’s inputs equals 1, thus transforming problem set in (2) in the ordinary linear programming problem stated below: + == = = ℜ∈≤≤≤≤ =∀≤− = = ∑∑ ∑ ∑ εεε ,1 ,1 ,.,,.,1 0 1 .. max 11 1 1 ij I i ini J j jnj I i imi J j jmjm vu Nmnxvyu xv ts yuh (3) 9 In addition to the linearization constraint, weights have to be strictly positive in order to avoid the possibility that some inputs or outputs may be ignored in the process of determination of the efficiency of each DMU. If the solution to the maximization problem gives a value of efficiency equal to 1, the corresponding DMU is considered to be efficient or non-dominated, if the efficiency value is inferior to 1 then the corresponding DMU is dominated, therefore does not lie on the efficiency frontier, which is defined by the efficient DMUs. As for every linear programming problem, there is a dual formulation of the primal formulation of the maximization problem outlined in (3), which has an identical solution. While the primal problem can be interpreted as an output- oriented formulation (for a given level of input, DMUs maximizing output are preferred), the dual problem can be interpreted as an input- oriented formulation (for a given level of output, DMUs minimizing inputs are preferred). Scale effects can be accounted for modifying the model as presented in (3), in order to account for variable returns to scale (we adopt the solution suggested in Banker et al., 1984). Finally, the dynamic analysis was performed using the window approach, first put forward by Charnes and others (Charnes et al., 1978), in order to produce not only a static picture of efficiency, but also the evolution of efficiency of each municipality. The DEA is performed over time using a similar moving average procedure, where parks’ performances in one year are compared with their performances in another year. 10 3 Data Collection and Analysis To define environmental efficiency is a very challenging task; several different definitions of ecological efficiency exist in the literature. In the case of protected areas, the problem becomes even more complicated, because management and financial features have to be considered as well. As mentioned above, in a DEA study, the most crucial phase is indeed the choice of the representative benefit and cost indicators, which will be extremely influential in defining each DMU level of efficiency. For this reason, the direct involvement of stakeholders is appropriate, if not fundamental. The managers of all the National Parks1 in Italy were therefore interviewed through mail questionnaires in order to understand what they perceived as the most relevant indicators. In particular, for each proposed indicator, the respondent could choose among different qualitative definitions (very relevant, VR, relevant, R, not very relevant, NVR, and not relevant, NR). On the basis of the survey’s results, which are summarized in Table 1, a second survey was designed in order to obtain quantitative definitions of each of the indicators (the final set of indicators used in the DEA analysis is reported in Table 2 divided in three models, see section 4). On the output side, first the number of visitors to the park was considered as an indicator of its attractiveness, providing potential indirect benefit to the local economy. Second, the number of the parks’ employees, as an indicator of the social and economic indirect and direct benefits. Third, the number of economic businesses which are directly linked empowered or created thanks to the presence of the park (e.g. parks 1 There are 21 National Parks in Italy. The analysis was performed on the 17 parks which were able to produce the required data, which are: Abruzzo, Lazio and Molise; Arcipelago la Maddalena; Arcipelago Toscano; Asinara; Aspromonte; Cilento and Vallo di Diano; Circeo; Monti Sibillini; Gargano; Dolomiti Bellunesi; Foreste Casentinesi; Gran Paradiso; Gran Sasso and Monti della Laga; Majella; Val Grande; Vesuvio. 11 certifying farmers producing within the protected area). Fourth, the number of protected species, which is a good proxy of the environmental quality and biodiversity of the park (in some models the inverse of this biodiversity indicator was included as an input). Finally, the number of students who visit the park for environmental education trips, as a proxy of the social and educational benefits deriving from the park. On the input side, economic costs, computed aggregating management costs and variable costs and extraordinary expenses were considered. Moreover, the area extension was also considered as a proxy of fixed costs, which are assumed to be proportional to the area covered by the park. 4 Results Three different models have been used to perform DEA analysis. The choice of using more than one model specification derives from the consideration that the DEA technique is extremely sensitive to the choice of indicators. Hence, coherent responses obtained by different models prove to be more reliable and robust, diminishing the degree of subjectivity of the efficiency scores produced. Moreover, each different model mimics the three main existing management strategies, namely a ‘pure socio-economic development oriented’ (Model 1), a ‘pure conservation oriented’ (Model 2) and an ‘in between’ strategy (Model 3). In Table 3, results for Model 1, 2 and 3 (for the maximization of outputs approach, MAXOUTPUT) are shown, respectively. Parks scoring a 100% efficiency in Model 1 (as for example the National Park Foreste Casentinesi) are successfully promoting the development of the area. DMUs efficient according to Model 2 prove to have a high 12 natural performance, in terms of biodiversity conservation, attractiveness and capacity of diffusing awareness among new generations (as for example the National Park Gran Sasso and Monti della Laga). When a DMU is scoring maximum efficiency according to all three models, then one can argue the management has attained the sustainable development goal in a very broad sense. In the case of DMUs which are partially inefficient (as for example the National Park Gran Paradiso) it is possible to use the DEA analysis to obtain information concerning potential improvements of the management2 (see Figure 1). Finally, the total potential improvements, described in Figure 2, are defined by aggregating over all inefficient DMUs, in order to provide guidelines to properly allocate government incentives. Conclusions In recent years, a substantial re-interpretation of wilderness management objectives has occurred. According to this conceptual ‘revolution’, management strategies should aim at harmonizing human and nature’s interests, in the attempt of finding a balance between development and preservation, rather than a “put under a glass bell” approach. Nowadays a protected area has a new function: it is also a place where the concept of sustainable development can be put into practice and where traditional economic activities can be consistent with preservation needs. This is the interpretation of nature protection, and specifically of Natural Parks, underpinning the design of environmental protection strategies. 2 Parco Nazionale del Gargano, Parco del Vesuvio, Parco delle Foreste Casentinesi and Parco del Gran Sasso e dei Monti della Laga compose the peer group for the Parco Nazionale delle Dolomiti, used to define the virtual efficient DMU, thus providing information on potential improvements, P. 13 Accordingly, it becomes increasingly important to monitor multi-objectives efficiency, a task which can be successfully accomplished by adopting benchmarking techniques (as for example DEA). These techniques provide information about efficiency, interpreted as a multi dimensional object, but also enable a detailed analysis of potential improvements. The present study represents the first attempt to apply this methodology to this complex and experimental area. In particular, the methodology has been applied to the case of Italian National Parks; the resulting rankings and information to improve the management status have been provided as a feedback to their questionnaires to Parks’ managers and to the Italian authority. The next step on the research agenda is the enlargement of the data set to include a broader variety of parks (for example national parks of other countries in Europe) in order to produce a more reliable and useful efficiency classification. 14 References Banker, R.D., Charnes, A., Cooper, W. W. 1984. Some models for estimating technical and scale inefficiencies in data envelopment analysis. Management Science. 30 (9), 1078-1092. 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Rutcor Researc Report, 01-02, JANUARY, 2002 16 Tables and Figures OUTPUT VR-R NVR-NR a Number of annual visitors 100% 0% b Number of historical buildings 100% 0% c Number of protected species 89% 11% d Number of students which visit the park for environmental education trips 88% 12% e Number of equipped areas 56% 44% f Area extension 56% 44% g Number of parks employees 56% 44% h Number of environmental illegal acts 55% 45% i Restored environmental area extension 45% 55% l Presence of a certification system with park labels 44% 56% m Gadget sale 22% 78% n Number of economic business directly linked, empowered or created thanks to the presence of the park 22% 78% INPUT VR-R NVR-NR a Management costs 100% 0% b Variable costs 89% 11% c Area extension 56% 44% Table 1 - Results to questionnaire. The column VR-R presents the sum of the answers VR and R. The column NVR-NR presents the sum of the answers NVR and NR. (author) 17 Output Input Model 1 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Model 2 Visitors protected species environmental education trips Total costs Area extension Model 3 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Area extension Table 2 - Definition of input-output for the three models. Grey indicates input assumed as uncontrollable. (author) 18 MODEL 1 MODEL 2 MODEL 3 DMU Efficiency Efficiency Efficiency Abruzzo, Lazio e Molise 100 100 100 Arcipelago la Maddalena 6,54 45,2 22,94 Arcipelago Toscano 54,82 100 100 Asinara 100 100 100 Aspromonte 7,3 51,77 21,81 Cilento Vallo di Diano 16,56 30,14 35,33 Circeo 93,27 100 100 Dolomiti Bellunesi 23,56 62,28 33,07 Foreste Casentinesi 100 68,07 100 Gargano 68,23 100 100 Gran Paradiso 58,62 48,16 65,62 Gran Sasso e Monti della Laga 34,02 42,94 100 Majella 100 100 100 Monti Sibillini 100 92,45 100 Val Grande 9,43 100 53,32 Vesuvio 100 100 100 Table 3 - Efficiency results for the three models. (author) 19 52 52 67 -31 -86 0 -42 -100 -80 -60 -40 -20 0 20 40 60 80 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Area extension Figure 1 - Suggested potential improvements to obtain full efficiency. (author) 20 Total potential improvements 22% 15% 57% 1% 2% 2% 1% Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Area extension Figure 2 -Total potential improvements. (author) NOTE DI LAVORO DELLA FONDAZIONE ENI ENRICO MATTEI Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Working Paper Series Our Note di Lavoro are available on the Internet at the following addresses: http://www.feem.it/Feem/Pub/Publications/WPapers/default.html http://www.ssrn.com/link/feem.html http://www.repec.org NOTE DI LAVORO PUBLISHED IN 2004 IEM 1.2004 Anil MARKANDYA, Suzette PEDROSO and Alexander GOLUB: Empirical Analysis of National Income and So2 Emissions in Selected European Countries ETA 2.2004 Masahisa FUJITA and Shlomo WEBER: Strategic Immigration Policies and Welfare in Heterogeneous Countries PRA 3.2004 Adolfo DI CARLUCCIO, Giovanni FERRI, Cecilia FRALE and Ottavio RICCHI: Do Privatizations Boost Household Shareholding? 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On the Incidence of Commissions in Auction Markets PRA 147.2004 Claudio MEZZETTI, Aleksandar PEKEČ and Ilia TSETLIN (lxxi): Sequential vs. Single-Round Uniform-Price Auctions PRA 148.2004 John ASKER and Estelle CANTILLON (lxxi): Equilibrium of Scoring Auctions PRA 149.2004 Philip A. HAILE, Han HONG and Matthew SHUM (lxxi): Nonparametric Tests for Common Values in First- Price Sealed-Bid Auctions PRA 150.2004 François DEGEORGE, François DERRIEN and Kent L. WOMACK (lxxi): Quid Pro Quo in IPOs: Why Bookbuilding is Dominating Auctions CCMP 151.2004 Barbara BUCHNER and Silvia DALL’OLIO: Russia: The Long Road to Ratification. Internal Institution and Pressure Groups in the Kyoto Protocol’s Adoption Process CCMP 152.2004 Carlo CARRARO and Marzio GALEOTTI: Does Endogenous Technical Change Make a Difference in Climate Policy Analysis? A Robustness Exercise with the FEEM-RICE Model PRA 153.2004 Alejandro M. MANELLI and Daniel R. 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CCMP 6.2005 Valentina BOSETTI, Carlo CARRARO and Marzio GALEOTTI: The Dynamics of Carbon and Energy Intensity in a Model of Endogenous Technical Change IEM 7.2005 David CALEF and Robert GOBLE: The Allure of Technology: How France and California Promoted Electric Vehicles to Reduce Urban Air Pollution ETA 8.2005 Lorenzo PELLEGRINI and Reyer GERLAGH: An Empirical Contribution to the Debate on Corruption Democracy and Environmental Policy CCMP 9.2005 Angelo ANTOCI: Environmental Resources Depletion and Interplay Between Negative and Positive Externalities in a Growth Model CTN 10.2005 Frédéric DEROIAN: Cost-Reducing Alliances and Local Spillovers NRM 11.2005 Francesco SINDICO: The GMO Dispute before the WTO: Legal Implications for the Trade and Environment Debate KTHC 12.2005 Carla MASSIDDA: Estimating the New Keynesian Phillips Curve for Italian Manufacturing Sectors KTHC 13.2005 Michele MORETTO and Gianpaolo ROSSINI: Start-up Entry Strategies: Employer vs. Nonemployer firms PRCG 14.2005 Clara GRAZIANO and Annalisa LUPORINI: Ownership Concentration, Monitoring and Optimal Board Structure CSRM 15.2005 Parashar KULKARNI: Use of Ecolabels in Promoting Exports from Developing Countries to Developed Countries: Lessons from the Indian LeatherFootwear Industry KTHC 16.2005 Adriana DI LIBERTO, Roberto MURA and Francesco PIGLIARU: How to Measure the Unobservable: A Panel Technique for the Analysis of TFP Convergence KTHC 17.2005 Alireza NAGHAVI: Asymmetric Labor Markets, Southern Wages, and the Location of Firms KTHC 18.2005 Alireza NAGHAVI: Strategic Intellectual Property Rights Policy and North-South Technology Transfer KTHC 19.2005 Mombert HOPPE: Technology Transfer Through Trade PRCG 20.2005 Roberto ROSON: Platform Competition with Endogenous Multihoming CCMP 21.2005 Barbara BUCHNER and Carlo CARRARO: Regional and Sub-Global Climate Blocs. 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The Case of Italian National Parks (lxv) This paper was presented at the EuroConference on “Auctions and Market Design: Theory, Evidence and Applications” organised by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei and sponsored by the EU, Milan, September 25-27, 2003 (lxvi) This paper has been presented at the 4th BioEcon Workshop on “Economic Analysis of Policies for Biodiversity Conservation” organised on behalf of the BIOECON Network by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, Venice International University (VIU) and University College London (UCL) , Venice, August 28-29, 2003 (lxvii) This paper has been presented at the international conference on “Tourism and Sustainable Economic Development – Macro and Micro Economic Issues” jointly organised by CRENoS (Università di Cagliari e Sassari, Italy) and Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, and supported by the World Bank, Sardinia, September 19-20, 2003 (lxviii) This paper was presented at the ENGIME Workshop on “Governance and Policies in Multicultural Cities”, Rome, June 5-6, 2003 (lxix) This paper was presented at the Fourth EEP Plenary Workshop and EEP Conference “The Future of Climate Policy”, Cagliari, Italy, 27-28 March 2003 (lxx) This paper was presented at the 9th Coalition Theory Workshop on "Collective Decisions and Institutional Design" organised by the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona and held in Barcelona, Spain, January 30-31, 2004 (lxxi) This paper was presented at the EuroConference on “Auctions and Market Design: Theory, Evidence and Applications”, organised by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei and Consip and sponsored by the EU, Rome, September 23-25, 2004 (lxxii) This paper was presented at the 10th Coalition Theory Network Workshop held in Paris, France on 28-29 January 2005 and organised by EUREQua. (lxxiii) This paper was presented at the 2nd Workshop on "Inclusive Wealth and Accounting Prices" held in Trieste, Italy on 13-15 April 2005 and organised by the Ecological and Environmental Economics - EEE Programme, a joint three-year programme of ICTP - The Abdus Salam International Centre for Theoretical Physics, FEEM - Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, and The Beijer International Institute of Ecological Economics. 2004 SERIES CCMP Climate Change Modelling and Policy (Editor: Marzio Galeotti ) GG Global Governance (Editor: Carlo Carraro) SIEV Sustainability Indicators and Environmental Valuation (Editor: Anna Alberini) NRM Natural Resources Management (Editor: Carlo Giupponi) KTHC Knowledge, Technology, Human Capital (Editor: Gianmarco Ottaviano) IEM International Energy Markets (Editor: Anil Markandya) CSRM Corporate Social Responsibility and Sustainable Management (Editor: Sabina Ratti) PRA Privatisation, Regulation, Antitrust (Editor: Bernardo Bortolotti) ETA Economic Theory and Applications (Editor: Carlo Carraro) CTN Coalition Theory Network 2005 SERIES CCMP Climate Change Modelling and Policy (Editor: Marzio Galeotti ) SIEV Sustainability Indicators and Environmental Valuation (Editor: Anna Alberini) NRM Natural Resources Management (Editor: Carlo Giupponi) KTHC Knowledge, Technology, Human Capital (Editor: Gianmarco Ottaviano) IEM International Energy Markets (Editor: Anil Markandya) CSRM Corporate Social Responsibility and Sustainable Management (Editor: Sabina Ratti) PRCG Privatisation Regulation Corporate Governance (Editor: Bernardo Bortolotti) ETA Economic Theory and Applications (Editor: Carlo Carraro) CTN Coalition Theory Network
work_mks5ojb5bjbcnowtmmnkezi2ey ---- Aesthetic Investigations Sensus and Dissensus Communis. The Comedy of Democracy (Following Cavell). Author Josef Früchtl Affiliation University of Amsterdam Abstract: The thesis of the article is that, following Stanley Cavell, within the framework of Western culture, the cinematic comedy again and again can be seen as an aesthetic form where passions for democracy take their way. Cavell defines, first, philosophy as a matter of the ‘human voice’ which is, in reference to Kant’s third Critique, a ‘universal voice’. An aesthetic judgement insofar is a model of philosophical judgement. But beyond this, secondly, it is also a model of demo- cratic judgement. For Kant, arguing about aesthetic matters means facilitating the communitarisation of confrontation. ‘Common sense’ (sensus communis) is the po- litical term Kant offers for this. Since this term, thirdly, has recently again been appropriated by populist semantics, it is important to stress a radically democratic meaning, with Cavell: a romantic conception of democracy, and to this conception, fourth, the art form of comedy corresponds. Comedy and democracy both centre around ‘the common, the familiar, the low’, and in laughter give this human-social sphere both an anarchic-democratic level of meaning and a certain, humorous self- reflection. The movie Adam’s Rib finally works as an example for this. To say that philosophy is fundamentally dismissive of the ordinary is surely a cliché. Even Socrates, that ancient founder of Western philosophy, fa- mously involved ordinary people in conversations about everyday topics in order to draw additional theoretical conclusions, especially with regard to practical ethics. The most conspicuous examples of this in the Modern Age are David Hume, Friedrich Nietzsche and John Dewey. However, no philo- sophical tradition has taken the ordinary so seriously and spelled out its © Aesthetic Investigations Vol 4, No 1 (2020), 96-111 Josef Früchtl significance in so many different variations as that in which Stanley Cavell emphatically includes himself: namely the tradition of the later Wittgenstein, as well as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, somewhat con- fusingly known as ‘American transcendentalism’. The innovation of ordinary language philosophy presented by Wittgenstein consists in its precise analysis of linguistic expressions using colloquial means in order to cure philosophy of its old metaphysical and new scientific, that is logical-positivistic fixations. This theoretical-therapeutic strategy is easy to link to the declared goal of US-American transcendentalism, famously summarised by Emerson as fol- lows: ‘I embrace the common, I explore and sit at the feet of the familiar, the low.’1 Cavell also sits joyfully at the feet of the familiar, indeed he sometimes celebrates an embracing of the common, the simple, the ordinary in words no less emphatic than those Emerson chose in the romantic spirit of the early 19th century. To this extent he delivers a perfect US-American variant of Romanticism. Which culture, if not the US-American culture, should be bet- ter destined to declare the ordinary extraordinary, and vice versa, with all its concomitant ambivalences? In this cultural context, Cavell has no hesitation in including cinema, which he vehemently propounds without any European arrogance to be the appropriate art form for the masses in the 20th century. He undoubtedly deserves to be the honorary representative of ordinary film philosophy. Cavell also lends this context a political-philosophical and espe- cially democracy-theoretical accent, albeit allusively and indirectly. Readers of Cavell’s works need to work out for themselves that for him film, espe- cially comedy, represents a vision of militant democracy. The link between film, comedy, democratic forms of life and romantic becoming ordinary of the non-ordinary accordingly first has to be clarified through discourse. This is what I should like to attempt in the following. My thesis, thus, is that within the framework of Western culture, the cinematic comedy – that romantic fu- sion of the ordinary and the extraordinary, renewed in popular culture – again and again can be seen as an aesthetic form where passions for democracy take their way. I. CAVELL’S VOICES Drawing upon his honoured teacher John Austin, and with a deliberate, crit- ical stance towards the philosophy of Jacques Derrida, Cavell defines the essence of his philosophy as ‘a matter of reinserting or replacing the human voice in philosophical thinking.’2 That is a surprising and therefore for Cavell a typical statement. The voice is not, namely, a fundamental philosophical concept. In the relevant lexica it is rarely listed as an official term. And yet, if we remember Derrida’s now somewhat faded theory, it is key to philosophy that it views itself as being subject to massive criticism of so-called logocen- trism. Cavell is reticent with regard to this major theory. He agrees, on the one hand, that performative expressions can ‘be seen as an attack on what 97 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. deconstruction attacks under the name logocentrism’, but on the other hand he regards deconstructivism as a ‘flight from the ordinary’.3 Cavell raises in philosophy, however, not only the human voice of everyday language, but also that of the self. Accordingly, the text genres of philosophy include not only ordinary language philosophy, but also autobiography. Here Cavell can appeal to some famous references, and he has presented some of his own deliberations under the title A Pitch of Philosophy. Autobiographical Exercises.4 The term ‘voice’ refers not only to the spoken language of the everyday world and individual language use, but also, thirdly, to the field of politics, at least in German. In German, the word for ‘vote’ is identical to that for voice (Stimme) and here functions as a democratic-political metaphor found in words such as Stimmrecht (voting rights), Stimmzettel (ballot slip), Ab- stimmung (ballot), etc. and meaning the individual ‘right to speak’ or to voice one’s opinion.5 In this context Cavell also allows himself to be led by the romantic emphasis on individualism.6 The democratic-political seman- tics of the voice (Stimme) have an accent for Cavell which is individualistic in a radicalised and even intermittently anarchistic way, placing it within the American romantic tradition of civil disobedience. Finally, in addition to its colloquial, individualistic and political mean- ings, the concept of the voice also has a universal connotation for Cavell. When Cavell characterises philosophy as the claim ‘to speak for the human’, he moves within the classical tradition of philosophical understanding. His variation begins when he describes this claim to universality as a ‘univer- salising use of the voice’ and additionally recognises the ‘arrogance’ which can be found within this claim, namely ‘the arrogant assumption of the right to speak for others’.7 In its inevitability, this arrogance is immanent in the philosophical use of the substantivistic pronoun ‘I’, which means that it is legitimate despite the seemingly illegitimate gesture. One justification for this can be found in the concept of the exemplary. That which expresses itself in the first person of the autobiography is ‘representative’; ‘each life (is) exemplary of all’; herein also lies a ‘commonness’ of humanity.8 Cavell bases his deliberations, albeit seldom explicitly, on Kant’s Critique of Judgement.9 Here he finds not only the significance of the exemplary, but also preformulated the metaphor that guides it. According to Kant, if we call an object beautiful ‘we believe ourselves to be speaking with a universal voice’ and that means, again according to Kant, that with an aesthetic judgement one ‘lays claim’ to the ‘agreement of everyone’.10 It is this paradoxical struc- ture of a ‘subjective universality’ which Cavell transfers to the philosophical form of substantiation. What is only true of aesthetic judgements in tran- scendental philosophy, is also true of philosophical judgements in the sense of Cavell’s ordinary language philosophy. For a philosopher who says that ‘we’ use terms such as beautiful, game or meaning in a certain way, is also saying that all people who understand these terms (correctly) are compelled to use 98 Josef Früchtl them in the same way. And for this kind of compulsion he has no evidence other than that exemplary evidence underlined by Kant to provide validity for his taste judgement. To this extent, an aesthetic judgement is a model of philosophical judge- ment. Beyond this it is also a model of democratic judgement, and I would now like to briefly provide evidence for this in a second step. II. THE KANTIAN QUESTION OF WHY WE HAVE TO QUARREL ABOUT MATTERS OF AESTHETICS The desire to interpret Kant’s theory of aesthetic judgement politically, or rather with a political accentuation, is as old as the theory itself. Three well-known such proposals for interpretation have become established. In the historical context of the French Revolution, Friedrich Schiller is the first to use the contrasting capacities of cognition (imagination and reason) in a daring political analogy to also see therein the contrasting social classes. Hannah Arendt, on the other hand, emphasises the enabling powers of aes- thetic judgement to put oneself in the place of others; she accentuates the aesthetic capability of the imaginary, indeed the ideal of role playing; here aesthetic judgement is a form of empathy, the understanding of an intellec- tual sentiment. Finally, Jacques Rancière follows on from Schiller in terms of sociopolitical radicalisation when he describes the contrast between the two cognitive capacities or classes as that between exclusion and inclusion, between those who determine what is politically viable and those who are excluded from this process.11 I would like to add a fourth proposal to this list of interpretations. For politics as a model, especially democratic politics, the aesthetic is well suited because it commendably evens out the tension between communality and dis- cord, trains the as-if perspective and ultimately facilitates a (presentative, compensative and transformative) communication of sentiments. In the fol- lowing, I shall refrain from speaking about the last two for reasons of time and space. I should merely like to concentrate for a while on the first point named, that is the relationship between communality and discord. My theory here is: arguing about aesthetic matters means facilitating the communitarisation of confrontation. As we know, Kant analyses the argumentative logic behind the aesthetic judgement as a specific relationship between the faculties of the imagination (as a form of sensation) and understanding (Verstand) or reason (Vernunft) in general. One has to emphasise that these faculties are strictly oppositional. The one does precisely what the other does not want. As Kant puts it in §50 of his Critique of Judgement: Imagination stands for ‘lawless freedom’, but reason ‘is the power of judgement’. The one, taken alone, ‘produces nothing but nonsense’, the other is the faculty ‘consonant with understanding’.12 It seems that the contradiction can only be solved in one direction or the other: 99 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. either imagination in its unbridled freedom produces forms which overtax the power of judgement, or reason limits the imagination. In the case of an aes- thetic object (of nature, art, the everyday), however, what happens is neither a subordination nor a mere (static) contradiction, but a (dynamic) recipro- cal stimulation and potentiation of these oppositional elements. This is what Kant meant by ‘play’.13 And since this play takes place between our ‘cogni- tive powers’, i.e. between elements of experience which are fundamental to human recognition, it is possible to speak of the aesthetic as if it were a cog- nitively substantiated fact. In this way Kant can also impart the conciliatory suggestion that one may not be able to ‘dispute’, to decide objectively about taste, but that one can ‘quarrel’ about it, and for him that means: one can attempt to battle out a consensus.14 In an aesthetic judgement we maintain something which we cannot prove, but in a manner as if we were able to prove it. For that which we maintain entails a legitimately felt claim to generalis- able validity, a claim which is based on a feeling which is not merely private, in other words subjectively valid, but also generally valid because it grows from the interplay, the endless and passionate interaction of different, even opposing elements of knowing and experiencing which in addition manifests a reference to the dimensions of discourse called (explicit) knowledge, morality and politics.15 Expressed in somewhat old-fashioned political language, we cultivate in aesthetic experiences ‘a certain liberality in our way of thinking’. Kant understands this as ‘independence of the liking from mere enjoyment of sense’.16 But it is obvious that here he is also pointing out the significance of freedom from prejudice, preference and freedom of mind in a further sense. Aesthetic liberality is a successful balance between accord and discord. It is the passionate and endless attempt to battle out a consensus, in other words the fight among wilful or querulant individuals for community. III. DEMOCRATIC COMMON SENSE The general voice by which Cavell allows himself to be led is what Kant promi- nently calls common sense (Gemeinsinn), only to immediately distinguish it from the ordinary, political-ethical sense, that so-called healthy common sense (sens commun, gesunder Menschenverstand) of the Enlightenment. It is one of the peculiarities of the history of philosophical terms that the ‘history of decay’ of common sense as a term begins when its conceptual clarification reaches its climax through – nota bene – restriction to the aesthetic field pur- sued by Kant.17 This is not true for the history of the term in its political meaning, however. Whereas we can ascertain that the 18th century stands out as the heyday of the term common sense, the 20th century after the Sec- ond World War sees its revival in the services of representative democracy.18 The various stages of this history are quickly told. Following on from the epistemological meaning proposed by Aristotle un- der the term koine aisthesis, an authority intended to coordinate the impres- 100 Josef Früchtl sions of the five human senses, during Roman Stoicism the term acquires a politico-social and cultural meaning. Here, for the first time, it means those values and convictions which are usually shared unspoken within a commu- nity. At the beginning of the 18th century, following the Glorious Revolution, a definition is then brought into circulation in England and France. Shaftes- bury (1709), Giambattista Vico (1725) and Thomas Reid (1764) are the lead- ing theorists here. In his famous essay from 1776, Thomas Paine puts common sense into the US American context for the first time. Common sense is to provide an answer to the question which will continue to occupy theorists of modern society, namely ‘how to hold a heterogeneous society together with a minimum of force’.19 The French Revolution refutes the relevance of the term, the key concepts now being reason, freedom, truth and nation. Robe- spierre and his revolutionary allies are all too painfully aware of the fact that the people, in whose name they are conducting the Revolution, are hindered by ignorance (not to say stupidity) and superstition. Napoleon then finally succeeds in linking the revolutionary impulse with the counter-revolutionary impulse in order to mobilise the so-called people and successfully perpetrate a policy of disempowering those same people. The French Revolution, as we are aware today, for the first time stirs up that populist criticism of democ- racy which is later to have a mass impact in the totalitarian states of the 20th century.20 Populism is a buzzword which also in our times agitates the political spirits. In the political sciences, discussion of the semantics of this word has only just begun, and yet the link to an anti-elitist and anti-democratic element already seems at least plausible: in socio-critical terms, populism campaigns against ‘the Establishment’, those ‘elites’ of politicians, media representatives, intellectuals and managers who pull the wool over the eyes of the good hard- working taxpaying people; populism is anti-democratic to the extent that it unhinges pluralism, on which not only representative democracy is counting, following on from the fact that the people is in a constant battle with itself as a result of the division of powers, that it is not ‘one’ with itself.21 In the context of common sense, we should be aware that this term is not protected from appropriation by populist semantics. And not least because it, like our own theory of communitarianism, emerged from a tension with the idea of the liberal constitutional state and the principles of reason and autonomy; common sense represents the other, more collective side of the democratic coin. But that means that it, like the populism monopolising it politically, is both one of the columns of democracy and one of its permanent threats. The marriage between democracy and populism in the concept of common sense is inevitably a ‘slippery subject’.22 101 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. IV. COMEDY AND DEMOCRACY When I underline the relationship between common sense, quarrel and democ- racy, I indicate that I tend towards a conception of democracy which in more recent discussion has become known as an ‘agonal’ or – with less drama – ‘communicative-associative’ democracy.23 Within this framework democracy is concerned with the conflict between groupings who wish to assert their own convictions of a collectively correct life. Confrontational distinctions between ‘us’ and ‘them’ are here constitutive, but they do not harden to become a confrontation similar to that of civil war. Carl Schmitt’s notorious antago- nism is here mitigated or transformed to become agonism. The basic political distinction between ‘friend’ and ‘foe’ is relaxed as the Other enters the ring as a mere ‘opponent’. The political and moral basic principle of respect for the other holds true here, also and especially because the other advocates principles and convictions which are incompatible with one’s own. Schmitt’s political philosophy, as is well known, stems from his vehement criticism of Romanticism, which he comprehends, as is usual since Hegel and Goethe, as the hubris of the world-creating subject, that is, as a flight from the reality of the normal world.24 Cavell turns this criticism on its head. More precisely, he offers a secularly dialectic and humanistic interpretation according to which Romanticism is both a wish for the extraordinary and for the ordinary, climaxing in seeing the ordinary as something extraordinary. It is not a case of seeing the extraordinary as something ordinary, and thus removing what makes it special, but on the contrary of seeing the ordinary as something extraordinary.25 If Romanticism therefore means a new under- standing of the subjective, a reinterpretation of the everyday world, as it is driven ever onwards by the individual powers of imagination in order thus to express one’s own subjectivity, then this expressivism has the political im- plication elevated by the United States to rank as Constitutional: namely, the right of every individual to realise his or her own idea of a good life: the pursuit of happiness.26 This is Cavell’s Romantic concept of democracy. It means not only liberalistic self-determination, but within this same frame- work also individual self-realisation. In the sense of Isaiah Berlin, democracy means not only ‘negative’, but also ‘positive’ freedom, not only the freedom of citizens from state coercion, but also realisation of one’s own goals. It is Romantic because it places a significantly expressivistic accent on positive freedom. Now the final question is whether there is an art form which most closely corresponds to this democracy. Cavell’s philosophical emphasis on the voice steers our answer towards three art forms: music (predominantly opera), the- atre and finally film, that technological or, more precisely, technical-dynamic synthesis of music and theatre (whereas opera constitutes the artificial syn- thesis). But Cavell does not nobilise film in his theory of democracy by examining it media-essentialistically or ontologically for certain production techniques (such as montage) or methods of reception (such as experiencing 102 Josef Früchtl something as shocking, or noting something with distraction) in the manner attempted by Walter Benjamin in the 1930s. Rather, he limits his interest in this regard to certain genres, namely melodrama and comedy. In sociopolit- ical terms, melodrama deals with the bitter drama of failing female emanci- pation in bourgeois civilisation, whereas comedy deals with the battle of the sexes.27 At this juncture it would normally be necessary to include a detailed discussion of whether, and if so how, comedy displays a stronger affinity to democracy than tragedy or its diminutive bourgeois form, the melodrama. Instead, I shall limit myself to some supporting comments. They all point to the argument which Cavell embraces, with Emerson, namely that comedy and democracy both (a) centre around ‘the common, the familiar, the low’ and in laughter give this human-social sphere both (b) an anarchic-democratic level of meaning and (c) a certain self-reflection. Let us have a closer look at this. In its essence, this argument was formed as far back as Aristotle. As he says in his Poetics, comedy brings people onto the stage who are in some re- spects ‘worse than the average’, ‘beneath’ the level of the spectators, in other words people who, on the one hand, are governed in their anthropological weaknesses by the conditio humana and, on the other hand, belong socially and politically to a lower, non-aristocratic class.28 The latter distinguishing criterion is to retain its validity until the late 18th century but is completely diffused in the 20th century. The Hollywood comedies of remarriage which Cavell dedicates himself to are also evidence of this as these comedies al- ways take place in the setting of an affluent, a kind of money-aristocratic class. The anthropological attribution correspondingly moves further into fo- cus. Where comedy is concerned with human, all-too-human weaknesses, or in more neutral terms, characteristics, it is really concerned with our attitude towards these characteristics, in other words with our culture and morality. And the task of comedy is to expose these characteristics – from cultural and social inadequacies to moral weaknesses – to laughter and ridicule. This can occur in different ways, however, sometimes in very different ways. Two reac- tions seem to be key: derogatory and (re)cognisant, superior and conciliatory, mocking and humorous laughter. But they are joined by two others: releas- ing laughter and laughter reacting to the irreconcilable; relieving laughter and laughter which expresses an incongruity. At least four types of ‘comical’ or ‘funny’ therefore need to be distinguished.29 The first is the most evident and theoretically the most common type, summarised as the superiority theory. Accordingly, when we laugh we ex- press superiority over the object of our laughter. The weaknesses which we laugh at are those of others. It is a laughter which at least has a tendency towards the aggressive, which politically is keenly functionalised by totalitar- ian states, but that does not mean it does not also fulfil a useful function in democracies. Here it depends on translating negative-aggressive (morally humiliating) laughter to positive-aggressive laughter, similar to how in the 103 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. course of civilisation and upbringing we learn to translate the psycho-physical eruptive energy of aggression into rational thought and use it to lend our ar- guments ‘bite’ and ‘sharpness’.30 Plato, Aristotle and Thomas Hobbes can be named as relevant superiority theorists, but also Henri Bergson, according to whom derision can be grasped as a warning by the community to those so- called awkward individuals who do not manage to adapt in the expected social way and who therefore stiffen ‘mechanically’ and make themselves ridiculous. The best cineastic examples of this are Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton, who demonstrate that laughing at others does not have to be utterly morally superior, socially humiliating or politically exclusive. Bergson himself speaks differentiatingly of a ‘momentary anaesthesia of the heart’.31 A (mere) mo- ment of permitted moral-social coldness and political animosity is accordingly a necessary element of laughing at comic and comedic figures. The superiority theory covers probably the largest area of what makes peo- ple laugh. But the incongruence theory is also important. Here, laughter is a physical reaction to semantic ambivalences and logical nonsense, the unex- pected, and involves a sudden dissolution of an expectation, a game of surprise with conventions. Kant, Søren Kierkegaard and Arthur Schopenhauer rep- resent this theory, but also Helmuth Plessner with his famous philosophical- anthropological distinction between ‘bodily experience’ (Leib sein, literally translated: ‘being a body’) and ‘experiencing one’s body’ (Körper haben, lit- erally translated: ‘having a body’), which he links to the anthropological phenomena of laughing and crying. Laughing, like crying, is a physical reac- tion in the face of a situation to which we cannot react with speech. Instead, we seek out a different level of meaning where ‘bodily experience’ plays a ma- jor role. For the art form of theatre (but also film) this physicality has two consequences, as stressed by Bernhard Greiner. Firstly, it is constitutive of theatre that it ‘always simultaneously presents the movement of messages, for which the body is the instrument of “expression”, and the movement of bod- ies, which are the actors’. Linguistic and performative meaning are equally relevant. Particularly for the genres of comedy and tragedy, however, the consequence is that they each place different emphases on these double lev- els of meaning: whereas tragedy strengthens the importance of ‘expression’, comedy refuses to make the same hierarchisation, instead emphasising not the words, but the physical-performative happenings on the stage.32 Comedy, we can then say, is democratic-horizontal and anarchic (not: anarchistic) in its semantic structure.33 It performatively undermines the meanings it itself has offered, takes back in the course of the events what it itself has previously presented. Thirdly, the compensation theory claims to be comprehensive, but remains completely within an abstract-mechanical economy of the physical and the emotions. This theory was first developed by Herbert Spencer in the 19th century, who explained laughter in its physical process as a liberating release of accumulated nervous energy, and became famous with Freud and his work 104 Josef Früchtl on Wit and its Relation to the Unconscious (1905). According to Freud, the desire for wit, comedy and humour is drawn from a source which has become increasingly obstructed since earliest childhood, an obstruction we can only escape momentarily through laughter. Accordingly, laughter permits momentary satisfaction of a (particularly sexual and aggressive) drive which moral and legal standards prohibit us from acting upon. The later Freud is to write a text suited to the fourth theory of laughter and the comic, the reconciliation or more precisely humour theory. His short essay Humour (1927) is no longer based on the mechanic-hydraulic explana- tory model, but on Freud’s so-called structural or three-agent model of the psyche, with its now famous distinction between id, ego and superego. The surprising line of argumentation which Freud takes in this context consists in allowing the superego, that abstract agent of valid norms, to be not puni- tive and hostile, but liberating, inspiring, loving and comforting. To quote a funny pun from Simon Critchley: ‘this superego is your amigo’.34 Whereas in superiority we laugh at others by seeing them as children and ourselves as adults, in humour we laugh at ourselves. The adult once again accepts themselves as a child, and for the human species that means accepting itself in its infancy. In humorous laughter we adopt an amicable attitude towards our human limitations or conditio humana. In the context of the discussion about a common sense demanded by democracy, Freud’s later theory acquires an additional meaning. When we laugh at ourselves, we laugh not only at ourselves as individuals and part of humanity, but also as part of a social group. Humour and brilliant wit, following Shaftesbury’s observation, are a form of the sensus communis. They reveal a deep layer of our shared cultural (moral, social, political) values. Thus ‘the Bavarians’ laugh at ‘the Prussians’ and vice versa, ‘the Germans’ laugh at ‘the East Frisians’ or maybe at ‘the French’ and vice versa, and thus they all laugh imagining themselves as part of a small, yet unconquerable community. For example, somewhere in Brittany they might laugh at ‘the Romans’ as a symbol of imperialism, etc. But this superior laughing of one community of shared values at another also involves an additional, albeit often subtle, opposing element. In laughing in this way, we assure ourselves of that which we have in common, not only by placing ourselves in opposition to another group – the first and most common type – but also by distancing ourselves from our own group, albeit only maybe momentarily – and this is the second type. This type avails itself of the incongruence method in particular, the second of the models introduced above. Every unexpected turn in a joke or comic situation is also a turn against the sensus communis. We can therefore say that laughter at jokes and comic situations also indicates a dissensus communis.35 Laughter reveals structures in one’s view of the world because it not only invites one to identify blindly with some, but also to distance oneself from others. The latter is a weaker option, to be sure, but it enables the line of argumentation which Kant set out in his Critique of Judgement to 105 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. be taken up once more: the more laughter at the comic distances itself from a concrete community, the more an ideal community shines through. The affinity of democracy for comedy and, more broadly, for the comic therefore – firstly – consists in focussing on what, in a socio-cultural and an- thropological sense, is ordinary: the calamities (embarrassments and unfor- tunate mishaps) of human beings, whether as members of a certain group or as members of the species. Comedy is happy to leave extraordinary heroism, sublime idealism, devastating suffering, all-pervading pathos, entanglement in compelling contradictions, death in the name of a higher cause, acknowl- edgement of a fateful and stronger power, to tragedy. Of course, tragic con- flicts are also undeniably constitutive of democracy, conflicts resulting from equally justified claims which are therefore irreconcilable. This is precisely what makes democracy agonal. But these are not conflicts which culminate in life or death, at least not in usual circumstances falling short of revolu- tion and civil war. The dramas of polemic democracy are different, milder. The affinity of democracy for comedy – secondly – consists in cultivating an anarchic-democratic semantics which not only refuses to accept a higher in- stance, but which ultimately refuses to accept an instance at all. The comic insofar is constitutively anti-dogmatic. And thirdly, the affinity of democracy consists in giving laughter, in incongruence and humour, a self-reflective and again anti-dogmatic twist. Human beings who can laugh at themselves are at home in a democracy. V. LAUGHING AT THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES Let us, finally, cast a look at one of the Hollywood comedies which attracted Cavell’s romantic-democratic attention.36 Adam’s Rib, directed by George Cukor and first released in 1949, is one of those films known in Hollywood as a sophisticated or romantic comedy. They are filled with dialogue and fast action, in general line with comedy, which is not the place for silent and inactive characters, however much these characters may seem comic or even be comedians; the films of Aki Kaurismäki are worth watching in this con- text. Slapstick comedies, especially silent films, headed by the unforgettable Buster Keaton, focus on a very unique type of action based on the body and facial expression, or more precisely on physical misfortune, an alien situa- tion and a corresponding commentary by facial expression, which for Keaton can be completely deadpan. Cavell’s comedies of remarriage, in contrast, are closer to the type of conversational plays written by George B. Shaw or Oscar Wilde, set in more elevated, that is wealthier and educated social circles, and indulging us with brilliant conversation. Adam’s Rib is tellingly translated into German as Ehekrieg (Marital Feud) because the film deals with the bat- tle of the sexes fought inside a marriage, a sociopolitical problem in which, as always when real change is involved, one side must fight hard for what the other has long had and refuses to share. 106 Josef Früchtl Adam and Amanda Bonner, played by Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hep- burn, a Hollywood dream team in the 1940s, are a happily married couple, as we learn at the beginning of the film. Discussions immediately become heated, however, whenever sexual equality rears its head as a bone of con- tention. This happens also when a woman is accused of attempting to murder her husband after she has caught him with another woman in flagranti. Des- perately and clumsily (she first has to study the instructions), she waves a revolver around and shoots, injuring her husband. As soon as she realises what she has done, she immediately and comically remembers her role as loving wife and attends to him in his plight. Amanda, a lawyer by profession, assumes the defence of the wife, while Adam, a public prosecutor, takes up the case for the prosecution. He loses the case because his wife and professional adversary builds up a skilful line of defence based on the unequal perception of the sexes. If it had not been a woman directing a weapon at her husband, but a man directing one at his wife found with another man, he would not be found guilty because a husband can appeal to the unwritten law whereby he always has the right to defend his own home against intruders. Amanda demands the same right for her client. In ancient comic tradition, Adam, representing the male sex, is shown up quite badly by his wife. She repeatedly proves herself as the verbally dextrous lawyer. Once she even oversteps the verbal boundary and exposes Adam to physical ridicule when she asks a witness, a former weightlifter, to demonstrate her skills in the court room. Much to his amazement, the woman lifts him up in the air, leaving him to gesticulate wildly and awkwardly like a little boy. In private the couple also cross the aggression boundary, not badly or coarsely, but no longer lovingly. During a massage which they are both obviously enjoying, she smacks him on his behind, then he does the same to her more forcefully, until anger is written all over her face – and she is about to have a fit of rage. The curve of aggression reaches its peak when Adam, after his failure in court, turns his successful wife’s legal argument around and uses it against her. Knowing that a friend of theirs and presumptuous admirer of Amanda is visiting her for the evening, he surprises them both with a drawn pistol. This is clearly a re-enactment of the scene with the wronged wife that we saw at the beginning of the film. But Adam is only pretending. The pistol is made of liquorice, and he enjoys biting into it once he has achieved his aim, namely that his shocked and frightened wife falls back on the position that was precisely his own in court: that nobody has the right to break the law by taking it into their own hands. After he has taught her this lesson, an actual quarrel breaks out between the three people in the room involving physical violence or at least physical involvement, a small physical explosion of emotions which the film does not actually show. The film restricts itself to the outcome: crumpled, furious, dishevelled figures. 107 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. Adam’s rib thus brings two marriages to the courtroom, that of the ac- cused and her unfaithful husband, and that of Adam and Amanda Bonner, the prosecutor and his lawyer wife. In an exemplary culmination, we can also say that it brings to the courtroom the very institution of marriage itself, or rather the bourgeois form of marriage practised in America after the Second World War; and that it does this in such an uproarious way that the pro- ceedings sometimes seem like a Punch and Judy show.37 Marriage becomes the object of pugnacious debate, and the cinema becomes an extended court of law in which the audience, men and women, married or not (yet), are ulti- mately called upon to pass judgement on themselves. Not in legal earnest, but laughing: sometimes superior and mocking, pointing a negative-aggressive or maybe a positive-aggressive finger at others, momentarily anaesthetising the morally beating heart, sometimes in recognition and reconciliation, increasing expectations and thwarting them, and always relieving and releasing. Of course, in the film the couple ultimately manages to avert the threat of divorce. Adam proudly tells his wife that the Republican party wishes to propose him to hold the position of a Judge. His joyful expression changes, however, sensing an impending blow, when Amanda with feigned innocence asks him whether the Democrats have also proposed a candidate – and of course she means a female candidate. The film thus has a happy ending – otherwise it would not be a comedy – yet one which already hints at the next conflict – otherwise it would not be a comedy for a combative democracy. j.fruchtl@uva.nl NOTES 1‘The American Scholar’, quoted in Cavell 1981, 14. 2Cavell 1990, 63. 3Cavell 1994, 79, and, respectively 167. 4Augustine’s Confessions, those of Rousseau (which he does not specify, how- ever) and, finally, three testimonies from the 19th century, namely Nietzsche’s Ecce homo, Thoreau’s Walden and Mill’s work The Subjection of Women. Mill wrote this work with his wife, whom he also acknowl- edges as having influenced his other books, far removed from any patriarchal attitude or vanity (cf. Cavell 1994, 16-17, 2, 39). 5Cavell 1994, 37, 69. 6Cf. Cavell 1994, 50; Emerson’s fa- mous quotation in this context is: ‘Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist’, quoted in: Laugier 2015, 1048. 7Cavell 1994, vii-viii. 8Cavell 1994, 11. 9‘Kant’s “universal voice” is, with per- haps a slight shift of accent, what we hear recorded in the philosopher’s claims about “what we say”’ (Cavell 1976, 94). 10Kant 1987, 59-60 (§8), cf. 56 (§7), 86 (§19). 11Cf. Rancière 2002. 12Kant 1987, 188 (§50). 13Cf. here also Henrich 1992, 51-52. 14Kant 1987, 210 (§56). 15Privacy of feeling means their claim to validity, not their constitutability. The idea that even the seemingly most pri- vate of emotions are socially constituted and thus not private can be convincingly substantiated with theories such as those by the late Wittgenstein, Gadamer and Davidson. An aesthetic statement which 108 mailto:j.fruchtl@uva.nl Josef Früchtl is private or subjectively valid is one such as: ‘Barnett Newman’s “Who’s Afraid of Red, Yellow and Blue?” – taking Version III in the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam – ‘is a bad painting because I really am afraid of red.’ 16Kant 1987, 128. 17Cf. Maydell and Wiehl 1974, 244. 18Rosenfeld 2011, 244. On the history of the term following in the text cf. in turn Rosenfeld 2011, 22 (on Stoicism), 24 (Shaftesbury 1709), 59 (Vico 1725), 71 (Reid 1764), 136 (Paine 1776). 19Rosenfeld 2011, 24. 20Cf. Rosenfeld 2011, 182, 193, 194, 220. 21Cf. Müller 2016, 26, 55. 22Rosenfeld 2011, 6, 256. 23On the agonal, that means the prin- cipally, but not existentially antagonis- tic concept of the political, cf. Mouffe 2000; Mouffe 2005; with greater proxim- ity to a deliberative concept of democracy: Honig 1993; Tully 1995; Connolly 1999; on the communicative-associative concept of democracy cf. Benhabib 1992, Calhoun 1992, 73-98; Bickford 1996. 24Cf. Bohrer 1989, 138ff. (Hegel) & 284ff. (Schmitt). 25‘One can think of romanticism as the discovery that the everyday is an excep- tional achievement. Call it the achieve- ment of the human’ Cavell 1979, 463. This interpretation is fitting for the famous def- inition by Novalis (from Aphorismen und Fragmente 1798-1800): ‘Insofar as I imbue the mundane with meaning, the ordinary with mystery, the familiar with the seemli- ness of the unfamiliar, and the finite with the semblance of the infinite, I romanti- cise it.’ - We should remember here that Thomas Mann also once made a connec- tion between Novalis and Walt Whitman, between German Romanticism and Amer- ican democracy; both sides needed each other (cf. Lepenies 2006, 56). 26Romanticism then means the right of each subject to determine the ‘circum- stances’ under which this subject would be content (Cavell 1979, 466); cf. Laugier 2015, 10-49. 27The most renowned directors here are Douglas Sirk and Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Beyond Cavell’s theorising, there also exist masculine melodramas, of course; East of Eden (1955, by Elia Kazan, with James Dean) is one of the most fa- mous, with Manchester By the Sea (2016, by Kenneth Lonergan, starring Casey Af- fleck) being a more recent example. 28Aristotle 1924, 1448a & 1449a 32. 29In the following I refer to Morreal 1987, who distinguishes three theories of laughter: the superiority, incongruence and compensation theories (the last of which he prefers to call the relief or release theory). Simon Critchley 2002 rightly adds a fourth theory, the reconciliation or humour theory. Bernhard Greiner 2006, in contrast, taking up Hans Robert Jauß, works only with two basic forms of the comic, namely one superior looking down and one inferior looking up, which leads him to oversimplify the situation and at- tribute to Kant, for example, the supe- riority and not the incongruence theory, to Hegel likewise generally the superiority and not the reconciliation theory, and to Nietzsche (or more precisely the Nietzsche in The Gay Science) simply the basic in- feriority form (cf. 2f., 92, 98). 30Cf. Hoggett 2002, 114. 31Cited in Critchley 2002, 87. 32Greiner 2006, 5; on the principle of double levels of meaning as the principle of theatre, Greiner refers to theorists such as Umberto Eco and Erika Fischer-Lichte. 33On the difference between the anarchic and the anarchistic – the anarchic protests against all archè (rule, principle, origin) and thus also against all hierarchies – cf. Levinas 1992, 224 (Engl. transl. from French, Otherwise Than Being, Or Beyond Essence). 34Critchley 2002, 103. 35Critchley 2002, 18, 78, with refer- ence, amongst others, to Alfred Schütz, Strukturen der Lebenswelt (80) and to Kant, sometimes explicitly (80), some- times implicitly (90); Critchley ultimately and rightly weakens the assumption of the emancipatory and politically progressive power of humour: ‘humour also indicates, or maybe just adumbrates, . . . how things might be otherwise’ (90). 36It goes without saying that the thesis arguing for the affinity of democracy for 109 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. comedy or the comical should be tested, also, in the case of film on a number of distinctive examples, from the slapstick of Jerry Lee Lewis and Eddy Murphy via The Life of Brian (1980), The Blues Broth- ers (1980), A Fish Called Wanda (1989), Men in Black (1997), The Big Lebowski (1998), The Truman Show (1998), Ocean’s Eleven (2002) up to the romantic comedies of Moonstruck (1987), When Harry Met Sally (1989), Sleepless in Seattle (1993), Email For You (1998) and a contempo- rary screwball-comedy like One Fine Day (1996). 37Cf. Cavell 1981, 192, 194-5, 198. REFERENCES Aristotle. 1924. “Poetics.” In The Works of Aristotle, edited by W.D. Ross, Volume XI. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Benhabib, Seyla. 1992. “Models of Public Space: Hannah Arendt, the Liberal Tradition, and Jürgen Habermas.” In Habermas and The Public Sphere, edited by Craig Calhoun, 73–98. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Bickford, Susan. 1996. The Dissonance of Democracy: Listening, Conflict, and Citizenship. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Bohrer, Karl Heinz. 1989. Die Kritik der Romantik. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp. Calhoun, Craig, ed. 1992. Habermas and The Public Sphere. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Cavell, Stanley. 1976. “Aesthetic Problems of Modern Philosophy.” In Must we mean what we say? A Book of Essays. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. . 1979. The Claim of Reason. Wittgenstein, Skepticism, Morality and Tragedy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. . 1981. Pursuits of Happiness. The Hollywood Comedy of Remarriage. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. . 1990. Contesting Tears. The Hollywood Melodrama of the Unknown Woman. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. . 1994. A Pitch of Philosophy. Autobiographical Exercises. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Connolly, William E. 1999. Why I Am Not a Secularist. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Critchley, Simon. 2002. On Humour. London & New York: Routledge. Greiner, Bernhard. 2006. Die Komödie. Eine theatralische Sendung: Grund- lagen und Interpretationen. second edition. Tübingen & Basel: Francke. Henrich, Dieter. 1992. Aesthetic Judgment and the Moral Image of the World. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. 110 Josef Früchtl Hoggett, Paul & Simon Thompson. 2002. “Toward a Democracy of the Emotions.” Constellations 9 (1): 106–126. Honig, Bonnie. 1993. Political Theory and the Displacement of Politics. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Kant, Immanuel. 1987. Critique of Judgment (Kritik der Urteilskraft). Translated by Werner S. Pluhar. Indianapolis: Hackett (orig: 1790, Berlin und Libau: Lagarde und Friederich). Laugier, Sandra. 2015. “The Ordinary, Romanticism, and Democracy.” Modern Language Notes 130, no. 5 (dec). Lepenies, Wolf. 2006. The Seduction of Culture in German History. Prince- ton: Princeton University Press. Levinas, Emmanuel. 1992. Jenseits des Seins oder anders als Sein geschieht. Freiburg & München: Alber. Maydell, A. v., and R. Wiehl. 1974. Chapter Gemeinsinn of Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie. Basel/Stuttgart: Schwabe & Co. editor: Joachim Ritter. Morreal, John. 1987. The Philosophy of Laughter and Humour. Albany: State University of New York Press. Mouffe, Chantal. 2000. The Democratic Paradox. London/New York: Verso Books. . 2005. On the Political. London/New York: Routledge. Müller, Jan-Werner. 2016. Was ist Populismus? Berlin: Suhrkamp. Paine, Thomas. 1776. Common Sense. Rancière, Jacques. 2002. “The Aesthetic Revolution and its Outcomes. Emplotments of Autonomy and Heteronomy.” New Left Review 14:133– 151. Reid, Thomas. 1764. An Inquiry into the Human Mind, on the Principles of Common Sense. Rosenfeld, Sophia. 2011. Common Sense. A Political History. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Shaftesbury. 1709. Sensus Communis: An Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour. Tully, James. 1995. Strange Multiplicity: Constitutionalism in the Age of Diversity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vico, Giambattisto. 1725. Scienza Nuova. 111 Cavell's voices The Kantian question of why we have to quarrel about matters of aesthetics Democratic common sense Comedy and democracy Laughing at the battle of the sexes
work_mlfght32w5bsxhfcn7kqri2baq ---- Back On Into The Way Home ON THE POEMS OF J.H. PRYNNE 11 and the smoke goes wavering into the atmosphere with all the uncertainty of numbers. (lines 9-11) BACK ON INTO THE WAY HOME: ‘CHARM AGAINST TOO MANY APPLES’ Josh Stanley J.H. Prynne, Poems [Newcastle upon Tyne, 2005], p. 68. All future references to poems will be given as Poems. Originally published in Prynne’s 1969 collection, The White Stones (Poems, pp. 37-126). This smoke, rising from an unseen fire, informs us of its history, in and as what Geoffrey Hartman calls the ‘poetical smoke’ of William Wordsworth’s ‘Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour, July 13, 1798’ (Geoffrey H. Hartman, The Unmediated Vision [New York, N.Y., 1966], p. 7): and wreathes of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees, With some uncertain notice, as might seem, Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some hermit’s cave, where by his fire The hermit sits alone. (William Wordsworth, “Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour, July 13, 1798” in “Lyrical Ballads” and Other Poems, 1797-1800 ed. by James Butler and Karen Green [Ithaca, N.Y., 1992] ll. 18-23.) The uncertainty of Prynne’s smoke draws us immediately to the ‘uncertain notice’ of GLOSSATOR 2 12 Wordsworth’s. Prynne’s, meanwhile, is self-consciously poetical smoke: Hartman means by this firstly smoke within a poem and secondly smoke as an idealist figure for poetry, both marking an origin and writing on the sky. Wordsworth’s ‘notice’ is in parallel with numbers, which through the colloquial ‘with | all through’ operates as either comparison (‘with an uncertainty like that of numbers’) or as description (‘with all the uncertainty proper to numbers, which is what the smoke is’). In the first case, we might read numbers as a figure of abstraction. (But, compare Wordsworth, “Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow | For old, unhappy, far-off things”, “The Solitary Reaper” in The Poems Vol. I ed. by John O. Hayden [Harmondsworth, 1977], ll. 18-19). Numbers stands for verse: the numbers of metrical feet. Prynne’s smoke rises with all the uncertainty proper to metrical verse suggesting the risks (perhaps of fruitless isolation) inherent in the writing of poetry and the tense relationship between poetry and public discourse; Wordsworth’s uncertain notice hints at a break between sign or poem and its ideal – here the man who is always at home, even within this perhaps Platonic cave, watching shadows on the cave wall. Above I said that we are ‘immediately’ drawn to ‘Tintern Abbey’, but Prynne’s allusion to Wordsworth might in fact be shown to be mediated by other, more recent, poetical smokes as we read on in ‘Charm…’. While The White Stones engages on numerous occasions both with Wordsworth (e.g. ‘As now | each to each good-bye I love you so’, the end of ‘From End to End’ [Poems, pp. 62-63] quotes ‘each to each’ from Wordsworth’s ‘My heart leaps up’ and could be read as a [temporary] loving farewell to Wordsworth, as Fire Lizard is to Olson [Poems, pp. 141-47]) and ‘poetical smoke’ (e.g. ‘That this could | really be so & of use is my present politics, | burning like smoke, before the setting of fire’ in ‘First Notes on Daylight’ [Poems, p. 69]), ‘Charm Against Too Many Apples’ seems to be a particular response to ‘Tintern Abbey’. We know where we are. Charms, spells ‘against’ or ‘for’ physical and spiritual ailments and threats, are a genre of Old English poetry (e.g. “Against a Dwarf,” “For A Sudden Stitch”: Elliott Van Kirk Dobbie (ed.), The Anglo-Saxon Minor Poems [New York, N.Y., 1942], pp. 121-123). I say where rather than when because though ‘Charm…’ is as such located in Old English poetic tradition, the charm poems that survive “in manuscripts of the tenth century or later” are “difficult to date” (R.K. Gordon, Anglo-Saxon Poetry [London, 1926], p. 94). These charm Charm (title) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 13 poems “preserve much superstition and folk-lore” but draw on both “Christian and pagan” beliefs (Anglo-Saxon Poetry [1926], p. 94). As such the knowledge they preserve is both pre- and post-Christian missions; they demonstrate the fluidity and inter-penetration of historicized bodies of knowledge – evidence against the simplistic notion that strict, uncrossable lines mark pagan England from Christian England. At first, I understand the word charm as an object: a talisman or amulet. Etymologically, though, it derives from the Latin carmen meaning ‘song, verse, oracular response, incantation’ (OED 1: charm n.). The tension between two bodies of knowledge is encountered here, too, but the object-form originates in the oral-form, since the talisman is imbued with magical properties of protection by a song sung over it. In this way, the object is both a memory of the song, and also something which keeps the song present at hand. We see in this, holding the poem in a book, the conflict between the object form of the printed poem and its realization in oral (mental-oral) performance. Since it is possible to have too many apples, there is a right amount of apples to have. ‘An apple a day keeps the doctor away’ suggests itself, but I cannot work out how, in my daily life, I could have too many apples. This cannot be synecdoche, where apples stand for general woodland, so that too many apples is a figure for over-consumption, eating up too much of the earth’s fruits, thus warning against the domination of nature: too many apples is too open, and could as easily be a warning against over-production or the cultivation of nature that leads to bourgeois fetishization (conversion to garden). “[T]he road is lined with apple trees” (l. 4) describes a state of affairs on to which we reflect the design we ascribe to poetic construction, for these are apple trees lining a road in a line of poetry: the apple trees are a self-conscious aesthetic product. A road is, in the twentieth century, a path or way which has been purposefully constructed or developed for ease of travel (usually car travel); what describes the road we will instinctively put down to the intention of whoever built the road. Compare Wordsworth’s “hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines | Of sportive wood run wild,” which have been obviously roughened (Wordsworth, “Tintern Abbey” ll. 16-17). Any knowable specificity appears to be contained, then, in the apples. Too Many Apples (title) GLOSSATOR 2 14 But what are the apples? The title’s protection against, and, as such, injunction against, too many apples switches into what is both matter-of- fact declaration and prayer that the amount that is too many is unlikely to occur: “No one can eat so | many apples, or remember so much ice.” (ll. 30-31.) Eating so many apples is linked to remembering so much ice by the parallel structure of the semantic unit; what the “ice” is “was our prime matter” (l. 7), which is something we can ‘remember’, even if we cannot remember all of it. According to contemporary cultural Christianity in the west, apples are linked to knowledge, since the unnamed fruit in the Garden of Eden, which has the power to make you wise, is often represented as an apple: ‘And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat. And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew they were naked.’ (Genesis 3:6-7, Authorized King James Version.) But this is the affliction of self-knowledge and has no ties to memory: the wisdom the tree of knowledge provides is not recollective, but transformational. In “The Glacial Question, Unsolved” (Poems, pp. 65-66), Prynne considers “the matter of ice,” the origin of our current “maritime climate” in the glacial Pleistocene Epoch, an Epoch of which “‘it is questionable whether there has yet been | sufficient change […] to justify a claim that | the Pleistocene Epoch itself | has come to an end’” (this is a quotation from one of the references Prynne provides alongside this poem, R.G. West and J.J. Donner, “The Glaciations of East Anglia and the East Midlands: a differentiation based on stone-orientation measurements of the tills,” Quart. Journ. Geol. Soc., CXII [1956], 69-87). That is to say, we may still be living in a glacial age. In “Frost and Snow, Falling” (Poems, pp. 70-71) Prynne writes “of man in the ice block | and its great cracking roar.” In “Star Damage at Home” (Poems, p. 108-09) Prynne writes “the day itself | unlocks the white stone”; this “white stone” seems to be “the ice block” which, by thaw, releases man. This freedom from the ice block draws on a mythological framework usually referred to as Norse, the same pre-Christian framework which the Old English charm poems draw on. These myths are described in The Prose Edda of Snorri Sturluson: High One said: ‘When those rivers which are called Élivágar came so far from their source that the yeasty Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 15 venom accompanying them hardened like slag, it turned into ice.’ […] ‘That part of Ginnungagap which turned northwards became full of the ice and the hoar frost’s weight and heaviness, and within there was drizzling rain and gusts of wind. But the southern part of Ginnungagap became light by meeting the sparks and glowing embers which flew out of the world of Muspell.’ Then Third said: ‘Just as cold and all harsh things emanated from Niflheim, so everything in the neighbourhood of Muspell was warm and bright. Ginnungagap was as mild as windless air, and where the soft air of the heat met the frost so that it thawed and dripped, then, by the might of that which sent the heat, life appeared in the drops of running fluid and grew into the likeness of a man.’ […] ‘He and all his family were evil; we call them frost ogres. […] We call that old frost ogre Ymir.’ […] ‘As soon as the frost thawed, it became a cow called Auðhumla, and four rivers of milk ran from her teats, and she fed Ymir. […] She licked the ice-blocks which were salty, and by the evening of the first day of the block-licking appeared a man’s hair, on the second day a man’s head, and on the third day the whole man was there. He was called Buri. He was handsome and tall and strong.’ (Snorri Sturluson, The Prose Edda, trans. by Jean I. Young [Berkeley and L.A., C.A., 1966], pp. 33-34.) Man (in this case, Buri, who is the ancestor of the Norse gods) is both born from the ice while it thaws and also revealed in it; that is to say, both “the ice was our prime matter” and man was, in the beginning, “in the ice block,” but the thaw is not complete. This creation myth is not entirely dissimilar from the Greek creation myth recorded in Hesiod’s Theogony, which Charles Olson draws on at the opening of Maximus Poems: IV, V, VI (London, 1968 [unpaginated]); Olson cites the Norse creation in this volume (in book VI) in a poem called ‘Gylfaginning VI’: a cow Audumla, which had come into being to provide food for Ymir, licked a man [ not a iotunn ] out of ice whose name was GLOSSATOR 2 16 Buri, whose son (or maybe it was Burr himself) Burr (or Borr) is the father of Odin George F. Butterick suggests this poem was written in 1963, “when other Norse material” was being used by Olson (George F. Butterick, A Guide To The ‘Maximus Poems’ of Charles Olson [Los Angeles, C.A., 1978], p. 447). Prynne, in The White Stones, drew on a mythological framework which provides a localized alternative to the Greek myths embraced by the American Black Mountain poets, but there are loops in this parallel course which connect it back to Olson. To ‘remember’ amounts of ‘ice’ (l. 31) refers to how much can be remembered back to the first appearance of man from out of the ice, since the ice has been in a process of gradual thaw. The Pleistocene Epoch may not be over and we that are young may be able to remember ice – some of which may have melted and disappeared during our lifetime. We cannot remember ‘so much’ though. To remember so much ice in this Norse context means to be ancient, even immortal. This is paralleled with eating so many apples, for in Norse mythology the gods were immortal because they ate particular apples, which were guarded by the goddess Iðun: “She keeps in her box the apples the gods have to eat, when they grow old, to become young again, and so it will continue up to Ragnarök” (Sturluson, The Prose Edda, p. 54). The apples we can eat too many of are apples which would keep us alive and young forever. The title, then, might be glossed as ‘Poem/Spell Against Immortality’ — but this straightforward meaning would involve erasing the bodies of knowledge and belief which actually define this meaning. It would be to gloss belief without reference to belief. Furthermore, it would ignore the backward looking philological tracks by which we reject the mistaken Christian reading of apples as fruit from the tree of knowledge, reject reading charm as amulet and reject the Christian overlaying of Old English traditions as evidenced in the charm poems. The sentiment is of restraint and renunciation. What is being renounced might in fact be labeled stillness: those who do nothing, who ignore or fail to recognize the demand of there is Still there is much to be done, (line 1) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 17 much, as witnessed here. Still either indicates the continuation of a previous condition (OED 5: still, adv., 4) – a condition of either the possibility or the need for action – or it is a response to an earlier statement, affirming, in spite of what has been said or conceded, the continuation of a previous condition (OED 5: still, adv., 6.b). In the former sense, what is refused is the dual proposition that what was previously the case is no longer the case because what needed to be done or could be done was done. That is to say, both the ideas that what has gone before is over and that nothing needs to be done, or can be done, are refuted. There is much to be done restrains the emphatically moralizing senses of things that ‘need’ or ‘must’ be done by not disclosing (and therefore restricting) any possible action. However, in the context of ‘we can’t | continue with things like this, we can’t simply | go on’ (ll. 11-13), ‘need’ and ‘must’ are how we understand this there is much to be done. Reading this line as a response, we speculatively configure what is responded to. Still is not the same word as ‘yet’ or ‘nevertheless’. It may also be an imperative to calm down. To say there is much to be done is not to argue, but to speak matter-of-factly. As such I can read this line as a response to an impassioned imaginative discourse, which has quickly moved into abstraction – a discourse that has dominated and forgotten the state of things, since all that this speaker can think needs to be done is then imagined done. Still there is much to be done returns an abstract utopianism to the dialectic between the utopian imagination and the world. This dialectic is fixed on the temporal contradiction of the word still, which expresses tranquility (continuation) and, here, actual and possible change (continuation) simultaneously: truly there is a way things are and truly there is a way that they could be. Still reflects on a relationship between past and present; there is much describes a present state; to be done looks to the future and to the future’s past, glancing back at the moment of doing between the now undone and the future done. The proposition that something must be done is reliant on an understanding of time (whether relatively or universally) as a continuous process: I must do something because it needs to have been done, achieved. This is not to use the language of permanence, that once something has been done it will always be there, but of irreversibility. This temporal structure of continuance and irreversibility fits to both a materialist (that I do something and it matters and we go on and things change) and a messianic GLOSSATOR 2 18 understanding of time (that we irreversibly move forward toward an apocalyptic endpoint). What is shut out is a temporal structure of continuous re-beginnings, where all actions are mere repetition of what has been and what will be again because time is non-linear (with no basis in human finitude) and so nothing must be done because nothing can be achieved without the consciousness that at some point it will have never been, matched by the consciousness that it already has been, which is a consciousness of impotence. As Prynne expresses, after an assertion of continuation, a restrained desire for change, we hear Olson’s “What does not change / is the will to change” (Charles Olson, “The Kingfishers” in Selected Poems [L.A., C.A., 1997], pp. 5-12). The thought that change is merely a surface phenomenon, that the world remains the same beneath the mystifications of temporal process, is already flatly refused by still. Still contradicts Wordsworth’s “again […] Once again […] again […] Once again” (“Tintern Abbey”, ll. 2, 4, 9, 15) which defines a relationship with the past as possible total return. “Five years have passed” (l. 1), but this long period is discovered to be in certain ways nothing: though Wordsworth returns matured, the scene is fundamentally unchanged, and in his maturation, though he has lost and also been freed from the “dizzy raptures” (l. 86) he experienced in his youth, he has gained “a sense sublime | Of something far more deeply interfused” (ll. 96- 97). What the return, and thus time, reveals for Wordsworth is not change but the superficiality of change. Compare Prynne’s treatment of the word ‘again’ later in The White Stones: Again is the sacred word, the profane sequence suddenly graced, by coming back. More & more as we go deeper I realize this aspect of hope, in the sense of the future cashed in, the letter returned to sender. How can I straighten the sure fact that we do not do it, as we regret, trust, look forward to, etc? Since each time what we have is increasingly the recall, not the subject to which we come. […] I know I will go back down & that it will not be the same though Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 19 I shall be sure it is so. And I shall be even deeper by rhyme and cadence, more held to what isn’t mine. […] [W]e trifle with rhyme and again is the sound of immortality. (“Thoughts on the Esterházy Court Uniform” in Poems, pp. 99-100.) In a recent commentary, Prynne has in fact commented on Wordsworth’s “again” in “Tintern Abbey”: “The present visit is made ‘again’ after this double interval, part-clement and part- forbidding, and ‘again’ is a marker word which is itself repeated, so that these linked doublings establish a rhythm not dissimilar to the rhetorical patterns of the renaissance handbooks, or the looping journeys of a tour of visitations” (J.H. Prynne, “Tintern Abbey, Once Again” in Glossator, Vol. 1 [Fall 2009], 81-87 [81]). Depth is compulsive in “Tintern Abbey” (more deep, deep power, deeply interfused etc), so to read back the “Again” through “More & more as we go deeper” as a directed comment is not far-fetched. But even without these link chains, the above presents the experience of return as in itself an intimation of immortality, an immortality it knows to be only a sound, “increasingly the recall, not | the subject.” In the very experience of repetition and especially in its expression, change appears to be premised on what does not change, the immortal. In this way, “the profane sequence” is “suddenly graced” by the return. But the “sound of immortality” is a lie; it is “what isn’t mine,” since the act of return, of “coming back” is premised on change, on having left being beyond my control, beyond correction or recall. Still expresses the opposite of this “Again”; it holds up the mutual dominations of movement and repetition. As a response, it returns us from abstract thought to the way things have been and are. Time still moves on, we cannot go back, and this movement from abstraction into dialectical experience is the return still informs us of, a return conditioned by the recognition of change. Edward Dorn’s use of still in his 1961 collection The Newly Fallen (which Prynne would have read, having corresponded with Dorn since before the publication of The Newly Fallen) contains both imaginative desires and the tones of the matter of fact: still they whisper in the wind we need you GLOSSATOR 2 20 still they whisper of green elegant glass there and of emerald plains and say who will they let in first. Still the lethal metric bubbles of science burst there every day and those sophisticated workers go home to talk politely of pure science, they breathe, go about in their cars and pay rent until they advance by degrees to ownership it is like a gigantic Parker game of careers. No complaint. Still we see the marvelous vapor trails across the face of the moon. (Edward Dorn, “The Biggest Killing” in The Newly Fallen [New York, N.Y., 1961], pp. 15-18.) Imagination verges on metaphysics, and is able to survive on a rubbish tip of broken bottles. Restraint culminates in “No complaint”, which suppresses all other speculative reactions and holds them within spoken dissatisfaction, itself shut down. What is spoken is endurance. There is much to be done carries this out by restraining the usual attempt to know or show that which is to be done. There is much to be done does not oppose the later turn in the poem, “nothing remains | to be done” (ll. 37-38), as it seems to. It too says nothing, though it also may posit everything. Compare Martin Heidegger on anxiety, which he argues is always revealed as an anxiety about nothing, by which he means “the world itself”: “What oppresses us […] is the world itself. When anxiety has subsided, then in our everyday way of talking we are accustomed to say that ‘it was really nothing’. And what it was, indeed, does get reached ontically by such a way of talking.” (Martin Heidegger, Being and Time trans. by John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson [Oxford, 2008; this translation first published in 1962], p. 231.) Whilst Dorn pronounces endurance, endurance is demanded by Prynne. We no doubt strive to know what is to be done, but such a reaching after enlightenment here carries the prospect of imagined attainment, from which we are called back. We have to accept not knowing what must be done in the same moment that a something to do is pressed upon us. Compare Prynne’s analysis of Wyatt’s “They fle from me / that sometyme did me seke”: “the identity of they is out of reach for the Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 21 reader, and in this case the obscurity is perhaps a trial or test of the reader’s own constancy, to endure the pain of unknowing.” (J.H. Prynne, They That Haue Powre to Hurt; A Specimen of a Commentary on Shake-speares Sonnets, 94 [Cambridge, 2001], p. 3.) This imagined attainment would, for Prynne, involve a moral abstraction, producing a contemptible counter-earth variety to the mind. Keston Sutherland has suggested that for the philologist “who takes etymology as a means of recovering the senses of words that we need, the etymological history of ‘ought’ is evidence of progressive dispossession. To recognise this insight buried in etymology is, for Prynne, to recognise the falsity of any vigilant preoccupation with ‘ought’ as a moral abstraction” (Keston Sutherland, “J.H. Prynne and Philology” [unpublished PhD thesis, Cambridge, 2004], p. 174). Restraining any particularity in there is, Prynne restrains the desire for moral abstraction, refusing to give in to it. Compare Wordsworth’s abstract fatalism: ‘Yet ‘tis not to enjoy that we exist, | For that end only; something must be done […] Each Being has his office’ (‘Home at Grasmere’ in Wordsworth, The Poems Vol. I ll. 664-69). The word city derives from the Latin civis, the citizen; the condition of being a civis, citizen-ship, and, later, a com-munity of these citizens, was called civitas; this then became a name for the urbs, as we use it (OED, city). This distinguishes it from Olson’s polis, since the Greek word for a city-dweller, πολίτης is derived from the word for city, πόλις. Sutherland has argued that Prynne’s city throughout Kitchen Poems (1968) and The White Stones is an inalienable “‘whole’ in which we live,” thought through Thomas Aquinas’ conception of the city (“J.H. Prynne and Philology,” p. 166). However, as Sutherland recognizes, this is a broad scheme, and throughout The White Stones we encounter Prynne questioning from poem to poem that which at one point seems irrefutable. The city, in the context of the reserved and as such austere there is much to be done, ringing out a utopian longing now seriously grounded, sounds equally like an urban center and like heaven. It is both practical and ideal. While Prynne heads into the city, Wordsworth could not wait to be out, “A lover [...] of all that we behold | From this green earth” on the way into the city, and the sky as yet (lines 1-2) GLOSSATOR 2 22 (“Tintern Abbey,” l. 104-06): the “forms of beauty” of the Wye valley had been a source of “tranquil restoration” for Wordsworth when “in lonely rooms, and mid the din | Of towns and cities” (see ll. 23-31). Compare the start of book seven of The Prelude (1805) in relation to “Tintern Abbey,” which opens with the identical “Five years”: Wordsworth sings as he pours out from London (William Wordsworth, The Prelude: 1799, 1805, 1850 ed. by Jonathan Wordsworth et al. [New York, N.Y., 1979], Book VII, ll. 1-9). To get to the city we take all our time and the suspense continues: who are we? This question returns more pressingly after all our time. I may take my time to do something and something may take up all my time; the former is relative, the latter with reference to my day-to-day understanding of my life. If something takes up all my time, my time that is taken here refers to time in which I would do different things, and, as such, means other possibilities which I can personally imagine. Something taking up all our time could be understood in this way as inflected through an I or according to a shared desire to be doing something else. But here there is no I-conscious, wanting to be away – we are taking our time in pursuit of the longed for – nor is our time being taken up by something: we are taking it. All our time must then be a tolling up of all of our time, all the time of the group. Time is personal yet plural in terms of the work of much to be done we may read the way into the city as: two people working for a day is more time than one person working for a day. Our time must be a united effort of several individuated my times: there is no reason for these my times to be contemporaneous; and all, momentarily separated from first- person relativity by the line-break, hints at the ‘eternal’ vision with which the poem ends (l. 39). If all our time might be the eternal, the we might not be only those with whom I interact daily (as they would be for Olson) but could be humankind. The response, in the following sentence, to this sounding “too obviously prolonged” is after all “the ice was our prime matter,” where the “our,” premised on a creation myth, refers by potential to humankind, and only by hint to a small community within the kind. One does take one’s way, though, and it is on the way into the city where we take all our time. To take one’s way we take all our time (lines 3-4) way (line 2) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 23 is to journey or set out on a journey. We take all our time echoes we take our way: I want to correct all our time and it is revealed as part-proxy for our way. The Christian structure of the Fall haunts this echo, in the final two lines of John Milton’s Paradise Lost, “They hand in hand with wandering steps and slow, | Through Eden took their solitary way.” (John Milton, Paradise Lost ed. by Alastair Fowler [1998, Harlow; second edition], Book XII, ll. 648-49.) This “solitary way” is in some senses an “illimitable walk” (Wordsworth The Prelude [1805], Book VII, l. 159) but, of course, it is only “illimitable” until the Second Coming, Judgment Day; by this I mean it is a “way” that could be understood as all our time. The meaning of the English word way has been influenced by the Latin via, meaning road (OED 4: way, n.1). It derives from the Old English weg, meaning to move, journey, carry (perhaps carrying a burden in Milton). On the way into the city implies a marked road, and in fact way seems to be synonymous with road (l. 4). But in its relation to all our time, way becomes a distinct act of journeying: a journey can be measured by time, while a road is measured by distance. We are on our way and also on a road. The way here may then, also, be a variety of “illimitable walk,” if it is all our time. Alastair Fowler notes that Milton draws on Psalms, 107:4, “They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way; they found no city to dwell in.” Milton’s Adam and Eve leave Eden, which might be read with the Psalms in mind as a city left or a city never to be reached again by them. But the way in Prynne, even if it is not a direct road as it first appears, leads into the city. If the solitary way in Milton is what is taken from Paradise, is the way into the city perhaps to Paradise, i.e. is the city death, which it takes all our time to reach, for all our time is our very lifespan? A federate agency sounds like a government de- partment in the US, and though it is not this we cannot help overhearing a real institution. To be federate is to be joined in league, but the term has a particular reference as a translation of the French term fédéré, meaning “[a] member of one of the armed associations formed during the first French Revolution, or during the Hundred Days in 1815, or a member of the Commune in I wish instead that the whole federate agency would turn out into and across the land. (lines 31-34) GLOSSATOR 2 24 1871” (OED 1: federate, a. and n., B.2). The whole federate agency is either an embodied community of these revolutionary figures, or an institutionalized league. If the city is a community of citizens, with a view to an ideal community, the whole federate agency grounds the concept of a city in the poem within a community. Accordingly, the answer to my last question must be ‘no’. It could be ‘yes’ as well, but the city is not only death or the afterlife. Though the way may not be a road, there is a road and so a physical city or living community as the goal of the way remains a potent concept. Compare the young Gyorgy Lukács: “No light radiates any longer from within into the world of events, into its vast complexity to which the soul is a stranger. And who can tell whether the fitness of the action to the essential nature of the subject – the only guide that still remains – really touches upon the essence, when the subject has become a phenomenon, an object unto itself; when his innermost and most particular essential nature appears to him only as a never-ceasing demand written upon the imaginary sky of that which ‘should be.’” (Gyorgy Lukács, The Theory of the Novel trans. by Anna Bostock [London, 1971; first published in German in 1920], pp. 36-37.) To write over the sky is the dramatic act of the homeless consciousness, inventing a utopian world through the denial of life as it is and continually rewriting the word of this utopia’s law by graffiti: this is how Lukács’ objectified subject finds itself wanting to be, and so it cannot judge its actions in the world it really lives in. That the sky has only been partly written over may suggest gratitude or small pleasure that no more has been written over: writing out all of the real world (for there is a real sky for Prynne) is what Still there is much to be done warns against and draws the speculated abstract utopians back from. But as much as the sky as yet only partly written over may be an abstraction of the soul warned against, it may also be the urban development of a city. Skyscrapers and other tall buildings are referred to as a city’s sky-line; to pun on the sky-line as a form of writing does not seem unlikely, though banal. Compare Wordsworth: “Once again | Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, | Which [...] connect | The landscape with the quiet of the sky” (‘Tintern Abbey’, ll. 4-8). In Wordsworth, how things are, when beheld, impresses thoughts of balance, harmony and tranquility. In and the sky as yet only partly written over; (lines 2-3) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 25 the sky is our eternal city and the whole beautiful & luminous trance (lines 39-40) Prynne, the sky stands, at least for the moment, for the future, which is either abstractly possessed by the solitary or gradually developed into by an urban community. In “Numbers in Time of Trouble,” in Kitchen Poems, Prynne describes four cities , the last of which seems to connect to this eternal city (Poems, pp. 17-18): “we cannot | yet see the other side. But we deserve to, and | if we can see thus far, these are the few | outer lights of the city, burning on the horizon.” This developmental progression from city to city allows us to both move forward and always be at home, in the inalienable, current city, but this is not the case in “Charm Against Too Many Apples.” Two cities are posited, or one city is doubled, in this poem, a real and an ideal, but neither is reached or finished. The sky (as heavenly vault or firmament) is what will always border the earth I live on, no matter how high we build. The city I read as that which I am on the edge of: it is that which can be reached or produced by the physical exertions I know I am capable of and it is simultaneously the limit of my imagination. It is the horizon of the real and the ideal, in dialectical relation: “We are at the edge of all that” (“Bronze Fish” in Poems, p. 57). We are not alienated from the city but nor are we in it. It is what we know we can practically do but also the patient endurance of unlimited idealism. While Adam and Eve are cast out from Paradise, they have some consolation. Eve says to Adam: In me is no delay; with thee to go, Is to stay here; without thee here to stay, Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me Art all things under heaven, all places thou, Who for my willful crime art banished hence. (Paradise Lost, Book XII, ll. 615-19.) Paradise has already been lost to them through the Fall, but they remain the homes of each other. For Milton, Paradise is the ideal home, but after the Fall, “all things” “all places” are contained in other humans, so that we may be at home GLOSSATOR 2 26 with them, “till one greater man | Restore us, and regain the blissful seat” (Book I, ll. 4-5). For Wordsworth in “Tintern Abbey,” by the blessings of Nature we may be led “From joy to joy” (l. 126). By remembering the sights of Nature, “with an eye made quiet by the power | Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, | We see into the life of things” (ll. 48-50). We might discover in what we encounter everyday “a sense sublime,” as it “rolls through all things” (ll. 96, 103), but we may not always be able to, so Wordsworth instructs Dorothy that her memory shall be her home: […] when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory be as a dwelling place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; Oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortation! (ll. 140-47.) The experience I am calling being at home is always available for Wordsworth, but not always achievable, though we may take it with us in memory. For most, it is located in specific places, but “chosen minds […] take it with them hence, where’er they go […] Perfect Contentment, Unity entire” (Wordsworth, “Home at Grasmere,” ll. 140-51). These “chosen minds” are the wanderer figures of many of Wordsworth’s poems, including the hermit of “Tintern Abbey.” These figures have no need for direction, while others may measure themselves by proximity as they move to and from their “Centre” – which for Wordsworth in the 1800s was Grasmere (“Home at Grasmere,” l. 148). In “Charm Against Too Many Apples,” the city is always beyond me, and I must always move according to direction, toward the specific limits of achievement, my own horizon. The city is the edge and future, and though it is ‘where we go’ (l. 5), it is by no means where we get to. Home, the city, for Prynne in this poem, is neither somewhere always available, as it is for Wordsworth, nor, as for Milton, somewhere we possess within us in compensatory form until redemption. These lines draw upon another the smoke spreading across into the upper air. (lines 41-42) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 27 “Tintern Abbey” response, and also on a response to this poem in turn, and the memory is mediated. In the first instance,”The sluggish smoke curls up from some deep dell” and moves “With as uncertain purpose and slow deed, | As its half-wakened master by the hearth,” a changed version of Wordsworth’s smoke which moves “With some uncertain notice,” from a cave (perhaps) and not a hearth. This poem, by Henry David Thoreau, concludes: First in the dusky dawn he sends abroad His early scout, his emissary, smoke, The earliest, latest pilgrim from the roof, To feel the frosty air, inform the day; And while he crouches still beside the hearth, Nor musters courage to unbar the door, It has gone down the glen with the light wind, And o’er the plain unfurled its venturous wreath, Draped the tree tops, loitered upon the hill, And warmed the pinions of the early bird; And now, perchance, high in the crispy air, Has caught sight of the day o’er the earth’s edge, And greets its master’s eye at his low door, As some refulgent cloud in the upper sky. (Henry David Thoreau, “The Sluggish Smoke Curls Up From Some Deep Dell” in Collected Poems ed. by Carl Bode [Baltimore, M.D., 1964], p. 13.) The smoke is, for Thoreau, what is beyond the man, what he could be. Wallace Stevens writes: It makes so little difference, at so much more Than seventy, where one looks, one has been there before. Wood-smoke rises through trees, is caught in an upper flow Of air and whirled away. But it has often been so. (Wallace Stevens, “Long and Sluggish Lines” in The Collected Poems [New York, N.Y., 1990; first published 1954], p. 522.) Stevens alters Thoreau’s “the upper sky” to “an upper flow | Of air,” between which two Prynne finds a middle ground, across into the upper air. Compare Dorn: “the clouds | are drifting up on the breeze | their darkening undersides | the ballast | of a change” (“There was a Change” in The Newly Fallen, p. 30). GLOSSATOR 2 28 The poetical smoke of “Tintern Abbey” is the marker of achieved trans- cendence: “The Hermit of ‘Tintern Abbey’ is an image of transcendence: he sits by his fire, the symbol, probably, for the pure or imageless vision – the ultimate end of the greater and partially unavowed journey Wordsworth makes into the chosen vale and to his ‘hermitage’” (Hartman, The Unmediated Vision, p. 34). The flame in “Charm Against Too Many Apples,” though, is not pure. Rather, it is both otherworldly and worldly simultaneously. At night, when the rest of the world (most obviously the so-called natural) could potentially be invisible in the darkness, I know all too well that I will see the flame clearly. In Thoreau’s “The Sluggish Smoke,” as the man follows the smoke out of his house to begin his day, it moves to the “earth’s edge” into the “upper sky.” It marks the limit of where the man can go, and where he should find the “courage” to follow it (and himself, since it is the emissary of him). In “Charm Against Too Many Apples” the smoke spreads across into the upper air. Why air, rather than sky? Stevens’ “flow | Of air” describes how the smoke disappears in something which it isn’t but something which it can be dispersed in. Smoke would blot out the sky, perhaps, spreading across without spreading into. The sky is the furthest configured surface, the heavens: clouds may be the sky and clouds may also move across it. The air may be that which is between the smoke and the sky, our eternal city. But sky, as we mean it, derives from a word that meant cloud or shadow (OED 1: sky, n.1); above the clouds, there is air, above the air, space. The sky is our eternal city, that which is unquestionably the horizon of our imagination and capacity, is true in the sense of furthest configured Flame is only just invisible in sunlight (lines 7-8) the sky is our eternal city and the whole beautiful & luminous trance of it is the smoke spreading across into the upper air. (lines 39-42) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 29 surface or heaven (cf. ‘the sky’s the limit’, sky, n.1 3.d); in the sense of cloud, the sky is right now our eternal city: we are not beyond them yet. Compare Thoreau, “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them”; “The purity men love is like the mists which envelop the earth, and not like the azure ether beyond”; and “Shall we with pains erect a heaven of blue glass over ourselves, though when it is done we shall be sure to gaze at the true ethereal heaven far above, as if the former were not?” (Henry David Thoreau, Walden: or, Life in the Woods [New York, N.Y., 1991], pp. 260-62.) The smoke is a trance of our eternal city. I read the trance as an intermediate state between sleeping and waking: it is part life and part dream, a dialectic of practical reality and the imagination as I conceive of our eternal city. The smoke is as such a metaphor for thought; the flame which produces it looks like some sort of divine soul. But it is also an intimation, a shadowing forth of what we must relinquish as beyond this dialectic: our eternal city is not only what is on our own horizon, but also the utopian vision we are instructed to restrain. The smoke is a shadow of the sky, which is itself a shadow of the heavens. Compare Stevens, in “Long and Sluggish Lines,” who uses a trance- like state in what seems to be a description of utopian longing, and what seems to be directed at Wordsworth: “… Wanderer, this is the pre-history of February. | The life of the poem in the mind has not yet begun. | You were not born yet when the trees were crystal | Nor are you now, in this wakefulness inside a sleep.” Compare Hartman: “We glimpse a universal paradox inherent in the human and poetic imagination: it cannot be, at the same time, true to nature and true to itself. If it is true to the external world, it must suspend all will toward relational knowledge; if it is true to itself, it must alter the external world by an action of the creative or moral will. The first leads to imbecility or mysticism, the second to artifice or sophistry; both spell the end of art” (The Unmediated Vision, p. 8). GLOSSATOR 2 30 I am quick enough to gloss fruit as apples, to cross temporal and spatial boundaries and misplace and read the Old English genre as a mistranslated moral from another myth fount: Atlanta, picking up the golden apples dropped by Hippomenes, thus losing the race against him, bound to marry him. Do the italicized fallen apples mirror her new fallen state: not in the Christian sense, but in the sense of losing her freedom to be a huntress, now part of a social norm? Compare Heidegger: “‘Fallenness’ into the ‘world’ means an absorption in Being-with-one-another […] a quite distinctive kind of Being-in-the- world – the kind which is completely fascinated by the ‘world’ and by the Dasein-with of Others in the ‘they’” (Being and Time, p. 220). There is no reason to read so specifically here. These fallen are fruit, they are not apples. The apples demand specific tests of interpretation, while fruit refuses these tests as it refuses apples. Peter Middleton is right to read this poem as skeptical (skeptical, Middleton argues, of “[t]he will to knowledge of modern science and industrialisation”), but he is wrong to read it as determined skepticism, moving knowingly from much to be done to nothing (Peter Middleton, “Thoughts on ‘Charm Against Too Many Apples’” Quid 17: For J.H. Prynne [24th June 2006], 8-10). The phrase “form of knowledge” (l. 36) for instance may well be in total earnest. It is a phrase that recurs through Prynne’s writing, most recently in Prynne’s Morag Morris Poetry Lecture at the University of Surrey on Edmund Blunden, given on October 8th 2009. The phrase appears slightly altered, with the gerund “knowing” replacing “knowledge”, in “English Poetry and Emphatical Language”: “[T]he paradox of making and unmaking discloses a bitter, dignified amazement, one that prompts a sudden, deep contradiction of feeling which is itself a form of knowing, as it was for Gloucester whose sight had been so cruelly unmade that he could see only feelingly.” (J.H. Prynne, “English Poetry and Emphatical Language,” Proceedings of the British Academy 74 [1988], 135-69 [150-51].) This “form of knowledge” seems to involve, follow from or even be the destruction of certain We even pick up the fallen fruit on the road frightened by the layout of so much fallen, the chances we know strewn on the warm gravel. (lines 17-21) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 31 hierarchies or institutions, perhaps in a proxy flood of “circling motion” [l. 35], achieved by human action. That “we | would rest in it” is not to be immediately equated with a comedy of negative judgment. Rest correlates to the emphatic still of the first line. It is not the language of indolence, but of patience. Patience requires of longing a willingness to rest when nothing remains to be done then and there, and to rest may also mean “To remain, be left, still undestroyed” (OED 7: rest, v.2); what rests may also remain to be done (cf. “But fallen he is, and now | What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass | On his transgression, death denounced that day,” Paradise Lost, Book X, ll. 47-49). An analysis of the fruit would be carried out from mere curiosity. The line break and space between road and frightened is a temporal break with an interpretive shift marked by the now emphatic fallen, turned to a distinct vagueness of reference, while curiosity is turned to fear. The fruit ceases to be an interest in itself; the fallen have become a structure defined by relation to a former condition, a structure, the particularities of which are indifferent, but which by its presence frightens us. Chances we know are strewn on the gravel: does this provoke fear, that the layout reveals itself as without intention, or, is it that, though scattered, a layout has been produced, an omen that frightens us? The tongue sings that we are either afraid of being without that thing meaning or afraid of determinism. The reasoning each fear construes amounts to the knowledge that I will die. It is the inconstancy of the conditions for human life and of my human body that the sentence which follows witnesses, “Knowing that warmth is not a permanence” (“Charm...” ll. 21-22)." But vagueness can be specific (see Keston Sutherland, “Vagueness, Poetry” Quid 7c [2001], 11-18), and it is here specific by reference. However, it might be worthwhile specifying our terminology here, and switch from vagueness to ambiguity. The poem which Prynne draws on in these lines is one of the most remarkable poems of the 1960s: If It Should Ever Come And we are all there together time will wave as willows do and adios will be truly, yes, GLOSSATOR 2 32 laughing at what is forgotten and talking of what’s new admiring the roses you brought. How sad. You didn’t know you were at the end thought it was your bright pear the earth, yes another affair to have been kept and gazed back on when you had slept to have been stored as a squirrel will a nut, and half forgotten, there were so many, many from the newly fallen. (Edward Dorn, “If it should ever come” in The Newly Fallen, p. 31.) Prynne has much for ‘many’ and his fallen are not ‘newly’ so. Saying their farewells to time with good manners, the speakers who have greeted this ‘it’ recognize either the messiah or death. Quickly enough we interpret the ‘fallen’, but they are nuts, and the year moves on and time is not over. Messianics and utopianism are the central discourse of The Newly Fallen in the thinking patterns and speech rhythms of a community at the economic margins of America. I would like to compare this poem and the Prynne passage to a text Dorn might not have read at this point, but which Prynne probably had read: Everyone is acquainted with what is up for discussion and what occurs, and everyone discusses it; but everyone also knows already how to talk about what has to happen first – about what is not yet up for discussion but ‘really’ must be done. […] But when Dasein goes in for something in the reticence of carrying it through or even of genuinely breaking down on it, its time is a different time and, as seen by the public, an essentially slower time than that of idle talk, which ‘lives at a faster rate’. Idle talk will thus long since have gone on to something else which is currently the very newest thing. […] In the ambiguity of the way things have been publicly interpreted, talking Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 33 about things ahead of the game and making surmises about them curiously, gets passed off as what is really happening, while taking action and carrying something through get stamped as something merely subsequent and unimportant. (Heidegger, Being and Time, pp. 217-18.) This passage of Heidegger is entitled “Ambiguity.” It is this speaking of ‘the very newest thing’ that Dorn diagnoses with such pathos, mournfully ventriloquising the equivocating language and side-stepping engineering which is requisite in a discussion of the newest, both conceivable and inconceivable, thing: termed variously utopia, the end of time, the Second Coming. Prynne’s fallen fruit touches on this same ambiguity: a curiosity which we allow to write over what “must be done,” but which is not yet up for discussion as not genuinely in view. To discuss what is “really happening” one must refuse to surmise about what is beyond the edge. Here, too, Prynne is restrained, with all the force of decision. The same voices are acknowledged by Prynne as by Dorn, but Prynne refuses pathos. He struggles against these voices and determinedly presents their reliance on what they reject as “subsequent and unimportant” being done by others; for their (our) response to the inconstancy of the conditions for human life runs “ah we count | on what is still to be done and the keen | little joys of leaves & fruit still hanging up | on their trees” (“Charm...” ll. 22-25). Prynne knows from Dorn why some of these voices are as they are, but he decides here that he must put aside this knowledge. These may even be the same excited voices to whom he responds Still there is much to be done. But Prynne has decided that he must be a particular sort of poet – a poet unlike the one Dorn was in the 1960s: one who must restrain pathos and the urge to take up the voices of the disenfranchised. Otherwise, his spoken tones would be those which he cannot claim to be his own and they would lean toward exaggeration, as imagination attempted to close the relational gap. We can compare this with what Prynne knew Wordsworth would have known about the inhabitants of Tintern Abbey and the cause of the smoke he saw rising from the trees: It is a curious fact that nowhere in the poem does Wordsworth mention Tintern Abbey itself, though we know that he must have admired it, for they returned from Chepstow to spend a second night there. Gilpin describes GLOSSATOR 2 34 its condition; the grass in the ruins was kept mown, but it was the dwelling-place of beggars and the wretchedly poor. The river was then full of shipping, carrying coal and timber from the Forest of Dead. (Mary Moorman, William Wordsworth: The Early Years, 1770-1803 [Oxford, 1968; first published 1957], pp. 402-403.) Many of the furnaces, on the banks of the river, consume charcoal, which is manufactured on the spot; and the smoke, which is frequently seen issuing from the sides of the hills; and spreading its thin veil over a part of them, beautifully breaks their lines, and unites them with the sky. (William Gilpin, Tour of the Wye [1771], cited by Moorman, The Early Years, p. 402 n. Moorman notes that the Wordsworths took this book with them on the walking tour during which Wordsworth wrote “Tintern Abbey.”) Wordsworth did not write about abject poverty and rapid industrialization in “Tintern Abbey” not because he considered them unimportant, nor because he valued the aesthetic over human suffering, but because he made a decision that this was not his ethical role in this poem. (Cf. Prynne on Wordsworth’s “The Solitary Reaper” in Field Notes: ‘The Solitary Reaper’ and Others [Cambridge, 2007], pp. 25-26.) Prynne relinquishes all claims to relational knowledge concerning the flame and smoke: we are in the forest, sure, but in such obscure geography we do not speculate if the flame belongs to one of us, to those others that we know of, or to vague figures produced by our politics and philosophy. The sort of poet that Prynne decided to be was one who must endure the refusal of pathos and the cost of isolation this entails, in order to patiently reveal, and return to, in and as a practice, that which is dialectical. (Dorn would encounter isolation, too, but for him this was the risk that had to be endured for the sake of pathos, at least for a while.) The argumentative pressure, which this frame supports in “Charm Against Too Many Apples,” perhaps premising on time what Olson premised on geography, amounts to a demand to go further and do so by the mutual dominations of practice and thought, careful to refuse the desire which is not real desire to predict ourselves. For “What we bring off is | ours by a slip of excitement” (ll. 38-39). But Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 35 what is the difference between predicting ourselves by speculation beyond the edge and compulsive repetition and inconsequence? If we insist on predicting where we go, then if we do go there, we only return to our own abstraction unless we relinquish our initial prediction. As such, we would refuse the knowledge that doing is, and refuse ourselves the fact that things do change, valuing instead only abstraction under the name of insight and the immutability of this type of thought that displaces the real life we live and die in. Compare Thoreau: “A man can hardly be said to be there, if he knows that he is there, or to go there if he knows where he is going. The man who is bent upon his work is frequently in the best attitude to observe what is irrelevant to his work.” (Henry David Thoreau, Autumn: From the Journal of Henry David Thoreau Vol. VII [Boston, M.A., 1892], p. 293.) “I find it to be the height of wisdom not to endeavor to oversee myself, and live a life of prudence and common- sense, but to see over and above myself, entertain sublime conjectures, to make myself the thoroughfare of thrilling thoughts, live all that can be lived” (Thoreau, Autumn, p. 317). CONCLUSION: A PERSONAL NOTE ON PROSODY The falling rhy-thm of How can anyone breaks at the point of both its con- tinuance and its match in the fulfillment of the despondent tone: hope would be the next beat in this rhythm, to be followed by one or two offbeats, and is the rejected object of the melancholy question ‘How can anyone hope?’ But neither does the rhythm continue nor do I complete the question. Instead, there is a comma and I pause at the word hope. I first thought about these lines in December 2008, and they stuck with me then and stick with me now. When I go for walks around where I live, I often find myself saying them aloud; phrases from this sentence come into my head during conversation and I sometimes recall the whole sentence when I am sad. In December 2008, I read that comma after hope as the mark of hesitation inherent in hope itself. If I can hope my life will get better, then I may stop myself taking drastic measures to immediately change how it is. I was living in America at the time, Obama had just been elected, and since early November the language How can anyone hope, to accomplish what he wants so much not finally to part with. (lines 15-17) GLOSSATOR 2 36 of hope seemed to me contentless among many of the middle- and upper-class New Englanders I had been bumping into. (Their lives, after all, were going to remain comfortable in the same way, and, from their views, a little more morally grounded, as they were happy with their new president.) After the despondent tone and rhythm, and the break from this rhythm and also from sense at the comma (as the expected question mark is not there; nor is the direction-focusing ‘hope for this particular thing’) I find myself separating the sense from the rhythm. To accomplish what he wants so much not finally to part with I read in December 2008 as a comment on the joy which hope itself brings, as surrogate for the good thing desired: when I have achieved what I hoped for, I will be forced to relinquish all the joy (and reason to go on) that that hope has given me. To hope for something, it seemed to me, would provide me with every reason not to try and achieve it. The rhythm of to accomplish what he wants so much not finally to part with I read as a return to a rising rhythm. I elided to a- into a single syllable and stressed the -ly of finally. It then reads as six iambs with an extra syllable at the end, returning me to the sentence structure. This rhythm was to me then the enactment of going on, the forward rhythm that refused hope, . It broke through the pentameter, broke through a line break, leaving only with to return us to the sentence which this rhythm had, for me, overrun. Now, a year later, in December 2009, I do not read these lines in the same way. How can anyone hope, to accomplish what he wants so much not finally to part with I think implores us to continue to hope whilst recognizing that, when we do, we are not only bound to part with this hope once it is realized, but are also bound to, eventually, part with our accomplishments, with all our life as it is and as we want it. Things will change. I will die. I hear the same imploring tone in “Try doing it now," the final line of Prynne’s 2006 sequence To Pollen. When I read to a- I find that I am able to hear simultaneously these sounds as both distinct syllables and as elided also into one syllable. The poem allows me the passion of meter here without it having precluded the passion of the sense. But I confront a decision in the word finally. To pronounce and hear the meter here, I have to reject the sense: the last syllable of finally is not stressed when I use it general conversation or when I begin a paragraph in an essay with it. I have a choice to make: whether to leave the sense behind, abstract the rhythm from it (Coleridge might say distill) and acknowledge it only as a starting point, whilst I derive pleasure from the passion of meter; or to not do this. I can aestheticize the line as I repeat it to myself, and enjoy a Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 37 moment of lyric flight. It is ridiculous to put this in terms of a choice, though; after all, can I really have much to gain or lose? However, if I refuse the passion of meter, and pay attention to the words I repeat to myself, I cannot exactly say ‘I think about death’ because I do not come to terms with it, but I do think about finality. In December 2009, I think about how even more ridiculous than taking these lines seriously it is to think unquestionably about eternal continuation. Perhaps what I mean is, when I think about these lines, what is more ridiculous than taking them seriously is not taking them seriously. GLOSSATOR 2 38
work_mpec5lsmbfhwjgnu2mjv2kypfq ---- Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ doi:10.5194/angeo-32-485-2014 © Author(s) 2014. CC Attribution 3.0 License. Annales Geophysicae O pen A ccess Faith in a seed: on the origins of equatorial plasma bubbles J. M. Retterer1 and P. Roddy2 1Institute for Scientific Research, Boston College, 140 Commonwealth Avenue, Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts, 02467, USA 2Space Vehicles Directorate, Air Force Research Laboratory, Kirtland AFB, New Mexico, USA Correspondence to: J. M. Retterer (john.retterer@bc.edu) Received: 15 November 2013 – Revised: 19 February 2014 – Accepted: 18 March 2014 – Published: 15 May 2014 Abstract. Our faith in the seeds of equatorial plasma irregu- larities holds that there will generally always be density per- turbations sufficient to provide the seeds for irregularity de- velopment whenever the Rayleigh–Taylor instability is ac- tive. When the duration of the time of the Rayleigh–Taylor instability is short, however, the magnitude of the seed per- turbations can make a difference in whether the irregularities have a chance to grow to a strength at which the nonlinear development of plumes occurs. In addition, the character of the resulting irregularities reflects the characteristics of the initial seed density perturbation, e.g., their strength, spacing, and, to some extent, their spatial scales, and it is important to know the seeds to help determine the structure of the de- veloped irregularities. To this end, we describe the climatol- ogy of daytime and early-evening density irregularities that can serve as seeds for later development of plumes, as deter- mined from the Planar Langmuir Probe (PLP) plasma density measurements on the C/NOFS (Communication and Navi- gation Outage Forecast System) satellite mission, presenting their magnitude as a function of altitude, latitude, longitude, local time, season, and phase in the solar cycle (within the C/NOFS observation era). To examine some of the conse- quences of these density perturbations, they are used as initial conditions for the PBMOD (Retterer, 2010a) 3-D irregular- ity model to follow their potential development into larger- amplitude irregularities, plumes, and radio scintillation. Keywords. Ionosphere (equatorial ionosphere; ionospheric irregularities; modeling and forecasting). “Though I do not believe that a pla[sma bubble] will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed. Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders.” – Henry David Thoreau 1 Introduction There is much that remains poorly understood about the ori- gins of plasma density irregularities in the low-latitude region of Earth’s ionosphere (Kelley et al., 2011). These irregular- ities, first observed in ionosonde traces, have subsequently been observed by incoherent-scatter radars and in airglow images of the night sky, in situ measurements of plasma density and velocity, and by numerous other means. They are believed to begin as small-amplitude density variations which are then amplified by the exponential growth in time that is characteristic of plasma instabilities like the Rayleigh– Taylor (RT) instability of the bottomside of the ionospheric F layer (Kelley, 1989) until their amplitudes are large enough that nonlinear interactions significantly modify their struc- ture, leading to rising plumes of low-density plasma filled with turbulence. Bubble formation can occur anytime that the Rayleigh– Taylor growth rate is large enough for a long enough time for significant irregularities to develop. Generally they form at night, when the E region conductivity is small (otherwise, the E region conductivity will short out the growing polar- ization electric fields and prevent the feedback that leads to the instability). Uplift of the F layer aids the instability by moving the plasma layer into altitudes where the neutral col- lision frequencies are weaker and the RT growth rate is con- sequently larger. Thus, bubbles are often seen shortly after sunset, when the prereversal enhancement of the upward drift leads to stronger growth rates, but they can be seen at other times of night when other mechanisms produce electric fields that cause the uplift of the F layer (Yizengaw et al., 2013). Because the RT instability initially merely amplifies the structure of the perturbations, a number of the characteris- tics of the original irregularities (for example, the zonal spac- ing of plumes) are carried over into the developed turbulent Published by Copernicus Publications on behalf of the European Geosciences Union. 486 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed -50 0 50 100 150 200 250 V z pe ak Vpre = 3.9 m/sVpre = 3.9 m/sVpre = 3.9 m/s ∆N0/N 0.003 0.01 0.03 -50 0 50 100 150 200 250 V z pe ak Vpre = 6.7 m/sVpre = 6.7 m/sVpre = 6.7 m/s -50 0 50 100 150 200 250 V z pe ak Vpre = 12.3 m/sVpre = 12.3 m/sVpre = 12.3 m/s 18 19 20 21 22 23 Local Time -50 0 50 100 150 200 250 V z pe ak Vpre = 23.6 m/sVpre = 23.6 m/sVpre = 23.6 m/s Fig. 1. The sensitivity of bubble development to the magnitude of the initial perturbation as well as the magnitude of the Rayleigh– Taylor growth rate. Vz peak is the maximum vertical velocity (in m s−1) over the grid of the 2-D simulation of plume development; the upward jump in Vz peak indicates the formation of plumes. The panels of the plot show the results for the different prereversal ambi- ent drifts, which control the strength of the Rayleigh–Taylor growth rate. The different color curves represent the results of simulations with different initial magnitude perturbations: black, blue, and red represent a maximum perturbation 0.003, 0.01, and 0.03 times the peak ambient density, respectively. plumes. Moreover, when the time interval in the post-sunset sector in which the RT growth rate is significant is short, the strength of evening irregularities can be as much dependent on the initial amplitudes of the irregularities as it is on the strength of the RT instability because the stronger the ini- tial perturbation is, the less Rayleigh–Taylor growth is re- quired to boost the irregularities into the nonlinear regime. Figure 1 illustrates this situation. Several (two-dimensional, for simplicity) simulations (Retterer, 2010a) of plume for- mation are performed, with both different strengths of the RT instability (set by the magnitude of the prereversal verti- cal drift of the ambient plasma – higher drift means stronger RT growth rate) and initial density perturbations of differ- ent magnitudes, with the peak density perturbation 0.003, 0.01, or 0.03 times the F peak ambient density. The quan- tity plotted is the peak vertical plasma drift within the sim- ulation volume as a function of time. A rapid growth of this drift indicates that a plume of low-density, rapidly upward- rising plasma has formed. The top panel shows that when the RT instability is weak, none of these perturbations is suffi- cient to trigger plume formation. With the next largest RT growth rate, only the biggest initial density perturbation trig- gers plume development. With stronger RT growth, smaller initial perturbations can trigger plume development, but it is always the biggest initial perturbation (the red curves) that initiates plume formation soonest and produces the strongest plumes (as marked by the peak magnitude of the vertical drift). But what are the origins of the initial density fluctuations? What are their expected spatial and temporal scales? What are their seasonal, latitudinal, and longitudinal occurrence climatologies, and can knowing this help us forecast the probability of plume formation and radio scintillation? One of the processes that lead to ion density variations is momen- tum exchange with neutral constituents of the thermosphere, whereby the friction with the neutral component can induce the ions to drift in the same way as the neutral wind. When the neutral wind varies periodically as in a wave, the ion drift can be found to vary periodically in the same way. As the ion drift responds to the varying neutral wind, the plasma den- sity responds in the way dictated by the continuity equation, producing density perturbations that can be amplified in the RT instability. Wave perturbations in the winds and density are perva- sive features of the neutral atmosphere that exist over a wide range of spatial and temporal scales. Winds are responsible for many of the major electrodynamic features of the iono- sphere through the production of dynamo current systems (Fejer, 2011). In addition to the larger-scale tidal oscillations and planetary waves (Maute et al., 2012), there also exist smaller-scale gravity waves (Hines, 1974), traveling neutral disturbances that induce corresponding wave variations in the ionospheric plasma (Hooke, 1968). There are a number of sources for these waves, ranging from storm-time energy inputs at high latitudes to tropospheric storm systems at low and middle latitudes (Hagan and Forbes, 2003). Note that as the wave-like plasma density perturbations are supported and maintained by polarization electric fields that develop within their structure, the notion that, for the Rayleigh–Taylor instability, the strength of the growth rate and the initial density perturbation are independent quanti- ties is illusory. Large-scale wave structures (Tsunoda, 2010) can provide both the initial density perturbation and enhance- ments in the upward plasma drift that enhance the Rayleigh– Taylor growth rate. Typically, what is seen in the simulations (Retterer, 2010a) is that plumes initially develop from the points where the bottomside of the F layer is the highest in Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 487 PB10281 Date: 55477 281 2010 10 8 -10000 -8000 -6000 -4000 -2000 0 ∆ Ne PLP -0.8 -0.6 -0.4 -0.2 0 ∆ N e / N e 400 500 600 700 800 900 A lt it ud e -30 -20 -10 0 10 20 30 L at it ud e 21.5 21.75 22 22.25 22.5 22.75 23 23.25 UT 0 50 100 150 200 250 300 350 L on gi tu de 21.5 21.75 22 22.25 22.5 22.75 23 23.25 UT 0 5 10 15 20 local tim e Fig. 2. The plasma density perturbation observed by PLP onboard the C/NOFS satellite on day 281 of 2010, at around 22 UT. The top panel gives the density perturbation (red curve, in number per cm3) determined by high-pass filtering of the observations. The sec- ond panel gives the density perturbation normalized by the ambient density. (The gray lines in these panels mark the time of 18:00 LT, the yellow lines the time of 06:00 LT.) The third panel gives the alti- tude of the satellite at the time of the observation (black curve) and the apex altitude of the observation point mapped back to the geo- magnetic equator (red curve). The fourth panel gives the latitude of the observation, while the bottom panel gives the longitude (black curve, left-hand scale) and local time (blue curve, right-hand scale) of the observations. altitude. As a wave propagates along the F layer, it provides both density perturbations and enhanced plasma drifts. Empirical knowledge of the phenomenon is the first key to understanding it. Here we take advantage of the survey of low-latitude plasma densities provided by the Commu- nication and Navigation Outage Forecast System (C/NOFS) satellite from the solar minimum of 2008 through the rising phase of the solar cycle into 2012. We employ a high-pass filtering technique to isolate the shorter-term density irregu- larities in which we are interested from the smoother varia- tions of the ambient plasma as the satellite moves around its low-inclination orbit, sampling the plasma density through longitudes and local times. We accumulate statistics of the amplitude of the density fluctuations and plot it as a function of altitude, latitude, local time, longitude, season, and phase PB10282 Date: 55478 282 2010 10 9 -10000 -8000 -6000 -4000 -2000 0 ∆ Ne PLP -0.8 -0.6 -0.4 -0.2 0 ∆ N e / N e 400 500 600 700 800 900 A lt it ud e -30 -20 -10 0 10 20 30 L at it ud e 21.5 21.75 22 22.25 22.5 22.75 23 23.25 UT 0 50 100 150 200 250 300 350 L on gi tu de 21.5 21.75 22 22.25 22.5 22.75 23 23.25 UT 0 5 10 15 20 local tim e Fig. 3. The plasma density perturbation observed by PLP onboard the C/NOFS satellite on day 282 of 2010, at around 22 UT. The top panel gives the density perturbation (red curve, in number per cm3) determined by high-pass filtering of the observations. The second panel gives the density perturbation normalized by the ambient den- sity. (The gray lines in these panels mark the time of 18:00 LT, the yellow lines the time of 06:00 LT.) The third panel gives the alti- tude of the satellite at the time of the observation (black curve) and the apex altitude of the observation point mapped back to the geo- magnetic equator (red curve). The fourth panel gives the latitude of the observation, while the bottom panel gives the longitude (black curve, left-hand scale) and local time (blue curve, right-hand scale) of the observations. of the solar cycle. Lastly, we use snapshot examples of the density perturbations as an initial condition for a 3-D plume model to demonstrate how the fluctuations will evolve and how irregularity-filled plumes and radio scintillation can de- velop from them. 2 Data analysis The C/NOFS satellite was launched in April 2008 as a com- ponent of a system to specify and forecast the occurrence of radio scintillations that interfere with the systems that rely on transionospheric radio propagation (de La Beaujardiere et al., 2004). Its orbit was elliptical (400 × 850 km) with low incli- nation (13◦) so as to sample the ionospheric plasma in the re- gion near the geomagnetic equator, one of the regions where www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 488 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 10-4 10-3 10-2 Inverse Wavelength [km-1] PB10282 PLP data UT= 22.3375 104 105 106 107 108 109 P S D (∆ N e) Fig. 4. Power spectrum of the density irregularities around 18:00 LT in Fig. 3, illustrating their power-law-like nature, close to k−2 (the straight line in this log-log plot). The 1-Hz sampled PLP data were used for the spectral analysis; k is the inverse of the wavelength in km. the density irregularities responsible for the scintillation are found. Among the instruments onboard the satellite, we em- ploy here the plasma density measurements, Ne(t), from the planar Langmuir probe (PLP) (Roddy et al., 2010), at a one sample per second resolution. To isolate the faster density variations of interest, 1Ne, from the longer spatial scale or slower variations of the ambi- ent density (considered to be at along-track scales of 300 km or more), a smoothed version of the PLP density data series is formed, Ne0, which is then subtracted from the original data series, Ne, to leave the variations at the shorter scales, 1Ne = Ne −Ne0. The smoothed density can be estimated ei- ther by a running mean or, if the irregularities expected are overwhelmingly depletions (reductions in density), estimated by the envelope of density maxima spaced on an ambient- scale grid throughout the time series. Dao et al. (2011) em- ployed similar techniques, but looked solely at 1Ne/Ne0, which is always small in the daytime, to focus on the night- time irregularities. A sample of this density-irregularity cal- culation using data from day 281, year 2010, around 18 UT, is shown in Fig. 2. The top panel gives 1Ne, the density irregularity in number per cm3 as calculated by subtracting the smoothed density from the original signal, and the sec- ond panel gives this density irregularity normalized by the ambient density, 1Ne/Ne0. The ambient density in this ex- ample was determined using a set of density points sampled every 40 s, providing a spatial resolution of about 300 km; thus, 1Ne includes all spatial scales smaller than that (down to the 8 km resolution due to the sampling rate). The other panels give information about the time and location of the observations. The altitude of the satellite is shown in black in panel three, along with the apex altitude, shown in red (the altitude at the geomagnetic equator to which the location of the satellite maps; where the two curves touch, the satellite is at the geomagnetic equator). The fourth panel shows the latitude of the satellite, and the fifth panel gives the longi- tude (black curve, with axis on the left) and local time (blue curve, with axis on the right) of the satellite. The gray lines mark the points where the local time is 18:00 LT, while the yellow lines mark the points where the local time is 06:00 LT. We first see in this segment of data, at 21.8 UT (around 10:00 LT), a burst of irregularities with an amplitude of a few 1000 cm−3, followed by a few more bursts of smaller amplitude through the afternoon. Because the ambient den- sity is high during the day, these irregularities have small fractional strength, 1Ne/Ne0, and may not have much radio-propagation effect themselves, but they persist beyond 18:00 LT into the early evening, where they can act as seeds for the development of stronger irregularities amplified by the RT instability, such as can be seen later in the orbit, around 22.5 UT (around 20:00 LT). Another case, from day 282, 2010, is shown in Fig. 3, in exactly the same format as Fig. 2. Here the sampled day- side irregularities are smaller, perhaps because the satellite is farther away from the geomagnetic equator (note the dis- tance between the satellite altitude and apex altitude in the third panel), but the early evening irregularities might be a little larger and have a slower temporal variation (corre- sponding to larger spatial scales) than the case in Fig. 2. The spectral density of the power in these irregularities near 18:00 LT as a function of wave number (mapping from sam- pled time to space assuming static structures sampled by the satellite moving at 8 km s−1) is shown in Fig. 4. We see that the spectrum is close to a power law, as comparison with the straight line in this log-log plot suggests, with a spec- tral index close to −2. Unfortunately, this seemingly ubiq- uitous spectral shape in atmospheric fluid turbulence leaves few clues (like a preferred wavelength) as to the origins of the waves. 3 Climatology To produce a more general picture of the occurrence of these daytime density irregularities, we calculate their climatology, the statistical description of how their magnitudes vary with parameters such as altitude, local time, latitude, longitude, season, and phase of solar cycle, by binning large numbers of observations of them over a significant period of time. We choose periods of accumulation that are multiples of the or- bital precession period of the satellite (67 days) to insure bet- ter uniformity of sampling. Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 489 PB08249 0 L T 2 4 PB08307 PB09067 PB09123 PB09249 0 L T 2 4 PB09307 PB10067 PB10123 PB10249 0 L T 2 4 PB10307 PB11067 PB11123 PB11249 0 L T 2 4 0 Gglon 360 PB11307 0 Gglon 360 PB12067 0 Gglon 360 PB12123 0 Gglon 360 2 2.5 3 3.5 4 4.5 log rms∆Ne Fig. 5. Climatology of density irregularities as a function of longitude and local time, integrated over altitudes and averaged over seasons from (Northern Hemisphere) summer 2008 (upper left) to spring equinox 2012 (lower right). The density scale is logarithmic, ranging from 102 to 105 cm−3 for the density irregularities. Figure 5 shows the climatology of irregularity strength as a function of longitude and local time through the first four years of the C/NOFS era. Each panel gives the root-mean- square magnitude of the irregularities as a function of longi- tude and local time, integrated over all altitudes (although we will see later that most of the contribution will come from the lowest altitudes that the C/NOFS samples). Each row gives the results for a year, while each column shows the results for a given season: summer (Northern Hemisphere), fall, winter, and spring, in order. The sampling for the summer plot was over 134 days ending on day 249, the sampling for the fall seasons was over 67 days ending on day 307, that for winter 134 days ending on day 67, and that for spring 67 days end- ing on day 123. Through the course of the C/NOFS era, we see the increases in density due to the stronger plasma pho- toproduction in the rising phase of the solar cycle, as well as seasonal variations, e.g., the daytime irregularities are weak- est in the summer season. Throughout the data set we see the strong evening and early morning irregularities produced by the RT amplification, which appear to follow the well- known climatology for scintillation and equatorial plasma bubbles (Gentile et al., 2006): strong through many longi- tudes at the spring and fall equinoxes, strong in the Ameri- can sector in winter, strong in the Pacific sector in summer, plus the general tendency to increase in intensity as the solar activity increases. Note how the daytime irregularities per- sist into the evening, where they can serve as seeds for the development of the strong irregularities and plumes under the influence of the RT instability. There is some suggestion of the four-node pattern in longitude that is a sign of cou- pling with the lower atmosphere (Immel et al., 2006), which is even more strongly visible in the longitudinal modulations www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 490 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed PB08249 0 L T 2 4 PB08307 PB09067 PB09123 PB09249 0 L T 2 4 PB09307 PB10067 PB10123 PB10249 0 L T 2 4 PB10307 PB11067 PB11123 PB11249 0 L T 2 4 0 Gglon 360 PB11307 0 Gglon 360 PB12067 0 Gglon 360 PB12123 0 Gglon 360 3.5 4 4.5 5 5.5 6 log Ne0 Fig. 6. Climatology of the ambient density as a function of longitude and local time, integrated over altitudes and averaged over seasons from (Northern Hemisphere) summer 2008 (upper left) to spring equinox 2012 (lower right). The density scale is logarithmic, ranging from 3 × 103 to 3 × 106 cm−3. of the daytime densities in Fig. 6 and the 1Ne/Ne0 perturba- tions plotted in Fig. 7 below. For comparison, Fig. 6 presents the climatology of the am- bient plasma density as a function of longitude and local time over the same seasons (all the climatology plots will have this same organization). What is notable here is the steady increase of densities through the rising phase of the solar cy- cle, as well as the hints of the four-node pattern in longitude. Although the daytime irregularities in Fig. 5 appear to approximately follow the trends of the ambient density in Fig. 6, a detailed look at the ratio of density irregularity to ambient density, 1Ne/Ne0, in the daytime as a function of local time and longitude in Fig. 7 shows that there is struc- ture in the ratio, with a hint of the four-node structure in lon- gitude characteristic of E region tidal control, particularly in the summer seasons and at solar minimum (2008). Figure 8 shows the climatology of the rms density- irregularity magnitudes as a function of altitude and local time, showing how the irregularities in the midday and af- ternoon taper off in magnitude with altitude. The amplified irregularities due to RT growth in the evening and post- midnight times are apparent here as well. As the solar cycle advances toward its peak, the amplified irregularities extend to larger altitudes as freely convecting plumes develop and rise to greater heights. Finally, Fig. 9 gives the climatology of the rms density- irregularity magnitudes as a function of latitude and local time. To be able to combine observations from different lon- gitudes, the latitude parameter that is used is the latitudinal distance from the geomagnetic equator at the satellite longi- tude. We expect that the geomagnetic equator is the center point of organization of much of the plasma structure, so by Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 491 PB08249 0 L T 2 4 PB08307 PB09067 PB09123 PB09249 0 L T 2 4 PB09307 PB10067 PB10123 PB10249 0 L T 2 4 PB10307 PB11067 PB11123 PB11249 0 L T 2 4 0 Gglon 360 PB11307 0 Gglon 360 PB12067 0 Gglon 360 PB12123 0 Gglon 360 0 0.01 0.02 0.03 0.04 rms∆Ne /Ne0 Fig. 7. Climatology of the ratio of rms density irregularity to ambient plasma density as a function of longitude and local time (LT), integrated over altitudes and averaged over seasons from (Northern Hemisphere) summer 2008 (upper left) to spring equinox 2012 (lower right). The scale of this dimensionless quantity (0 to 0.05) was chosen to show the daytime irregularities. using the distance from that point, we may put equivalent points at different longitudes on an equal footing to be com- bined in one picture. Note, however, that offset between the geographic and geomagnetic equators and the low inclination of the C/NOFS orbit means that the north side of the geomag- netic equator is not sampled to distances as great as the south side is. There is no consistent seasonal pattern here. There are lobes in the daytime irregularities that appear on either side of the equator at different times, with a reversed pattern the next year. One consistent feature is the lozenge shape of the amplified irregularities in the evening, due to the rising of the plumes, and thus the spreading out in latitude of their motion. 4 Seeding We next use the low-level density irregularities observed just before sunset as the initial perturbation in a calculation of the development of the RT instability in the evening time sec- tor. To follow the development we use the three-dimensional, fully nonlinear model of Retterer (2010a). This model as- sumes that the ions are inertia-less to solve the momentum equation (an assumption which is appropriate for F layer heights). Under this approximation, the ion drifts at an in- stant are specified by the instantaneous accelerations due to the electric field and other forces affecting the ions and elec- trons (modified by the mobilities that depend on the colli- sion and gyrofrequencies). The electric field, being the so- lution of an elliptic equation with coefficients dependent on the conductivities and external driving terms (like gravity and www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 492 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed PB08249 40 0 A lt 8 50 PB08307 PB09067 PB09123 PB09249 40 0 A lt 8 50 PB09307 PB10067 PB10123 PB10249 40 0 A lt 8 50 PB10307 PB11067 PB11123 PB11249 40 0 A lt 8 50 0 LT 24 PB11307 0 LT 24 PB12067 0 LT 24 PB12123 0 LT 24 2 2.5 3 3.5 4 4.5 log rms∆Ne Fig. 8. Climatology of plasma density irregularities as a function of altitude and local time (LT), integrated over all longitudes and averaged over seasons from (Northern Hemisphere) summer 2008 (upper left) to spring equinox 2012 (lower right). The density scale is logarithmic, ranging from 102 to 105 cm−3 for the density irregularities. the neutral winds), in turn is dependent on the variations of the plasma density, so the initial condition can be specified solely in terms of the plasma density. For this we use the C/NOFS observations to describe the longitudinal (east–west along the geomagnetic equator) variation of the density, us- ing specific cases from particular times and dates since each is unique. Because of the satellite’s low-inclination orbit, its motion allows it to sample the longitudinal variation of the plasma density; because it moves quickly compared to the evolution timescales of the plasma, its sequential sampling through a time interval can be taken as a snapshot of the vari- ation through the range of longitudes it visits through that time. With the orbital speeds of low earth orbit (8 km s−1), the 1 Hz sampling of the PLP instrument is just about right for plume models of this kind, which typically have grid spacings of 4–8 km. To fully specify the plasma perturbation for the simula- tion’s initial condition, however, we need to specify the vari- ation of the perturbation with altitude and latitude as well. A linearization of the continuity equation shows that when the perturbations are small, the altitude variation is propor- tional to the altitude gradient of the ambient density. (This means, for example, that the perturbations are small near the F layer peak because any displacement of the layer brings plasma of nearly the same density to that height.) For the lat- itudinal variation, we appeal to our climatology and employ a Gaussian distribution over latitudes about the geomagnetic equator, with a half-width of 5◦. Thus, we first map out the perturbations in the equatorial plane, assuming that the de- pendence on altitude and longitude can be regarded as sepa- rable. The longitudinal variation is provided by the satellite observations while the variation in altitude is specified by the Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 493 PB08249 0 L T 2 4 PB08307 PB09067 PB09123 PB09249 0 L T 2 4 PB09307 PB10067 PB10123 PB10249 0 L T 2 4 PB10307 PB11067 PB11123 PB11249 0 L T 2 4 -20 ∆lateq 20 PB11307 -20 ∆lateq 20 PB12067 -20 ∆lateq 20 PB12123 -20 ∆lateq 20 2 2.5 3 3.5 4 4.5 log rms∆Ne Fig. 9. Climatology of plasma density irregularities as a function of latitudinal distance from the geomagnetic equator and local time (LT), integrated over all longitudes and averaged over seasons from (Northern Hemisphere) summer 2008 (upper left) to spring equinox 2012 (lower right). The density scale is logarithmic, ranging from 102 to 105 cm−3 for the density irregularities. variation of the absolute value of the derivative of the den- sity profile with respect to altitude in the equatorial plane, normalized by the magnitude of the derivative at the satel- lite observation point. Then, the variation along the length of each flux tube crossing the equatorial plane is described by the Gaussian function of latitude, because we expect the fast flux-tube-aligned parallel transport to maintain correlation of densities at points along each flux tube. We simulate the ionospheric plasma on days 281 and 282 of 2010, near the longitude 280◦. The ambient model of PB- MOD (Retterer, 2005) was run to provide the ambient back- ground and to evaluate the strength of the RT instability using the formulas of Sultan (1996) in the ambient plasma density as determined by PBMOD (Retterer et al., 2005) using the C/NOFS Ion Velocity Meter (IVM) vertical drifts (Stoneback et al., 2011) as a driver. Figure 10 shows that the plasma was mildly unstable on day 281 (minimum exponentiation time about 21 min) but stable on day 282. We show the results of the simulation of the irregulari- ties on the stable day first, in Fig. 11. Six snapshots of the plasma density at different times are shown here as a func- tion of east–west distance and altitude in the geomagnetic equatorial plane. The east–west distances are given in terms of geographic longitude. The simulation was performed with a 256 × 256 grid in the equatorial plane, thus with grid cells about 4 km by 4 km, with 201 points describing the varia- tion of the density along the magnetic field line in each flux tube intersecting that plane. Because the density variations would be too small to discern if the total density were plot- ted, we plot here instead the deviation from the mean density at each altitude, which allows the longitudinal structure of the small irregularities and their evolution to be seen. The top www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 494 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 15 20 25 30 35 RunID: PB10281 gglon= 280 gglat= -12 0 200 400 600 800 1000 Altitude γ [sec-1] 0.0005 0.0006 0.0007 0.0008 0.0009 15 20 25 30 35 Universal Time RunID: PB10282 gglon= 280 gglat= -12 0 200 400 600 800 1000 Altitude Fig. 10. Plasma density (contours) and RT instability growth rate (color shading) calculations for longitude 280◦ on days 281 and 282 of 2010, performed by PBMOD with assimilation of C/NOFS IVM vertical plasma drift. The plasma is mildly unstable on day 281 but stable on day 282. left snapshot is the initial condition, specified by the C/NOFS measurements. Time then advances to the right and then on to the lower row of snapshots. With the ambient vertical plasma drift employed in this simulation (note that the density struc- tures do not rise much in altitude with time), the strength of the RT growth rate is minimal and, although the irreg- ularities are amplified by about a factor of two, no rapidly rising plumes develop. We see the shear in the zonal drift of the plasma (Zalesak et al., 1982) shape the original verti- cal perturbations into the characteristic backward “C” shape. Other than the modest amplification and some slight diffu- sive smoothing and this zonal-drift shear, the density per- turbations propagate with little modification with time. Note that periodic boundary conditions are employed in the cal- culation, so that, with the eastward zonal drift, as a struc- ture leaves the simulation on the right side of the box, it is reintroduced on the left side. Although the amplitude of the density irregularities remains small, filamentation of the original density structures into shorter-wavelength features is apparent at later times in the simulation. The formation of these roughly 30 km-long irregularities may be caused by collisional shear instabilities driven by the shear in the neu- tral wind and the difference between the wind and the ion drifts (Hysell and Kudeki, 2004). (Note that although the ob- servations in Fig. 2 show amplified irregularities later in the evening, the satellite has moved into a completely different longitude sector by then, with different stability conditions.) The results of the simulation of the structure on the unsta- ble day 281, 2010, are shown in Figs. 12 and 13. Figure 12 shows snapshots of the density perturbations calculated as done for Fig. 11. Note the rapid increase in the range of the density variations (about a factor of ten from the initial range) as the plume develops around 25 UT. These density varia- tions become strong enough to view in a plot of the total density (Fig. 13). The spectrum of density irregularities in the simulations can be extrapolated into the scale range relevant to interac- tion with propagating radio waves to estimate the strength of scintillation that they can cause (Retterer, 2010b). We do not expect strong scintillation from these daytime irreg- ularities because daytime conductivities prevent the occur- rence of the Rayleigh–Taylor instability, whose nonlinear de- velopment leads to the cascade that strengthens the turbu- lence at the shorter wavelengths (λ <≈ 1 km) that interact with radio propagation at relevant frequencies. Weak scin- tillation (S4 < 0.4) during the daytime is in fact observed at the Ancon, Peru site of the US Air Force SCINDA (Scintilla- tion Decision Aid) network(Groves et al., 1997) on the days presented here. Daytime F region irregularities that produce spread-F-like effects have also been observed by radar and reported by Woodman et al. (1985), Chau and Woodman (2001), and Shume et al. (2013). 5 Conclusions In this paper we have shown how important it is to know the initial perturbation of the ionospheric plasma as well as the RT growth rate to model the development of equatorial plasma plumes and the turbulence embedded within them. There are many possibilities for the source of these initial perturbations, traveling ionospheric disturbances driven by atmospheric gravity waves being one of them. But systematic knowledge of the daytime irregularities has been limited, so we appealed to observations of densities by the PLP instru- ment on the C/NOFS satellite to provide a climatological de- scription of them. Using the data, we calculated the mean values of the den- sity irregularities as a function of altitude, latitude, longi- tude, local time, season, and phase of solar cycle through the C/NOFS era: so far, 2008–2012. The next step in the analysis will be to calculate occurrence probabilities because Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 495 LT= 17.9513 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e LT= 18.2847 LT= 18.618 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 18.9513 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 19.2847 Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 19.618 Longitude -10000 0 10000 ∆ Equatorial e- Density Fig. 11. Snapshots of the density perturbations taken at a sequence of times in a simulation (in number per cm3) in the plane of the geomag- netic equator as a function of longitude and apex altitude, beginning with the density perturbations observed by the C/NOFS satellite around 23.3 UT on day 282 of 2010 near longitude 280◦ (upper left plot). Time advances looking from left to right, and then continues in the lower row of plots. Modified by diffusion and shear, these perturbations do not develop into plumes; the plasma was stable at this location and time. the case studies we presented showed that the daytime ir- regularities can be quite variable, being stronger one day than the next. (We have hesitated to do this so far be- cause unevenness in sampling is a more difficult problem for occurrence-percentage calculations than it is for calculations of mean values.) Our analysis of the data showed a nearly ubiquitous pres- ence of density fluctuations in the low-latitude ionosphere with sufficient amplitude to form reasonable seeds for the formation of equatorial plumes as these irregularities get am- plified by the Rayleigh–Taylor instability. We used the ir- regularities observed on two days to seed a plume model to demonstrate the nature and properties of the mature irreg- ularities that can form from them, on both stable and RT- unstable days – the spacings of the plumes, etc. The next step here would be to perform these calculations for a large number of days to get a statistical characterization of such parameters to compare to the observational database. The near ubiquity of the density fluctuations may explain the suc- cess of calculations of the probability of equatorial plasma bubbles within the DMSP (Defense Meteorological Satellite Program) satellite data set using bubble simulations employ- ing uniform seeding with longitude and season (Retterer and Gentile, 2009). We isolated relatively small (shorter than 300 km) wave- lengths in our separation of finer scales from ambient scales (to better characterize the local structure of the irregularities). It has been suggested (Tsunoda, 2005) that very long wave- length waves are responsible for the seeding, and indeed it would be possible to extend the present study to look for these. In fact, the hints of coupling with the lower atmo- sphere within the data suggest that it would be interesting to look for planetary-wave scale variations in the ionospheric density measurements, which might help explain some of the long-term variations in scintillation occurrence. It has recently come to be appreciated that because the spa- tial filtering of the upward propagating gravity waves (Fritts and Vadas, 2008) limits the spectrum of gravity waves that reach ionospheric heights to those of 100 km wavelengths or longer, it is practical to conduct a simulation of the whole at- mosphere (Fuller-Rowell et al., 2008) with reasonably sized grids that permits these waves to affect the ionosphere. Using these gravity waves to produce the ionospheric disturbances that can be amplified by plasma instabilities in a plume sim- ulation (Retterer et al., 2014) removes the need to specify an artificially imposed initial perturbation altogether. It remains to be seen whether the variability in irregularity occurrence produced by this lower-atmospheric driving is sufficient to explain the observed day-to-day variability of scintillation occurrence. www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 496 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed LT= 18.4813 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e ∆N limit: 40000 LT= 18.9813 ∆N limit: 40000 LT= 19.4813 ∆N limit: 80000 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 19.9813 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e ∆N limit: 160000 Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 20.4813 ∆N limit: 320000 Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 20.9813 ∆N limit: 320000 Longitude ∆ Equatorial e- Density -∆N limit 0 ∆N limit Fig. 12. Snapshots of the density perturbations taken at a sequence of times in a simulation in the plane of the geomagnetic equator as a function of longitude and apex altitude, beginning with the density perturbations observed by the C/NOFS satellite around 23.8 UT on day 281 of 2010 near magnetic longitude 280◦. Note the changing scale from snapshot to snapshot for the density perturbations (permitted to vary to capture all the variations of the density); the magnitude of the limits of the range of density perturbations (in number per cm3) spanned by the color bar are indicated in each panel. In this case, plumes do develop. LT= 18.4813 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e LT= 18.9813 LT= 19.4813 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 19.9813 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 20.4813 Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 20.9813 Longitude 104 105 106 Equatorial e- Density Fig. 13. Snapshots of the density taken at a sequence of times in a simulation in the plane of the geomagnetic equator as a function of longitude and apex altitude, beginning at the time of the density perturbations observed by the C/NOFS satellite around 23.8 UT on day 281 of 2010 near magnetic longitude 280◦. (These density snapshots correspond to the density perturbations in Fig. 12.) Ann. 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work_mqs4jkymnnaoxnwovxv2332xwy ---- S0021875817001426jra 1..26 Punishing Violent Thoughts: Islamic Dissent and Thoreauvian Disobedience in Post-/ America REBECCA RUTH GOULD American Muslims increasingly negotiate their relation to a government that is suspicious of Islam, yet which recognizes them as rights-bearing citizens, within a culture they claim as their own. To better understand how the post-/ state is reshaping American Islam, I examine the case of Muslim American dissident Tarek Mehanna, sentenced to seventeen years in prison in for providing material support for terrorism. I read Mehanna’s verbal and visual depictions of his persecution in relation to the American dissidents Mehanna claims as intellectual predecessors, above all Henry David Thoreau and John Brown, while situ- ating this dissent within a long history of American activism Under a government which imprisons anyone unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison. Henry David Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government” Well over three million Muslims live in the United States. Islam is the third- largest US religion, following Christianity and Judaism. American Islam is more than a demographic phenomenon; scholarship is gradually revealing a rich literary Muslim American tradition, in many languages, and comprising many cultures, including slave narratives in Arabic that date back to the earliest days of the American republic. Yet for many within, as well as outside, the United States, the phrase “American Islam” still sounds like a contradiction College of Arts & Law, University of Birmingham. Email: r.r.gould@bham.ac.uk. Besheer Mohamad, “A new estimate of the U.S. Muslim population,” Pew Research, Jan. , at www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank////a-new-estimate-of-the-u-s-muslim- population. John Esposito, “Muslims in America or American Muslims?”, in Yvonne Yazbeck Haddad and John L. Esposito, eds., Muslims on the Americanization Path? (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ), –, . See, for example, Muhammad al-Ahari, ed., Five Classic Muslim Slave Narratives: Selim Aga, Job Ben Sulaiman, Nicholas Said, Omar ibn Said, Abu Bakr Sadiq (Chicago: Magribine Press, ). Journal of American Studies, Page of © Cambridge University Press and British Association for American Studies doi:./S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core mailto:r.r.gould@bham.ac.uk http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/01/06/a-new-estimate-of-the-u-s-muslim-population http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/01/06/a-new-estimate-of-the-u-s-muslim-population http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/S0021875817001426&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core in terms. President Trump’s Muslim ban is only the latest in a long series of attempts to represent Islam as inherently alien to American culture. The reli- gious, ethnic, and even linguistic implications of American Islam defy ingrained stereotypes. Americans who complicate the monochromatic image of America frequently evoke surprise while traveling abroad when they diverge from these stereotypes. The false perception of a monochrome America retains its hold on the popular imagination, within the United States and globally. Yet America has been multi-confessional and multiethnic since its beginnings. While America’s diversity results in part from historical factors, including its precolonial indigenous populations and slavery, this diversity has more recently been affected by a substantial number of migrants from South Asia, Afghanistan, and the Arab world, many of whom, although not all, are Muslim. First-gener- ation Muslim Americans increasingly link the non-American aspects of their history, be it Pakistani, Egyptian, Iraqi, or Afghan, to their American selves. These hybrid identities are redefining the content of American Islam, and this redefinition calls for rigorous scrutiny and critical theorization. This essay tracks the transnational trajectory of one such hybrid identity, formed in the context of a post-/ US-led war on terror: the American- born Muslim Tarek Mehanna (b. ), from Sudbury, Massachusetts, of Egyptian descent. Mehanna was convicted of providing “material support” to foreign terrorists in and is currently serving a seventeen-year prison sentence. Political theorists and legal scholars have written eloquently and persuasively about the dangerous legal precedent set by Mehanna’s case. They have focussed on how this precedent empowers the US government to criminalize protected speech, and to prosecute thought as dangerous in itself, apart from its actual consequences. While informed by such legal analyses, this essay takes a different turn. Through an analysis of his sentencing statement, delivered in , and the visual sketches that preceded it, I explore the intellectual origins of Mehanna’s mode of dissent, and analyze his location within the American tradition of civil disobedience. I focus on how Mehanna’s appropriation of The experience of African Americans abroad has been extensively documented in this regard. See Gary Totten, African American Travel Narratives from Abroad: Mobility and Cultural Work in the Age of Jim Crow (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, ). The Supreme Court ruling around which the prosecution built their case against Mehanna is Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project (), at www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/pdf/ -.pdf. See Andrew March, “A Dangerous Mind?”, New York Times, April , SR; Amna Akbar, “How Tarek Mehanna Went to Prison for a Thought Crime,” The Nation, Dec. , at www.thenation.com/article/how-tarek-mehanna-went-prison-thought-crime. A more recent source for Mehanna’s thinking which was not formally taken into consid- eration while working on this article are the posts on a Facebook page curated by his Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/09pdf/08-1498.pdf http://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/09pdf/08-1498.pdf http://www.thenation.com/article/how-tarek-mehanna-went-prison-thought-crime https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Thoreau fits into a longer history of American dissidence. While recognizing that Mehanna’s failure thus far to critically interrogate the violent premises of some of his Islamist texts is a significant weakness in his thinking to date, my interest lies more in his adaptation of core elements in American intellectual history to a Salafist Muslim identity. Alongside its status as a litmus test of the limits of the American justice system, Mehanna’s case marks a new, yet famil- iar, moment in the history of American civil disobedience. In bringing this complex legal precedent to bear on the study of Muslim American intellectual history, I want to suggest how, due to its progressive transnationalization and its changing internal demographics, American studies has entered a new phase. Mehanna’s case matters, and not just for what it tells us about the changing ethos of the US justice system and its increasing reliance on “innuendo and association” in a post-/ age. Equally, it is important for what it teaches us about America’s changing intel- lectual landscape. While Mehanna’s Muslim identity made him a target for prosecution, his familiarity with the classics of American literature and iconic moments in American history conditioned his ethics of dissent. Mehanna’s program for political action, including its problematic association with violence, belongs to an evolving indigenous tradition of American Islam, of which Mehanna’s is but one of many versions. While Mehanna, who affiliates with Salafism, a form of Islam that originated in Saudi Arabia which is linked to the conservative Hanbali school of Islamic jurisprudence, does not speak for all or even most Muslims, his thinking overall offers insight into the dialectics of American and Muslim identity today. In order to understand as well as resist the appeal of violence domestically and globally, we must come to terms with its original context, including its American history. THE CASE AGAINST MEHANNA On April , Tarek Mehanna received a seventeen-year prison sentence for providing “material support” for al Qaeda. As legal scholar Amna Akbar brother, and regularly updated with reports from prison: www.facebook.com/Free TarekMehanna. This page has over , followers as of this writing. The main Islamist text that Mehanna translated and disseminated on the Internet and which was a focus of his conviction is Muhammad bin Ahmad as-Salim (Isa al-Awshin), “ Ways to Serve and Participate in Jihad, at-Tibyan” (pdf at Internet Archive, ia.us.archive.org). Although the prosecution could not demonstrate any use of this work by al Qaeda, Mehanna’s promotion of this text was nonetheless regarded as “material support” for this terrorist group. See Wadie E. Said, Crimes of Terror: The Legal and Political Implications of Federal Terrorism Prosecutions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ), . This phrase is taken from Akbar. Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.facebook.com/FreeTarekMehanna http://www.facebook.com/FreeTarekMehanna https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core notes, the government provided no evidence that Mehanna “acted at the group’s request, or even that he ever met or communicated with anyone from Al Qaeda.” It was not necessary for the government to prove collusion with any terrorist organizations in order to secure a conviction. It was enough to demonstrate that Mehanna “created and/or translated, accepted credit for authoring, and distributed text, videos, and other media, to inspire others to engage in violent jihad.” The ruling against Mehanna, and his extreme punishment, have been criticized by scholars of the First Amendment as “not properly founded in First Amendment law or statutory interpretation.” Critics note that in Mehanna’s case “material support” amounted to nothing more than posting on an online forum, maintaining a blog, and translating into English Arabic material supportive of jihad. There were related charges, including a trip to Yemen that the prosecution claimed was motivated by the intention to join a terrorist training camp, but these charges were never proven and did not constitute the basis of the case against Mehanna. As matters currently stand, Mehanna will pass the years – in solitary confinement in a super- max prison, as a result of his controversial beliefs. Mehanna’s conviction typifiesthelegalcultureof post-/ America.Already in , it was possibleto point to “twelve hundredMuslim and Arabmen” who were detained by US authorities in late and to the “subsequent interroga- tion of eight thousand more.” Yet with regard to the crime with which he was charged, Mehanna’s conviction marks a new stage in the US war on terror. It indicates that the government need not provide evidence of the intention to per- petrate a terrorist act in order to secure a felony conviction. According to one legal scholar, Mehanna’s conviction “may have succeeded in pushing the doctri- nalenvelope,” effectively changingthe meaningof “materialsupport” within US law. Another specialist in the First Amendment notes that the case of Mehanna, like that of Julian Assange, illustrates “the complexities associated with the exercise of First Amendment liberties in an emerging global theatre.” Ibid. Quoted from United States of America v. Tarek Mehanna and Ahmad Abusamra, archived at www.investigativeproject.org/documents/case_docs/.pdf. Nikolas Abel, “Note – U.S. v. Mehanna, the First Amendment, and Material Support in the War on Terror,” Boston College Law Review, (), –, . On the “material support” accusation see George D. Brown, “Notes on a Terrorism Trial: Preventive Prosecution, ‘Material Support’ and the Role of the Judge after United States v. Mehanna,” Boston College Law School Faculty Papers, , Paper . Paul M. Barrett, Muslims in America: The Struggle for the Soul of a Religion (New York: Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, ), . Brown, . Timothy Zick, The Cosmopolitan First Amendment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ), . Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.investigativeproject.org/documents/case_docs/1726.pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core In his capacity as a representative of the US government, the prosecuting attorney in Mehanna’s case offered his own view of legal boundaries and norms. He told the jury that while it is “not illegal to watch something on the television,” it is illegal “to watch something in order to cultivate your desire, your ideology, your plots to kill American soldiers, or to help those, as in this case, who were.” Relying on charged, emotional language, and in effect calling on the jury to disregard the First Amendment in assessing Mehanna’s guilt, the prosecutor created a precedent for treating the cultiva- tion of an unpopular ideology as a crime, and suggested that reading a public document may be subject to legal sanction, depending on one’s motiv- ation (and, by implication, on one’s ideology and religion). The prosecutor’s assertion implies that, while it is permissible for people of certain beliefs (law enforcement officials, or, for example, non-Muslims) to read dangerous mate- rials, the same material is forbidden to those with different beliefs. As the prosecutor acknowledges, Mehanna was not accused of violent acts, or even of intending to commit such acts. The prosecution’s strategy went beyond criminalizing intent. To the extent that it is illegal “to watch something in order to cultivate your desire [or] your ideology,” criminality resides in the motives that accompany reading and watching, not in the acts themselves. Given that motives spring inseparably from beliefs, the prosecutor proposed to criminalize thought. Such (mis)readings of the law directly result from a post-/ legal culture, which treats terrorism as a crime that must be preemptively addressed. As Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez stated in , “we simply cannot and will not wait for these particular crimes to occur before taking action.” These documents demonstrate that the security agenda of the post-/ state is in tension with the free exercise of religion and the right to freedom of belief. In addition to heralding a new phase in the legal interpretation and appli- cation of the First Amendment, Mehanna’s ideological situation is distinctive in itself. As his sentencing statement (discussed in the next section) shows, Mehanna forges a chain of solidarity across racial and religious borders. When he addressed the judge and jury in a Boston courtroom following the announcement of his seventeen-year sentence, Mehanna also addressed a diverse cross-section of the American public, and situating himself within the American dissident tradition. His statement drew extensively on American ideologies, both violent and nonviolent, to justify his intellectual United States v. Mehanna, No. ‐‐GAO (D. Mass. ), day , –. Alberto Gonzales, “Remarks at the World Affairs Council of Pittsburgh on Stopping Terrorists before They Strike: The Justice Department’s Power of Prevention,” at www. usdoj.gov/ag/speeches//ag_speech_.html. Gonzalez’s statement is discussed in Robert Chesney, “Beyond Conspiracy? Anticipatory Prosecution and the Challenge of Unaffiliated Terrorism,” Southern California Law Review, , (), –. Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.usdoj.gov/ag/speeches/2006/ag_speech_060816.html http://www.usdoj.gov/ag/speeches/2006/ag_speech_060816.html https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core trajectory. This American dissident trajectory, Mehanna argued, had brought him into conflict with US government. The relation that Mehanna triangu- lated, between US dissidence, government surveillance, and Muslim piety, calls on us to rethink the parameters of civil disobedience in post-/ America. In bringing liberal conceptions of freedom and agency into conflict and dialogue with religious conviction, Mehanna departs from society’s mainstream secular liberalism and returns us to faith-based action. “IT’S BECAUSE OF AMERICA THAT I AM WHO I AM” On April , when his sentence was announced, Mehanna read a pre- pared statement that is suffused with a rhetoric suggesting an awareness of its own posterity. By virtue of its historical significance, as well as the range of its examples and the scope of its arguments, this document is a key text in the canon of American dissent, and an important primary source for American Islam in the post-/ period. The testimony begins by explaining Mehanna’s refusal to cooperate with the FBI agents who offered him the chance to become a collaborator in exchange for avoiding prosecution. His opening sets the tone for the narrative that follows: Exactlyfour yearsagothis monthI wasfinishing mywork shiftata localhospital.As I was walking to my car I was approached by two federal agents. Theysaid that I had a choice to make: I could do things the easy way, or I could do them the hard way. The “easy” way, as they explained, was that I would become an informant for the government, and if I did so I would never see the inside of a courtroom or a prison cell. As for the hard way, this is it. Here I am, having spent the majority of the four years since then in a solitary cell the size of a small closet, in which I am locked down for hours each day. Dramatically setting forth the events leading up to his arrest, Mehanna details the conflict with the state that ultimately resulted in his long-term incarcer- ation. In presenting his version of the case, Mehanna persuasively argues that he was punished for his principled refusal to become an informant and to cooperate with the authorities. Mehanna’s claim is reinforced by the facts of the case: the most damning evi- dence against him was provided by a felon-turned-informant, who financed Mehanna’s trip to Yemen (claimed by the government to have been in search of an al Qaeda training camp), and who later admitted to planning a terrorist attack in a US shopping mall. In exchange for immunity from prosecution, Kareem Abuzahra was a co-collaborator who was granted immunity in order to testify in the case against Mehanna and was a key witness for the prosecution. However, as noted by several commentators, his testimony was compromised by his admission that he was willing to lie. See Brown, . Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core this individual agreed to testify against Mehanna. Due to this agreement, a man who plotted a terrorist attack against the United States remains unprosecuted (and indeed protected from prosecution) while Mehanna, who was never charged with planning such attacks, was punished with a seventeen-year prison sentence. After presenting himself as a scapegoat who refused to cooper- ate with the FBI, Mehanna dwells on his dual identity as a Muslim American. I wasn’t born in a Muslim country … I was born and raised right here in America and this angers many people: how is it that I can be an American and believe the things I believe, take the positions I take? Everything a man is exposed to in his environment becomes an ingredient that shapes his outlook, and I’m no different. So, in more ways than one, it’s because of America that I am who I am [emphasis added]. After affirming his American identity, Mehanna recounts coming of age as an Egyptian American learning about the world through the historical narra- tives he read in American public schools. Mehanna recounts how the Batman comic book series opened his eyes to the fact that “there are oppressors, there are the oppressed, and there are those who step up to defend the oppressed.” As Mehanna grew older he found this paradigm confirmed in every narrative he encountered. “I gravitated towards any book that reflected that paradigm,” Mehanna explains, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, and I even saw an ethical dimension to The Catcher in the Rye.” Mehanna’s account of American political history is structured by a tripartite ethical frame- work: the oppressed, such as enslaved African Americans; the oppressor; and those who, like radical abolitionist John Brown, defend the oppressed. Mehanna invokes Harriet Tubman, Nat Turner, and John Brown for their “fight against slavery”; Emma Goldman and Eugene Debs for their advocacy of “struggles of the labor unions, working class, and poor”; the German-born Jew Anne Frank, persecuted and killed by the Nazis; Rosa Parks, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King Jr. for organizing the “civil rights struggle”; the commun- ist revolutionary Ho Chi Minh, who helped the Vietnamese “liberate them- selves from one invader after another”; and, finally, Nelson Mandela, who fought South African apartheid. Ranging across the globe, these are key figures in progressive US middle-school curricula. More debatable in terms of historical accuracy, but revealing of his invest- ment in American history, is Mehanna’s take on Paul Revere’s midnight ride. “Tarek’s Sentencing Statement,” Appendix to Glenn Greenwald, “The Real Criminals in the Tarek Mehanna Case,” Salon, April , at www.salon.com////the_real_- criminals_in_the_tarek_mehanna_case. All future references are to the unpaginated text at this link. Mehanna’s statement is available on numerous websites, including the dedicated website for Mehanna’s case at http://freetarek.wordpress.com. See, for example, the lesson plans in Joy Hakim, Johns Hopkins University Teaching Guide and Resource Book (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ). Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.salon.com/2012/04/13/the_real_criminals_in_the_tarek_mehanna_case http://www.salon.com/2012/04/13/the_real_criminals_in_the_tarek_mehanna_case http://freetarek.wordpress.com http://freetarek.wordpress.com https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Arguing that it was conducted in order to “warn the people that the British were marching to Lexington to arrest Sam Adams and John Hancock then on to Concord to confiscate the weapons stored there by the Minutemen,” Mehanna treats Paul Revere’s ride as an example of jihad. “There’s an Arabic word to describe what those Minutemen did that day,” he states. “It was a word repeated many times in this courtroom. That word is jihad.” Mehanna here positions himself within the history of American dissidence, presenting it also as a history of violence. He also reclaims the term “jihad” while linking it to a progressive agenda, as many prominent Muslim Americans have done in recent years, partly in order to clarify the nonviolent aspects of its meaning. Mehanna’s lineage of abolitionism, the labor movement, anti-Nazi mobiliza- tion, Jim Crow laws in the American South, and South African apartheid is at once cosmopolitan and conventional. This list of milestones could have been lifted from many US textbooks on world history. The major difference between his version of American history and the state-sponsored one is Mehanna’s presentation of the American Revolution as a form of jihad against British imperialists. Mehanna may have been introduced to the figures he mentions while attending Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School, yet he adds to a familiar rendering of American history an incipient Salafi Islamist activism that introduces a new struggle of the oppressed against their oppressors. Perhaps due to the United States’ historical status as a primary military target for Islamic radicalism, the scope for reading Islamic dissent sympathetically in relation to the other Third World liberation movements has historically been minimized in US contexts. Against a dominant American version of world history that tends towards either indifference or hostility towards Muslim lib- eration movements, Mehanna’s sentencing statement extends the range of American nonviolence by integrating Islamist dissent into its ethical core. Mehanna’s outrage at US-perpetrated injustice in Iraq, Afghanistan, and else- where in the Muslim world is familiar to any regular reader of the news, but his endeavor to link his own radicalism with dissident strands in American history strikes a more unusual note. From Martin Luther King Jr. to Gandhi, many acti- vists critical of US politics prior to Mehanna have grounded their programs for political action in genealogies of American dissent. But transpiring as it does in a post-/ world that constructs Muslims and Americans as antagonists, Mehanna’s combination of American dissidence and Muslim activism demands closeattention.Mehanna’scritiqueofAmericanimperialismlaysanarrativefoun- dation forhisstatusas anAmerican dissident and complicates a USliberalism that has engaged in only limited ways thus far with Muslim points of view. For one such use of “jihad” see Amina Wadud, Inside the Gender Jihad: Women’s Reform in Islam (Oxford: Oneworld, ), as well as below, n. . Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core My discussion of Mehanna’s case has three goals. First, I bring together the words and images through which Mehanna engaged with Henry David Thoreau. Second, I trace the implications of Mehanna’s merger of Salafi Islamism with this American political thinker for our understanding of American intellectual history. Third, I consider how the controversies stirred by Mehanna’s views and persecution make Thoreauvian modes of dissent meaningful within a post-/ world. Whereas, read on his own terms, Thoreau’s early writing can be seen to support a withdrawal from pol- itics, many subsequent engagements with Thoreau’s writings have activated other latent possibilities within his political thinking. In registering the disson- ance between what Thoreau likely intended and the meaning his words have since acquired, I clarify their ongoing relevance, as well as their relation to violence. WORDS AND IMAGES I will now turn to Mehanna’s verbal and visual commentaries on his impris- onment, composed prior to his conviction in , while he was awaiting trial. Like nearly all prison literature, these texts traverse the threshold of public and private writing, making a general statement while bearing witness to an inner struggle. From the prison cell where he was held under solitary confinement from to , Mehanna gave visual form to his incarceration. Whereas Mehanna’s visual work explicitly signals his debt to Thoreau, his sen- tencing statement only alludes to Thoreau indirectly, through the persona of abolitionist John Brown (–). I will therefore first discuss Mehanna’s handling of Thoreau’s early essay on civil disobedience in his art before con- sidering how Thoreau mediated Mehanna’s encounter with John Brown in the sentencing statement. At the top of Mehanna’s sketch of life in prison is an inscription consisting of an extended citation from Thoreau’s “Resistance to Civil Government” (), a text which later came to be known – to Gandhi, Hannah Arendt, Martin Luther King Jr., and the many others who have drawn sustenance from it – by the title “On Civil Disobedience.” “Resistance to Civil Government” was composed in Concord, a mere eighteen miles away from Sudbury, the town where Mehanna grew up, and only four times further “Resistance to Civil Government,” was based on a lecture originally entitled “The Rights and Duties of the Individual in Relation to Government” (). The essay was first called “Civil Disobedience” in the posthumous edition of Thoreau’s writings: A Yankee in Canada, with Anti-slavery and Reform Papers (). See Nancy Rosenblum, “Introduction,” in Henry David Thoreau, Political Writings, ed. Rosenblum (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ), vii–xxxi, xii. Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core away from Springfield, the town where John Brown launched his abolition campaign. In an early sketch prior to his trial, Mehanna portrayed a tableau consisting of rows of bricks towering over a prisoner. Graffiti selectively adorns the bricks’ surface. The upper half of one wall is covered with a quotation from Thoreau, and the manner of inscription evokes Mehanna’s confinement. Thoreau’s words read as follows: “I could not help being struck with the fool- ishness of that institution which treated me as if I were mere flesh and blood and bones.” “If there was a wall of stone between me and my townsmen,” Thoreau continues, “there was a still more difficult one to climb or break through before they could get to be as free as I was.” Thoreau had good reason to minimize his confinement, and to stress its limited impact on his psyche, given that he was only imprisoned for one evening in the local Concord jail. Mehanna was incarcerated under different circumstances, yet he incorporated Thoreau’s words into his graffiti: “I did not for a moment feel confined, and the walls seemed a great waste of stone and mortar” (“RCG,” ). Although he faced a much longer incarceration, Mehanna’s kinship with Thoreau is obvious. Their shared tendency to privilege the spir- itual over the material reflects how both thinkers ground their political thought in religious conviction. “The state never intentionally confronts a man’s sense, intellectual or moral, but only his body,” Thoreau continues in Mehanna’s citation. “It is not armed with superior wit or honesty, but with superior physical strength.” The passage famously concludes with a mixture of defiance and a promise of peace: “I was not born to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion” (“RCG,” ). Thoreau’s insistence on the sov- ereignty of his conscience over the materiality of the state was to become a central platform of Mehanna’s political theory. Turning from the words to the image: sticks marking the passage of time cover the bottom four rows of bricks. A flower blooms above the bricks, inscribed with the words “FREE AAFIA.” Mehanna here aligns himself with Aafia Siddiqui, a Pakistani neurologist currently serving a sentence of eighty-six years in solitary confinement in a Texas prison. The same year that he was sentenced, Mehanna wrote a short essay in which he recollected meeting Siddiqui in person. She was a “frail, limp, exhausted woman who could barely hold her own head up straight in a pale blue wheelchair.” The harshness of Siddiqui’s sentence is due to what her sentencing judge Henry David Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government,” in Thoreau, Political Writings, –, . Future references to this text are given parenthetically in the text, with the abbre- viation “RCG.” Tarek Mehanna, “The Aafia Siddiqui I Saw,” in Dr. Aafia Siddiqui: Other Voices (Silver Springs, MD: Peace Thru Justice Foundation, ), . Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core called “enhancements” for, among other things, terrorism. Siddiqui was con- victed of attempting to kill her US interrogators when she was detained for questioning in Afghanistan. Taken from her Pakistan residence and arrested in , Siddiqui was convicted in . While media coverage has focussed on alleged ties to al Qaeda, the attempted murder for which Siddiqui was con- victed is unrelated to such allegations. Aafia has acquired “iconic status” in some parts of the Muslim world as an exemplar of the hypocrisies of the US-led war on terror. Her case has received considerable media attention in Pakistan especially, and continues to strain US–Pakistan relations. In incorporating Aafia’s story into his tableau of prison life, Mehanna affiliates himself with a transnational network of Islamist political prisoners who are incarcerated for their thoughts, publications, translations, and comments on internet forums. To return to Mehanna’s image: completing the visualization of arbitrary justice, Aafia’s name is topped with the Arabic letters (la ‘ilaha ‘ila l- Lah), meaning “There is no God but God,” the Islamic confession of faith. To the right of these words is a poster, partially obscured by the frame, which reads, “ADMINISTRATION SEGREGATION UNIT RULES: GIVE UP YOUR HUMANITY.” Beneath this sign, as if to negate the directive above it, block letters spell the word NEVER. These words develop the Thoreauvian insistence on the sovereignty of the individual conscience over any nation’s law. In a passage which Mehanna no doubt applied to his own situation, Thoreau called onthe state to“recognize the individual asa higher and independ- ent power from which all its own power and authority are derived” (“RCG,” ). When he insists on the absolute prerogative of the individual over the state, Mehanna is influenced as much by Thoreau’s articulation of this prerogative as by the Muslim sources he cites at length in his social-media posts. Two rows below the quotation from Thoreau, a pair of outstretched hands reach towards a Quran. The sacred text is labeled as such in Arabic and English. To the left of these images are six prison bars (Figure ). When viewed together, the bars and the image at the bottom of three columns of stars and a white blotch trace, in purple and white lines, the US flag. The image of the flag captures the paradox Mehanna seeks to expose: the American Republic, created to protect life, liberty, and the pursuit of A chronology is given in Middle East Journal, , (), and , (), . For a collection of accounts of what is known about Siddiqui’s case see the articles listed by the New York Times at http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/s/ aafia_siddiqui/index.html. Declan Walsh, “The Mystery of Dr Aafia Siddiqui,” The Guardian, Nov. , at www. theguardian.com/world//nov//aafia-siddiqui-al-qaida. See the official Facebook page at www.facebook.com/FreeTarekMehanna. Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/s/aafia_siddiqui/index.html http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/s/aafia_siddiqui/index.html http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/s/aafia_siddiqui/index.html http://www.theguardian.com/world/2009/nov/24/aafia-siddiqui-al-qaida http://www.theguardian.com/world/2009/nov/24/aafia-siddiqui-al-qaida http://www.facebook.com/FreeTarekMehanna https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure . Mehanna’s prison sketch (). Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core happiness, is now actively undermining these commitments by persecuting the free speech of its Muslim citizens. Mehanna’s verbal solidarity with Aafia is reinforced by a second sketch, entitled “Tribute to Aafia” (Figure ). “The male and female believers are allies [awliya’] of one another” (al-Tawbah :), reads the inscription along the top. Although the first citation alludes to a suggestion of gender equality, the Quranic citation beneath those words reinforces patriarchal difference: “Men are the protectors and maintainers of women” (al-Nisa :). Both citations are given in Arabic, followed by English translation. The first quotation participates in a growing trend within American Islam to bring transnational feminism into conversation with Muslim learning, while the second reinstates a patriarchal hierarchy. Like the flag that adorns the bottom right corner of the sketch, representing the persecution of Muslim Americans, Mehanna’s citations serve a dual purpose: they protest injustice while appropriating a history of American dissent. In her exegesis of Thoreau’s political theory, political theorist Leigh Jenco documents how, carried to its logical conclusion, Thoreau’s political theory could be seen to underwrite a withdrawal from the political realm. While for Thoreau “physical coercion is both necessary and sufficient for the enforcement of political obligations,” writes Jenco, the state’s reversion to force “is at odds with the holistically perceived higher law that grounds Thoreau’s moral duty.” When Mehanna uses Thoreau to advocate a civil disobedience that privileges the individual over the masses as the locus of pol- itical protest, he adapts this form of dissent to a Muslim American reality, through a process that transforms both elements in this compound identity. This individualist orientation brings Mehanna even closer to Thoreau’s con- ception of civil resistance than the more collectively focussed forms of civil dis- obedience articulated by Martin Luther King Jr. and Gandhi. In the passage cited by Mehanna, Thoreau argues that no coercion from the state can over- ride the individual’s ethical prerogative. Unlike Thoreau, King regards the resistant body as a primary locus of political resistance. By contrast, Thoreau and Mehanna focus on the work of the individual conscience in critiquing the state. Their shared rejection of the state’s claims to legitimacy aligns Mehanna to Thoreau and contrasts with the collectivism of King and other civil rights activists. See, for example, Asma Barlas, “Believing Women” in Islam: Unreading Patriarchal Interpretations of the Qur’an (Austin: University of Texas Press, ). Leigh Kathryn Jenco, “Thoreau’s Critique of Democracy,” Review of Politics, , (), –, . Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Thoreau memorably wrote in the essay quoted by Mehanna, “law never made men a whit more just; and, by means of their respect for it, even the well-disposed are daily made the agents of injustice” (“RCG,” ). Thoreau’s insistence on the ethical limits of the law finds its way directly into Figure . Mehanna, “Tribute to Aafia.” Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Mehanna’s political thought, which converges and stands in tension with older currents within Islamic thought that similarly validate a higher law, shariʿa. Although classically shariʿa denoted a form of law that incorporated all aspects of human existence, for most modern Muslims shariʿa signifies pri- marily “a spiritual resource, a connection with God, and a way to discipline the inner self.” Mehanna is troubled by what Hallaq refers to as the “eviscer- ation” of shariʿa in modernity, wherein it has come to reference a primarily private realm. Like many Salafis, and Islamic modernists generally, he wishes to situate shariʿa more publicly, such that it can ground political decisions and thinking. Yet, as Hallaq also recognizes, any attempt to modernize shariʿa in this way is fraught with contradiction, because Islamic law originally developed in a world that thought differently about the relation between public and private spheres. Whereas in classical Islamic thought the individ- ual conscience lacks sovereignty, it plays a more decisive role within Thoreauvian political theory, and in most strands of American political thought that have developed from this beginning. Mehanna’s dialogue between Salafism and Thoreauvian political theory transpires within this this maze of contradictions. Against this analogy between American transcendentalism and Mehanna’s Salafi modernism, it might be objected that Thoreau did not directly endorse violence (although he did endorse a perpetrator of violence, John Brown). On these grounds, Mehanna’s use of Thoreau to elaborate his version of justice might be seen as a selective interpretation. It is true that “Resistance to Civil Government” presents a largely negative account of political action, and dwells more concretely on the dangers of acting wrongly than on the means and strategies for acting rightly. Additionally, and arguably in contradis- tinction to Mehanna, Thoreau defends the legitimacy of avoiding politics tout court. Thoreau states, It is not a man’s duty, as a matter of course, to devote himself to the eradication of any, even the most enormous wrong; he may still properly have other concerns to engage him; but it is his duty, at least, to wash his hands of it, and, if he gives it no thought longer, not to give it practically his support. (“RCG,” ) Wael Hallaq, The Impossible State: Islam, Politics, and Modernity’s Moral Predicament (New York: Columbia University Press, ), x. See Talal Asad, Thinking about Secularism and Law in Egypt (Leiden: International Institute for the Study of Islam in the Modern World, ). I do not intend to suggest that classical Islamic thought has nothing to say about the indi- vidual conscience, just that there is a difference in emphasis, and that Thoreau, rather than Islam, is closest to Mehanna in terms of his approach. For a discussion of the individual con- science in Islam grounded in classical sources see M. Mujeeb, “The Status of Individual Conscience in Islam,” Studies in Islam, , (), –. Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core While not an explicit rejection of violence or of direct political action, this passage can be read as a justification for withdrawal from the political realm. However, Thoreau’s vision of the appropriate grounds for political action should inform our understanding of the circumstances under which this essay was composed, including the night Thoreau spent in jail for his civil dis- obedience. Thoreau acted without drawing attention to his dissidence. It is legitimate to avoid politics, Thoreau believed, so long as this avoidance does not increase another’s suffering. Paying a poll tax to support an unjust war, in this case the Mexican–American War (–), as the US government required him to do, was for Thoreau unconscionable. ABOLITIONIST AND SALAFI MILITANCY COMPARED The ideology underlying Mehanna’s controversial views on violence also echoes the actions of another crusader against US-perpetrated injustice whom Thoreau, more than any other American writer, memorialized: the abo- litionist John Brown. More than years after his death, Brown remains a controversial hero. His ethics of bloodshed, like Mehanna’s, leave little room for mercy. Brown’s legacy closely parallels that of Mehanna, not least because of the links between his Christian fundamentalism and Mehanna’s Salafism. Brown famously led a violent slave uprising at Harper’s Ferry in , and was soon afterwards publicly hung. Like Mehanna, Brown endorsed violence as a means of resisting extreme injustice. Prior to leading the slave rebellion in Harper’s Ferry, Brown oversaw the killing of five white settlers in the slave-owning settlement of Pottawatomie Creek, Kansas. (Notably, it was for his organization of the uprising, rather than for these murders, that Brown was hung; the former was considered action against the state and therefore subject to capital punishment.) Mehanna stands accused of no such violent crime. Both activists, however, share a concern with social justice, and believe that attaining social justice may require violence, whether exercised by them or by others. Mehanna’s explicit identification with Thoreau in his sketch and with Brown in his sentencing statement further links the two figures. On October , one day before the jury’s sentence of death by hanging for Brown, Thoreau mounted the platform of the town hall in Concord, For further on Thoreau’s support of political activism in relation to his skepticism towards politics see Jonathan Mckenzie, “How to Mind Your Own Business: Thoreau on Political Indifference,” New England Quarterly, , (), –. Zoe Trodd, “Writ in Blood: John Brown’s Charter of Humanity, the Tribunal of History, and the Thick Link of American Political Protest,” Journal for the Study of Radicalism, , (), –, . Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Massachusetts to deliver the speech called “A Plea for John Brown.” In this and in a later essay written for Brown’s memorial service, Thoreau discussed Brown’s rebellion as “a revolution in behalf of another and an oppressed people.” Thoreau’s endorsement of Brown’s raid indicates an evolution in his thinking about violence and nonviolence beyond his earlier essay of , and reveals common ground between Thoreauvian political theory and Muslim militancy. As Turner suggests in his reading of Thoreau, conjoin- ing aesthetic and legal theory can make of civil (or uncivil) disobedience a “public statement through the artistic re-creation of the act of refusal and public meditation on its significance.” Stated otherwise, Thoreau and Mehanna made their private consciences publicly political through their words and images. Although Thoreau and Brown parted ways on many substantive issues, Thoreau’s memorialization of Brown and his efforts to save him from execu- tion reveal an important dimension of his intellectual agenda. Thoreau praises Brown as “a superior man” who “did not value his bodily life in comparison with ideal things” (“PJB,” ). The ideal dissident, in Thoreau’s understand- ing, is willing to lay down his life for his beliefs. Thoreau also praises Brown for recognizing that the individual is “the equal of any and all governments” (“PJB,” ). Revealing a kinship with Brown’s Calvinism, Thoreau implicitly acknowledges that there are occasions when violence is the only legitimate and viable form of resistance. In maintaining that individual conscience will ultimately prevail over the state’s violence, Thoreau and Mehanna cultivate a sovereign human conscience, which they consider more efficacious than bodily protest. Thoreau refers to this conscience as the “higher law”; for Mehanna, it is shariʿa. For both, this ethical hierarchy defines their respective positions within the American dissident tradition. The respective distance of Mehanna and Thoreau from the teachings of Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr. regarding the efficacy of nonviolence is linked to their greater openness to violence and, ultimately, to their more militant politics. Brown’s concept of the sovereignty of the individual conscience was observed and appreciated by Emerson as well, following the former’s visit to Henry David Thoreau, “A Plea for John Brown” (), in Thoreau, Political Writings, –; and Thoreau, “The Last Days of John Brown” (), in ibid., –. Future references to these essays are given parenthetically in the text, with the abbreviations “PJB” and “LDJB.” Jack Turner, “Performing Conscience: Thoreau, Political Action and the Pleas for John Brown,” Political Theory, , (), –, . For a suggestive account of the political dimensions of New England Puritanism that informs this reading of Thoreau and Brown see Michael Walzer, The Revolution of the Saints: A Study in the Origins of Radical Politics (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, ). Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Concord on a lecture tour. According to Emerson, Brown believed that “one good, believing, strong-minded man is worth a hundred, nay twenty thousand men without character, and that the right men would give a permanent direc- tion to the fortunes of a state.” Neither Thoreau nor Emerson dwelt on their substantive divergences from Brown, and equally, neither advocated violence. Their support of Brown was strategic: they saw it as a means of bringing slavery to an end, and of forestalling and delegitimizing Brown’s execution. As Truman John Nelson notes, the chronology of Thoreau’s stand for Brown ought to inform its interpretation: “it took place before Brown had had his day in court … and inevitably made his death a martyrdom.” In defending Brown, Thoreau was also defending the principle of “innocent until proven guilty,” and asserting his right to defend unpopular voices in the name of justice. It was an alliance forged from adversity. Yet a century and a half later, parallels between Thoreau’s approach to violence and militant social- justice agendas like Mehanna’s are increasingly evident. Brown insisted that “any man more right than his neighbors constitutes a majority of one” (“RCG,” ). All three thinkers – Thoreau, Brown, and Mehanna – vest their faith in the sovereignty of the individual. From their point of view, even one righteous person who practices justice is adequate to shift the balance of right and wrong. Brown raided a US government arsenal with only twenty-one men in his “battalion,” yet persuaded that his cause would triumph. Thoreau viewed with contempt the pragmatism of his contemporaries, who judged Brown crazy. In a speech he read at Brown’s funeral, Thoreau pointed out that if Brown had “gone with five thousand men, liberated a thousand slaves, killed a hundred or two slaveholders, and had as many more killed on his own side, but not lost his own life, these same editors would have called [his rebellion] by a more respectable name” (“LDJB,” ). Brown’s willingness to live and to die for a cause in defiance of mainstream liberal politics gives the dissident spiritual leverage over the state responsible for his incarceration. In Thoreau’s view, this spiritual prerogative (which he calls “the higher law,” anticipating Mehanna’s concep- tion of shariʿa) is the source of the dissident’s power. Mehanna’s writings from prison rely heavily on this concept of an individual conscience acting upon a higher law. Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journals of Ralph Waldo Emerson, –, Volume IX, ed. Edward Waldo Emerson and Waldo Emerson Forbes (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, ), . Truman John Nelson, “Thoreau and John Brown,” in The Truman Nelson Reader, ed. William John Schafer (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, ), –, , original emphasis. Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core In defending Brown’s character, Thoreau compares him with the American revolutionaries of , expressing the same admiration that Mehanna felt for figures like Paul Revere. Whereas the Revolutionaries “could bravely face their country’s foes,” Brown “had the courage to face his country herself, when she was in the wrong” (“PJB,” ). As Turner notes, “What Thoreau most admires about Brown is his willingness to hold not simply America’s enemies to moral account, but America itself.” Thoreau’s own practice of holding America to account no doubt served as a model for Mehanna, who also cited US violence as a basis for his opposition to his government. His senten- cing statement referenced the massacre perpetrated by Sergeant Robert Bales, who killed sixteen Afghan women and children while on a tour of duty in Kandahar in . “When Sgt. Bales shot those Afghans to death,” stated Mehanna, “all of the focus in the media was on him – his life, his stress, his PTSD, the mortgage on his home – as if he was the victim. Very little sym- pathy was expressed for the people he actually killed.” Controversially, Bales was tried in a military court in the United States, rather than in Afghanistan, among those who most directly suffered from his crime. Bales was sentenced to life in prison, without parole. Mehanna’s sentencing statement contains other allusions to Thoreau, par- ticularly to the latter’s writing on John Brown. For example, Thoreau insisted that Brown “could not have been tried by a jury of his peers because his peers did not exist” (“PJB,” ). Similarly, Mehanna follows his discussion of Bales in the sentencing statement with the claim that the media’s biases imperil the integrity of the justice system, making it impossible for a jury to deliver a just verdict. “I wasn’t tried before a jury of my peers,” Mehanna states, “because with the mentality gripping America today, I have no peers. Counting on this fact, the government prosecuted me – not because they needed to, but simply because they could” (emphasis added). Mehanna here compares his own prosecution to that of John Brown, as filtered through Thoreau’s writ- ings. Implicating Thoreau in this conversation introduces a new dimension. Both Mehanna and Brown openly advocate violence in ways Thoreau did not, and both do so on religious grounds. Each dissident regards his conscience as sovereign. They thereby elevate their political convictions and chosen faith Turner, . For a discussion of Bales’s case from the point of view of legal theory see Michael D. Smith, “Mapping the Geolegalities of the Afghanistan Intervention,” in Irus Braverman, Nicholas Blomley, David Delaney, and Alexandre Kedar, eds., The Expanding Spaces of Law: A Timely Legal Geography (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, ), –. Bales has recently accounted for his actions in an interview for GQ with Brenden Vaughn: “Robert Bales Speaks: Confessions of America’s Most Notorious War Criminal,” at www.gq.com/story/robert-bales-interview-afghanistan-massacre, accessed Nov. . Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.gq.com/story/robert-bales-interview-afghanistan-massacre https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core over the laws of the state, which for them is based on precarious ethical foundations. “Resistance to Civil Government” was not the only work in which Thoreau set forth his views on the conditions under which rebellion against the state is both legitimate and necessary. Ten years after delivering “Resistance to Civil Government” to the Concord community, Thoreau called an assembly in Concord’s town hall to plead for John Brown. He had been disturbed by reports that, following Brown’s raid, some of his Massachusetts neighbors had begun to advocate for his execution. Thoreau was determined to contest their vilifications. As his biographer reports, Thoreau was “instantly, totally caught up in the passion of the moment” and “decided to make a public speech to right the imbalance” of the public sentiment that was turning against Brown. He rang the bell himself to call the meeting to order when the town’s selectman whose job it was to ring the bell for such meetings refused. Thoreau then proceeded to offer a plea to his neighbors, not, as he clarified, in the hopes of saving his subject’s life, which, as any realist could have seen, was already forfeited, but rather for the sake of saving Brown’s “character, – his immortal life” (“PJB,” ). Compared to his speech on Brown at Concord’s town hall, Thoreau’s earlier refusal to pay the poll tax to fund the Mexican–American War was a passive act of resistance. Thoreau was only jailed because of his unintended encounter with a tax collector. Although Thoreau acted with political convic- tion, his journey to jail was not intentional; nor was his release, which was secured by a friend who paid his taxes on his behalf. The political implications of such passive action are limited; waiting for specific circumstances is obvi- ously not the most effective way of overturning existing political norms. By contrast, Thoreau’s plea for John Brown was an act of mobilization. Thoreau’s attempt to persuade his neighbors of the justness of Brown’s cause was possibly his most political act. Not yet a theory of violence, Thoreau’s “Plea for John Brown” is a program for revolutionary political action. It proposes to overturn the existing social order, however gradually. While “Resistance to Civil Government” argues that every citizen is obliged to avoid perpetuating evil through nonviolent means, by , in a state of mounting frustration over the continuation of slavery, Thoreau was ready to acknowledge that under the right circumstances, political violence may be legitimate and necessary for combating injustice. Not everyone is obliged to engage in political violence, but when conscience dictates and when the cause is just, Thoreau accepts this form of dissent. While Robert D. Richardson, Henry Thoreau: A Life of the Mind (Berkeley: University of California Press, ), . Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core praising Brown’s character, Thoreau reflects on the appropriate scope of pol- itical action, including the conditions under which violence is justified. “It was [Brown’s] peculiar doctrine,” Thoreau writes, “that a man has a perfect right to interfere by force with the slaveholder, in order to rescue the slave. I agree with him” (“PJB,” ). This acknowledgment that force is legitimate under certain conditions highlights an unresolved ambiguity in Thoreau’s concept of civil disobedience, which in part accounts for its range of appropriations, from the pacifism of Tolstoy and Gandhi to the militancy of Mehanna. The strat- egy Thoreau followed when he refused to pay the poll tax did not exhaust the range of legitimate political options. Political theorists who treat Thoreau as primarily or exclusively a theorist of nonviolence miss these incendiary dimen- sions of his political thought. Thoreau’s ambivalence towards violence (more than his more publicized rejection of it) is part of what makes him relevant to Mehanna, who came of age in a country that, with respect to conflicts in the Middle East, had demonstrated a preference for short-term violence over a longer-term quest for peace. Four months before his conviction, Mehanna circulated a series of quota- tions he had been collecting on the topics of violence, terrorism, freedom, the law, and prison. He had extracted these quotations from the writings and speeches of Malcolm X, Howard Zinn, Robert Fisk, Usama bin Laden, Sayyid Qutb, and Thoreau, indicating his source in each case. This is an eclec- tic but carefully selected list; US radicalism and Islamic dissent are closely intertwined in Mehanna’s thinking. Mehanna prefaced the collection with the remark that the quotations were “selected from various books I have with me in my cell that I feel to be relevant to my trial in one way or another.” One of the Malcolm X quotations directly touches on the legitim- acy of violence: “I don’t go along with anyone who wants to teach our people nonviolence until someone at the same time is teaching our enemy to be non- violent.” Although Thoreau is typically remembered as a pacifist who retreated to his home by Walden Pond instead of entering the political arena, the militancy expressed in his writings and speeches on Brown directly anticipates Mehanna’s approach to violence against the state. Gandhi, for example, claimed that “until I read that essay I never found a suitable English translation for my Indian word, Satyagraha … There is no doubt that Thoreau’s ideas greatly influenced my movement in India.” Quoted in George Henrick, “Influence of Thoreau and Emerson on Gandhi’s Satyagraha,” Gandhi Marg, July , –, . “Tarek Mehanna: A Selection of Timely Quotes,” at https://freetarek.wordpress.com/ ///tarek-mehanna-a-selection-of-timely-quotes, accessed Nov. . Malcolm X, By Any Means Necessary (New York: Pathfinder, ), . Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://freetarek.wordpress.com/2012/01/09/tarek-mehanna-a-selection-of-timely-quotes https://freetarek.wordpress.com/2012/01/09/tarek-mehanna-a-selection-of-timely-quotes https://freetarek.wordpress.com/2012/01/09/tarek-mehanna-a-selection-of-timely-quotes https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core A MUSLIM AMERICAN PROJECT While its Islamic inflection is obvious, Mehanna’s thinking opens a new chapter in the intellectual history of American radicalism. As Mehanna insisted in his sentencing statement, “It’s because of America that I am who I am.” This text, which is destined to become a foundational document within the history of American Islam, integrates a Muslim American identity into the American project. Emma Goldman, Anne Frank, and Nelson Mandela all feature as predecessors for Mehanna’s conception of political action. Mehanna’s approach is characterized above all by syncretism, and his insistence on the sovereignty of the individual conscience over the laws of the state is distinctively Thoreauvian. Indeed, Mehanna affirms that he gleaned his eclectic dissident history from his public education, and under- scores that his worldview looks beyond his specific religion. “With each strug- gle I learned about,” he recounts, “I found myself consistently siding with the oppressed, and consistently respecting those who stepped up to defend them – regardless of nationality, regardless of religion” (emphasis added). When, in , Mehanna was awarded the Sacco and Vanzetti Social Justice Award by the Community Church of Boston, named for Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, two Italian-born anarchist immigrants who were wrong- fully convicted for murder and electrocuted in , the award committee implicitly linked his Muslim activism to the history of American radicalism. The Sacco and Vanzetti Commemoration Society made the link explicit when they published a speech by Laila Murad of the Tarek Mehanna Defense Committee on their website entitled “Yesterday Sacco and Vanzetti; Now Tarek Mehanna.” Mehanna’s eclectic dissident genealogy, combined with his belief that soli- darity along the lines of class, race, and conviction runs even deeper than reli- gious affiliation, is one version of a distinctive yet heterogeneous American Islam that is increasingly visible within American culture, albeit in undertheor- ized ways. While Mehanna’s Salafi interpretation of classical sources is but Sara Mulkeen, “Sudbury Man Convicted on Terrorism Charges Receives Award,” MetroWest Daily News, Jan. , at www.metrowestdailynews.com/news/x/Sudbury- man-convicted-on-terrorism-charges-receives-award#ixzzHMQPaHQ. For the Sacco and Vanzetti case and background see Paul Avrich, Sacco and Vanzetti: The Anarchist Background (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, ). See http://saccoandvanzetti.org/sn_display.php?row_ID=. The speech was delivered in Boston on Aug. . Studies that showcase the diversity of American Islam include Zareena Grewal, Islam Is a Foreign Country: American Muslims and the Global Crisis of Authority (New York: New York University Press, ); and many of the essays in Juliane Hammer and Omid Safi, eds., The Cambridge Companion to American Islam (New York: Cambridge University Press, ). Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.metrowestdailynews.com/news/x1058227140/Sudbury-man-convicted-on-terrorism-charges-receives-award%23ixzz2HMQPaH3Q http://www.metrowestdailynews.com/news/x1058227140/Sudbury-man-convicted-on-terrorism-charges-receives-award%23ixzz2HMQPaH3Q http://saccoandvanzetti.org/sn_display1.php?row_ID=73 http://saccoandvanzetti.org/sn_display1.php?row_ID=73 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core one of many voices in the diverse confessional landscape of contemporary Islam, his persecution by US authorities is the prism through which many American Muslims have come to experience what Thoreau called, with more than a small dose of irony, our “civil government.” One of the more eloquent testimonies to what Egyptian American writer Leila Ahmed has called the “quiet revolution” of American Islam is the com- mencement address delivered to Harvard’s graduating class of by then- senior and president of Harvard’s Islamic society Zayed Yasin. In a speech boldly entitled “My American Jihad,” for which Yasin received a death threat purely on the basis of its title before the text of the speech was released, the Muslim American informed Harvard’s graduating class of his personal affection for both the Quran and the US Constitution. Yasin’s title was chosen in order to reclaim the original meaning of jihad as spiritual struggle from later, more militant, interpretations. “As a Muslim and as an American,” stated Yasin, “I am commanded to stand up for the protection of life and liberty, to serve the poor and the weak, to celebrate the diversity of humankind.” Yasin added that no “combination of faith, culture and nationality [that endorses] a community of the human spirit” could see a “contradiction” between the ethical claims of the US Constitution and the Quran. A similar reclamation of the word “jihad” occurs in Linda Sarsour’s keynote speech at the Islamic Society of North America convention in , which was rapidly picked up by the conservative media as posing a ter- rorist threat. Although Mehanna struck a different balance between Islamic dissent and American radicalism that brought him closer to the violent aboli- tionism of John Brown, each of these examples reveals Muslim Americans bringing “American” and “Islam” into a new kind of union. From the perspec- tive of American history, and of the history of Islam in America, it is notable that Mehanna and Yasin are exact contemporaries, both born in . For the controversy preceding the speech see, among numerous media sources, “Free Speech: Testing,” Harvard Magazine, July–Aug. , –, . Cited and discussed in Leila Ahmed, A Quiet Revolution (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, ), . The full text of the speech is reprinted, under the changed title “Of Faith and Citizenship,” in the Harvard Magazine, July–Aug. , , and at http://harvardmagazine.com///of-faith-and-citizenship.html. Samantha Schmidt, “Muslim Activist Linda Sarsour’s Reference to ‘Jihad’ Draws Conservative Wrath,” Washington Post, July , at www.washingtonpost.com/news/ morning-mix/wp////muslim-activist-linda-sarsours-reference-to-jihad-draws-con- servative-wrath/?utm_term=.beba. The fifteen-year gap between these two example, both of which caused tremendous controversy and placed the speakers in grave danger, indicates that, unfortunately, no progress has been made in terms of educating the general American public regarding the meaning of “jihad.” Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://harvardmagazine.com/2002/07/of-faith-and-citizenship.html http://harvardmagazine.com/2002/07/of-faith-and-citizenship.html http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2017/07/07/muslim-activist-linda-sarsours-reference-to-jihad-draws-conservative-wrath/?utm_term=.422b6eb91a84 http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2017/07/07/muslim-activist-linda-sarsours-reference-to-jihad-draws-conservative-wrath/?utm_term=.422b6eb91a84 http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2017/07/07/muslim-activist-linda-sarsours-reference-to-jihad-draws-conservative-wrath/?utm_term=.422b6eb91a84 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core The foregoing is not intended to suggest that Mehanna’s views ought to be embraced. Mehanna’s uncritical relation to many aspects of the Muslim trad- ition is worth noting, as is his lack of interest in recognizing the contingency of the historical and political processes through which his readings of classical Islamic sources have been formed. Many commentators have made these points, from both secular and Muslim perspectives, have recognized the con- tingency of these processes within their broader analyses of Salafism. Mehanna endorsed violence, often uncritically, in ways that are not clearly aligned with Islam and that have broader social-justice implications. For example, during the trial, the jurors were presented with a photo of Mehanna celebrating with friends in front of Ground Zero. Although such visual evidence can be interpreted in many ways, the prosecutor used this material to argue that Mehanna took an infantile delight in the deaths of the victims of the World Trade Center attack. It is difficult to determine where to situate such anecdotal detail within Mehanna’s broader political thinking, yet such evidence places him at a distance from Brown, whose nobil- ity of character was such that, in Thoreau’s words, in “teaching us how to die” he “taught us how to live” (“LDJB,” ). A civil society such as the one Thoreau advocated for must guarantee the right to dissent from the political mainstream without risk of imprisonment. I have reserved my critique of Mehanna’s embrace of violence in order to better understand his position within the history of American dissent that was largely founded by Thoreau and the abolitionists. Mehanna’s case is one of many that reveals how the US justice system’s cooptation by the war on terror has shifted the jurisdiction of the state and rearranged relations between public and private spheres. This cooptation has also exposed tensions internal to the liberal political imagination, which claims to be grounded in tolerance yet all too frequently refuses to give its opponents space for free expression when irresolvable antagonisms shape public debate. Many recent studies contribute to various lines of critique, including Henri Lauzière, The Making of Salafism: Islamic Reform in the Twentieth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, ); Alexander Thurston, Salafism in Nigeria (New York: Cambridge University Press, ); Joas Wagemakers, Salafism in Jordan: Political Islam in a Quietist Community (New York: Cambridge University Press, ); and Laurent Bonnefoy, Salafism in Yemen: Transnationalism and Religious Identity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ). See, for example, his appeal to Osama bin Laden as “my real father,” discussed in Innokenty Pyetranker, “Sharing Translations or Supporting Terror? An Analysis of Tarek Mehanna in the Aftermath of Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project,” American University National Security Law Brief, , (), –, . United States v. Mehanna, day , , cited in Brown, “Notes on a Terrorism Trial,” . In support of this point see the important critique of tolerance by Wendy Brown, Tolerance in the Age of Identity and Empire (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, ). Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Instead of imprisoning those we disagree with, let me conclude by offering an alternative, drawn from a different intellectual tradition than that invoked thus far. In place of the classical liberal attempt to eradicate difference through John Rawls’s concept of overlapping consensus, political theorist Chantal Mouffe proposes “agonistic pluralism” as a framework wherein “conflicts can take the form of an agonistic confrontation among adversaries.” Agonistic pluralism turns antagonism into agonism, and violence into dis- agreement. Violence does not thereby disappear, but it is mediated, debated, and engaged, and thereby made consistent with coexistence. Agonistic plural- ism incentivizes democratic speech and neutralizes the appeal of violence. This framework for managing radically opposed points of view approaches ideo- logical difference in a way that keeps these differences in tension rather than suppressing or privileging a single point of view. Hence agonistic pluralism is eminently suited to managing the tensions that Mehanna’s American- style Salafism would necessarily create within any diverse liberal society, such as the contemporary US. Mouffe’s agonistic pluralism offers a more promising strategy for engaging with political and religious ideologies that are hostile to the state than does the post-/ legal system’s practice of preemptively crim- inalizing, and incarcerating, dissent. Mehanna’s objections to US actions abroad call for debate. In the absence of incitement to violence, incarceration is counterproductive. The moral chal- lenges posed by the bombing of Iraq, Afghanistan, and even (via drones) Pakistan, as well as the war on terror within US borders, offer a parallel in certain respects the moral challenge posed by slavery in the nineteenth century. Thoreau made clear that he perceived violence as the best course of action in response to slavery in , and thereby revealed a potential affilia- tion between his political theory and Mehanna’s jihadist embrace of violence. As at the height of slavery, the public remains by and large passive in the face of their government’s excessive use of force. Now, as then, the majority prefers a problematic status quo to an uncertain peace. Now, as then, there are many reasons why an impassioned activist might become impatient with nonviolent protest, and might be persuaded of the necessity of violent action. I have undertaken to show how, notwithstanding his alienation from, and persecution by, the United States, Tarek Mehanna defines himself as an American dissident. His intellectual genealogy began in Boston rather than Egypt, and was first awakened by reading Harriet Beecher Stowe, Malcolm X, and J. D. Salinger rather than ideologues of the Muslim Brotherhood such as Sayyid Qutb and Hassan al-Banna. Mehanna’s many frames of refer- ence recalibrate existing alignments between various schools of political Chantal Mouffe, The Democratic Paradox (London: Verso, ), . Punishing Violent Thoughts terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core thought and various cultural traditions. That Mehanna’s relation to violence is uncritical is a weakness in his thought, but it is not a crime. Mehanna speaks from within an American cultural milieu because he is American. Given Thoreau’s description of John Brown as “the most American of us all” because he stood up for “the dignity of human nature” (“PJB,” ), it is easy to see why Mehanna chose to juxtapose Thoreau’s essays to the Quran when sketching the view from his prison cell. Scholars within American studies and beyond have recognized that the global circulation of knowledge requires us to become acquainted with an increasingly “innumerable number of archives” formerly excluded from purview in order to plumb the relevance even of such canonical texts as the essays of Henry David Thoreau. In the wake of this global turn, which shapes our disciplines as well as our daily lives, Thoreau’s writings enable us to examine how terrorism has changed the ways we write and think about pol- itical dissent. Mehanna’s visual and verbal exegesis of Thoreau, and his inser- tion of a Muslim voice into American history, tell us much about the potential for cross-confessional solidarity in post-/ America to reconstruct a broader political agenda. To make these claims for the importance of Mehanna’s voice, and the wrongfulness of his imprisonment, is not to defend any ideology that condones violence. Violence is indeed the weak spot in Mehanna’s extant work, and he has not offered an adequate statement regarding his views, which may of course have evolved since . Instead of dwelling on the limits of his thought, I have sought here to demonstrate how this body of work helps us move beyond empty polarities that oppose Islam to the West, and recognize the confluence of beliefs, cultures, and ideologies that informs post-/ America, notwithstanding the many violent attempts from the highest echelons of power to undermine our diversity. AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY Rebecca Gould is a Professor of the Islamic World and Comparative Literatures at the University of Birmingham. Her books include Writers and Rebels: The Literatures of Insurgency in the Caucasus (), After Tomorrow the Days Disappear: Ghazals and Other Poems of Hasan Sijzi of Delhi (), and The Prose of the Mountains: Tales of the Caucasus (). I wish to thank Elizabeth Gould for editorial assistance in preparing this article. Brian T. Edwards, “The World, the Text, and the Americanist,” American Literary History, , (), –, . Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Punishing Violent Thoughts: Islamic Dissent and Thoreauvian Disobedience in Post-9/11 America THE CASE AGAINST MEHANNA “IT'S BECAUSE OF AMERICA THAT I AM WHO I AM” WORDS AND IMAGES ABOLITIONIST AND SALAFI MILITANCY COMPARED A MUSLIM AMERICAN PROJECT
work_ms3ik4yzdnayjd2blxhpcymtdy ---- Prawdzik | Greenwashing Marvell | Marvell Studies News Articlesarrow_drop_down Submissionsarrow_drop_down Aboutarrow_drop_down Login Register News Articlesarrow_drop_down Submissionsarrow_drop_down Aboutarrow_drop_down Login Register menu Articles Collections Issues Submissions Author Guidelines Start Submission About Contact Become a Reviewer Research Integrity Editorial Team Articles Collections Issues Submissions Author Guidelines Start Submission About Contact Become a Reviewer Research Integrity Editorial Team Essay Greenwashing Marvell Essay Greenwashing Marvell Abstract This article considers ecocriticism’s reception of Andrew Marvell and suggests ways forward for thinking about Marvell and ecology. It questions ecocriticism’s commitment to a progressive framework that fulfills early modern ecocriticism’s hope that pre-Romantic literatures can demonstrate proto-ecological ethics. Instead, I argue that Marvell’s poetry intuits emergent systems and their relationships. In essence, Marvell does not herald progress but rather bears witness to a universal decline. The rift at the heart of human experience in Marvell corresponds with the splitting and suspension of the subject across vast distances, this suspension being a consequence of the historically widening divide between the site of individual agency and the material consequences of that agency. Nonetheless, natural phenomena continue to interact with the poet, attesting to the agony of the internally displaced subject and offering, as tangible connections between the human and the land, some still-unknowable hope. As such, the poetry addresses historical developments that precede modern capitalism and the corresponding emergence of presentist ecocriticism. Keywords Marvell, ecocriticism, John Evelyn, aesthetics, pastoral, industrialization 772 Views 125 Downloads Ecocriticism has been making its way through early modern literary studies for twenty years. The scholarship has focused overwhelmingly on Shakespeare and, to a much lesser extent, Milton. Ecocriticism has intermittently enriched our understanding of early modern texts while compelling them to speak to our present ecological crisis. For instance, Ken Hiltner (2003) foregrounds a presentist ethics of rootedness and place but still contributes to our understanding of ethics (and failed ethics) in Milton’s garden. Simon C. Estok (2011) establishes through Shakespeare the concept of ecophobia, where the psychological foreground of tragedy plays off against a sometimes mysterious, sometimes awful natural world. Meanwhile, the concept of ‘ecophobia’ focuses a cultural critique that is intended, in part, to help us to think and act responsibly as we wade into ecological cataclysm. Though scholars recognize Marvell as among the seventeenth century’s most important poets, he has not been treated in a full-length ecocritical study. While such a monograph appears nowhere, the green Marvell nonetheless appears everywhere, in monograph and anthology chapters and, most often, in smart lines brought in as supporting evidence for expansive claims. Marvell’s oeuvre is difficult, full of unanswered questions, yet it is easy to make Marvell speak to most occasions. The verse addresses difficult constellations of philosophical concerns. Of the poems most often cited in ecocriticism—the Mower triptych, ‘The Mower against Gardens’, ‘The Garden’, ‘Upon Appleton House’—we have no reliable knowledge of audience. Marvell’s green spaces are fraught with ironies and dense with classical and contemporary allusions. The pastoral was already one of the most sophisticated literary genres when Marvell complicated it further. However, when Marvell is greenly presentized, he is made to speak truths that ecocriticism, mostly, already knows. In such instances, we not only loosen our grasp on Marvell, but we also gag him from speaking what might be, for ecocriticism, exigent truths. Marvell’s lyrics have been ‘greened’ for two and a half centuries. As Bruce R. Smith notes in The Key of Green: Passion and Perception in Renaissance Culture (2009), Alexander B. Grosart’s introduction to the 1872 Complete Poems gushes forth the spirit of Romanticism: ‘Fundamentally, the Poetry of Marvell is genuine as a bird’s singing, or the singing of the brook on its gleaming way under leafage … There is the breath and fragrance of inviolate Nature ….’1 The features of this green aesthetic—purling streams, the poet’s song-bird innocence, nature in its purest state—are still attractive. From the vantage of ecocriticism, the ‘inviolate Nature’ of Marvell’s landscapes can offer a hopeful vision of what might be. As soon as ecocriticism tapped the poet’s shoulder, he was conscripted as an agent of ecological progress. Ecocriticism is committed to progress, to cultural advance under the banner of saving the planet or (less dramatically) of slowing and mitigating the effects of climate change. This commitment has offered the political energies of the humanities new direction, relevance, and urgency. Given its pre-Romantic terrain, early modern ecocriticism has needed to define its place in a sprawling field unified only in its commitment to ecosystemic salvation. The imperative of progress helped to establish two agendas for ecocriticism of early modern texts. The first was to locate, in the literature, evidence of environmental crises analogous to those of the present. The second was to reveal, in that literature, insights of ethics, imagination, perception, and critique that might help to shape twenty-first century readers, academic institutions, and ecocriticism itself into more responsible agents of progress. The imperative of progress informs the ways that our discoveries are made to speak. Robert N. Watson (2007) scrutinizes early modern representations of nature within their historical contexts and epistemic frameworks. He articulates sharp skepticism towards the aims of ecocriticism and questions the motives driving it. And yet, he feels obliged to confront ecocriticism at the outset of his project. Midway through the introduction’s first page, in a section titled ‘Ecocriticism’, we find him mulling why ecocriticism does what it does: Is ecocriticism … mostly an effort of liberal academics to assuage their student-day consciences (and their current radical students) about their retreat into aesthetics and detached professionalism, by forcing literary criticism into a sterile hybrid with social activism? … [In our sentimentality, do we strive] to have religion without coming to terms with religion’s irrational and authoritative demands, … to find an alternative locus for the sacred in an increasingly secular culture? … Is attempting to speak for animals, or trees for that matter, a progressive or an appropriative action?2 Despite a withering critique of ecocriticism in the early paragraphs of Back to Nature, Watson nonetheless concludes the section with a pivot into ecocriticism’s primary terms: ‘If we can understand how some people came to care in politically and intellectually responsible ways, about present and future life on this planet as a collectivity, we can hope to expand the ecologically minded community and its wisdom’.3 With the possible exception of Thomas Traherne, the authors and artists examined in Back to Nature show little capacity ‘to care in politically and intellectually responsible ways … about life on this planet’. Rather, Back to Nature tells a story of cultural decline, one that traces how early modern literature and art participated in deepening the division at the heart of human experience. Progress is such a dangerous concept because it imposes a teleological structure, a vision of where things will end, which the present projects onto a past where such discourses are emergent or unintelligible. Further, it hammers flat structures of language and thought that point in directions other than to our present place and time—structures for which emergence, where past and future touch, brings much of the meaning. In his account of the English Civil Wars in The Rehearsal Transpros’d (1672), Marvell suggested that ‘men may spare their pains where Nature is at work, and the world will not go the faster for our driving’. Though the larger passage warrants sustained analysis, its premise is clear: the so-called ‘Good Old Cause’ was ‘too good to have been fought for’.4 As a ‘good’ cause, it should have been committed to Providence, that is, to its slow ‘work’ in the processes of ‘Nature’. Forcing progress had only thrown a nation into horrific war to no clear end. The Whig narrative had identified Marvell as a protoliberal and patriot.5 Arguably, the green Marvell has absorbed some of this narrative’s underlying desire, namely, to place our poet as a champion of progress. Ecocriticism of early modern texts has become more historically informed and more theoretically responsive, and accounts of Marvellian nature in the past two decades have served a variety of purposes. Nonetheless, the idea that Marvell models ecolologically adept perception, action, and expression suggests not a liberation of the literary subject but, rather, the crystallization of a vision where Marvell stands predictably in the vanguard of progress. For instance, Diane Kelsey McColley (2006) contended that Marvell’s verse offers insight into ecological principles: his ‘language is fluidly responsive to the liquidity of truth … overflow[ing] expected forms to carry new perceptions’.6 Joanna Picciotto (2008) aligns Marvell with cultural enterprises working to redeem humanity through new understandings of nature enabled by instrument and experiment. ‘The Garden’, ‘Upon Appleton House’, and ‘Last Instructions to a Painter’, asserts Picciotto, offer ‘means to chart a progressivist escape from fallen illusions … Through reading, we see observation in action, and as action, and are re-modeled into its agency’. Marvell’s verse strives toward the restoration of Adamic perception: ‘trustworthy prosthetic insight is generated by many pairs of eyes and hands working to discipline each other’.7 Andrew McRae (2010) finds Marvell’s poetry to be among the seventeenth century’s ‘most sensitive reflections on relations between humanity and the natural world’. The poems ‘reveal a mind grappling its way towards new kinds of appreciation of the natural environment’.8 Ecocriticism has only partially fulfilled its promise to open new ways of reading literatures of the past and new ways of making them speak meaningfully to the present. Greenwashing ‘Greenwashing’ occurs when a commodity is represented as green—as eco-friendly—to meet the consumer’s aesthetic and ethical needs in the face of ecological catastrophe. ‘Greenwashing’ compels because all modern consumers both share and deny the open secret that they are complicit in the dawning horrors of the Anthropocene. Greenwashing invites consumption that, nominally, does not participate in ecological decline and that represents antidote rather than poison. Scholarship can greenwash literature. However rigorous or responsibly historicized our analyses, we greenwash when we maneuver earlier literatures into ecocriticism’s master paradigm of ecological progress. In this section, I want to demonstrate what scholarly greenwashing can look like and to sketch out the more cosmic consequences of our eagerness to prefer the aesthetic over a systemic and material reality. John Evelyn’s 1661 Fumifugium offers an excellent starting point, for it allows us to observe how Evelyn greenwashes proto-industrial London and how scholars, in turn, have followed his lead. While Fumifugium sold sparingly and held no influence until the late twentieth century, it has now become a locus classicus for ecocriticism on early modernity.9 Evelyn is attractive, first, because he offers thick description of urban pollution with which modern readers can sympathize. We learn that those ‘who repair to London, no sooner enter into it, but … find a universal alteration in their Bodies; which are either dryed up or enflam’d, the humours being exasperated and made apt to putrifie’.10 Evelyn’s account invites analogy between early modern London and the modern toxic city. For Hiltner, Fumifugium is ‘the first modern work to take as its subject industrial air pollution’.11 For John Bellamy Foster (1999), ‘The brilliance of Evelyn’s 17th-century contribution to conservation … raises important theoretical issues’ for the present. It ‘prefigur[es] an ecological stance that was not to become a political force until the late-19th century (if then)’.12 If the primary end of ecocriticism is salvific political action, in entering Evelyn’s London, we have invited ecocriticism into a place where it can make early modernity meaningful. Evelyn is also attractive because he proposes a perimeter of herbs and flowers, which will serve the city as natural air filters. Evelyn proposes that London be encircled by fields of 20–40 acres, with 150-foot-wide borders between. The fields would be used for agriculture and the borders for horticulture. Evelyn’s enumeration of the herbs and flowers that he proposes to plant is seductively lush, full of beautiful names and olfactory descriptions. As botanical air filters, these plants would absorb smog from outside of the city and waft pleasant odors into it. McColley celebrates that Evelyn’s tract teaches ‘air-cleansing planting’: ‘Evelyn turns to grass roots remedies for air pollution’.13 In appropriating Fumifugium, ecocriticism has discussed its crucial second part infrequently.14 Here, Evelyn aims his reforms at industry: not only those that burn sea-coal, but also non-coal-burning industries and services that are simply noxious, unsavory, or ugly. His solution would ‘requir[e] only the Removal of such Trades, as are manifest Nusiances to the City … [to] farther distances; such [are the] Brewers, Diers, Sope, and Salt-boylers, Lime-burners, and the like’. These industries, ‘together with some few others of the same Classe’, would be ejected from the city center to ‘farther distances’ beyond the suburbs. Here, ‘Classe’ refers at once to a category of industry and an economic status. Whereas the botanical borders would frame the city beautifully, it is the removal of industry that ‘would even be found to breath a new life as it were, as well as London appear a new City’.15 Evelyn’s public-works project would have cleansed the city of material and labor conditions that answered demands of trade and consumption in this emergently industrial city. Industries ‘whose Works are upon the Margent of the Thames’ should ‘be banished further off, and not once dare to approach that silver Channel … which glides by our stately Palaces’. Evelyn adds to the banished not only chandlers, butchers, and fishmongers, but also our ‘Nasty Prisons and Common Goales [jails]’.16 We can hardly fail to notice relationships between urban planning and poverty familiar to the gentrified or ghettoized urban cultures of modern capitalism. ‘Tenements’ and ‘nasty Cottages near the City’, those which ‘are already become a great Eye-sore in the grounds opposite to His Majesty’s Palace at White-Hall’, are ejected to benefit the nobler and wealthier. ‘The Platts [plots] and Houses deserted … might be converted into Tenements, and some of them into Noble Houses for use and pleasure, respecting the Thames to their no small advantage’.17 Depopulating enclosure had contributed to London’s growth throughout early modernity. The ongoing private consolidation of England’s agriculture had uprooted laborers and had pushed many to find wage work in London. Evelyn’s plan would reverse that process: London becomes the enclosed land of the wealthy while laborers are pushed (back) out to dwell where they cannot easily be seen. The material and organizational processes of primitive accumulation (or proto-industrial capitalism) tend to run beneath or outside of the aesthetic. The tools of ecocriticism have not proven sharp enough to dig beneath the aesthetic or to gauge what the aesthetic conceals or reveals. Raymond Williams’s 1970 The Country and the City, which explores how aesthetics, consumption, and materiality informed each other during four centuries of industrial growth in England, proves helpful in this respect. For Williams, ‘structures of feeling’ are dominant assumptions that function to maintain social order but that are also under pressures of social and temporal processes. They are not merely dominant ways of thinking but, rather, ‘affective elements of consciousness and relationships’ that assist the subject’s passage through ideology torqued by the pressures of social change.18 They inform our concessions to pastoralizing aesthetics.19 They are affective, insofar as they reproduce predictable responses (for instance, attitudes toward the countryside or to the days of yore). They are aesthetic, in so far as the aesthetic adheres to affect. They are formal, insofar as linguistic and prosodic structures concretize the aesthetic. They are material, insofar as the affective, aesthetic, and discursive shape the industrial capitalist landscape. Since Evelyn shows us the ugly to promote the beautiful, and since he is writing a proposal instead of a utopia, he must also consider, to the extent possible, the material consequences of his aesthetic vision. By imagining the removal of industries, Evelyn must account for how the demands of consumption would be met: ‘Thousands of able Watermen may be employed in bringing Commodities into the City, to certaine Magazines & Wharfs, commodiously situated to dispense them by Carrs or rather Sleds, into the several parts of the Town’.20 In these good intentions, we can already see the tentacles of the supply chain extending from the commodity-form into the land and across rivers and oceans. In under 150 years, with the opening of the London and Greenwich Railway, Londoners and manufacturers would have their first (coal-driven) steam-train. Soon after, across the Atlantic, Henry David Thoreau would lament hearing, from his home at Walden Pond, ‘the iron horse mak[e] the hills echo with his snort like thunder, shaking the earth with his feet, and breathing fire and smoke from his nostrils’. He foresees the airplane, that superlative emitter of carbon dioxide: ‘what kind of winged horse or fiery dragon they will put into the new Mythology I don’t know’.21 Evelyn’s Fumifugium envisions the horticultural encircling of a London that radiated outward from Westminster. London assumes the aesthetics of its own consumption, of the commodity-form, of an objectified desire framed to efface the conditions of its becoming. The structure of Evelyn’s London in Fumifugium was determined, in part, by his failure to understand the extent of material interconnectivity between consumption and industrial pollution and, thus, between the individual and the horizon. We see, then, a greenwashing that is internal to Evelyn’s tract: the air can be cleansed of pollution and London made a new city. Since the problem is industry and not consumption, industry must be removed while still meeting the demands of town and port. The problem of transport becomes an opportunity for job creation. Meanwhile, the distancing of production leaves the commodity enshrined and the culture of consumption enlivened. In celebrating Evelyn as a proto-ecological thinker, scholars have missed what his proposed reform can tell us about why we find ourself, some 350 years later, within a sixth global mass extinction event. We can see the ugliness of Fumifugium gutted in the moment of its introduction to early modern ecocriticism. Foster’s 1999 Marx’s Ecology: Materialism and Nature details Marx’s interest in ecology, especially the processes through which nature is made to serve the state and to constitute culture. Given Foster’s learned materialism, we would expect him to be a poor ambassador for Evelyn’s tract. And yet, Foster’s ‘edition’ of Fumifugium in 1999—which, published in the journal Organization & Environment, offered to many scholars a first encounter—reifies the text in a form responsive to the desiderata of ecocriticism as it was beginning to enter early modern studies. Foster publishes the first part of Fumifugium, which thickly describes London’s air pollution and its grotesque effects upon denizens and visitors. But he redacts the proposals. As such, the text is prepared to foreground an analogy between early modernity and present ecological crisis: dressed to please and ready to serve. Landshapes Like Evelyn, Marvell struggles, variously, to understand the relationship between the material systems of emergent capitalism and the aesthetic dimensions of the landscape. His lyrics often suggest a suspended subjectivity, one that straddles individual agency and some uncertainly located immanence in the land. The lyrics strive to grasp continuities that double as ruptures, that mark at once psychological rift and material flow. Frequently, shapes or abstract forms appear in Marvell’s landscapes to mark this paradox. These shapes—most frequently, squares or circles—figure soul, form, quantity, and development in antithesis to body, matter, quality, and wildness. In ‘A Dialogue between the Soul and Body’, the square represents form which has been imposed upon wild matter. Through its arguments, imagery, and double-meanings, the poem has dramatized, as dialogue, the soul’s and body’s interdependent suffering. Based on the preceding uniformity of four-couplet stanzas, the poem should conclude at line 40. Yet an additional quatrain breaks through: What but a soul could have the wit To build me up for sin so fit? So architects do square and hew Green trees that in the forest grew. (ll. 41–44) The quatrain analogizes the operation of the soul—to impose form on matter to achieve the conditions whereby the body must fail—with the work of architects, who extract resources from felled forests. Where the soul imposes the concept of sin to cut down the body, so do architects impose form upon wildness to clear space and to extract resources. Here, that form determines, in another register of reality, the leveling of forest. The trees are described as ‘green’—verdant, thriving, free—yet the past tense of ‘grew’ immediately revises them as dead, as already shaped into lumber. ‘Grew’ renders ‘green’ painful; as in the Mower triptych, we see natural presence recede as quickly as it is conceptualized.22 The opening quatrain of ‘Upon Appleton House’, also written in 1651, performs similar work in its suggestion that foreign architects impose grandiose designs that correspond to the wounding and reshaping of earth: Within this sober frame expect Work of no foreign architect; That unto caves the quarries drew, And forests did to pastures hew. (ll. 1–4) The ‘sober frame’ of Nunappleton incorporates no work of foreign architects because at least one, the Huguenot David Papillon, was passed over for the English John Webb.23 The Englishness of the house evokes a sense of humility and rootedness, whereas the foreign is associated with impractical grandeur. Such proud buildings as the palace in William Davenant’s Gondibert appear to inflict strange violence upon the land, so that they gut rock deposits and ‘pastures hew’. Marvell suggests that Nunappleton required no such violation, since its materials were drawn from the ruins of the convent, which had occupied the grounds until the English Reformation. As such, its development follows an inductive, more materially fluent process. Materials were reconstituted without the violence of geometry: ‘all that neighbour-ruin [of the nunnery] shows/The quarries whence this dwelling rose’ (ll. 87–88). To ‘draw’ ‘quarries’ ‘unto caves’ implies a tight correspondence between design and material extraction, between the geometry that delimits development and the violence that is inflicted upon matter. In ‘The Garden’, ‘the skillful gardener’ is described not as having cultivated the floral sundial but, rather, as having drawn it: ‘How well the skillful gardener drew/Of herbs and flowers this dial new’ (ll. 65–66). ‘Skillful gardener’ indicates the person who designed this garden, yet it does so by relating this horticulturalist to the divine Creator, whose art the seventeenth-century garden was understood to emulate. We might think of designs for pleasure gardens that appear in works such as Gervase Markham’s Certaine Excellent and New Invented Knots and Mazes, for Plots and Gardens (1623) and Stephen Blake’s The Compleat Gardeners Practice (1664).24 Blake notes correspondences between his square designs and the pleasure garden’s square. He points to his skill as a draftsperson: ‘This figure represents Lines how they ought to be layed before you begin to draw a Large knott’. He notes in his design for a pleasure garden shaped as the fleur de lis: ‘Heere I have in the paper the Ovalls so round put/And in the Ground the same I can cut’.25 Marvell’s ‘drew’ implicates at once form and matter in the service of aesthetic production. If a floral sundial has been sketched (‘drawn’), so too does the sketched form correspond, exactly, with the ‘draw[ing]’ of the ‘herbs and flowers’ into the horticultural manifestation of that form. As Katherine Acheson explains in her analysis of military structures in the horticulture of ‘Upon Appleton House’, seventeenth-century print addresses a broad cultural interest in the relationship between geometrical structure and land: The conceptualization of space that brings together the military and the horticultural in ‘Upon Appleton House’ derives from the application of ideas and techniques that were germane to early modern arts of mensuration, through which earth was measured and thereby transformed into territory, property, or ‘land’. The arts of mensuration and the modes of spatialization they generate are most commonly expressed in diagrammatic illustrations that represent the world schematically rather than naturalistically—that show the world as it was measured and made use of, rather than as it was seen and enjoyed.26 Blake’s knot garden designs are consummate examples of ‘illustrations that represent the world schematically rather than naturalistically’. They ‘show the world as it was [to be] measured and made use of’, particularly to display one’s wealth and taste. From upon raised ground or from the higher floors of the country house, one might be able to enjoy the design as an emblem, yet the experience of walking through such gardens would be essentially different. As ‘drawn’—formalized, aestheticized, imposed—the sun dial of Marvell’s garden requires that we attain a bird’s-eye perspective to imagine it. The likely contemporary ‘Mower against Gardens’ takes geometrical imposition upon untouched nature as its starting point, from which it opens concerns about aesthetics, cosmetics, sexual corruption, the new economics, and colonial enterprise: Luxurious man, to bring his vice in use, Did after him the world seduce: And from the fields the flowers and plants allure, Where Nature was most plain and pure. He first enclosed within the gardens square A dead and standing pool of air. (ll. 1–6) Humanity capitalized on the original sin by seducing the natural world from its ‘plain and pure’ state. It ‘allure[d]’ the ‘flowers and plants’ from the open field into the form of the garden, this square now immuring a stagnant ‘pool of air’. This geometrical imposition seconds the Fall and repeats that fall in horticultural development.27 From the start of ‘The Mower against Gardens’, Marvell integrates the language and logic of the new economics, of emergent agro-industrial capitalism. ‘Luxurious’ is both lustful and extravagant. The pleasure garden belonged to the privileged, its primary purpose to display opulence, standing, and taste. ‘Luxurious man’ not only had put its vice into practice—that is, ‘in use’—but also had circulated it to accumulate interest, as through usury.28 What begins in the poem as manipulation of soil becomes abstracted into a range of other corruptions. Among those who could grow capital were landlords who optimized their yield through enclosure. We might understand this pleasure garden as complicit, on the one hand, in the enclosure movement and its geographical and macroeconomic implications and, on the other, in the emergence of the commodity-form, which is the sign of these transitions. Once the gardener had walled in the air, he then kneaded nutrients into the soil. Instead of growth and vitality, the product became the prize, and accelerated growth became the means to attaining it. The ‘luscious earth’ ‘stupefied’ the plants ‘while it fed’ them: ‘The pink grew then as double as his mind;/The nutriment did change the kind’ (ll. 6–10). The enriched soil could now alter the colors of tulips and even convert their reproductive organs. For instance, the ‘double pink’ was made by mixing nutrients into the soil that prompted stamen and carpel to develop into petals, thus doubling their number.29 In the poem, this both aesthetic and biological corruption corresponds with sexual corruption: the flowers wear cosmetics and serve in the gardener-regent’s ‘green seraglio’ (l. 27), guarded, according to custom, by neuter plants, ‘eunuchs’ (l. 27) such as the ‘double-pink’ itself. Ultimately, the garden’s promiscuity leads to a complete confusion of origin: ‘No plant now knew the stock from which it came’ (l. 23). In ‘The Mower against Gardens’, the impurities of horticulture and the sexual corruption of court concur with an economic reshaping or devastating of the land. Marvell cites the Dutch tulip bubble of 1637, when prices for bulbs, based on off-season speculation, reached absurd heights.30 Here, Marvell notes that the blush-interlined white tulip was so in demand that the ‘onion root’ or bulb ‘was for a meadow sold’ (ll. 15–16). In framing tulip speculation within the ‘gardens square’, Marvell develops connotations of usury and coinage into an economics that abstracts and quantifies the land and whirls it about. The labeling of ‘man’ as a ‘sov’reign thing and proud’ suggests not only independence, pride, and monarchy, but also the representation of the monarch’s face upon the ‘sovereign’, then a viable but declining currency. As such, the abstraction of the land destabilizes ‘man’, whose self has been assumed into the representation of a wildly unstable value. To satisfy ‘luxurious man’, garden delights must also be sought through colonial enterprise: ‘Another world was searched, through oceans new,/To find the Marvel of Peru’ (ll. 17–18). In other words, colonial expansion was required to find a single exotic flower, the mirabilis jalapa.31 Trans-oceanic trade was increasingly integral to the economics of Marvell’s England, especially by 1668 (one proposed date of the poem’s composition).32 Whereas the poem’s ‘garden’ was planted to reconstitute a lost paradise, that mission leads to continuing expansion, to the domination of new lands and people and to the expansion of markets and trade routes. As with ‘use’ and ‘sov’reign’, the assertion, ‘No plant now knew the stock from which it came’, easily slides into economic critique. The expansion of colonial efforts through plantations large and small leads to ‘plants’—short for ‘plantations’—that seem causally disconnected from the ‘stock’, from the business capital of trading companies and speculators. In a Restoration context, ‘stock’ would evoke the ‘joint stock company’, such as the East India Company, which caused numerous bubbles and collapses while exploiting the land and its people. These aspects of the same corruption—horticultural, material, economic, and mercantile—are ordinary in themselves but extraordinary in their interrelation. ‘The Mower against Gardens’ situates us within an uncertain space of systemic emergence. It also associates this immanence with the subject’s divided consciousness: ‘The pink grew now as double as his mind’ (l. 9). Most importantly, the poem represents the subject’s suspension across emergent systems in ways that are biological (‘grew’) and tactile: over time, humanity ‘did knead’ its perversion into the ‘earth’ (l. 7). What might be reduced to diametrical oppositions between art and nature, form and matter, economics and earth, is complicated by the fact that these poles are connected by material processes and innumerable acts of consumption. All-Natural Ecocriticism continues to redefine itself by shedding the romanticism of earlier ecocriticism. At the same time, it threatens always to maintain romantic sensibilities while attempting to surpass them through hardier method and more sophisticated meta-discourse. Accounts of Marvellian nature remain under the spell of what Theodor Adorno terms Naturschöne or ‘natural beauty’. For Adorno, artistic representations of nature pose—falsely—as communicative media between nature and the human subject.33 The artwork, in presenting itself as a mediation of nature and thus as making nature speak, requires a conception of nature that is, in fact, an idealization pulled from a bygone aesthetic. The concept of natural beauty permits art to convince itself—again, delusively—that it is recapturing communication from the silence that nature speaks to human languages. Moreover, ‘Natural beauty, purportedly ahistorical, is at its core historical’, so that aesthetic shifts not only demand, but also bestow new criteria by which to define this beauty.34 For eco-aware art, as also for literary criticism, such criteria might be interconnectedness, fluidity, texture, ambience, ephemerality, repetition, slowness, and melancholy. Such beauty, however far from vulgar kitsch, carries with it the promise of progress, of the new human and the new earth. The millenarian fervor of the 1640s and 50s assumed that human beings could act to usher in the thousand-year reign of Christ, which was to precede the Apocalypse. Gerrard Winstanley thought that Paradise could be restored in communal agriculture. Thomas Traherne thought that it could be reclaimed in the present as a state of mind and being. Milton’s Adam and Eve exit the garden uncertainly, ‘With Providence thir guide’.35 Marvell’s own worldview, however, was rooted in a more firmly Calvinist view of nature and man as fallen, hopelessly depraved, and resigned to death and judgement. Although not theologically dogmatic, he saw attempts to reclaim ‘that happy garden-state’ (‘The Garden’, l. 57) as potentially escapist.36 Marvell’s concept of a corrupted nature was informed by reading Lucretius and Virgil.37 In De rerum natura and the Georgics, respectively, agricultural labor and reform are consequences of the slow dissolution of matter. ‘Omnia fatis in peius ruere ac retro sublapsa referri’, declares Virgil: ‘All things hasten backward, toward the worse’.38 The gradual diminishment of nature’s fruitfulness necessitated agricultural improvement, such as the invention and perfecting of the plough, along with all agricultural technologies and techniques thereafter. Instead of speaking to the Baconian narrative of scientific progress, Lucretius and Virgil postulated a ‘progress’ from a golden age to a bronze to an iron, the iron of the ploughshare. Thus, they offered Marvell narratives of human and natural regression. The Marvellian pastoral is discernibly georgic. It presents the subject as a laborer in the space of the subject’s own alienation during a time of indefinite suffering. ‘The Mower to the Glow-worms’ captures the primary aesthetic division between cognition and perception: ‘For she my mind hath so displaced/That I shall never find my home’ (ll. 15–16). In “Damon the Mower,” Damon labors seasonally in the land of his dispossession. He is Virgil’s Meliboeus, dwelling comfortably in his pastoral home; yet he is also Tityrus, forced from his land to begin a life of labor in cold foreign soil. In Marvell’s England, such a paradox was plausible: a mower like Damon could have returned to the same land—now enclosed—where he might have sharecropped, grazed cattle, and dwelt with a family. Now, he returns each summer to reap hay for the lord of the estate, to be compensated by wages or according to the volume of hay that he reaps: ‘With this [scythe] the golden fleece I shear/Of all these closes every year’ (ll. 53–54). Facing his internal displacement, the Mower takes aim at the land, attacking the grass vengefully: ‘While thus he threw his elbow round,/Depopulating all the ground …’ (ll. 73–74). ‘Depopulate’, with its unmistakable root in populus (‘people’), unites humanity and nature even as it describes the act of severing that unity ‘between the earth and root’ (l. 76). ‘Depopulate’ is no semantic coincidence. Damon’s stroke, directed at the grass, lacerates his own ankle: The edgèd steel by careless chance Did into his own ankle glance; And there among the grass fell down, By his own scythe, the mower mown. (ll. 77–80) As such, Damon’s stroke severs at once land and mower while suggesting the displacement caused by depopulating enclosure. Damon’s internal displacement is so complete that he can see himself only unreliably, in the reflection of his face (and of the blinding sun) in the steel of his blade. His self-perception is not only unreliable; it is also aesthetic: Nor am I so deformed to sight, If in my scythe I lookèd right; In which I see my picture done, As in a crescent moon the sun. (ll. 57–60, my emphasis) With this aesthetic self-perception in the midst of an alien nature, Damon is the picture of a mind displaced, a mind absolutely and irrevocably split from the earth and from itself. The person and the grass are ontologically split populus. Throughout the Mower triptych, these divisions are attributed to Juliana; yet she possesses no identity, no realness. Rather, in her absence, she haunts Damon’s world as an allegory for a division at the heart of experience that is bound up with the history of the laborer-in-the-land. The innate sense of loss that comes with our emergence into the cultural matrix intensifies an antagonism to the natural world, one exceptionally tragic because, especially in ‘Damon the Mower’ and ‘The Mower’s Song’, human and nature are materially bound. In the latter poem, this antagonism becomes complete, as the Mower, whose decline is counted in years, is mocked by nature’s cyclical renewal: Unthankful meadows, could you so A fellowship so true forgo, And in your gaudy May-games meet, While I lay trodden under feet? (ll. 13–16) In Lucretius and in Virgil’s Georgics, nature and humanity share the same plight, but not necessarily the same fate: in both, nature declines while bearing the promise of renewal. Regardless of the degree to which Marvell accepted these accounts of matter, he places the Mower at odds with nature, which renews cyclically while he is abandoned to his demise and death. They are ‘unthankful’ for his labors and friendship. They abandon ‘A fellowship so true’: here was the grass that brushed his sides and shared his sweat each summer. As he prepares to die, the meadows celebrate in ‘gaudy May-games’. Given the Mower’s death, why wouldn’t they? Rather than killing them, he will be joining them. One might conjecture that Marvell’s prose, and especially his satires, suggest a much more progressive vision. After all, polemic and satire are almost constitutionally committed to change for the better. Marvell’s tracts and satires are not so much persuasive documents as they are committed to exposing discursive error and abuses of political and religious power. Unlike Milton’s early tracts, Marvell’s prose and satires show little concern for guiding humanity forward. As in the Remarks upon a Late and Disingenous Discourse, Marvell suggests that Christianity entered a regressive trajectory when adopted by Constantine and codified at the Council of Nicaea: ‘the first and greatest Æcumenical blow that by Christians was given to Christianity’.39 The history of the perversions and abuses of Christianity, in the hands of worldly power, stem, for Marvell, from this event. Adam and Eve bit the apple. Constantine summoned the bishops to Nicaea. Death holds dominion in the language and imagery of Marvell’s nature. The topos of et in Arcadia ego not only reminds us that death comes to those in Arcadia, too, but also suggests that death fully inhabits Arcadia, that this nature, experienced as aesthetic, has already been given over to death. The natural world in Marvell is regularly perceived within the poems as aesthetic. For instance, ‘everything did seem to paint/The scene more fit for his complaint’ (‘Damon the Mower’, ll. 3–4); ‘Nor white nor red was ever seen/So am’rous as this lovely green’ (‘The Garden’, ll. 17–18); ‘The oak leaves me embroider all’ (‘Upon Appleton House’, l. 587); ‘flowers themselves were taught to paint’ (‘The Mower against Gardens’, l. 12). For several of Marvell’s narrators, death provides the only exit from the displacement that generates desire for and antipathy towards nature. It is the only exit from the human condition. As Watson articulates: Marvell consistently depicts the Fall as an onset of self-consciousness, for which the Other—a field or a woman, almost indistinguishably—becomes the scapegoat. Death, the obvious consequence of that Fall, is also its radical cure: the last hope for participation in nature without the obstructions of language and consciousness.40 The Fall’s original severing of human experience from natural presence determines the recursiveness of our efforts to reclaim it. We repeatedly strive to embrace what is always an aesthetic ghost: ‘the self-regarding reflex of the mind is always already bringing the fallen world back in’.41 Indeed, the ‘self-regarding reflex of the mind’ determines that apprehension of nature is really confrontation with hopeless alienation. ‘The Mower’s Song’ begins with the assertion that the Mower’s mind, once tuned to nature and once sharing its hopes, was itself mown when ‘Juliana came’ (l. 5). Even as he looks back upon that cutting, he can only recall a ‘mind [that] was once the true survey/Of all these meadows fresh and gay’ (ll. 1–2, my emphasis). In other words, he can only look back in time to a map of the meadows, not to the meadows themselves, as though nature were already a landscape painting stolen from an observer’s gaze upon it. The phrase ‘true survey’ is oxymoronic. Nonetheless, the Mower must suffer this banishment while remaining inextricable—materially—from the land. In death, he returns to the ‘Companions of my thoughts more green’ (l. 26), to the ‘fellowship so true’ (l. 14): ‘ye meadows … Shall now the heraldry become/With which I shall adorn my tomb’ (ll. 25–28). Conventionally, nature and mortality are never far from each other. But in many of Marvell’s lyrics, nature is associated with magic, festivity, and renewal—indeed, with comedic resolution. After all, Damon’s story ends happily. Ch[i]asm In Marvell, then, we see a conjunction of paradoxes. The first of these paradoxes is that humanity is alienated from within nature: on one hand, psychologically and perceptually cleft from natural presence and, on the other, materially confluent with nature, integrated into its systems. If visual perception is suspect in Marvell, the tactile seems potently sincere, surcharged with dynamic meaning, insistent upon spreading its body like a bridge across the chasm, clinging like a residue. The second paradox of Marvellian nature is that the human experience of alienation coincides with the emergence of epistemological systems in the landscape that evade the individual’s critical comprehension. As such, the Marvellian subject straddles materiality and the aesthetic perception of nature in a way that stretches the subject uncertainly across the land and, ultimately, across impossibly vast expanses of space and time. Thus, Marvell writes of attempts ‘To find the Marvel of Peru’: he is split between here and there, despite never having crossed the Atlantic. The aesthetic perspective toward nature of the ‘mind … displaced’ translates, through the transactions of the commodity-form, into a geometrical development of the land, which imposes abstractions upon matter that are answerable to the commodity-form and that assist in consolidating its dominion. In the meantime, the vermiculations of the supply chain, concealed through the mirror tricks of consumer culture, sprawl with unthinkable convolutions into the future. As humanists seek new and better ways to locate human progress and to insist upon their contributions to it, so have I, too, hoped to find in Marvell a thinker and agent in that progress. In our labors, from our institutional and market carrels, we yearn for such revelations and discover them perhaps too often. I have paused over many moments in Marvell’s poetry and prose where meditations on history, aesthetics, and materiality converge upon representations of phenomenal experience. I think of the dewdrop of ‘Upon a Drop of Dew’: on the one hand, caught up within physical forces as a soul embodied; on the other, divided from nature as a body riven by soul: Restless it rolls, and unsecure, Trembling, lest it grow impure; Till the warm sun pity its pain, And to the skies exhale it back again. (ll. 15–18) In addition to restlessness, rolling insecurity, trembling, warmth, pity, and pain, the dewdrop’s experience entails, also, a curious exhalation. ‘Exhale’, from ex-halare, indicates the act of breathing outward. Yet ‘hale’ derives a different, equally visceral sense from the Old French haler and Old Saxon halôn (‘to fetch, draw, or pull’).42 Both senses were current during the seventeenth century. Thus, ‘exhale’ signifies at once the intimately physical act of breathing outward and the less pleasant, though as visceral, experience of being fetched or pulled from earth. I imagine that the poet of ‘Upon Appleton House’ is feeling something similar when ‘lick[ed]’, ‘clasp[ed]’, ‘curl[ed]’, and ‘haled’ by ‘Ivy’ (ll. 589–90). The verbs, all of which emphasize tactile interaction, begin with the intimacy of a lick and conclude with the latent aggression of a firm pull (‘hale’). Three stanzas later, they become violent: ‘Bind me … chain me … nail me through’ (ll. 609–16). ‘Curls’, which follows ‘Me licks’ and ‘clasps’, pinpoints the closeness of caress and aggression, ontological division and phenomenal continuity. What does it mean ‘to curl’ a human being (‘me’)? The second appearance of ‘curl’, in line 610, is part of a different, intransitive verb, ‘to curl about [me]’. Here, it is unambiguously the ‘gadding vines’ that the poet encourages to curl around his body, to ‘bind’ him. The earlier appearance, ‘[Me] curl’, suggests that the ivy that ‘licks’ and ‘clasps’ will also make the speaker’s body curl—as it ‘hales’ that body. The poet thus remains entangled with the ‘gadding vines’ of ivy in a relationship of both communion and a desired violent ‘bondage’ of ‘brambles’ that ‘chain’ and ‘briars’ that ‘nail me through’ (ll. 614–16). Marvell’s poetry represents a subject at once ontologically divided from and phenomenally integrated with material nature. At the same time, the interchange that occurs at the body’s contact with the land—that crossing over which Maurice Merleau-Ponty refers to as the chiasm, the intertwining of a shared flesh43—is historically situated. It cannot be reduced to the type of ecological ethics that we see, repeatedly, in the greener shades of ecocriticism. Such reading seizes the moment of the early modern text, extracting it from its depth to speak to contexts that may be superficially similar but that are also profoundly alien, since present moments buried in the past absorb so much from their situation—both horizontal and vertical—in the strata of time. The chiasmic in Marvell drapes over an historically shaped rift that renders nature inaccessible to the Marvellian subject-in-nature. Jacques Derrida, in his articulation of the divide between the human and the animal, permits the chasm an historical and material contingency. The barrier is as a ‘foliated consistency’, a ‘plural and repeatedly folded frontier’: ‘What are the edges of a limit that grows and multiplies by feeding on an abyss?’44 In other words, the chasm continues to be reshaped, indeed, to be layered and folded over repeatedly through our insidious discourses of the animal: ‘No one can deny seriously, or for very long, that men do all they can in order to dissimulate this cruelty [inflicted upon the animal] or to hide it from themselves, in order to organize on a global scale the forgetting or misunderstanding of this violence’.45 So too with the human’s relationship to non-human nature more broadly. What have we to show for our attempts to celebrate nature in our songs and poetry, to exalt nature in our art, to care for it in our discourses, to serve it in our purchases? This year, 5,000 to 50,000 species will be lost. (The current extinction rate is 1,000 to 5,000 times the background rate of extinction throughout geological time.) If it takes, say, an hour to read this article, then it is likely that we have lost one to six species since you began. Too often, presentism requires the capture of a snapshot from a moment in the past. This moment has been extracted from contexts—especially historical, economic, discursive, technological, epistemological, organizational, aesthetic, and material contexts. To seize the moment of the early modern text from this contextual sediment is, perforce, to view it from above as though looking down upon an ornate tabletop. Even as this surface comes under the microscope, it loses its sense of emergence, loses the textures, the caresses and agonies, the sense of being separated from nature, God, and oneself. For the structures of feeling discussed by Williams are not simply algorithmic; what makes them transformative is that they channel a feeling of transition. They are at once of the past, present, and future. Lost, also, is that brilliance in the text that illumines, partially and imperfectly, myriad forgotten connections. Fully manifested, the impulse towards presentism in ecological criticism—towards utility in the service of progress—would ensure that it found well-signposted avenues of inquiry. In such a case, ‘progress’ would be catastrophic indeed. And Marvell would be useless. Notes Bruce R. Smith, The Key of Green: Passion and Perception in Renaissance Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 14; citing Alexander B. Grosart, ed., The Complete Works in Verse and Prose of Andrew Marvell: With … a Translation of the Greek and Latin Poetry … 4 vols. (London: AMS Press, 1872–1875), 1.lxvi. [^] Robert N. Watson, Back to Nature: The Green and the Real in the Late Renaissance (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 4–5. [^] Watson, 5. [^] Andrew Marvell, The Rehearsal Transpros’d, ed. Martin Dzelzainis, in The Prose Works of Andrew Marvell, vol. 1, ed. Annabel Patterson, Martin Dzelzainis, Nicholas von Matzahn, and N. H. Keeble (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003), 192. All citations of the prose refer to this edition. See also Brendan Prawdzik, ‘“Til Eyes and Tears Be the Same Things”: Marvell’s Spirituality and the Senses of History’, Explorations in Renaissance Culture 41 (2015): 202–24, esp. 204–16. [^] See Nicholas von Maltzahn, ‘Andrew Marvell and the Prehistory of Whiggism’, in ‘Cultures of Whiggism’: New Essays on English Literature and Culture in the Long Eighteenth Century, ed. David Womersley, Paddy Bullard, and Abigail Williams (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2005), 31–61. [^] Diane Kelsey McColley, Poetry and Ecology in the Age of Milton and Marvell (Farnham: Ashgate, 2007), 16. [^] Joanna Picciotto, Labors of Innocence in Early Modern England (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010), 376–77: ‘If we, along with the poet, feel the grounds of observation shifting underfoot … this is the surest sign that progress is being made’ (377). [^] Andrew McRae, ‘The Green Marvell’, in The Cambridge Handbook to Andrew Marvell, ed. Derek Hirst and Steven N. Zwicker (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 123. [^] See Mark Jenner, ‘The Politics of London Air: John Evelyn’s Fumifugium and the Restoration’, The Historical Journal 38, no. 3 (1995): 535–51. [^] John Evelyn, Fumifugium, or, the Inconveniencie of the Aer and Smoak of London Dissipated (London: Gabriel Bedel and Thomas Collins, 1661), 9. [^] Ken Hiltner, ed., Renaissance Ecology: Imagining Eden in Milton’s England (Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press, 2008), 2–3. [^] John Bellamy Foster, ‘Introduction to John Evelyn’s Fumifugium’, Organization & Environment 12, no. 2 (1999): 185. [^] McColley, 154, 84. [^] See Jenner, 544–51; and Hiltner, What Else Is Pastoral? Renaissance Literature and the Environment (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2011), 96. [^] Evelyn, 15. [^] Ibid., 21. [^] Ibid., 17. [^] Raymond Williams, Marxism and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), 132. [^] Williams, The Country and the City (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973), 1–54. [^] Evelyn, 17. [^] Henry David Thoreau, Walden; or, Life in the Woods (Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1854), 127. See also Sharon O’Dair, ‘Slow Shakespeare: An Eco-Critique of “Method” in Early Modern Literary Studies’, in Early Modern Ecostudies: From the Florentine Codex to Shakespeare, ed. Thomas Hallock, Ivo Kamps, and Karen L. Raber (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 11–13. [^] Cf. Marvell, ‘The Gallery’, ll. 54–56. All references to Marvell’s poetry refer to Nigel Smith, The Poems of Andrew Marvell (Harlow: Longman, 2003). [^] Jane Partner, ‘“The Swelling Hall”: Andrew Marvell and the Politics of Architecture at Nun Appleton House’, The Seventeenth Century 23, no. 2 (2008): 225–43, esp. 238–39. See also N. Smith, Poems, 216, n. 2–4. [^] See Rebecca Bushnell, Green Desire: Imagining Early Modern English Gardens (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003), 41–83. [^] Stephen Blake, The Compleat Gardeners Practice (London: Thomas Pierrepoint, 1664), 1, 24. [^] Katherine O. Acheson, ‘Military Illustration, Garden Design, and Marvell’s “Upon Appleton House”’, ELR 41, no. 1 (2011): 148; cf. D. K. Smith, The Cartographic Imagination in Early Modern England: Re-writing the World in Marlowe, Spenser, Raleigh, and Marvell (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 157–88. [^] Cf. Marvell, ‘Upon Appleton House’, 21–22. See also N. Smith’s note on ‘mote’, Poems, 217, n. 22. [^] Cf. Watson, 120. [^] Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. ‘double (adj. 1.d)’, accessed 12 January 2019, http://www.oed.com. [^] Peter M. Garber, ‘Tulipmania’, Journal of Political Economy 97, no. 3 (1989): 535–60; cf. Earl A. Thompson, ‘The Tulipmania: Fact Or Artifact?’, Public Choice 130, no. 1 (2007): 99–114. [^] N. Smith, Poems, 134, n. 18. [^] For a discussion of the poem’s date of composition, see Paul Hammond, ‘The Date of Marvell’s “The Mower against Gardens”’, Notes & Queries 53, no. 2 (2006): 178–81; Derek Hirst and Steven N. Zwicker, Andrew Marvell, Orphan of the Hurricane (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 165–77. [^] Theodor W. Adorno, Aesthetic Theory, trans. Robert Hullot-Kentor Adorno, ed. Gretel Adorno and Rolf Tiedemann (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), 68–69. [^] Adorno, 64; cf. 71, 77. [^] John Milton, Paradise Lost, in The Works of John Milton, ed. Frank A. Patterson, vol. 2, pt. 2 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1931–1938), 12.647. [^] Prawdzik, 205–6; cf. John Rogers, The Matter of Revolution: Science, Poetry, and Politics in the Age of Milton (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996), 61–69. [^] See N. Smith, Poems, 152, 160; John M. Potter, ‘Another Porker in the Garden of Epicurus: Marvell’s “Hortus” and “The Garden”’, SEL 11, no. 1 (1971): 137–51, esp. 139–41. [^] Virgil, Georgics, 1.199–200, in J. B. Greenough, Ed., Bucolics, Aeneid, and Georgics of Vergil (Boston: Ginn & Co., 1900). My translation. [^] Marvell, A Short Historical Essay, in The Prose Works of Andrew Marvell, vol. 2, 142; Prawdzik 208–9. [^] Watson, 33. See also N. K. Sugimura, ‘Marvell’s Mind and the Glow-Worms of Extinction’, Review of English Studies 62, no. 254 (2010): 241–60. [^] Watson, 120. [^] Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. ‘hale, (v. 1)’, accessed 12 January 2019, http://www.oed.com. [^] Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Le visible et l’invisible, suivi de Notes de travail (Paris: Gallimard, 1964), 191. [^] Jacques Derrida, ‘The Animal that Therefore I Am (More to Follow)’, trans. David Wills, Critical Inquiry 28, no. 2 (2002): 399. [^] Ibid., 394. [^] Competing Interests The author has no competing interests to declare. References Acheson, Katherine O. 2011. ‘Military Illustration, Garden Design, and Marvell’s “Upon Appleton House”’. English Literary Renaissance, 41(1): 146–88. DOI: [doi: 10.1111/j.1475-6757.2010.01082.x] Adorno, Theodor W. 1997. Aesthetic Theory. Trans. Robert Hullot-Kentor Adorno. Gretel Adorno and Rolf Tiedemann (eds.). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Blake, Stephen. 1664. The Compleat Gardeners Practice. London: Thomas Pierrepoint. Bushnell, Rebecca. 2003. Green Desire: Imagining Early Modern English Gardens. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Derrida, Jacques. 2002. ‘The Animal that Therefore I Am (More to Follow)’. Trans. David Wills. Critical Inquiry, 28(2): 369–418. DOI: [doi: 10.1086/449046] Estok, Simon C. 2011. Ecocriticism and Shakespeare: Reading Ecophobia. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. DOI: [doi: 10.1057/9780230118744] Evelyn, John. 1661. Fumifugium, or, the Inconveniencie of the Aer and Smoak of London Dissipated. London: Gabriel Bedel and Thomas Collins. Foster, John Bellamy. 1999. ‘Introduction to John Evelyn’s Fumifugium’. Organization & Environment, 12(2): 184–86. DOI: [doi: 10.1177/1086026699122003] Foster, John Bellamy. 1999. Marx’s Ecology: Materialism and Nature. New York: Monthly Review Press. Garber, Peter M. 1989. ‘Tulipmania’. Journal of Political Economy, 97(3): 535–60. DOI: [doi: 10.1086/261615] Greenough, J. B. (ed.) 1900. Bucolics, Aeneid, and Georgics of Vergil. Boston: Ginn & Co. Grosart, Alexander B. (ed.) 1872–1875. The Complete Works in Verse and Prose of Andrew Marvell: With … a Translation of the Greek and Latin Poetry, 4. London: AMS Press. Hammond, Paul. 2006. ‘The Date of Marvell’s “The Mower against Gardens”’. Notes & Queries, 53(2): 178–81. DOI: [doi: 10.1093/notesj/gjl018] Hiltner, Ken. 2003. Milton and Ecology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. DOI: [doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511483639] Hiltner, Ken. (ed.) 2008. Renaissance Ecology: Imagining Eden in Milton’s England. Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press. Hiltner, Ken. 2011. What Else Is Pastoral? Renaissance Literature and the Environment. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. DOI: [doi: 10.7591/cornell/9780801449406.001.0001] Hirst, Derek, and Steven N. Zwicker. 2012. Andrew Marvell, Orphan of the Hurricane. Oxford: Oxford University Press. DOI: [doi: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199655373.001.0001] Jenner, Mark. 1995. ‘The Politics of London Air: John Evelyn’s Fumifugium and the Restoration’. The Historical Journal, 38(3): 535–51. DOI: [doi: 10.1017/S0018246X00019968] Markham, Gervase. 1623. Certaine Excellent and New Invented Knots and Mazes, for Plots and Gardens. London: John Marriott. McColley, Diane Kelsey. 2007. Poetry and Ecology in the Age of Milton and Marvell. Farnham: Ashgate. McRae, Andrew. 2010. ‘The Green Marvell’. In: The Cambridge Handbook to Andrew Marvell. Derek Hirst and Steven N. Zwicker (eds.), 122–39. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. DOI: [doi: 10.1017/CCOL9780521884174.008] Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1964. Le visible et l’invisible, suivi de Notes de travail. Paris: Gallimard. O’Dair, Sharon. 2008. ‘Slow Shakespeare: An Eco-Critique of “Method” in Early Modern Literary Studies’. In: Early Modern Ecostudies: From the Florentine Codex to Shakespeare. Thomas Hallock, Ivo Kamps and Karen L. Raber (eds.), 11–30. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. DOI: [doi: 10.1057/9780230617940_2] Partner, Jane. 2008. ‘“The Swelling Hall”: Andrew Marvell and the Politics of Architecture at Nun Appleton House’. The Seventeenth Century, 23(2): 225–43. DOI: [doi: 10.1080/0268117X.2008.10555612] Patterson, Annabel, Martin Dzelzainis, Nicholas von Matzahn, and N. H. Keeble. (eds.) 2003. The Prose Works of Andrew Marvell, 2. New Haven: Yale University Press. Patterson, Frank A. (ed.) 1931–1938. The Works of John Milton, 18. New York: Columbia University Press. Picciotto, Joanna. 2010. Labors of Innocence in Early Modern England. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Potter, John M. 1971. ‘Another Porker in the Garden of Epicurus: Marvell’s “Hortus” and “The Garden”’. SEL, 11(1): 137–51. DOI: [doi: 10.2307/449823] Prawdzik, Brendan. 2015. ‘“Til Eyes and Tears Be the Same Things”: Marvell’s Spirituality and the Senses of History’. Explorations in Renaissance Culture, 41: 202–24. DOI: [doi: 10.1163/23526963-04102004] Rogers, John. 1996. The Matter of Revolution: Science, Poetry, and Politics in the Age of Milton. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Smith, Bruce R. 2009. The Key of Green: Passion and Perception in Renaissance Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Smith, D. K. 2008. The Cartographic Imagination in Early Modern England: Re-writing the World in Marlowe, Spenser, Raleigh, and Marvell. Aldershot: Ashgate. Smith, Nigel. 2003. The Poems of Andrew Marvell. Harlow: Longman. Sugimura, N. K. 2010. ‘Marvell’s Mind and the Glow-Worms of Extinction’. Review of English Studies, 62(254): 241–60. DOI: [doi: 10.1093/res/hgq100] Thompson, Earl A. 2007. ‘The Tulipmania: Fact Or Artifact?’ Public Choice, 130(1): 99–114. DOI: [doi: 10.1007/s11127-006-9074-4] Thoreau, Henry David. 1854. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. Boston: Ticknor and Fields. DOI: [doi: 10.5962/bhl.title.146169] von Maltzahn, Nicholas. 2005. ‘Andrew Marvell and the Prehistory of Whiggism’. In: ‘Cultures of Whiggism’: New Essays on English Literature and Culture in the Long Eighteenth Century, David Womersley, Paddy Bullard and Abigail Williams (eds.), 31–61. Newark: University of Delaware Press. Watson, Robert N. 2006. Back to Nature: The Green and the Real in the Late Renaissance. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Williams, Raymond. 1973. The Country and the City. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Williams, Raymond. 1977. Marxism and Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Share Authors Brendan Prawdzik (The Pennsylvania State University) Download Download XML Download PDF View PDF Issue Volume 4 • Issue 1 • 2019 • Volume 4 Dates Submitted 2018-06-26 Published 2019-03-27 Licence Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 Peer Review This article has been peer reviewed. File Checksums (MD5) XML: b3a75e5393682169b37bcb2703629058 PDF: df283eaa0f3d4035a2b260c18e5e2f18 Table of Contents Non Specialist Summary This article has no summary Close | 2399-7435 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy |
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work_n35ddkw4fvcr7k6xplmbvz4kny ---- TAXES, CONSCIENCE, AND THE CONSTITUTION Steven D. Smith* I. TAX EXPENDITURES AND THE CLAIMS OF CONSCIENCE Al Agnostic and Betty Basic are neighbors-and citizens. They are also taxpayers. As humans, they do not especially relish paying taxes, but as citizens they understand that taxes are a civic necessity and obligation. Like most citizens, Al and Betty approve of some of the uses to which their tax dollars are devoted, and they disapprove of other uses. Sometimes they disapprove on grounds of policy: they simply do not think that particular expenditures are a good use of public funds. Sometimes their disapproval runs deeper: they might express this deeper opposition by saying that they are opposed "in conscience" to particular expenditures of public money. Naturally, the specific expenditures that provoke such scru- ples differ as between Al and Betty. As an agnostic, Al opposes public expenditures that he sees as supporting or advancing re- ligion. So he objects to the inclusion of religious institutions in publicly-supported programs established to provide social ser- vices like job training or drug rehabilitation (the so-called "faith- based initiatives"), and he also opposes the subsidization of reli- gious schools (as in so-called voucher programs). By contrast, Betty is supportive of these types of expenditures. But as an evangelical Christian she is conscientiously opposed to programs that she sees as supporting or condoning premarital sex. And she is especially pained to think that her tax dollars are being used in the public schools to support the teaching of evolution and other ideas that she believes to be false, corrosive of civic virtue, and * Warren Distinguished Professor of Law, University of San Diego. I thank Larry Alexander, Ed Eberle, Tony Ellis, and participants in a workshop at Chicago-Kent for helpful comments on an earlier draft. 365 366 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 subversive of what she regards as the saving faith that she hopes to instill in her children and neighbors. 1 So, do either Al's or Betty's objections have any sort of con- stitutional status? More specifically, can Al or Betty plausibly claim a constitutional right to freedom of conscience that is vio- lated when he or she is forced to pay taxes that will be used in part for these objectionable purposes? It is not hard to imagine a possible (though perhaps not very viable) argument suggesting that both Al and Betty's objections ought to have constitutional status. Al and Betty might join in urging the proposition that in a community that respects "the sanctity of conscience," citizens should not be forced to subsidize governmental activities to which they are conscientiously op- posed. The First Amendment, with its assorted clauses protect- ing the free exercise of religion and the freedom of speech, is sometimes viewed as a haven for conscience. 2 So Al and Betty might try to anchor their appeals to conscience in that amend- ment. In the abstract, it should not be hard to appreciate the ap- peal-and the logic-of this argument. Nor should it be hard to appreciate the overwhelming practical objections that the argu- ment will provoke. After all, many citizens and taxpayers will say, sincerely, that they are opposed in conscience to any num- ber of things that (with the support of their tax dollars) govern- ment doc:s. Some citizens are conscientiously opposed to particu- lar (or all) military activities, others to particular government funded programs in the arts or in science, others to an array of "liberal" or "conservative" social programs. We can appreciate the problem if we let our imaginations run just a little and sup- pose that Al's and Betty's argument were actually accepted by the courts: millions of citizens who have been thus encouraged to develop bloated consciences might thereby excuse themselves from all manner of taxes. That nightmare may easily lead us to the opposite conclu- sion: neither Al nor Betty should be deemed to have a valid ob- jection. More generally, objections of conscience cannot be per- I. Citizens with this perspective are recognized in both scholarly and judicial legal literature. See, e.g., Nomi Maya Stolzenberg, "He Drew a Circle that Shut Me Out": As- similation, Indoctrination, and the Paradox of a Liberal Education, 106 HARV. L. REV. 581 (1993); Mozert v. Hawkins County Bd. of Educ., 827 F.2d 1058 (6th Cir. 1987). 2. See, e.g., J. John Paul Stevens, The Freedom of Speech, 102 YALE L.J. 1293, 1297 (1993) (describing '"the individual freedom of conscience protected by the First Amendment"') (quoting Wallace v. Jaffree, 472 U.S. 38 (1985)). 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 367 mitted to excuse citizens from their basic civic obligation to pay taxes, even if these citizens have sincere moral objections (as many surely will) to some of the things government does with their money. 3 So there is an intelligible argument for accepting both Al's and Betty's claims of conscience, and there is a realistically more acceptable argument for rejecting both arguments. We can also imagine an argument that might support Betty's claim of con- science but not Al's. After all, our Constitution does not explic- itly recognize any "freedom of conscience" -such language was proposed when the First Amendment was drafted, only to be re- jected4- but the Constitution does have a provision recognizing the right to "free exercise of religion." We can stipulate that Al's and Betty's objections are equally sincere and equally conscien- tious, but we have also supposed that Betty's objection is grounded in religious belief; Al's is not. So Betty's claims may seem more at home in the Constitution as it is written. 5 Can we imagine an argument for the opposite result-for recognizing Al's claim of conscience but not Betty's? At least on first reflection, this alternative seems untenable. As noted, Al cannot as plausibly invoke the protection of the right to "free exercise of religion." Nor can he as easily ground his objection in the rationales that historically were offered for protecting rights of free exercise or of conscience. Claims of conscience were typi- cally asserted in reaction to attempts to coerce people in matters of religion, and according to the classic defenses developed by luminaries like Roger Williams and John Locke and James Madison,6 such coercion was wrong because forced worship or religiosity is unacceptable to God-it "stincks in God's Nos- trills," in Williams's pungent phrase. 7 It is doubtful whether Betty can successfully assert this rationale in this context, 8 but 3. This rejection would seem to apply as well, perhaps a fortiori, to citizens who have conscientious objections not to the way their tax dollars arc spent, but to the pay- ment of taxes itself. See United States v. Lee, 455 U.S. 252 (1982). 4. See Michael W. McConnell, The Origins and Historical Understanding of Free Exercise of Religion, 103 HARV. L. REV. 1409, 1481-84 (1990). 5. For an assessment of the question whether the free exercise clause protects nonreligious manifestations of conscience, see Steven D. Smith, What Does Religion Have to Do with Freedom of Conscience?, 76 U. COLO. L. REV. 911 (2005). 6. For an overview, sec REX AHDAR & IAl' LEIGH, RELIGIOUS FREEDOM IN THE LIBERAL STATE 22-36 (2005) 7. See Edward J. Eberle, Roger Williams on Liberty of Conscience, 10 ROGER WILLIAMS U. L. REV. 289, 297 (2005). For a more recent version of this rationale, see JOHN H. GARVEY, WHAT ARE FREEDOMS FOR? 49-57 (1996). 8. Betty can claim that payment of taxes for this purpose violates God's will, but 368 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 surely Al cannot cogently invoke it: after all, Al does not even believe that God exists. So perhaps we should be surprised to learn that a common view today, advocated by jurists like Justice David Souter9 and by scholars like Noah Feldman, 10 would recognize Al's claim of conscience while politely declining to notice Betty's. Moreover, people who take this view often try to support it by quoting lan- guage from venerable sources such as James Madison and Tho- mas J efferson. 11 It is a curious position but also a longstanding one-and one that is arguably at the core of the distinctively American commitment to the nonestablishment of religion. Let us investigate that position more closely. II. FROM CONSCIENCE (THROUGH TAXES) TO NONESTABLISHMENT? In Zelman v. Simmons-Harris, 12 the Supreme Court upheld a Cleveland voucher program that included religious schools among the institutions eligible to receive public funding. Dis- senting, Justice Souter argued that the program violated the con- sciences of taxpayers, and he quoted in support of this claim James Madison's famous statement that conscience is offended by any law that would "force a citizen to contribute three pence ... of his property for the support of any ... establish- ment."13 The basic argument had been made countless times before, of course. And in a sense it seems almost truistic: if the Constitu- tion forbids government to establish religion (a proposition that by now is very well settled14), and if the inclusion of religious schools in a more general program of educational support is an establishment of religion (a proposition that remains hotly con- tested), then it would seem to follow that the Cleveland voucher program violated the Constitution-even if the amount of fund- ing directed to religious schools was relatively small (as it argua- she cannot cogently make the classical argument about the inefficacy of forced worship, since the government is not attempting to induce her to worship. 9. See infra note 13 and accompanying text. 10. See NOAH FELDMAN, DIVIDED BY GOD 33-43,246-47 (2005). 11. See id. at 33-43. 12. 536 u.S. 639 (2002). 13. !d. at 711 (Souter, J., dissenting). 14. For at least the first century or so of the Republic, the prevailing view had been that the First Amendment prohibited the national government but not the states from establishing religion. The turning point came with Everson v. Board of Education, 330 U.S. 1 (1947). 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 369 bly was not). "No aid" separationists have been making this ar- gument almost from time immemorial, 15 or so it seems, and in the last century their position often prevailed (though perhaps less often toward the end of the century than closer to the mid- dle)16. This argument can be made, however, and often is made, without any invocation of freedom of conscience. The "no aid" separationist can simply point out that the First Amendment contains a clause forbidding establishments of religion and then argue that a voucher program including religious schools trans- gresses this prohibition. There seems to be no need to bring in- dividual conscience into the argument at all. Conversely, "free- dom of conscience" would seem to resonate more naturally with the free exercise clause than with the nonestablishment prohibi- tion. Why then did Justice Souter emphasize that the allocation of public money to religious education violated the consciences of taxpayers? Though we can only guess at Souter's particular motivations, we can also imagine reasons why "no aid" separa- tionists might want to assert a link between freedom of con- science, taxes, and nonestablishment. Let us briefly notice four such reasons. First, a commitment to nonestablishment might be made stronger, and more rhetorically powerful, if tied to a commit- ment to freedom of conscience. The case for respecting con- science is arguably more compelling than the case for constitu- tionally mandated nonestablishment. Conscience is an intimate personal concern-one that looks and sounds like the subject of a "right," even a "natural right"- while nonestablishment is more institutional and structural and abstract. Long before arguments for religious disestablishment went mainstream, major theorists like Locke along with scores of by-now-forgotten golemicists were pressing arguments for freedom of conscience. 7 Even to- day, international human rights law embraces freedom of con- science but does not mandate nonestablishment. 18 And nations 15. See generally PHILIP HAMBURGER, SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE (2002). 16. For an overview of these developments, see JoHN WITTE JR., RELIGION AND THE AMERICAN CONSTITUTIONAL EXPERIMENT 149-84 (2000). 17. For a scholarly overview of the historical developments, see ANDREW MURPHY, CONSCIENCE AND COMMUNITY: REVISITING TOLERATION AND RELIGIOUS DISSENT IN EARLY MODERN ENGLAND AND AMERICA (2001 ). 18. See Michael J. Perry, Whm Do the Free Exercise and Nonestablishment Norms Forbid?: Reflections on the ConstitLltional Law of Religious Freedom, 1 UNIV. OF ST. 370 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 we regard as civilized and progressive and supportive of religious freedom- England, for example- maintain established churches. In short, standing alone, the constitutional commitment to nonestablishment may seem vulnerable. Perhaps that commit- ment would be rendered more secure if it could be tied success- fully into the more unassailable right to freedom of conscience. Second, and more technically, linking nonestablishment to conscience may solidify the anomalous doctrine whereby tax- payers are treated as having legal standing to challenge viola- tions of the nonestablishment provision. Typically, the fact that a person pays taxes is not enough to permit him to bring a lawsuit challenging a constitutional infraction, 19 even one involving the expenditure of public funds; the successful plaintiff needs to be able to assert a more concrete and particularized injury. 20 Even if the consequence of this requirement is that no one has standing to challenge a constitutional violation, the courts have some- times insisted on a showing of such personalized harm. 21 In the area of nonestablishment, however, the courts have departed from this ~osition, routinely allowing litigants to claim "taxpayer standing." 2 Erwin Chemerinsky reports that "the only situation in which taxpayer standing appears permissible is if the plaintiff challenges a ~overnrnent expenditure as violating the establish- ment clause." 3 But why? The Supreme Court's own explanation of the ex- ception borders on gibberish. 24 But if taxpayers can plausibly claim that the use of their money to advance religion violates their consciences, then arguably the requisite personalized harm would be present. After all, a violation of conscience seems about as personal a harm as one could hope for. THOMAS L.J. 549, 564 (2003) (observing that "the international law of human rights does not include anything like the American nonestablishment norm"). 19. See Frothingham v. Mellon, 262 U.S. 447 (1923). 20. See ERWIN CHEMERINSKY, FEDERALllJRISDICTION 52 (1989). 21. United States v. Richardson, 418 U.S. 166 (1974); Schlesinger v. Reservists Committee to Stop the War, 418 U.S. 208 (1974). 22. For a recent instance with a scholarly opinion by Judge Richard Posner and a thoughtful dissent by Judge Kenneth Ripple, see Freedom from Religion Foundation v. Chao, 74 U.S.L.W. 1446 (7th Cir. 2006) (upholding taxpayer standmg m suit challengmg Bush Administration program promoting "faith-based initiatives") 23. CIIE~ERINSKY, supra note 20, at 82. 24. Flast v. Cohen, 392 U.S. 83 (1968). See especially the dissenting opinion by Jus- tice Harlan. 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 371 Third, if state monetary support for religion violates the consciences of taxpayers, a long-standing embarrassment in the constitutional doctrine of "incorporation" might be allayed. As all law students know, the Bill of Rights did not originally apply to the states, nor did the Supreme Court ever hold that the Four- teenth Amendment incorporated the Bill of Rights per se against the states (Justice Black notwithstanding). Instead, the Court ruled that the Fourteenth Amendment's due process clause in- cluded certain substantive rights that were "implicit in the con- cept of ordered liberty,"25 or "deeply rooted in this Nation's his- tory and tradition. "26 And the Court treated various provisions in the Bill of Rights as authoritative expressions of some of these rights. Though often critical of the path taken by the Court, scholars have argued for a similar overall outcome by contend- ing that rights contained in the Bill of Rights should have been treated as among the "privile.pes and immunities" referred to in the Fourteenth Amendment. 2 Under these "rights" rationales, it is easy enough to say that the Fourteenth Amendment incorporated the free exercise clause-or perhaps some more general right to freedom of con- science emanating from the free exercise and free speech clauses. 28 But it is conceptually awkward to say that a merely structural limitation on the national government was somehow incorporated against the states. Thus, scholars and jurists have sometimes argued that the establishment clause (at least in its original meaning) could not have been incorporated against the states: the claim simply defies logic. 29 But if the payment of taxes to be used for religious purposes violates the taxpayers' rights of conscience, so that nonestablishment is a corollary of freedom of conscience, then this objection is readily overcome. That is be- cause, once again, a right of conscience has a strong claim to be- ing "deeply rooted in this Nation's history and tradition." Finally, for those who believe that "original meaning" should count heavily or decisively in constitutional interpreta- tion, linking "no aid" nonestablishment to freedom of con- science might be helpful in parrying a threatening interpretation of the original meaning of the religion clauses. In recent years, 25. Palko v. Connecticut, 302 U.S. 319,325 (1937). 26. Moore v. City of East Cleveland, 431 U.S. 494,503 (1977). 27. See, e.g., AKHIL REED AMAR, THE BILL OF RIGHTS 181-87 (1998). 28. See Cantwell v. Connecticut, 310 U.S. 296 (1940). 29. See, e.g., AMAR, supra note 27, at 41. See also Note, Rethinking the Incorpora- tion of the Establishment Clause: A Federalist View, 105 HARV. L. REV. 1700 (1992). 372 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 some scholars Uoined recently by Justice Clarence Thomas30) have argued that the establishment clause was not originally in- tended to constitutionalize any particular substantive principle or right of religious freedom, but was merely intended to con- firm the jurisdictional arrangement whereby relipion was a mat- ter for the states, not the national government.3 One argument in support of this jurisdictional interpretation grows out of the fact of widespread disagreement during the founding period about the proper relation between government and religion: some citizens and states (Jefferson, and Virginia, for example) had concluded that government should not support religion, but other citizens and states (such as the Congregationalists in Mas- sachusetts and Connecticut) believed that government support for religion was proper and necessary. Given this disagreement, supporters of the jurisdictional interpretation ask, how could Americans have converged to approve any substantive principle of religious freedom or nonestablishment? Instead, the Framers steered around substantive differences by simply agreeing that jurisdiction over such matters would remain where it had always been-with the states. 32 Opponents of this jurisdictional interpretation typically ar- gue that despite their conspicuous differences, Americans of the period agreed on certain general principles in matters of religion. Specifically, they shared a commitment to freedom of con- science.33 But even if it is persuasive, the argument asserting a consensus on conscience would seem most pertinent to the free 30. See, e.g., Cutter v. Wilkinson, 544 U.S. 709,726 (2005) (Thomas, 1., concurring). 31. I have argued at length for this interpretation elsewhere. Steven D. Smith, The Jurisdictional Establishment Clause: A Reappraisal, 81 NOTRE DAME L. REV. 1843 (2006); STEVEN D. SMITH, FOREORDAINED FAILURE: THE QUEST FOR A CONSTITUTIONAL PRINCIPLE OF RELIGIOUS FREEDOM (1995). 32. Douglas Laycock, though a critic of this interpretation, explains that "[t]hcre was not yet a consensus for disestablishment, which suggests that the Founders might not have been able to agree on a substantive understanding of the Establishment Clause. But they did not have to agree on disestablishment; they had to agree only on what powers they were denying to the federal government." Douglas Laycock, Comment, Theology Scholarships, The Pledge of Allegiance, and Religious Liberty: Avoiding the Extremes But Missing the Liberty, 118 HARV. L. REV. 155, 241-42 (2004). See also Daniel 0. Conkle, Toward a General Theory of the Establishment Clause, 82 Nw. U. L. REV. 1113, 1133-35 (1988). 33. See, e.g., FELDMAN, supra note 10, at 27-33. For Feldman's more developed argument, see Noah Feldman, The Intellectual Origins of the Establishment Clause, 77 NYU L. REV. 346 (2002). See also Steven K. Green, Federalism and the Establishment Clause: A Reassessment, 38 CREIGHTON L. REV. 761, 775 (2005) ("Moreover, Americans throughout the fourteen nascent states agreed that freedom of religious conscience was an essential right."). 2006) TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 373 exercise clause. What does that argument have to do with the es- tablishment clause? While exploring various difficulties with the argument, Noah Feldman suggests that "no aid" nonestablishment can be derived from the shared commitment to freedom of conscience. 34 Why? Because forcing taxpayers to support religions contrary to their beliefs is a violation of their freedom of conscience. So if Americans of the period agreed in supporting freedom of con- science, they effectively agreed on a principle of "no financial aid" to religion as well. III. CONNECfiONS HISTORICAL AND LOGICAL-OR NOT In sum, the contention linking conscience to nonestablish- ment via taxes may be important to the separationist position (and, arguably, to the distinctive American commitment to non- establishment itself) in a variety of ways. This contention can be advanced or understood in two quite different senses, or in terms of what we can call "the historical claim" and "the entailment claim." (In actual debate, of course, these claims usually are not clearly distinguished.) The historical claim asserts that founding era Americans be- lieved that the use of tax money for religious purposes was a vio- lation of conscience. They may have been right or they may have been wrong, but this was what they believed; and their belief was constitutionalized in the First Amendment. Or at least so runs the claim. The entailment claim, by contrast, asserts that what- ever Americans may have believed, or whatever they may be- lieve today, the use of tax money for religious purposes just is a violation of conscience. So if our Constitution protects freedom of conscience, a principle of "no aid" to religion logically follows. Interesting questions might arise if we were to conclude that the historical claim is correct but the entailment claim is not. What would follow, in other words, if we concluded that the founding generation believed that the use of tax money for reli- gious purposes violated conscience but that their belief was (and is) mistaken? Should we conclude that the founding generation's belief, however misguided, was cemented into the Constitution, so that short of constitutional amendment we are bound by that belief despite its deficiencies? Or should we instead conclude 34. Feldman, supra note 33, at 418-25. 374 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 that the case is comparable to that of the Fourteenth Amend- ment and the principle of racial equality? In discussions of Brown v. Board of Education, for example, it has become a sort of commonplace that the Framers believed they could constitu- tionalize equality without dismantling racial segregation in schools and other contexts, but we now realize that they were mistaken about the implications of their principle, and we are bound to respect what the principle really means, not what its enactors mistakenly thought it meant. 35 Perhaps the ostensible link between freedom of conscience and "no aid" nonestablish- ment is like that? We can avoid this conundrum, however, either by rejecting the historical claim or by accepting the entailment claim. And indeed, the historical claim seems hard to square with the his- torical evidence, because in fact the founding generation does not seem to have shared the view that the use of tax money for religious purposes was a violation of anyone's freedom of con- SClence. Some Americans thought this, of course-probably quite a few. Jefferson is a good example. The famous preamble to his Virginia Bill for Religious Freedom did not use the term "con- science," but the idea is clearly there: the Bill's eloquent premise is that "Almighty God hath created the mind free," and the pre- amble reasons on to the proposition that "to compel a man to furnish contributions of money for the propagation of opinions which he disbelieves, is sinful and tyrannical." 36 We might call this the Jeffersonian proposition. It is nicely congruent with the position advocated by Souter, Feldman, and others of a similar inclination. 37 It is clear, however, that other Americans of the founding generation rejected the Jeffersonian proposition. The fact that New Englanders continued for decades to maintain and defend state support for religion even as they also endorsed freedom of conscience is powerful evidence that they did not acknowledge the controversial entailment. 38 For them (as for contemporary 35. See, e.g., ROBERT H. BORK, THE TE\1PTI:-;G OF AMERICA 74--S3 (1990). 36. The bill is reproduced in THE SUPREME COURT ON CHURCH AND STATE 25-27 (RobertS. Alley ed., 1988). 37. For example, in arguing for a strict "no aid" position in Everson v. Board of Education, Justice Rutledge's dissenting opinion repeatedly quoted Jefferson's proposi- tion. 330 U.S. 1, at 28, 44, 46,60 (1947) (Rutledge, J., dissenting). 38. Feldman, supra note 33, at 416. Feldman sometimes suggests that even those who favored state financial support for religion acknowledged, at least in principle, that freedom of conscience required permitting objectors to opt out or to designate a recipi- 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 375 human rights law), freedom of conscience and nonestablishment were independent propositions, and one could accept one proposition without accepting the other. So the historical claim that Americans largely converged in believing that public monetary support for religion violates the consciences of taxpayers turns out to unpersuasive- separationist wishful thinking, perhaps. But what about the en- tailment claim? It could be that Jefferson was right (even though not all Americans were, or are, willing to concede this). Maybe a taxpayer's freedom of conscience is violated when her tax dollars are spent on causes to which she is opposed in conscience. We need to consider the question more closely. IV. OF COMPLICITY AND COERCED AFFIRMATIONS So, is there a good argument that using tax money to further ends to which a taxpayer is conscientiously (and not merely po- litically or prudentially) opposed violates the taxpayer's con- science? The question brings us back to Aland Betty. And as we saw earlier, at least in the abstract the proposition seems plausi- ble. Wasn't this exactly the position taken by Henry David Tho- reau, who refused to pay a tax to support the war with Mexico because he thought the war was morally unjustified? No one was asking Thoreau himself to pick up his rifle and join the troops, but Thoreau thought that paying a tax to support the war would implicate him in the moral offense39 - and he thereby became one of our legendary conscientious objectors. Thoreau's view has its logic. Under the label of "complicity" or "cooperation with evil," we often regard people who support immoral activities as sharing in the immorality. People who fund terrorists are themselves complicit in the terrorism. People who give money to subversive or traitorous groups and activities are themselves guilty of subversion or treason. If it would be a viola- tion of your conscience to do X, it should similarly be a violation of conscience if you pay other people to do X. ent of their choice for their own financial contribution. FELDMAN, supra note 10, at 41. And typically some such designation was allowed. But again, views differed: the argu- ment that compelling a person to pay taxes to support a religion with which he disagreed violated freedom of conscience was considered at length and explicitly rejected in Barnes v. First Parish of Falmowh, 6 Mass. 401, 408-11 (1810), which objected that the claim "seems to mistake a man's conscience for his monev." /d. at 408. 39. See Henry David Thoreau, On the Dwy of Civil Disobedience (1849). 376 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 So the logic is not implausible. Still, doubts arise. In assess- ing moral culpability, ethicists often see a crucial distinction be- tween acting voluntarily with the intention of bringing about an evil and acting with the knowledge that bad consequences may be an unwanted side effect, but without the intention to produce those effects.40 In this vein, we might pronounce a judgment of complicity on someone who voluntarily contributes money to an immoral cause with the intention of bringing about an immoral result. But it is much less clear (Thoreau notwithstanding) that a person who is compelled by law and against his will to pay taxes that are used for immoral purposes should be held responsible for the evil. In addition, the person adjudged to be complicit will typically have contributed money consciously and specifically to some immoral cause or activity. The taxpayer, by contrast, pays money into a general fund which is used to support a whole vari- ety of activities and programs-most of which the taxpayer knows little or nothing about, and many of which are presump- tively beneficial. So again, it is far from clear that the taxpayer has any responsibility for the fact that some of the money is used for purposes to which she is conscientiously opposed. Even more fundamentally, the complicity rationale as de- scribed thus far seems too sweeping, or too crude. The rationale does nothing to distinguish between Al and Betty, or between conscientious objections to religious and nonreligious expendi- tures. But as we have noted already, an argument that would op- erate to excuse from tax obligations everyone who is opposed in conscience to some use of public money could not be accepted, because accepting it would wreak havoc on the civil order. So it seems we need a rationale that is narrower in the scope of protection it would afford. The statement from Jefferson quoted above suggests a possibility. What was "sinful and tyran- nical," in Jefferson's statement, was not compelling a taxpayer to pay for ends of which he disapproved, but rather compelling him 40. See, e.g., Thomas Nagel, The Limits of Objectivity, in 1 THE TANNER LECfURES ON HUMAN VAWES 75, 130 (Sterling M. McMurrin ed., 1980): It is also possible to foresee that one's actions will cause or fail to prevent a harm that one does not intend to bring about or perrmt. In that case It IS not, In the relevant sense, something one does, and does not come under a deontologi- cal constraint, though it may still be objectionable for impersonal reasons. See also John H. Garvey & Amy V. Coney, Catholic Judges in Capital Cases, 81 MARQ. L. REV. 303, 318-19 (1998) (distinguishing between "formal cooperation" with evil, which is "always immoral," and "material cooperation," which "involves an act that has the effect of h-elping a wrongdoer, where the cooperator does not share in the wrong- doer's immoral intention''). 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 377 to support "opinions which he disbelieves." The statement sug- gests that claims of conscience have special force in matters of expression of opinion or belief. It is not necessarily tyrannical, or a violation of conscience, to make a taxpayer pay for programs (a war, for example) to which he is conscientiously opposed. But it is tyrannical to force the taxpayer to subsidize the promulga- tion of opinions he disbelieves. Carelessly considered, modern First Amendment decisions may appear to provide the material to support this argument. We might elaborate the argument in the form of two proposi- tions, each of which can claim some support in the modern case- law. First, the First Amendment protects citizens against com- pelled affirmations. Government cannot force people, in other words, to say things they do not believe. 41 Second, for constitu- tional purposes, money talks. Contributing money to support the expression of an opinion is itself a way of expressing the opin- ion.42 From the conjunction of these propositions, it may seem to follow that government cannot force a person to contribute money that will be used to support the expression of opinions the person disbelieves and opposes: to do so would be to compel an affirmation, which is something the First Amendment forbids. And this seems to be pretty much what Jefferson asserted. Modern caselaw does not in fact draw this conclusion,43 however; nor could it. Once again, the rationale is simply too broad to be acceptable. To put the point differently, even the narrower "compelled affirmation" rationale covers Betty as well as AI. In- deed, the logic of the rationale may fit Betty better than it fits AI. That is because Betty actually believes that the ideas that she wishes not to subsidize-evolution, perhaps, or "safe sex" for teenagers, or any number of other ideas regularly taught in the public schools-are false and pernicious. She would rather that they not be taught anywhere; and she certainly has scruples against supporting their inculcation in any context. AI, on the other hand, very likely does not think the same of the religious ideas that he wishes not to subsidize. AI might think this, of 41 The classic case is West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette, 319 U.S. 624 (1943). For a provocative discussion criticizing this venerable assumption, see Larry Alexander, Compelled Speech, 23 CONST. COMMENT. 147(2006). 42. See, e.g., Buckley v. Valeo, 424 U.S. 1 (1976). 43. See, e.g., Board of Regents v. Southworth, 529 U.S. 217 (2000). In a few in- stances, however, the Court has ruled in favor of persons who objected to being com- pelled to subsidize speech by private associations. See, e.g., Abood v. Detroit Bd. of Educ., 431 U.S. 209 (1977). The limited scope of this right is emphasized in Johanns v. Livestock Mktg Ass'n, 544 U.S. 550 (2005). 378 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 course: he might be a devout atheist who would like to see relig- ion disappear altogether. But in the America of 1790 or the America of 2006, it is at least as likely that Al's objection is not so much to the religious ideas themselves as to public support for the promotion of those ideas. Al typically will protest that he is not opposed to religion, and that he is perfectly content to have such religious beliefs taught in private homes and churches. In- deed, we could easily recast Al as a religious liberal who actually agrees with the religious ideas in question (whatever they hap- pen to be), who in fact teaches similar ideas in his role as a Sun- day School teacher, but who thinks the government should not be supporting and promoting such ideas. Hence, if Betty is not ex- cused from paying her taxes she can fairly say that she has been "compel[led] . . . to furnish contributions of money for the propagation of opinions which [sjhe disbelieves"; Al may not be able to say as much. But our question was whether a plausible argument could be advanced for recognizing Al's objection in conscience to sub- sidizing the teaching of religious ideas while refusing to recog- nize Betty's objection in conscience to subsidizing the promulga- tion of what she regards as anti-religious ideas. And it seems that the Jeffersonian contention fails to give us that argument. Its terms and its logic cover all publicly subsidized "propagation of opinions" that some taxpayers may "disbelieve" -religious or not. And given the fact that there are large numbers of citizens who "disbelieve" all manner of opinions taught in the public schools or subsidized in other ways, this broader argument is again one which, as a practical matter, we cannot expect courts ever to embrace. So does it follow that the noble sentiments expressed in Jef- ferson's revered statute were simply misguided? Maybe. But perhaps we could rescue Jefferson by supposing that he wrote in a context in which subsidization of Christian ministers was thought to be just about the only form of public financial support for the expression of controversial opinions. If we view the mat- ter in this way, then we might conclude that although Jefferson's view was viable and attractive on his assumptions and for his time and place, it simply cannot be embraced today in a world in which government pervasively makes and supports expressions of controversial opinions. Either way, there is no apparent excuse for the opportunis- tic practice by which people like Justice Souter invoke the Jef- fersonian proposition selectively to shut down aid for the sup- 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 379 port of some controversial views while blithely failing to notice that similar subsidies are routinely made available for the sup- port of a whole array of other controversial views. 44 IV. ANTI-RELIGIOUS DISCRIMINATION? Our assessment of the entailment claim -or, rather, of its implausibility-may shed some light on the recurring contro- versy in which some citizens and Justices accuse other citizens and Justices of being "hostile" to religion, and in which the ac- cused indignantly deny the charge.45 We can charitably suppose that in ruling to invalidate various forms of aid to religion, sepa- rationist Justices are not being consciously hostile to religion. They are simply enforcing a constitutional prohibition as they understand it. Still, if a principle is consistently enforced against one set of causes and parties but conveniently forgotten when other causes and other parties' interests are at issue, suspicions will naturally arise. 46 Suppose there is a classroom with a rule against talking in class without permission. The teacher disciplines Susy and Jane several times for whispering in class, and when they suggest that 44. So, should we conclude that the American commitment to noncstablishmcnt is based on a mistake, and that the position of international human rights law requiring freedom of religion and freedom of conscience but not nonestablishment is the sounder position'! See supra note 18. Not necessarily. The ostensible connection of conscience to nonestablishment is a theme that has been historically important in this country, but it is surely not the only reason for favoring a constitutional prohibition on the establishment of religion. Those other reasons may be more than sufficient to support the American commitment. In addition, whether or not it was founded on conceptual errors or on con- ditions that no longer obtain, the commitment to "separation of church and state" is by now a firmly entrenched feature of the American constitutional tradition, arguably cen- tral to our national identity. Tradition itself furnishes a more than adequate justification for maintaining that commitment. See Steven D. Smith, Separation as a Tradition, 18 J. LAW & POLITICS 215 (2002). To be sure, abandonment of the "entailment claim" might make for a somewhat dif- ferently shaped nonestablishment commitment. I have already noted, for example, how the specialized doctrine of taxpayer standing for establishment clause cases arguably rests on the implicit assumption that public expenditures for religious purposes violate the consciences of objecting taxpayers, and thereby cause the sort of personalized injury that allows them to bring suit. Without that assumption, the doctrine of standing might be different; a different standing doctrine might lead to different cases, and hence a dif- ferent substantive doctrine on the subject. There is no way to know. But in any case, the basic commitment to nonestablishment does not seem threatened. 45. See, .e.g., Santa Fe Indep. Sch. Dist. v. Doc, 530 U.S. 290, 318 (2000) (Rehnquist, 1., dissenting) (arguing that the majority opinion "bristles with hostility to all things reli- gious in public life"). 46. Cf Douglas Laycock, Formal, Substantive, and Disaggregated Newrality toward Religion, 39 DEPAUL L. REV. 993, 1010 (1990) (arguing that Justice Stevens' unusual vot- ing pattern in religion cases can best be explained by "hostility to religion"). 380 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 she is being mean to them she explains that, no, she is simply en- forcing the rule. Rules are rules. But when Carlos and Horace engage in what looks like similar behavior, the teacher appears not to notice. If someone asks about this, she says she assumed that they were "conferring" or doing some other legitimate task. The teacher might actually believe her own explanations. But observers will understandably begin to suspect that her real (though perhaps subconscious) motives must be different than her announced ones. By the same token, when people like Justice Souter rou- tinely invoke the sanctity of conscience in supporting the claims of the Als of the world (even when the Als' claims have a tenu- ous grounding in the constitutional text) but seem not even to conceive of the possibility of employing the same reasoning in behalf of the Bettys of the world (even though the Bettys' claims have if anything a firmer footing in the text), observers are natu- rally going to wonder what is really going on.
work_n3h6mn3rfjhjzpwowxw2bs7zzu ---- Embracing the sacred: an indigenous framework for tomorrow’s sustainability science Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 DOI 10.1007/s11625-015-0343-3 SPECIAL FEATURE: ORIGINAL ARTICLE Weaving Indigenous and Sustainability Sciences to Diversify Our Methods (WIS2DOM) Embracing the sacred: an indigenous framework for tomorrow’s sustainability science Kekuhi Kealiikanakaoleohaililani1 • Christian P. Giardina2 Received: 14 October 2014 / Accepted: 21 September 2015 / Published online: 19 October 2015 © Springer Japan (outside the USA) 2015 Abstract Mahalo (thank you) for reading our paper. What you will find is an attempt to synthesize and compare the strengths and weaknesses of Indigenous and Western per spectives on sustainability and a proposed path leading to the integration of these two perspectives into a sustainability framework that considers resources as much more than commodities. We enter into this discussion with 50 years of experience between us, both of us products of our experi mentation with the integration that we are advocating. From this experimentation, we have concluded that sacred rela tionship must be the foundation of any successful sustain ability effort, with success achieved only when resource management practices and policies engage the spirit and are aligned with equitable and respectful interactions among human and non-human. By sacred, we refer to those senti ments, actions, and commitments that emerge from spirit- based relationships that are founded on love, respect, care, intimate familiarity, and reciprocal exchange. By spirit, we refer to that which gives life to the material body, the enigma that is our collective conscious, subconscious, and uncon scious beings. In formulating this paper, we made three assumptions: (1) the need to shift our spiritual selves, and our collective weight and resulting ecological footprints, is fully evidenced by the failure of purely Western approaches to sustain the social and biophysical world around us; (2) Handled by Renee Pualani Louis, The University of Kansas, USA. & Kekuhi Kealiikanakaoleohaililani ohaililani@gmail.com 1 Humanities Department, Hawaii Community College, Hilo, HI 96720, USA 2 Institute of Pacific Islands Forestry, USDA Forest Service, Hilo, HI 96720, USA each and every citizen of our planet contributes to both sustainability’s advancement and its demise; and (3) by engaging the spirit and reclaiming sacredness in all our relationships, we can help move the Earth community towards her fullest potential of wellbeing. Our hope here is that we are able to grow the connections among a nascent but rapidly evolving transformational vision for sustainability, the enlightened thinking of contemporaries, and inspired ancestral knowledge. To facilitate the continued emergence of this transformative vision, we marry Western sustain ability concepts to an Indigenous sacredness framework. Keywords Hawaii · Aloha aina · Malama aina · Love · Relationship A Greeting ALO-HA to YOU reading! The response, if you choose, is ALO (uh-lo) HA (ha) Alo-ha to the place in which you are reading this article Alo-ha to your oikos, your home Alo-ha to your family Alo-ha to the people around you Alo-ha to your mountain, your flat land, your water source, your ocean, your forest, your grasslands Alo-ha to dry-ness, your heat, your season flooding, your coolness Alo-ha to your bird people, your people on twos, on fours, on eights Orienting ourselves We are here in Hilo, Hawai‘i. I (Kekuhi) would like to introduce you to our community. We are almost there. 123 http://orcid.org/0000-0002-9823-9639 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s11625-015-0343-3&domain=pdf http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s11625-015-0343-3&domain=pdf mailto:ohaililani@gmail.com 58 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 I have arrived (I should probably say we have arrived since your here too, right now). I park the car, sit on the nearest rock, open my lap top, and begin chanting softly to ask for permission to be in the place to record this moment for the purpose of this article. At this very moment, I coerce my fingers to strike the keyboard as I turn my sensual and inward attention to this place called Puhi, a very little bay in my hometown of Hilo on Hawai‘i Island. Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa mountains (intimately referred to by my children as Papa Kea and Mama Loa) are in the background as Kanehoalani or grandfather sun begins his descent between the moun tains. Alo-ha old ones. Alo-ha e Puhi, I whisper. The exhale of the blow hole answers, alo-ha. (A very useful courtesy my grandmother taught me.) There in front of me the current pulls out revealing the scent of seaweed. Spring water trickles into the ocean. As I inhale, the surface of the ocean moves up; as I exhale, the surface of the ocean recedes, in and out, up and down. To the south I see Kauku, a small cinder cone created by two deities fighting one another. Hello Kauku. OH!!! Just saw a turtle come up for air. There he is again! And again! Alo-ha ancient one. The moa‘e, prevailing wind or breeze from the ocean, is our constant. Welcome back, I say. Because for the last two weeks, the surface lava flow has sucked the moisture out of the air and frightened away the rain, while making plans with the sun (volcano’s father) to dry up everyone’s grass. Silly Tutu Pele (grandmother lava)! Alo-ha coconut trees and moving fronds, Alo-ha ulili bird, Alo-ha again, turtle, Alo-ha guy on your paddle board. OH! Who just fell off, Alo-ha cliffy coast line, Alo-ha family swimming across the way, Alo-ha, sea spray. The moa‘e breathes, I breathe too. Ocean breathes, I breathe along. I invite you to learn this process. Big breath in and say ‘ALO‘—completely release the breath and say ‘HA‘! Two more times, please. Together we just thanked the moment at Puhi. I cast the eyes downward as a gesture of respect to my community. And then wait for a response. Then, I pick up the rubbish around me and ask for permission to leave. Till the next time, Puhi. I ola ‘oe, I ola ia‘u nei. I live in you, you live in me. This process is Alo-ha, an in-the moment relationship and reciprocal exchange (Alo) of breath (Ha). Introduction ‘‘The land has become an extension of Indian thought and being because, in the words of a Pueblo elder ‘It is this place that holds our memories and the bones of our people…This is the place that made us’.’’ Greg Cajete 1999 ‘‘A man is ethical only when life as such is sacred to him, that of plants and animals as well as that of his fellow men.’’ Albert Schweitzer, 1933 The advent and eventual primacy of the academic research enterprise, social and cultural modernization, and the market economy are Western sustainability science’s double-edged swords. These engines of change have con tributed a great deal to improvements in the quality of life for humans across the planet: medical research and resulting innovations have extended lives and reduced or in some cases eliminated crippling diseases; slavery once normative is now a distant and shameful memory for much of humanity; and access to goods and services is being elevated for much of the Earth’s citizenry. And yet there are negative consequences including ecological degrada tion on unprecedented scales (Dirzo et al. 2014; The Millennial Ecosystem Assessment, www.millenniu massessment.org/), large-scale disenfranchisement from market-based promises of prosperity (Hawken 2011), and emotional and psychological isolation in an era of elec tronic hyper-connectedness (Louv 2006). Additional important but rarely discussed changes accompanying humanity’s march to modernity, and the focus of this paper, are the relentless infilling of a commodity ethic into our daily life, including into relationships with family and environment, and the diminishing role of the sacred in these foundational relationships (Louv 2006; Vaughan-Lee 2013 and chapters within; Nash 2014). We view these changes as important because expanding commercializa tion coupled with declines in how and where the sacred is expressed have transformational impacts on the sustain ability of human health and wellbeing—admittedly com plex terms that are viewed differently by Western and indigenous communities. Western sustainability science most often considers human individual and community wellbeing as a function of the supply of resources and services that underpin health, where wellbeing is gauged as an individual having physical and emotional health, access to social and per sonal resources, and retaining physical capabilities (The Millennium assessment). Indigenous perspectives further consider attributes that directly connect the individual to community and to the surrounding ecological world, 123 http://www.millenniumassessment.org/ http://www.millenniumassessment.org/ 59 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 because these persistent and intimate relationships provide sustenance (Vaughan and Vitousek 2013). These locally based sustenance relationships contrast Western sustain ability’s anonymous and ephemeral market-based con sumer relationships mediated by the black box of international commerce. Simply stated, Western sustain ability has concerned itself primarily with events and activities that operate on either side of that black box, with intentional lack of attention on the nature of the linkages across the black box, while Indigenous sustainability is fundamentally dependent on and so concerned with these linkages (Berkes 1999; Cajete 1999; Berkes et al. 2000; McGregor et al. 2003). As noted by Donatuto et al. (2014), Indigenous concepts of wellbeing include not only ‘‘fa milial and community-wide considerations’’ but also reflect ‘‘interlinked social, cultural, spiritual, environmental and psychological aspects of health’’ that are ‘‘structured in content and internal logic, and comprise practices and knowledge about connections between human beings, nature, and spiritual beings’’. Critically, it is this embracing of resources from within a network of sacred relationships that distinguishes Indigenous from Western approaches to sustainability (Berkes 1999; Vaughan and Vitousek 2013). This concept is eloquently captured by Cajete (1999), who describes a theology of place that is founded on the notion that one’s sense of place is ‘‘constantly evolving and transforming through the lives and relationships of all participants’’ because, he continues ‘‘Humans naturally have a geographic sensibility and geographic imagination borne of millions of years of interactions with places. Humans have always oriented themselves by establishing direct and personal relationships to places in the landscapes with which they have interacted.’’ Considerations of the sacred often underpin discussions of wellbeing, and these considerations have varied over time and across both Indigenous and Western cultures (Leopold 1949; Trenholm 1986; Berkes 1999; Cajete 1999; Berkes et al. 2000; Vaughan-Lee. 2013 and chap ters within; Nash 2014). Within Indigenous communities, beliefs about the sacred are tightly coupled to place-based knowledge systems and culturally driven management practices. These systems operate as shared responsibilities that bind communities (Vaughan and Vitousek 2013), and are transferred across generations through regular com munity practice (Berkes 1999; Cajete 1999). Throughout human history, Indigenous sacredness as a natural resource ethic has conflicted with western commodity-based approaches to resource management and conservation (Trenholm 1986; Williams 1990; Nash 2014). Today, these conflicts span from the scale of an individual’s daily decision making about cost versus environmental stew ardship and respect for life to that of wars that arise between local communities and market-driven entities seeking to secure the raw materials and labor required to produce wealth. Clearly, many Western-based resource management and conservation efforts were the result of sacred relationships between person and place (Nash 2014). Further, a sacred ness ethic (Leopold 1949) has given rise to many of Western sustainability’s modern examples of thoughtfully implemented stewardship, from fishing and forestry to mining and energy production (Hawken 2011). However, within the ecosystem services framework, Western sus tainability science’s dominant paradigm (The Millennium Assessment), sacredness has been relegated to a minor service in an effort to fully commodify sustenance rela tionships between society and the natural world. Because of strong pressures to minimize costs while maximizing services and profits, the ecosystem services paradigm ultimately may limit the capacity of Western sustainability science to catalyze and achieve large-scale sustainability. Delving deeper, indigenous subsistence relationships are informed by inter-generational accumulation of intimate knowledge of local resources, with the ever-present need to survive as the driver of local innovation and adaptation to environmental change (Cajete 1999; Berkes et al. 2000). And so sustainability in an indigenous framework can be seen as the capacity of a community to access and manage local natural resources, or to construct a resource supply via agriculture or husbandry, so as to assure the survival of and interconnectedness of the members of both that com munity and the environment, what Cajete (1999) describes as respectful relationship. In contrast, commodity-based resource management requires time investments into Western systems of learning, financial investments into the infrastructure of resource acquisition and transport, and political investments that enhance economic competitive ness and increase access to resources. Within this market- driven framework, sustainability is the desired condition wherein access to a resource is stable, secure, and as inexpensive as possible; high security, long-term stability, and low cost are achieved by a wide variety of means, both ethical and unethical, in order to assure the continued supply of goods and services to a global network of con sumers. It is not surprising then that knowledge about commodity-based resource management is generated by paid professionals where activities are aligned with cor porate interests. Within a sacredness ethic, taking of resources is viewed as an exchange and a privilege that comes with stewardship responsibilities, and the knowledge that to waste has direct consequences on the web of interactions that sustain life (Berkes 1999; Cajete 1999; Johnson and Larsen 2013). In contrast, a commodity ethic, even when tempered by thoughtful resource management, legislated environmental regulations, or consumer activism, is founded on 123 60 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 maximizing consumer purchasing power and profits for shareholders. Within a commodity-driven framework, resource extraction and associated consequences are diffi cult for the consumer or shareholder to consider because distances between resource and consumers/shareholders are typically large and convoluted such that acts of degradation are often hidden. Further, the global-scale commodification of resources and services means few still retain the knowledge of how to steward their own goods and services, have relationships with the landscapes that sustain, or experience how consumption impacts environ ment and humanity. We suggest that as with the loss of our connection to the landscapes that sustain us, familial perspectives on sacredness are increasingly impacted by the encroachment of the commodity ethic into daily life. Many of us still retain elements of the sacred in our interactions with family and community. For example, while intrepid economists have quantified the financial benefits of marriage, and official union does come with tax benefits, marriage still represents the sacred union between two loving individu als. And most parents view the birth of a healthy child as a sacred gift, much more than a tax break, with child rearing still defined by sacred devotion to a child. The developed world’s concept of care for elderly parents provides a poignant counter example, however, where care is no longer a sacred exchange between parent and child, but rather a market-driven commodity. As with parental care, commodity-driven distractions are whittling away our capacity to love and sustain sacredness within our mar riages and between parents and children. Many of us have witnessed couples having lunch with their cell phones, or have relied on electronic babysitting. The cumulative effect of these distractions is to make us less than human, cynical, depressed, addicted, and undeniably unsustainable (Louv 2006). When we reclaim and embrace the sacred in everyone and all around us, when we act in ways that maintain spirit-focused relationships with family, with community as an extension of our family, and with envi ronment as an extension of our community, we grow our capacity to love and attain a soulful state—joyful, fulfilled, connected, and undeniably sustainable. Foundations of Western sustainability science Sustainability has been described in Western literature in various ways. From Merriam Webster: ‘‘Sustainability: of, relating to, or being a method of harvesting or using a resource so that the resource is not depleted or permanently damaged.’’ From Wikipedia: ‘‘The word sustainability is derived from the Latin sustinere (tenere, to hold; sus, up). More broadly sustainability is the capacity to endure. In ecology the word describes how biological systems remain diverse and productive over time. Long-lived and healthy wetlands and forests are examples of sustainable biological systems. For humans, sustainability is the potential for long-term maintenance of wellbeing, which has environ mental, economic, and social dimensions. Healthy ecosystems and environments provide vital goods and services to humans and other organisms. There are two major ways of reducing negative human impact and enhancing ecosystem services and the first of these is environmental management. This approach is based largely on information gained from earth science, environmental science and conservation biology. The second approach is management of human consumption of resources, which is based largely on information gained from economics.’’ A more modern and comprehensive perspective on sustainability is captured in the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment: ‘‘The MA is an assessment that focuses on the linkages between ecosystems and human wellbeing and, in particular, on ecosystem services. An ecosystem is a dynamic complex of plant, animal, and microorganism communities and the nonliving environment interacting as a functional unit. The MA deals with the full range of ecosystems—from those relatively undisturbed, such as natural forests, to landscapes with mixed patterns of human use, to ecosystems intensively managed and modified by humans, such as agricultural land and urban areas. Ecosystem services are the benefits people obtain from ecosystems. These include provisioning services such as food, water, timber, and fiber; regulating services that affect climate, floods, disease, wastes, and water quality; cultural services that provide recreational, aesthetic, and spiritual benefits; and supporting services such as soil formation, photosynthesis, and nutrient cycling. The human species, while buffered against environmental changes by culture and technology, is fundamentally dependent on the flow of ecosystem services.’’ The conceptual framework for the MA posits that ‘‘people are integral parts of ecosystems and that a dynamic interaction exists between them and other parts of ecosystems, with the changing human condition driving, both directly and indirectly, changes in ecosystems and thereby causing changes in human wellbeing. At the same time, social, economic, and cultural factors unrelated to ecosystems alter the human condition, and many natural forces influence ecosystems. Although the MA emphasizes the linkages between ecosystems and human wellbeing, it recognizes that the actions people take that influence ecosystems result not just from concern about human wellbeing but also from considerations of the intrinsic value of species and ecosystems. Intrinsic value is the value of something in and for itself, irrespective of its utility for someone else.’’ 123 61 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 The main findings of the MA include (1) ‘‘Over the past 50 years, humans have changed ecosystems more rapidly and extensively than in any comparable period of time in human history, largely to meet rapidly growing demands for food, fresh water, timber, fiber, and fuel. This has resulted in a substantial and largely irreversible loss in the diversity of life on Earth.’’ (2) ‘‘The changes that have been made to ecosystems have contributed to substantial net gains in human wellbeing and economic development, but these gains have been achieved at growing costs in the form of the degradation of many ecosystem services, increased risks of nonlinear changes, and the exacerbation of poverty for some groups of people. These problems, unless addressed, will substantially diminish the benefits that future generations obtain from ecosystems.’’ (3) ‘‘The degradation of ecosystem services could grow significantly worse during the first half of this century and is a barrier to achieving the millennium development goals.’’ And 4) ‘‘The challenge of reversing the degradation of ecosystems while meeting increasing demands for their services can be partially met under some scenarios that the MA has con sidered, but these involve significant changes in policies, institutions, and practices that are not currently under way. Many options exist to conserve or enhance ecosystem services in ways that reduce negative trade-offs or that provide positive synergies with other ecosystem services.’’ The above assessment of planet Earth’s ecosystem ser vices suggests that global management of natural resource is in a dire state. We argue that Western sustainability science has strengths that equip it for improving natural resources management, but it also has weaknesses that may contribute to continued degradation. Strengths include methodologies and associated metrics that allow the impact (negative and positive) of actions (or inaction) to be quantified and monitored over time. For example, if society defines clean rivers as a sustainability value, Western sustainability science can provide specific metrics for what constitutes clean water and the tools for quantifying and monitoring cleanliness of the water over time, and the methods for correcting deviations. More generally, the assigning of value to an organism, process, or outcome allows sustainability science to then develop, test, apply, and validate metrics for the sustainability of that organism, process, or outcome, as well as methods to correct depar tures from a desired condition. Further, because of the hypothesis-driven framework in which Western sustain ability science operates, managers can rely on robust results derived from complex analyses, often published in peer-reviewed publications (e.g., Root et al. 2003; Lamb et al. 2005; Hessburg et al. 2012; Dirzo et al. 2014; Vig nieri 2014). Given a reliance on strong metrics, managers know what component of an ecosystem is being examined and so to some extent what is being ignored. An additional strength is the systems nature of Western science. That is, Western sustainability science has biophysical tools (hy drological and biogeochemical techniques, economic analyses, remote sensing, modeling, etc.) to examine the effects of change on an entire system and how change varies across systems, for example, climate effects on water delivery from entire mountain ranges, management effects on global warming potential of entire regions, or policy effects on fossil fuel consumption of entire coun tries. Western sustainability science provides this knowl edge via case studies, experiments, and synthetic analyses, elaborating the meaning and mechanics of Western sus tainability at multiple scales (Fig. 1). Western sustainability science also has important weaknesses. At the conceptual level, Western sustainability science remains a surprisingly poorly defined identity as exemplified by ongoing debates about the motivations and drivers of resources management (e.g., Chase 1986; Marris 2011; Tallis et al. 2014). Similarly, there is a poor under standing of the target baseline for sustainable management of resources and landscapes, itself complicated by realities of ever-changing natural forces that affect systems (Liv ingston 1968), and of human-induced global change (Root et al. 2003; Hawken 2011; Dirzo et al. 2014). Further complicating the concept of target baselines are regularly used anthropomorphizing descriptors such as healthy (versus unhealthy) in the management of ecosystem com position, structure, and function (Chase 1986; Hobbs et al. 2014). This concern is not restricted to present day, human- related disturbances; the ecological sciences have shown robustly that most of the Earth’s ecosystems have been subject to millennia of human activities (Crutzen 2006). And so baselines tend to be arbitrary—a compromise function that integrates societal pressures, ownership needs, and scientific best guesses at, for example, what something might have looked like had Europeans not set tled in an area. A few enlightened best guesses attempt to consider the long-term presence of native cultures and the effects of their management on land, all the while keeping in mind that global change has always and continues at an accelerated rate to alter ecosystem composition, structure, and function. In the application of Western sustainability science, other weaknesses closer to the ground have emerged. Because of various pressures on management to succeed, managing for sustainability has at times drifted to ‘‘com mand and control’’ solutions (Chase 1986; Holling and Meffe 1996). Complicating what already are often intractable ecological problems, applications of Western sustainability science can encounter conflicting public sentiments about management, distrust of agency leader ship especially when controversial management decisions seek to be implemented, and short-sighted political 123 Re ce I P c e e i We e i d 62 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 Gnqdcn Syuve m Clioav e, uour u Eperiy Social Syuve m pu vu opu oli cu E opooy Humcp Syuve m W llbeipi Healvj Culvur Global Sustainability Suuvc ipcdne Prqduc qp & Cqpuump qp Humcp Secur vy nndeipg Hecnvh Ccrdqp Neuvrcn Cqmmupi eu Lcpduccpeu Sqcie vy Complex Problems Mcrm v Dr v ep Degrc c qp Fig. 1 Western, global-scale sustainability is a function of three systems operating at the individual, societal, and global scales, as well as their linkages and solutions to complex problems (adapted from Komiyama and Takeuchi 2006) pressures to achieve outcomes that may not lead to real solutions (Chase 1986; Komiyama and Takeuchi 2006). Further, because Western sustainability science must pro vide simple metrics that can be easily and quickly adopted by resource management entities that seek cost-effective approaches that work across systems, the focus of man agement applications is on a small number of charismatic or economically important organisms, processes, or out comes that are of broad interest and perceived value. Sustainability of an entire system, including all of its components, typically cannot be examined or managed because resources, tools, and even understanding are lacking (Chase 1986). Despite these weaknesses, humanity has turned to Western sustainability science for help with achieving the incredible balancing act of meeting: (1) society’s need for equitable access to life sustaining resources (Ostrom 2009; Lamb et al. 2005; Vignieri 2014; The Millennium Assessment); (2) the profit expanding needs of corporations and share-holder beneficiaries who are often disconnected from, and even misled about corporate resource extraction activities (Hawken 2011); and (3) academic research’s need for reliable and robustly measured sustainability metrics. To achieve this balancing act, Western sustainability science may need inwardly directed and reflective critiques. We suggest one important question is whether the commodity ethic, on which Western sustain ability science and the ecosystem services paradigm cur rently rest, can continue to be relied upon to solve our most pressing sustainability issues. On this question, Winthrop’s (2014) critique of the ecosystem services paradigm is illustrative, making the case that the ecosystem services approach cannot be credibly used to understand let alone value Indigenous cultural services because the paradigm and its methods are incompatible with the social con struction of Indigenous environmental experience, the symbolic character of Indigenous environmental knowl edge, and the multidimensionality of Indigenous environ mental value. This timely critique may be broadly relevant if, as we contend, Indigenous perspectives on the sacred offer an important alternative to the market-driven com modity ethic. Foundations of an indigenous sustainability science Indigenous sustainability science emphasizes place, rela tionship, and sacred exchanges among humans and the resources required for survival (Johnson and Larsen 2013). The concept and practice of sacredness in the context of sustainability is a relatively new academic field of study (Berkes 1999), but has been strongly developed and expressed within traditional Indigenous communities for millennia, most often accurately captured in Indigenous- authored academic writings. Indigenous sustainability sci ence emphasizes humans as components of a complex system that make up with other organisms an ecological web (Vaughan-Lee 2013 and chapters within; Donatuto et al. 2014). In this framework, ensuring the long-term health of the system directly supporting one’s survival and survival of community members is the goal. And so quality of life is adjusted to meet the needs of the system and future generations. To achieve this, Indigenous sustain ability science seeks local knowledge particularly relevant to a place, often scaled down and attained through long term and local relationships that lead to the accumulation of observations and experience. This contrasts Western sustainability science, which seeks general knowledge applicable across systems, with data being aggregated upwards and gained through broadly established methods and protocols. And so while Western-based studies need not include as experts people from the place being studied (approaches are agnostic, so to speak), Indigenous science cannot proceed without individuals who are from the location being studied because expertise and knowledge resides with local individuals. A closely related contrast involves ways of knowing. Indigenous sustainability 123 63 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 science emphasizes familial, that is regular and intimate approaches to knowing as with friends, spouses, children, parents, and extended family members. In contrast, Wes tern sustainability science emphasizes objective data-dri ven process, typically long-term monitoring of indicator variables or short-term experimental data collection. To elaborate on these concepts, in this next section, we draw strongly on Native Hawaiian perspectives because it is the land base and the system most familiar to us. There are many elements to a native Hawaiian ethic of sustain ability, but we focus on two of the most understood and practiced: Aloha aina and Malama aina, translated, respectively, as to love the land and to care for the land. Aloha is an in-the-moment relationship and reciprocal exchange (Alo) of breath (Ha) resulting from a relationship or bond between entities that is characterized by mutual benefit, commitment, and physical exchange. To give aloha for another entity involves a commitment that assures the wellbeing of that entity, and more important for this dis cussion, that allows the giver to see one’s self in each and every entity. Malama is the result of aloha-based rela tionships because the act of loving an entity must translate into caring for that entity, with care including protecting, tending, stewarding, and where needed restoring health and wellbeing. And so in the practice and engagement of Aloha aina and Malama aina, we achieve a deep love for and commitment to caring for and protecting our surroundings, made real through relationship with the land, broadly defined as the world with which a native Hawaiian engages. A third fundamental element of this Hawaiian Indige nous ethic of sustainability is the idea of resource as akua or deity. An extension of this ethos is that all forms and functions (biotic and abiotic, physical and non-physical, observable and non-observable, dynamic, inert, internal, external) are akua expressions. As a result, all interactions are by definition akua or potentiality, and so are sacred. But what does that mean, to be sacred? In native Hawaiian thought, sacred means that there is vitality about an object, a thought, a feeling, or an action, which is experienced through relationship. It is this vitality or mana that brings form to some things and consciousness to others. In certain relationships at certain times there is no form, just mana. This is spirit, the sacred, divinity—a-kua. This perspective recognizes that it is the potentiality of each and every life and non-life form, and its akua state that sustains life, human and non-human, whether it is fresh water for habitat or drinking, soils for growing forests or crops, or air that is breathed. And so the world is an ever-present and contin uous expression of divinity—your divinity, a tree’s spirit, the sacredness of the lava, the ocean, sky, the rock, a baby, an idea, and so on. The invitation of Hawai‘i sustainability is that kanaka (humans) are an intimate part of this continuous expression. By extension then, to ignore, per mit, or actively participate in the degradation of kanaka or the aina (environment) is to ignore, permit, or actively participate in the degradation of a family member. Ulti mately, this degradation returns to the self. From an Indigenous Hawaiian point of view, environ mental kinship and the ancestral teaching of I ola ‘oe, i ola ia‘u nei (You live in me, and I live in you) is an everyday reality, and implicit in Hawaiian Indigenous perspectives on Sustainability. The Hawaiian perspective on life cycle is not based in the linearity of living, but a literal ‘‘cycle’’ of living, reproduction, and dying. Even in death we are contributors to living. Our physical bones return to Papa, to feed the earth, and the mana of our wailua or spirit is recycled into one of many other natural phenomenon, be it animal, plant, ele mental, air, or water. In this way, there is no absolute beginning or finality of ending; there is only the beginning and ending of cycles. We are creators and co-creators of some these cycles, and there is no forgetting exactly who we are biologically, physically, psychologically, and genealogically because we are alertly aware of the dynamic continuity of our relationships and these cycles. And there fore, Native Hawaiians recognize that relationships between the animate and inanimate, visible and invisible, human and nature, and between the conscious, subconscious, and unconscious are inherently indivisible. The term ‘ohana, or family, applies to this environ mental relationship, and is above all the single most important element relating to Hawaiian Indigenous sus tainability, the ability to identify the water source to whom one is related, to embrace as family the natural phe nomenon that are part of the organic lived world. And so, in a socio-cultural context, a Hawaiian perspective of ‘ohana will include, for example, biological and/or adop tive parents, all relatives dead or alive, the ‘i’iwi bird, the taro plant, lightning, a particular shark guardian, or a par ticular rock formation. Puku’i and Handy (1998) so expertly and succinctly state in The Polynesian Family System in Ka’u, Hawai’i: ‘‘A Hawaiian’s oneness with the living aspect of native phenomena, that is, with spirits and gods and other persons as souls, is not correctly described by the word rapport, and certainly not by such words as sympathy, empathy, abnormal, supernormal or neu rotic; mystical or magical. It is not ‘extra-sensory,’ for it is partly of-the-senses and not-of-the-senses. It is just a part of natural consciousness for the normal Hawaiian-a ‘second sense,’ if you will…but it is not ‘sight’ only, or particularly, but covers every phase of sensory and mental consciousness….To comprehend the psyche of our old Hawaiians it is necessary to enlarge the implications of the word ‘relationship’ 123 http:consciousness�.To 64 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 beyond the limitations of the ‘interpersonal’ or social. The subjective relationships that dominate the Polynesian psyche are with all nature, in its totality, and all its parts…’’ (pp. 117–118) The landscape is an essential part of this totality, and not only that which is under one’s foot. Aina or landscape is the physical geography of the island, the surrounding ocean, the different levels in the firmament of the heavens and all bodies of the heavens, layers of earth, all creatures, vegetation, mineral, and elemental phenomenon. Land scape also implies the metaphysical, non-material elements such as the dreamscape, ancestral memory and ancestral prompting or what is commonly known as na‘au or gut feeling, vitality or mana, and a host of other ‘‘unobserv able’’ dynamics. The later type of landscape is what, inevitably, maintains the connection of the individual to her familial relations in nature. That all these features are included in the notion of landscape may seem peculiar, but without the non-material landscape, the primary connec tions among members of the larger ‘ohana are severed. The social-ecological reality of belonging to and being connected with the surrounding environment is simply depicted in familial terms such as ‘ohana, meaning taro stalk; kua’āina, meaning back bone of the land; and, kama’āina, child of the land, or one who is physically, psychologically, biologically, and genealogically insepa rable from the surrounding environment. We will refer again to the clarifying insight of Handy and Puku’i in their explanation of Hawai’i perspective as ‘‘the old Hawaiian theory of Natural History’’ (p. 122), and kinship, based on the ‘‘systematic theory’’ (p. 122) and analogical logic of kinolau (p. 122-126): ‘‘The comprehension of the relationship of persons and families in these islands to natural phenomena and the various genera of plants and animals, requires an understanding of the old Hawaiian theory of Natural History. This theory was based upon the observation of the resemblances, in form, in colour, in some notable detail of marking, or of habit, between natural phenomena, plant and animal forms. On the basis of these observed resemblances, the old Hawaiians developed a systematic theory which considered forms (kino, body) having notable resem blances of particular sorts to be multiple forms (kino lau) of one or another of the ancestral nature gods which mythology and tradition purported to be either (a) primordial, i.e., born of the union of Sky with Mother Earth, in these islands; or (b) proto-historic or historic migrants from abroad, or (c) native Hawaiians who, long ago became elevated to the rank of gods of high rank and power. For example, the edible tree-ferns which cover the uplands are ‘‘bodies’’ of Haumea, who is Papa, Mother Earth herself. The sharks, on the other hand, are ‘‘bodies’’ of one of the brothers of Pele, goddess of vulcanism, who was an immigrant from abroad. Lizards seen to day are related to a deified chiefess of the island of Maui who was a worshipper of the ancient goddess who was ancestress of all lizards, whose kino-lau all lizards are. Caterpillars are cousins of sea-cucum bers and baby eels, all descended, as his ‘‘multiple forms,’’ from a nature god who rose from the bottom of the sea in an age long past. The rationale of these old Hawaiian theories of nat ure will be plain, in the notes that follow, for anyone who can understand the logic-by-analogy of old Polynesian thinking. The significance of the theory of kino-lau in relation to the ‘ohana, as family and community, lies in the fact that these concepts form the basis of kapu affecting individuals and groups; while equally they serve psychologically as common denominators of descent, relationship, status and duty for the kindred affected.’’ And so familial ties to the natural environment are a significant subject of concern, as are connections among community members. Vaughan and Vitousek (2013) describe in detail the subsistence fishing-driven connec tions that bind members of the Haena, Kauai community, connections forged by the mahele or distribution/sharing of fish caught locally by subsistence fishers. Specifically, the reciprocal, non-commercial sharing of locally caught fish promotes community resilience and sustainability by sup porting perpetuation of cultural practices, food sufficiency activities, and maintenance of place-based knowledge and social networks. As described by Cajete (1999) and Berkes (1999) for other Indigenous communities, native Hawaiian relationships with the environment could not have come into existence or continue to exist for that matter, without reciprocal exchanges among community members, human and non-human. Accordingly, Hawaiians view themselves as younger siblings to the surrounding environment, and so are compelled to demonstrate filial piety via ritual and reciprocal exchanges. As with any familial relationship, the rules of aloha and malama apply: to love and care for all relations with the goal of creating abundance for current and future generations. Hawaiian understanding of the universe is shaped by Hawaii’s geography, cultural traditions, and mythology, but also particular kapu and kanawai or resource and self- management tools, which ensure sustainable living on this land space. Kapu is the level of a person’s, place’s, or element’s sacredness, which is determined by a person’s, place’s, or element’s status and contribution to the Hawaiian social-ecological world. And Kanawai dictates 123 http:networks.As 65 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 accessibility and behavior in proximity to the resource in order to preserve a resources kapu. Again, accessibility and behavior applies to relationships between natural phe nomena, between natural phenomenon and kanaka, and between kanaka. These ideas, life ways, persist through the process of aloha: generating the ‘‘ability’’ to ‘‘sustain’’ our relationships (ALO) with reciprocity (HA), with the ulti mate goal of creating abundance for current and future generations. Weaknesses of Indigenous sustainability science include a high sensitivity to local knowledge, which in many cases is now held by very few traditional practitioners or land experts. Because of colonial activities, relocations forced and otherwise, introduction of diseases, cultural marginal ization including outlawing practices and language, knowledge held by land experts has become fragmented and in some cases lost. This loss is now compounded by the fact that across planet Earth, the traditional knowledge tied to a location, and developed over millennia may no longer apply because degradation has changed the patterns and processes that had come to define a system. While local Indigenous knowledge systems are clearly defined by their capacity to evolve and adapt to change in a system, the extent, severity, and rapidity of degradation to the envi ronment seen today are unlike anything witnessed in the history of humanity. As a result, and often out of necessity, most Indigenous communities participate in Western approaches to securing sustenance. Further, because Indigenous knowledge systems are relevant at local spatial scales, planning, implementing, or managing larger scale efforts requires investment into building substantial col laborative teams that may not be cohesive, at least initially (Berkes 2007). A path to integration and thoughts on a way forward There has been significant debate about the extent to which Western and Indigenous ways of knowing are dissimilar (Berkes et al. 2000), and we cannot resolve this debate here. However, we suggest that a starting point for inte gration is the same starting point for Indigenous sustain ability science—using resources, yes, but in all cases with respect of the sacred and with caring for a resource that is to sustain current and future generations. This somewhat obvious starting point can provide critical insights into how individuals can rebuild relationships among members of a community, and how communities can rebuild relation ships with the environment by addressing local ecological, social, and spiritual needs of all participants. This approach is eloquently captured by Johnson and Larsen (2013) who describe the need to embrace a deeper sense of place in the study of how humans relate to their surroundings, with the important goal of decolonizing both perspectives and actions in research environments. And just as they high light that ‘‘Indigenous ontologies structure worldly under standing through firsthand experience in place’’ and that ‘‘places speak to the recognition that context is essential for knowledge,’’ so too is a sense of place central to the integration of multiple knowledge systems in sustainability science (Vaughan 2014) and to achieving sustainability (Berkes 1999; Cajete 1999; Vaughn and Vitousek 2013). Only when people are in relationship with place and with resources can there be deepened connections between beings (plant, animal, physical, spiritual). And only when intimate connections are married to deep understanding can informed stewardship and passionate guardianship occur (Johnson and Larsen 2013). As the rich story of American conservation has demonstrated (Nash 2014), this marriage is a powerful engine of change, playing out over the past century in conservation success after conservation success. Mirroring Berkes (2007) and his treatment of community- based conservation of biodiversity, we propose that humanity’s sustainability crisis is also a multi-level prob lem of the commons, and its solution should rely on a broadly integrated, pluralistic framework found on an ethic of the sacred. And so management planning should yield context specific and community-based sustainability actions that are derived from collaborative deliberations among diverse partners who are intimate with and deeply invested in place (Vaughan and Vitousek 2013). Integrating Western and traditional tools and approaches within an Indigenous place-based, relationship-driven framework may be an effective approach to fundamentally altering our patterns of consumption, widely viewed as being as critical a driver of global ecological degradation as population growth (The Millennium Assessment). To be intimately connected to sustaining resources would change how we view and interact with the world around us, what we purchase and why, and where and how we acquire our food. An integrated and pluralistic, place-based and rela tionship-driven framework would achieve (1) recovery the sacred nature of resource removal (Johnson and Larsen 2013); (2) focusing on managing for abundance and taking the minimum needed for survival thereby reducing damage caused to resources; and (3) enhancement of resource management oriented social networks. And so this approach has the potential to transform the physical quality (obesity, cancer, diabetes, etc.) and spiritual quality of our lives (fulfillment from connectedness to the resources that sustain us, our families and the communities that partici pate in resource stewardship and protection). Critically, the folding of the sacred into larger scale resource management and conservation has also occurred in Western communities, and has been a central feature of 123 66 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 Western thinking about the natural world and the place of humans in that world. For example, Nash (2014) docu ments the very spiritual foundation of the North American conservation movement. Many of our most cherished conservation initiatives (e.g., the National Park System, The Wilderness Act) were achieved in large part because congressional and agency leadership and the public were aligned by a common appreciation for the sacredness of natural areas. Thinkers such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, and Aldo Leopold contributed much to a sacredness ethic underpinning these advances, viewing our relationship to wildness resources as a sacred one that binds human to place. While this spiri tually based, twentieth century conservation ethic repre sented a significant departure from that of early European settlers (utilitarian farmers who sought to subdue and convert wild areas to productive agricultural uses), was not universally embraced, and caused the dislocation of countless Indigenous communities (Nash 2014; Williams 1990), sacredness has been none-the-less a critical pillar in the history of American resource conservation (Leopold 1949; Nash 2014). Looking forward, Abram (1996) pro vides an eloquent summary: ‘‘Ecologically considered, it is not primarily our verbal statements that are true or false, but rather the kind of relations that we sustain with the rest of nature. A human community that lives in a mutually beneficial relation with the surrounding earth is a community, we might say, that lives in truth. The ways of speaking common to that community—the claims and beliefs that enable such reciprocity to perpetuate itself—are, in this important sense, true. They are in accord with a right relation between these people and their world. Statements and beliefs, meanwhile, that foster violence towards the land, ways of speaking that enable the impairment or ruination of the surrounding field of beings, can be described as false ways of speaking—ways that encourage an unsustainable relations with the encompassing earth. A civilization that relentlessly destroys the living land it inhabits is not well acquainted with truth, regardless of how many sup posed facts it has amassed regarding the calculable properties of its world.’’ And so the task ahead seems to be how to identify the needs of our landscapes, redefine what it means to be in sustainable relationship with each other and our land scapes, and embrace the sacred in setting sustainability objectives—all the while knowing that further extinctions are inevitable, further degradation of ecosystem services impossible at least in the short term to avoid, and spiritual and social alienation increasingly the norm. Indigenous sustainability science offers us powerful solutions on all these fronts—solutions that can be implemented immedi ately in the home by individuals of any community, and eventually by any community. Because many of our sustainability problems are no longer solvable only by application of highly local, Indigenous knowledge-based solutions (Berkes 2007), incorporation of the tools of Western sustainability science into an Indigenous sustainability science framework with its own complement of traditional knowledge and tools holds great promise for both achieving larger scale sus tainability but also transforming lives in a way not achievable in a market-driven commodity-based frame work. This would require several changes: (1) Western sustainability science positions itself to embrace sustain ability as something inseparable from human value systems where sustainability becomes a balanced manifestation of a community’s collective values as well as processes based on respect of the sacred nature of both living and non living resources; (2) integrated perspectives on sustain ability that lead to educated, inspired, and motivated individuals who make decisions with the goal of cultivating more meaningful, aloha-based relationships among people, within communities, and with the environment; and (3) societies that are more intentional about how value systems are constructed, evaluated, maintained, and modified, especially deemphasizing norms where financial health is valued over spiritual and ecological health and at the cost of personal and ecological wellbeing. Of course, there is an enormous need to support sustainability efforts that are seeking such integration in order to expand and document the processes, methods, curricula, and demonstrations required for integrating multiple knowledge systems in the management of sacred landscapes. Until we meet again, generate aloha in every relation ship. I ola ‘oe, i ola ia‘u nei! Acknowledgments This paper resulted from a 2012 National Sci ence Funded workshop entitled: Weaving Indigenous and Sustain ability Sciences: Diversifying our Methods. We thank our workshop host, Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington; workshop organizers, especially Jay Johnson and Renee Pualani Fisher; and other workshop participants, who over the course of three days, provided much inspiration for this paper. We thank Paul Hessburg, Marla Emery, Tamara Ticktin, and Frank Lake for important insights into how integration of multiple knowledge systems can support efforts to foster sustainability. We thank Tamara Ticktin, Kealoha Kinney, Chris Heider, and an anonymous reviewer for helpful com ments on earlier drafts of this manuscript. References Abram D (1996) The spell of the sensuous. Vintage, New York Berkes F (1999) Sacred ecology: traditional ecological knowledge and management systems. Taylor & Francis, Philadelphia, London 123 67 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 Berkes F (2007) Community-based conservation in a globalized world. Proc Nat Acad Sci 104:15188–15193 Berkes F, Colding J, Folke C (2000) Rediscovery of traditional ecological knowledge as adaptive management. Ecol Appl 10:1251–1262 Cajete G (1999) Look to the mountain; reflections on indigenous ecology. In: Cajete G (ed) A people’s ecology: explorations in sustainable living, health, environment, agriculture, native traditions. Clear Light Publishers, Sante Fe Chase A (1986) Playing god in yellowstone. The destruction of America’s First National Park. 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Ecol Econ 108:208–214 123 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/08920753.2014.923140 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/su40x000x http://dx.doi.org/10.4337/9781843768616.00019 http://dx.doi.org/10.4337/9781843768616.00019 http://dx.doi.org/10.2984/67.3.3 Embracing the sacred: an indigenous framework for tomorrow’s sustainability science Abstract A Greeting Orienting ourselves Introduction Foundations of Western sustainability science Foundations of an indigenous sustainability science A path to integration and thoughts on a way forward Acknowledgments References
work_n2nm6ess2zd3xgt6l46cb3luyu ---- Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America ISSN 1870-0128 ISSN online 2255-3371 Mario López Martínez Política sin matar. Los métodos de la acción no-violenta NO KILL POLICY. THE METHODS OF NON-VIOLENT ACTION Vol. 7 No. 7, 37-90 pp. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 36 36 MONOGRAFÍA NO-VIOLENCIA CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 37 37 RESUMEN Este artículo pretende definir, delimitar y detallar cuáles son los métodos de acción no-violenta; en principio distin- guiéndolos de aquellos otros que podrían ser catalogados como medios de lucha armada y violenta o métodos crueles, inhumanos y degradantes (los cuales cau- san daño, sufrimiento y muerte), pero, también, diferenciándolas de otros procedimientos democráticos y medios alternativos de solución de conflictos, con los que la no- violencia suele ser confundida. Más adelante explicamos cómo surgió el arte de la resistencia no-violenta y cómo existe una vasta historia tras ella, así como cuáles son las principales escuelas de pensamiento sobre el tema de los métodos no-violentos: el siste- ma satyagraha de Gandhi y la teoría de la acción política de Gene Sharp. La primera se fundamenta no sólo en varias décadas de lucha y práctica sino en una visión integral de los conflictos, en la importancia de los procesos y en la opción por la “conversión” del adversario. La escuela de Sharp, profundamente enraizada en el trabajo académico, considera a la no-violencia como una ciencia (de lo social), cuyo valor está en su enseñanza técnica, metodoló- gica y sistemática, que permite elaborar hipótesis, deducir princi- Política sin matar: Los métodos de la acción no-violenta NO KILL POLICY. THE METHODS OF NON-VIOLENT ACTION ENVIADO 26-6-2013 REVISADO 26-8-2013 ACEPTADO 30-8-2013 Mario López Martínez Instituto de la Paz y los Conflictos, Universidad de Granada, España Palabras claves: Poder social, no-violencia, democracia, violencia, Ciencia Política Key Words: Social Power, non-violence, democracy, violence, Political Science CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 38 38 pios, desarrollar razonamientos o experimentar sus límites. Sharp estaba preocupado por encontrar un método eficaz de ejercicio del poder, más allá del bien y del mal, más allá de la ética, una teoría del poder no-violento que conmovió algunos de los cimien- tos más sólidos de la ciencia política clásica. ABSTRACT This article aims to define, refine and detail what me- thods of non-violent action are, in principle distinguishing those that could be classified as armed and violent means of struggle or cruel, inhuman and degrading methods (which cause injury, suffer- ing and death), but also trying to differentiate them from other democratic procedures and alternative means of conflict resolu- tion, with that non-violence is often confused. Later we explain how the art of non-violent resistance and how there arose a vast history behind it, and what the major schools of thought on the subject of non-violent methods are: Gandhi's satyagraha system and the theory of political action Gene Sharp. The first is based not only in decades of struggle and practice, but in a holistic view of the conflict, the importance of the processes and the choice for the conversion of the adversary. School Sharp, deeply rooted in academic work, consider non-violence as a science (the social), whose value is in its technical, methodological, systematic instruc- tion that allows hypothesize, deduce principles, develop their rea- soning or experience limits. Sharp was worried about finding an effective method of exercising power, beyond good and evil, beyond ethics, a theory of non-violent power that moved some of the most solid foundation of classical political science. Podemos tratar de contemporizar, negociar pequeños cambios, inadecuados, y prolongar en el tiempo nuestro plan de liberación, esperando que los narcóticos de la demora minimizarán el dolor del progreso (…). Sería ineficaz porque los negros han descubierto en la acción directa no-violenta una fuerza irresistible que propulsa lo que hasta la fecha fue objeto inamovible Martin Luther King Jr. (2010: 123) 1 Introducción ¿Se puede hacer política sin matar? ¿Sin causar daño y sufrimiento a otros, a los adversarios y enemigos? ¿En qué consistieron los métodos políticos usados, durante largos períodos de tiempo, por personalidades como Gandhi, Luther King o Petra Kelly? ¿De qué CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 39 39 hablamos cuando nos referimos a los métodos de acción política no-violenta? ¿Existen diferencias, y semejanzas, con otras prácti- cas, tales como los métodos democráticos o los medios alternati- vos de solución de conflictos? ¿Podemos distinguir de manera elocuente las diferencias entre métodos violentos o los que no lo son? ¿Qué hace que la acción política no-violenta sea un modelo de intervención y movilización socio-política peculiar? La no-violencia la podemos calificar como una forma de pensar y de actuar consciente en busca de justicia, reivindicando derechos y construyendo dignidad humana, pero sin que ello implique o re- quiera usar métodos que resultarían contraproducentes con esos objetivos. La no-violencia considera que las injusticias, la violencia, la discriminación, la marginación, etc., deben ser afrontadas, la actitud no es la pasividad y/o la aceptación, tampoco es cometer otras injusticias o causar daños crueles e irreversibles a otros para obtener la ansiada justicia. ¿Hay margen entre una y otra actitud? ¿Entre la aquiescencia social y política frente a un orden injusto y el uso de métodos de socialización del sufrimiento y de la violen- cia, podemos encontrar algo que no permita la deshumanización en un proceso de reivindicación y de lucha? La no-violencia pre- tende responder a estas preguntas. No se trata sólo de rechazar la violencia y de construir la paz, sino de que –cuando nos referimos a la no-violencia- estamos hablando de combate, lucha, desafío y rebeldía frente a los abusos y atropellos negándose a cualquier proceso de deshumanización (López Martínez, 2001, 2004a, 2004b, 2006). Debe quedar claro que estamos hablando, por tanto, de cosas bien distintas a la lucha armada, los métodos violentos, crueles, in- humanos y degradantes, la guerra en todas sus formas, el terro- rismo, etc.; porque dentro de los métodos no-violentos no pueden caber el uso de la tortura, el asesinato, la violación sexual, la escla- vitud, el minado de un territorio y cosas similares. Como sabemos, la mayor parte de estos métodos causan –con bastante facilidad- pérdidas de vidas humanas, en muchas ocasiones de manera indis- criminada, degradan también la dignidad humana, causan tremen- dos sufrimientos o lo hacen de manera irreversible, socializan el dolor y la mortificación más allá de las víctimas directas, generan traumas profundos y heridas difíciles de superar. Cuando estos métodos se generalizan y se extienden en el tiempo no sólo matan CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 40 40 muchísimas personas sino que acaban destruyendo tejido social y político, sentido de comunidad, espacios de confianza, posibilida- des de futuro. Las sociedades que sufren estas abyecciones no saben cómo y cuándo ponerles límite, han alcanzado el insondable territorio de la barbarie, la violencia acaba degradando los objeti- vos que se perseguían al usarla, acaban produciéndose interrela- ciones muy asimétricas y jerarquizadas entre grupos sociales y políticos, así como muchos sectores se ven impregnados por posi- ciones intolerantes, dogmáticas y militaristas (Pontara, 2000; López Martínez, 2009: 58-61). Este tipo de métodos usados en la violencia física y en su máxima expresión que sería la guerra, warfare, es decir, todo un “sistema” de producción de muerte, sufrimiento, miedo y aniquilación se evidencian en la serie de Los desastres de la guerra de Francisco de Goya, en El bombardeo de Guernica de Pablo Picasso o en Suppres- sion of the Indian Revolt by the English de Vasily Vereshchagin. Obviamente con el descubrimiento de la fotografía y la generaliza- ción del cinematógrafo, el verdadero rostro de la guerra no puede conducir a fraudes, si bien la censura, la contra información, el engaño, la manipulación y otras técnicas muy habituales en el uso de la violencia son orquestadas para evitar los efectos negativos que tales imágenes generarían entre las personas (Cabañas, López y Rincón, 2009 y García, 2006). De hecho, como creemos que demuestra Max Scheler (2000) en una conferencia, pronunciada en Alemania en 1927, sobre “La idea de la paz y del pacifismo”, la guerra y sus formas de violencia se idealizan hasta tal punto que los valores que pretenden represen- tar se identifican con lo más positivo que puede aportar el ser humano (valor, solidaridad, compañerismo, honor, etc.), empero todos son un conjunto de falacias, puesto que tales valores tam- bién se dan entre los pacifistas y; sin embargo, éstos no son ni idealizados, ni admirados de igual forma, sino perseguidos y encar- celados porque se niegan a matar a otras personas en tiempos de guerra. Al igual que Scheler, anteriormente Thoreau, Tolstoi, Gandhi o William James pensaron estas contradicciones: los obje- tores de conciencia a la guerra, los abolicionistas de la esclavitud, los desobedientes a la tiranía, etc., demostraban con su conducta un altísimo valor de dignidad humana. En concreto William James (1910) esbozó unas primeras ideas de cómo sustituir a la guerra por otros métodos que, sin tener los efectos negativos de ésta, CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 41 41 permitieran desarrollar lo más positivo del ser humano. A este semejante le denominó, de forma provocativa, El equivalente mo- ral de la guerra. Asimismo, si bien me he referido a procedimientos ligados a lo que se denomina la violencia directa y física, también debemos añadir un conjunto de métodos que entrarían dentro de la violencia cul- tural-simbólica (Galtung, 2003) y que serían incompatibles, de igual manera, con la no-violencia y con su acción política. Me estoy refiriendo a la intimidación, la amenaza, el chantaje, la extorsión, la vejación, etc., así como el uso de símbolos sociales o culturales asociados históricamente a la violencia, los cuáles en su contexto puede ser fácilmente comprendidos como amenazantes, ofensivos e intimidatorios (las cruces gamadas, ciertos tatuajes, gestos y banderas, etc.); o métodos ligados a la violencia verbal y psicológi- ca, tales como: la simplificación, la cosificación del otro, el libelo, el insulto, el desprecio, la degradación, la humillación, el ultraje, la injuria, la infamia, la ignominia, la vileza, el oprobio, la ofensa, etc., (Contreras, 2004; Romano, 2007). Se trata pues de un conjunto muy amplio de procedimientos que, de manera abierta o de forma indirecta, generan violencia y sufri- miento en una relación de poder y de lucha entre seres humanos. No se trata, solamente, de no usar medios letales y armas de gue- rra contra otras personas, sino que también es negarse a des- humanizar, degradar o despreciar a los adversarios, dado que es- tos procesos pueden ser, fácilmente, la antesala para el uso gene- ralizado de la violencia directa. Por tanto, cuando nos referimos a la no-violencia estamos preci- sando un tipo de acción política muy sensible a cuáles y cómo se deben usar métodos y procedimientos que no permitan la des- humanización, la injusticia y la ofensa, dado que nos estamos refi- riendo a que la no-violencia –como acción política- se aplica en contextos de conflictos abiertos y encarnizados, en situaciones de tensión y fuerza, donde es fácil que se produzcan escaladas y deri- vas hacia la violencia. Neutralizar y contener esas escaladas resulta fundamental, sin que con ello se tergiverse la verdadera naturaleza del conflicto, la contradicción entre las partes, sus incompatibilida- des, sino muy al contrario, hacer emerger y visibilizar las asimetr- ías, iniquidades e ignominias. En general, cuando la violencia dire- cta aparece en una lucha, ésta centra la atención de todo observa- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 42 42 dor, diluyendo las causas profundas y los orígenes del conflicto. Son precisamente las causas, las raíces y los fundamentos de los conflictos los que no se deben soslayar en una lucha política desde la no-violencia, es por ello especialmente importante la elección de los métodos, dado que éstos son un referente permanente que alimenta el poder moral y la legitimidad de la propia protesta. Uno de los líderes más destacados de la lucha contra el apartheid, en Sudáfrica, el obispo anglicano Desmond Tutu señaló: “Por qué debemos desacreditar a nuestra causa al usar métodos a los que nos opondríamos si fueran usados contra nosotros. Ustedes y yo debemos ser quienes caminemos con la frente en alto. Diremos que usamos métodos que pueden resistir el escrutinio, el duro escrutinio de la historia” (South Africa. Freedom In Our Lifetime, 2000). Este último es un elemento muy importante a tener en cuenta. Es una “regla de oro”: “trata a otros como te gustaría que te trataran a ti”, aunque el partidario de la no-violencia sepa que contra él pueden usarse o, habitualmente, se usen métodos que aquél des- aprobaría usar con sus adversarios (métodos claramente violentos, humillantes y degradantes). Esto en parte es así, porque la concep- ción que se tiene de la violencia no implica una sola dirección de la acción sino una mutua interrelación. El violentado sufre y es morti- ficado, pero quien lo hace, el violento, al realizar una acción indig- na e ignominiosa acaba envilecido y avergonzado. El pensamiento no-violento no cataloga una violencia como mala, injusta e innece- saria, o todo lo contrario, sino que está muy atenta hacia los efec- tos sobre quienes la padecen y quienes la producen (la deshuma- nización). No es sólo, por tanto, la no-violencia un pensamiento fundamentado en principios deontológicos, sino que está muy preocupada y motivada por la acción (o la omisión), de ahí la im- portancia que da a la relación medios-fines, a los procedimientos. Es precisamente la elección de éstos lo que permite explorar el territorio de lo concreto, lo cercano, lo inmediato, aquello sobre lo que se puede tener capacidad de elección. 2 Métodos democráticos y alternativos de solución de conflictos Así, los métodos no-violentos implican el uso de todo tipo de me- dios a nuestro alcance: simbólicos, sociales, psicológicos, económi- cos y políticos, exceptuando y descartando todos aquellos que CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 43 43 implican violencia o amenaza de ella, tal y como hemos venido exponiendo. Pero no se trata de métodos habituales, instituciona- lizados y convencionales como pudieran ser los métodos democrá- ticos o los medios alternativos de solución de conflictos, sino que nos estamos refiriendo a procedimientos que van más allá. Las técnicas y procedimientos no-violentos, además de ser un sistema para intensificar y dinamizar la acción colectiva, son de naturaleza disruptiva, provocadora y desafiante. Su intención es tensionar y presionar sobre los conflictos para hacer emerger la dimensión profunda de los mismos, revelando las contradicciones, las caren- cias y las paradojas que en ellos se producen (desvelando la posición de los actores, las asimetrías de poder, los intereses ocultos, etc.). Además, en relación con las instituciones y las leyes de un orde- namiento jurídico-político, los métodos no-violentos tratan de traspasar los límites establecidos por ese orden, ofreciendo múlti- ples formas de resistencia, protesta, presión, no cooperación y acción directa. ¿Esto significa que la no-violencia no tiene en cuen- ta los métodos del estado de derecho, la democracia o la solución alternativa de conflictos? Sí, sí que los tiene en cuenta y, de hecho, trata de agotar estas vías antes de poner en marcha la panoplia de formas de presión colectiva; pero entiende que, en muchas oca- siones, resultan insuficientes, que tienen sus límites, que requieren mucho tiempo y recursos, e incluso que ocultan situaciones que son sobradamente injustas y arbitrarias. Los métodos democráticos son muy conocidos e implican un amplísimo catálogo de formas y contenidos que contribuyen a facilitar la vida en común y resolver muchos conflictos, evitando que éstos deriven hacia el terreno de la violencia. Por ejemplo, las elecciones periódicas permiten elegir representantes, sin derra- mamiento de sangre, los cuales reunidos en un parlamento, desig- nan un gobierno y elaboran leyes que son las reglas del juego que permiten un compromiso para resolver problemas políticos y so- ciales. Junto a ello están otras cámaras de representación, un go- bierno de mayorías, los derechos de las minorías, las consultas concretas, el plebiscito, el referéndum, la iniciativa popular legisla- tiva, la revocación de mandato, el “impeachment” o “juicio políti- co”, las comisiones de investigación, las defensorías del pueblo, las audiencias públicas, entre otras muchas. Además, en las democracias liberales donde a éstas se asocian el CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 44 44 estado de derecho, éste puede contribuir poderosamente a garan- tizar que aquellos métodos queden respaldados por instituciones y procedimientos que ofrezcan más garantías a la ciudadanía, tales como: tribunales independientes, un sistema garantista, la posibi- lidad de apelación y revisión, la presunción de inocencia, el habeas corpus, las libertades y derechos fundamentales (asociación, ex- presión, conciencia, prensa, etc.), la división de poderes del esta- do, los recursos administrativos, entre otros muchos. Junto a unos y otros, otras muchas formas de asociación y organi- zación de la sociedad civil que, con sus procedimientos e instru- mentos, pueden ayudar a controlar y a nivelar las asimetrías, los desencuentros y conflictos entre comunidad política e institucional con la sociedad civil, para ello están los lobbies, el asociacionismo profesional, los sindicatos, las ONGs en general y los movimientos sociales (Moyer, 2004). Este brevísimo panorama se puede completar con lo que se deno- minan medios alternativos de solución de conflictos, los cuales están pensados para ayudar y suplementar a los medios democrá- ticos y jurídicos (estado de derecho) en la tramitación y el desenla- ce positivo y satisfactorio de conflictos políticos, sociales, jurídicos, económicos y culturales. Estamos hablando de la mediación, la conciliación, la negociación y el arbitraje. Aún con todo, sabemos que ni los métodos democráticos (espe- cialmente en el modelo de democracia representativa y de merca- do), ni los del estado de derecho, ni los medios alternativos, ni las formas organizativas de la sociedad civil resultan, en ciertas cir- cunstancias, suficientes para ofrecer satisfacción parcial o plena a sectores de la sociedad que no ven recogidas y resueltas sus de- mandas y peticiones. Cuando esto ocurre, y sucede en demasiadas ocasiones, la sociedad y sus instituciones entran en estado de ten- sión, la cual se puede diluir por entre los múltiples canales que hemos citado antes, siempre y cuando éstos funcionen correcta- mente y ayuden a encontrar soluciones sobre el reparto de los recursos, la adjudicación de las cargas, el reequilibrio de poder, etc.. Sin embargo, como en muchas ocasiones esos canales no funcionan, son lentos o están anquilosados, suele estallar la pro- testa social, la cual puede adoptar tintes violentos o, por el contra- rio, derivar hacia métodos no-violentos. ¿Son, entonces, los métodos no-violentos bastante excepcionales CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 45 45 puesto que existen otros muchos medios que convendría agotar antes y que están en el ordenamiento jurídico-político de una so- ciedad? Pues en realidad los métodos no-violentos son bastante usuales y, de hecho, históricamente hablando se han venido incor- porando algunos de ellos al elenco de procedimientos convencio- nales y modulares de los sistemas demo-liberales. Un ejemplo de ello han sido las huelgas, las cuales eran ilegales durante buena parte del siglo XIX y XX pero que acabaron incorporándose al elen- co de derechos adquiridos por la ciudadanía. Esto mismo se podría decir de aquellos medios que Sharp denomina de “persuasión y protesta”, bastantes de ellos se han acabado incorporando a las formas cotidianas de la acción política en democracia: las declara- ciones formales, ciertas acciones simbólicas, la queja en grupos, etc., la toma, en definitiva, de la calle de manera pacífica para usar la libertad de expresión. No obstante, se puede aseverar que a medida que una democracia está más consolidada, es más profunda y tiene mejor repartidos y distribuidos los diversos poderes, nos hallamos ante un régimen que acepta de mejor grado los métodos no-violentos, insisto y muchos de ellos constituyen parte del muestrario del ejercicio real de los derechos fundamentales de reunión, expresión, etc. En sen- tido contrario, a medida que el sistema político es débilmente de- mocrático, semidemocrático, autoritario o una férrea dictadura, menos se acepta y más se persiguen los medios no-violentos. De hecho, en el caso de los regímenes totalitarios y dictatoriales, o en las monarquías semifeudales aún existentes no caben elementos como la sátira, la crítica, la ironía, la parodia, el sarcasmo, la bro- ma, la mordacidad, la socarronería, la irreverencia, el descaro, el desafío, el atrevimiento, la frescura, la desobediencia, la transgre- sión, la contravención, la insumisión, etc., todos ellos medios no- violentos que formarían parte, en una sociedad democrática, de las formas habituales en que se realiza la oposición política, la pro- testa económica o los intentos de mejora del orden social. 3 El arte de la resistencia no-violenta Desobediencia, desafío, rebeldía y resistencia han estado presen- tes e integradas, desde tiempos remotos, en la historia y la crea- ción de mitos de la humanidad, desde los relatos bíblicos del Géne- sis con Adán y Eva a la cabeza, pasando por la mitología greco- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 46 46 latina, hasta la historia de los inicios del Neolítico, el creciente fértil, el antiguo Egipto o la Grecia clásica. Por supuesto, esta histo- ria no se queda en las lejanas épocas pretéritas, sino que atraviesa, con multitud de ejemplos, todas las latitudes y geografías por don- de los seres humanos han ido creando civilización (Hsiao y Lim, 2010). Desobedecer las verdades establecidas, desafiar a los poderosos, rebelarse frente a las injusticias, resistirse a la dominación, protes- tar las arbitrariedades, estimular la crítica, explorar más allá de los límites fijados, transgredir el orden social y muchas más acciones similares no sólo han sido parte importante de nuestra historia sino todo un arte, una habilidad y una ciencia, sin cuyos saberes resulta difícil imaginar el progreso humano. ¿Qué ha motivado los cambios en la humanidad, cuál ha sido el motor de la historia? Afirmaría que, desde la óptica de la no-violencia, la disidencia, la resistencia y la desobediencia serían lo más parecido a lo que Marx denominaría “comadrona” de la Historia 1 . Aunque Karl Marx se refirió a la violencia como partera de la histo- ria, la no-violencia sintetizaría –en una sola palabra- esa capacidad 1 Karl Marx señala en su obra El Capital que “la violencia es la comadrona de toda sociedad vieja que lleva en sus entrañas otra nueva” (1946: 639). Si tomamos varios de los personajes posibles de esta metáfora: la madre (so- ciedad vieja) que va a parir, quien ayuda a parir (comadrona) y quien va a nacer (una sociedad nueva) ¿dónde se sitúa la violencia? Desde luego, en sentido literal, no es la madre, ni tampoco la persona que va a hacer, la vio- lencia se identifica con la partera o comadrona. Esto significa que, para un alumbramiento necesitamos a alguien que facilite, acelere o ayude al naci- miento de alguien nuevo, necesitamos algunas dosis de violencia, ¿puede haber nacimiento sin ayuda? ¿condiciona el uso de esa ayuda la naturaleza, el carácter o los atributos de quien va a nacer? Efectivamente puede haber nacimiento sin ayuda, un parto natural y no asistido, podríamos deducir –un tanto a la ligera- que la Historia no necesita de ayudas (o no necesitaría de violencia para progresar), sino que puede seguir o conseguir su propio curso natural. Igualmente, lo que nace, el “nasciturus” no tiene las cualidades de la comadrona (violencia), sino que tiene las suyas propias, mejor dicho, aquellas que le vienen de su herencia genética (y de su futura educación): la de la sociedad vieja. En cualquier caso, la metáfora marxista es muy interesante, ni siquiera diseccionando la frase pierde su carga de intensidad comunicativa. Sin embargo, si el uso de la violencia acelera la historia o facilita el nacimien- to de una nueva sociedad (un nuevo sistema económico, un nuevo orden social, etc.), lo que podría ser verdad, no obstante, no es toda la verdad. El examen de la desobediencia y la rebeldía, a lo largo de la historia, nos llama pode- rosamente la atención como un motor de ésta, precisamente porque se identifi- can mucho más con una categoría o cualidad propia de la especie humana. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 47 47 y potencialidad de la desobediencia, la resistencia y la rebeldía para motivar cambios, abrir nuevas épocas y traspasar los límites fijados. La inventiva, la originalidad y la imaginación, todas ellas cualidades de los seres humanos, se acoplan muy bien a la idea de evolución, superación y desarrollo. ¿Qué hubiera sido de la huma- nidad sin Eva, sin Galileo Galilei o sin Thoreau? La historiografía dominante sigue ahondando sobre la importancia de la violencia en los cambios históricos; sin embargo, resulta poco convincente considerar que los cambios sociales se han producido por la capa- cidad de violencia y de muerte desplegadas. No se trata de restar importancia a la presencia de la violencia en la historia, sino de cuestionar su significación y trascendencia en los cambios sociales. El colonialismo y el imperialismo desplegaron todo género de vio- lencias y sometieron a pueblos enteros por esta vía, pero los cam- bios más significativos los obtuvo cuando la gente aceptó de buen grado el valor de nuevas ideas y formas de vida, en cambio se re- beló y desobedeció –de manera continuada- y rechazó cualquier elemento impuesto por la fuerza. Tampoco podemos negar la exis- tencia de violencia durante la revolución francesa, las revoluciones de 1830 y 1848 o, más tarde, la revolución de los soviets de 1917, entre otras; sin embargo, todas ellas no hubieran sido posibles, no hubieran existido sin la capacidad de desobediencia, obstinación, rebeldía, insurrección e insolencia frente a los poderes estableci- dos, es ese sentimiento disidente el que prende la mecha del cam- bio y no la violencia (que por lo general es posterior). Esto es lo que creemos que ha estado muy presente en los cam- bios sociales, ese sentido disidente que no acepta las injusticias pasadas, que está saturada de hartazgo, que se manifiesta frente a los abusos, esos han sido los procedimientos que nos permiten valorar los avances y progresos humanos. ¿Y, cómo se ha manifes- tado esa rebeldía sin la cual resultan imposibles los cambios? En unos casos de manera violenta y en otros muchos no, porque la resistencia (civil y civilizada) se ha mostrado precisamente frente a la violencia anterior, frente a la tiranía, la violación de la “econom- ía moral”, el desprecio hacia las iniquidades y desigualdades, el desafuero hacia la libertad, etc., y lo ha hecho históricamente tra- tando de encontrar soluciones y fórmulas que permitieran reducir el sufrimiento y aumentar la felicidad humanas. La deriva hacia la violencia de las revoluciones, sea la violencia de los que no quieren los cambios (han pretendido atrasarlos, han amordazado a la disi- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 48 48 dencia, han censurado la rebeldía, han castigado la desobediencia, etc.), como de aquellos que los pretenden a toda costa (negando la oportunidad de disentir, convirtiendo el nuevo orden en un con- junto de dogmas, despreciando la vida a favor de la causa, etc.), les acaban separando del origen que motiva y ansía el cambio, y de esa capacidad humana para la rebeldía, generando en demasiadas ocasiones nuevas tiranías. El arte de la resistencia no-violenta, sea en un sentido genérico, o motivada desde un punto de vista filosófico o ético-político, ha sido un comportamiento muy presente en toda la historia de la humanidad. Cualquier recorrido somero por esa historia nos per- mite encontrar muchos ejemplos de actuaciones, formas de pen- samiento y de interpretación del mundo que, hoy día, podríamos calificarlos de no-violentos o que tienen patrones similares a lo que hoy se denomina no-violencia (Kurlansky, 2008). En muchos de estos ejemplos podemos ver cómo ha habido un proceso de deslegitimación de la violencia (que no de la rebeldía y la disiden- cia) y de necesidad de encontrar alternativas concretas a ella, o de mejora de lo que definimos como “humanización” de las relacio- nes político-sociales, un proceso largo y costoso. No es posible, aún, tener una “historia de la no-violencia”, tan pormenorizada y sistematizada como la historia de la violencia, pero sí es posible ya realizar un acercamiento a la “no-violencia en la historia”, desde luego con un enfoque epistémico distinto, reco- giendo procesos de la “historia de la paz” (Muñoz y López, 2000) o del declive de la violencia (Pinker, 2011) susceptibles de ser inter- pretados como un desarrollo tan imperceptible como constante de pensamientos, acciones y valores que, hoy día, identificaríamos con el pacifismo y la no-violencia. Desde luego los historiadores y politólogos, en nuestro quehacer, hemos hecho algunos adelantos interesantes sobre la no-violencia en la historia contemporánea, lo que nos permitirá en un horizonte temporal cercano realizar una historia contemporánea de la no-violencia, al menos desde Gandhi hasta ahora (Díaz del Corral, 1987; Ackerman y Kruegler, 1994; McCarthy y Sharp, 1997; Ackerman y Duvall, 2000; López 2001; Castañar, 2010). En el mundo occidental, desde la antigüedad clásica y los ejemplos expuestos por Aristófanes en sus obra Lisistrata, Antígona de Sófo- cles, el comportamiento vital, pedagógico y desafiante de Sócrates. El estoicismo greco-romano, el senequismo, los Pensamientos de CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 49 49 Marco Aurelio. El comportamiento de los primeros cristianos y sus formas de resistencia y de interpretación del poder temporal. Pa- sando por el mundo medieval cristiano con personajes como Fran- cisco de Asís. El mundo moderno, tanto parte del pensamiento utópico, como los esfuerzos por denunciar la guerra o limitar su abyección. Algunas formas de protestantismo de las iglesias mino- ritarias (cuáqueros, amish, mennonitas, anabaptistas, etc.) y sus formas comunitarias. Las lecciones de Etienne De la Boétie sobre la “servidumbre voluntaria”, la defensa de los indios de Bartolomé de Las Casas, buena parte del pensamiento de Spinoza, las críticas de Jonathan Swift a las formas despóticas de poder en Los viajes de Gulliver, y así un nutrido grupo de obras de pensamiento, literatu- ra, personajes, procesos, historias en fin que nos sirven para nutrir una vasta experiencia humana de construcción de la paz desde la no-violencia (Balducci y Grassi, 1983; Barash, 2000). Parecido recorrido se puede realizar en el mundo oriental, africa- no, indigenista, aborigen, desde posiciones éticas y religiosas en el jainisimo, el hinduismo, el budismo, el taoísmo, las religiones ani- mistas negras y su concepción del “Ubuntu”, las formas de resis- tencia cultural y social de los pueblos sometidos por el imperialis- mo y el colonialismo. De parte de este mundo surgió el concepto de ahimsa que no es sólo negación y rechazo de la violencia, sino el esfuerzo por no causar muerte, hacer daño o infligir sufrimiento hacia los seres vivientes, así como una actitud de pureza y de amor en la interacción humana (López Martínez, 2004a: 15-17). Para las ciencias sociales y la historia política contemporánea, la relación entre no-violencia política y su conjunto de métodos ha sido poco estudiada o no suficiente valorada. Sin embargo, una atenta mirada y lectura a las aportaciones del socialismo utópico y científico, del anarquismo, del feminismo, del liberalismo, del re- publicanismo y la democracia moderna, entre otros, nos permiten afirmar que no sólo la rebeldía, la disidencia y la resistencia están presentes como valores teóricos importantes, sino que, en muchos casos, lo están desde posiciones en las que se critican la violencia o, incluso, se rechaza, condiciona o restringe su uso (Díaz del Co- rral, 1987; Powers y Vogele, 1997; Castañar, 2010). En relación con la importancia en la elección de los medios y los procedimientos para hacer política, esta historia contemporánea de la no-violencia no puede dejar de nombrar a Henry David Tho- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 50 50 reau (al que luego nos referiremos), John Ruskin, León Tolstoi o Gandhi, todos ellos maestros de la no-violencia específica, esto es, consciente, intencionada, ideológica y doctrinal. Y, junto a ellos, otros muchos como: Jane Addams, Abraham J. Muste, Martin Lut- her King, Cesar Chavez, Aldolfo Pérez Esquivel, Dom Hélder Câma- ra, Chico Mendes, Óscar Romero, Dorothy Day (en el continente americano); Romain Rolland, Lanza del Vasto, Petra Kelly, Danilo Dolci, Lorenzo Milani, Aldo Capitini, Marco Panella, Michael Rand- le, Edward P. Thompson, Adam Roberts, Johan Galtung, Alexander Langer, Theodor Ebert (en Europa); Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, Vi- noba Bhaave, Narayan Desai, Toyohito Kagawa, Vandana Shiva, Chaiwat Satha-Anand, Aung San Suu Kyi, Albert Luthuli, Nelson Mandela, Demond Tutu, Albert Schweitzer, Ken Saro-Wiwa (en Asia y África). 2 Todos estos personajes –y muchos más- han sido fuentes de inspiración o cabezas visibles de movimientos de resis- tencia, liberación y lucha frente a injusticias, en definitiva, expe- riencias y procesos históricos de muy diverso tipo, pero cuyo hilo común han sido los procedimientos y la filosofía ético-política de la no-violencia. En realidad y, especialmente, durante el siglo XX este tipo de expe- riencias de conflictos conducidos mediante un combate no- violento han sido mucho más numerosos, frecuentes y significati- vos de lo que la historiografía histórica y politológica nos ha mos- trado (Schell, 2005); han tenido, además, el “poder positivo del efecto mariposa” (Briggs y Peat, 1999), han constituido “una trans- formación social tan importante como inesperada, desconcertando todos los pronósticos de la ‘real politik’” (Martínez Hincapié, 2012: 38). Hemos reelaborado 3 una clasificación en tres ejes de reivindicación 2 El autor italiano Peppe Sini mantiene un esfuerzo a través de la revista digi- tal La nonviolenza e’ in camino y de la web “peacelink”. Telematica per la pace para la construcción, sistemática, de un archivo biográfico de hombres y mujeres que han hecho un aporte significativo a la paz y la no-violencia: académicos, filósofos, científicos, líderes de movimientos sociales, políticos, personajes ligados a la solidaridad, etc. La lista implica docenas de personas, algunas de las cuales serían susceptibles de no integrarlas en una lista de estas características (http://www.peacelink.it/storia/a/6420.html, consultado 12 junio 2013). 3 En la propuesta original (López Martínez, 2000: 294-295) lo organicé en cuatro clasificaciones: a) lucha contra la dominación colonial, b) la liberación de los regímenes dictatoriales y totalitarios, c) la reivindicación de derechos y libertades y d) el sostenimiento y apoyo de políticas alternativas y sustenta- http://www.peacelink.it/storia/a/6420.html CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 51 51 y conflictos (luchas de liberación colonial, derribo de dictaduras y sistemas tiránicos, y defensa de los derechos humanos) y hemos aumentado el número de casos –a la luz de nuevos trabajos que se han venido publicando-. No son todos, ni muchísimo menos, son sólo una muestra que puede ofrecer una aproximación del vasto caudal de información y análisis que nos pueden dar: A La lucha contra la dominación colonial Es decir, las luchas de resistencia contra la presencia y el dominio de los imperios, preferentemente europeos, en donde se combina- ron combates y revueltas armadas y no armadas. En general, estas resistencias se iniciaron en cuanto la relación entre visitantes y visitados se inclinó por un vínculo de dominio, opresión y superio- ridad, en donde los imperios usaron todo tipo de formas de violen- cia hacia los pueblos indígenas o autóctonos (Ferro, 2005). Los ejemplos que aquí recogemos son los de respuestas no armadas y no-violentas, si bien lo habitual fue la combinación de períodos de guerra abierta, con otros de calma tensa, con otros de resistencia civil no-violenta y, en especial eran aún más frecuentes las etapas en donde se armonizaba algún tipo de guerra popular con resis- tencia popular no-violenta. Lo interesante de la bibliografía más actual es que está comenzando a reconocer que no todo fueron guerras y luchas armadas y violentas sino que hubo extensos per- íodos de lucha y desafío al colonialismo en claves de resistencia civil no-violenta, donde amplios sectores de la población (mujeres, niños, ancianos) ejercieron múltiples formas de resistencia cultu- ral, social, política, económica, psicológica, reforzando el senti- miento de rechazo y generando formas de poder social frente a la dominación. Algunos ejemplos de ello fueron (Bartkowski, 2013; Pearlman, 2011; Sutherland y Meyer, 2000): - Las Trece colonias (1765-1775) - Cuba (1810-1902) - Argelia (1830-1950) - Egipto (1805-1922) - Ghana (1890-1950) - Mozambique (1920-1970) - Sudáfrica (1899-1919) bles. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 52 52 - Zambia (1900-1960) - India (1900-1947) - Irán (1890-1906) - Hungría (1850-1860s) - Polonia (1860-1900) - Finlandia (1899-1904) - Irlanda (1919-1921) - Kosovo (1990s) - Burma (1910-1940) - West Papua (1910-2012) - Palestina (1920-2012) B La lucha contra los regímenes autoritarios, dictatoriales y totalitarios. El uso de los métodos de resistencia civil organizada, en particular, y la lucha no-violenta en general, tiene aquí un protagonismo muy destacado aunque ha sido bastante silenciado, pues pertenecía al haber de los “sin poder” y al espacio de la “disidencia” (Havel, 1990). La pregunta central fue siempre la misma y recorre como denominador común a estos movimientos: ¿se debe obedecer a un gobierno que tiene políticas y leyes tiránicas? O ¿qué se puede hacer cuando un país es invadido y el ejército ocupante quiere imponer sus leyes y su voluntad? En ambos casos la respuesta puede ser no obedecer las leyes del tirano o del ocupante y, así, en ambos también puede pensarse en organizar la resistencia. ¿Por qué, en bastantes casos, se optó por una lucha no-violenta? No existe una sola respuesta, sin embargo, hay que tener en cuenta que la represión y las violaciones en general de derechos y liberta- des, en un régimen dictatorial, ha sido un arma muy usada por el aparato burocrático-político-militar que sostiene el régimen, la lucha armada acaba legitimando la represión, en cambio una lucha no-violenta hace insostenible política y moralmente la contención violenta del adversario, puede producir justamente un efecto de rechazo (Martin, 2012), generando deserciones entre sus filas y haciendo engrosar altas dosis de legitimidad y de poder moral entre la oposición (Ackerman y Kruegler, 1994; Ackerman y Duvall, 2000; Chenoweth y Stephan, 2011; Schock, 2004; Shell, 2005; Ro- berts y Garton Ash, 2009, Sharp y Paulson, 2005; Sharp, 2003; Zu- nes, 1999 ): - Huelga general en Rusia (1905) - El contra golpe frente al golpismo de Kapp en Alemania CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 53 53 (1920) - La resistencia no-violenta en Holanda (1940s) - La resistencia de los maestros en Noruega (1940s) - La resistencia en Dinamarca (1940s) - La oposición a Hitler de la organización la Rosa Blanca (1940s) - La resistencia civil de las mujeres en Italia (1943-45) - Las campañas contra la dictadura en El Salvador (1944) - Luchas y campañas contra el apartheid en Sudáfrica (1945- 80s) - Hungría (1956) - La Primavera de Praga, Checoslovaquia (1968) - Caída del Sha de Persia (1979) - Campañas de Solidaridad en la Polonia del general Yaruzelski (1980s) - El poder del pueblo en la caída del dictador Ferdinand Mar- cos (1986) - Las revoluciones cantadas (Lituania, Estonia y Letonia, 1987- 1990) - Contra la dictadura militar en Myanmar (1980s-2000s) - Movimiento por la democracia en Tiananmen (1989) - El colapso de los regímenes soviéticos y la caída del Muro de Berlín (1989) - La revolución de terciopelo en Checoslovaquia (1989) - El contra golpe en Rusia (1991) - Derribo del presidente Suharto en Indonesia (1998) - Resistencia ciudadana (Otpor) en Serbia contra Milosevich (2000) C La reivindicación de derechos y libertades democráticas y ciudadanas, por la solidaridad internacional, por la ecología y en defensa de la naturaleza, por “otro mundo es posible” En estos casos, que son muchos, el espectro se amplía considera- blemente y recorre desde los viejos movimientos sociales (obre- rismo, republicanismo, democracia radical, etc.), tan ampliamente desarrollados durante el siglo XIX y la primera mitad del siglo XX, hasta los nuevos movimientos sociales (feminismo, pacifismo, eco- logismo, etc.) que irrumpieron con fuerza tras Mayo de 1968. Múltiples formas de resistencia política, social y contracultural no sólo al imperialismo político-cultural, sino a las formas adoptadas CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 54 54 por el capitalismo (del bienestar, de consumo, de la globalización), sus modos de violencia estructural, procesos de aculturación, de- pendencia y dominación. Los métodos no-violentos han sido muy usados por el mundo de las ONGs, asociaciones de la sociedad civil, grupos alternativos y contestatarios que han venido aportan- do ideas y prácticas a favor de los derechos humanos, una ética hacia los animales, la conservación de Gaia, etc. (Brock y Young, 1999; Checa Hidalgo, 2011; Filiu, 2011; López Martínez, et. al., 2008; López Martínez, 2009; Martin, 2001; Moser-Puangsuwan y Weber, 2000; Powers y Vogele, 1997; Roberts y Garton Ash, 2009; Sharp, 1985): - Movimiento obrero cartista (1830s) - Resistencia de las naciones indias, especialmente cherokees, a la concentración en reservas (siglo XIX) - Movimiento antiesclavista (1830s-1860s) - Movimiento social feminista –sufragismo, igualdad, etc.- (ss. XIX-XX) - Movimiento afroamericano de los derechos civiles (1955- 1968) - Movimiento chicano de Cesar Chavez (1950s-1970s) - Movimiento cristiano Plowshares contra las armas nucleares en Estados Unidos (1980s) - Campañas del END (European Nuclear Disarmament) (1970s-1980s) - Movimiento de objeción de conciencia a las guerras y al servicio militar, especialmente la Internacional de Resisten- tes contra la guerra (s. XX) - Resistencias y despliegue del movimiento gay estadouniden- se y europeo (1960s-2010s) - Contra la instalación de bases militares en Europa: Larzac (Francia), Greenham Common (Reino Unido), Cabañeros y Rota (España) (1970s-1980s) - Movimientos indígenas (Nasas en Colombia, zapatistas en México, etc.) - Intervenciones internacionales no-violentas. Brigadas, cuer- pos civiles, shanti sena, etc. - La revolución naranja en Ucrania (2004-2005) - La revolución de los cedros en Líbano (2005) CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 55 55 - La primavera árabe en Túnez y Egipto (2011) 4 - El movimiento 15M en España (2011-presente) A pesar de que es una teoría política joven (Sharp, 1973 y 1980; L’Abate, 1990; López Martínez, 2001), todos estos ejemplos son bien significativos, no sólo como experiencias históricas, sino en la elección metodológica, atendiendo a múltiples factores: buscar la eficacia en la transformación del conflicto, reducir costes en vidas humanas, generar confianza entre la sociedad civil, organizar “po- der social”, etc. Si bien, en muchos de estos ejemplos no se da la “no-violencia específica” (Pontara, 2000), aquella que busca un programa creativo y constructivo con el adversario, sino que se trata de una “no-violencia estratégica” (Sharp, 1973) o “genérica” (Pontara, 2000), -elección de estos medios por conveniencia, nece- sidad, oportunidad, etc.- o como Gandhi denominó como la “no- violencia del débil” (Pontara, 1983). A pesar de ello, se puede afir- mar –como han tratado de demostrar, estadísticamente, las profe- soras Chenoweth y Stephan, 2011- que todo este tipo de interven- ciones y transformaciones han dado como resultado cambios de régimen o procesos hacia la democracia con resultados muy favo- rables en términos de humanización de los conflictos: sociedades que han sido capaces de superar antes sus traumas, los procesos de reconciliación han sido más profundos, los “peacebuilding” resisten más cambios, las fuerzas cívicas de la resistencia se han transformado en partidos políticos o coaliciones civiles, etc. 5 4 Sobre lo mucho que se puede aprender de la relación entre nuevos movi- mientos de resistencia y los métodos no-violentos, este es un buen ejemplo, el de las primaveras árabes. Como señala Jean-Pierre Filiu (2011), se dan en estos movimientos diez características que han de tenerse presentes, a saber, 1. Los árabes no son una excepción, 2. Los musulmanes no son sólo musul- manes, 3. La ira es poder para los más jóvenes, 4. Las redes sociales funcio- nan, 5. Los movimientos sin líderes pueden vencer, 6. La alternativa a la de- mocracia es el caos, 7. Los islamistas deben elegir, 8. Los yihadistas podrían convertirse en anticuados, 9. Palestina sigue siendo un mantra, y 10. No hay efecto dominó en el renacimiento. 5 Existen dos estudios de peso académico, en la relación con el derribo de regímenes dictatoriales y la conquista de la democracia liberal-formal, en términos de uso de métodos no armados y no-violentos: el de las profesoras Chenoweth y Stephan (2011) y el de los profesores Karatnycky y Ackerman (2005). En ambos, por no entrar en múltiples detalles sobre otras variables (poder del pueblo, movimientos de abajo-arriba, fuerte cohesión social de las coaliciones civiles en torno al uso de la no-violencia, la perspectiva de la liber- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 56 56 Históricamente estos métodos de acción política no-violenta se han venido identificando con todo tipo de marchas de protesta, demostraciones multitudinarias, sentadas, huelgas generales, boi- cots o desobediencia civil. Tomados aisladamente estos procedi- mientos (prácticas, formas, tácticas, métodos, etc.) pueden tener un efecto reducido o limitado;, sin embargo, combinados de una manera estratégica (con maestría, competencia, oficio, autoridad, experticia, de manera sistémica, etc.) pueden dar lugar a un nota- ble abanico de posibilidades: fuerte oposición política, considera- ble desafío social, colapso de un sistema jurídico, subversión del orden establecido, etc. Con el añadido de que estos métodos, combinados con un vasto sistema estratégico, se fundamentan en la voluntad de acción de la gente, no median en ellos otro tipo de instrumentos, por supuesto ningún tipo de arma de fuego o similar, por tanto, el disidente, el insumiso, expone su cuerpo, su físico y poco más. Requiere coraje, valentía, superar los miedos propios de una lucha abierta y en franca desprotección (Pontara, 1996). ¿Cómo es posible superar esa situación de desventaja? La determinación, la estrategia y la masa son factores muy importantes que no se deben soslayar. Tanto la primera, como la segunda, no son posibles sin entrena- miento, formación y adiestramiento; en cuanto a la tercera, es el germen de un poder moral y social que une cuerpos y mentes orientados hacia un objetivo común. De hecho la teoría ético- política de la no-violencia se fundamenta en un conocimiento pro- fundo de cómo funciona la obediencia-desobediencia política en- tre gobernantes-gobernados, de cuáles son las fuentes del poder y cómo desafiar esas relaciones (Sharp, 1973). De hecho, existe toda una literatura de fines del siglo XVIII y prin- cipios del XIX en la que se discuten las posibilidades y potenciali- dades de las técnicas no-violentas, por entonces dentro de la teor- ía religiosa de la “no-resistencia” (no tolerar las injusticias gene- rando violencias) o de métodos de resistencia pasiva. Algunos de tad mejora mucho cuando la oposiciones decide no usar la violencia, etc.), se les otorga una gran importancia al uso de la no-violencia como metodología para mejorar las posibilidades de victoria de las coaliciones o movimientos de oposición política y social a un régimen dictatorial, es la variable “uso de métodos noviolentos” la que ofrece una dimensión nueva para comprender el éxito de los movimientos de resistencia civil en los últimos 50 a 100 años frente a los movimientos de lucha armada. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 57 57 estos autores fueron: William Lloyd Garrison (1971-81), Adin Ba- llou (1848) y Elihu Burritt (1854), en todos ellos aparecen los métodos de protesta, la no-cooperación o la desobediencia a las leyes esclavistas, contemplando como contraproducentes el uso de métodos violentos que, en términos teológico-eclesiásticos, se contemplaban en términos de guerra justa y derecho a rebelarse contra la tiranía o las leyes tiránicas (García Cotarelo, 1987; Rand- le, 1998; Romero Carranza, 1967, Spitz, 2001: 173-178). Uno de los rasgos generales en esa literatura fue que la acción y los métodos no-violentos perseguían la “persuasión” moral o espi- ritual de los adversarios: proclamas pacifistas, argumentaciones humanísticas, apelación a tesis religiosas. Así, a principios del siglo XIX, muchos grupos de protesta y de acción política, como los abo- licionistas de la esclavitud, las feministas de la igualdad o el movi- miento obrero cartista británico exploraron ideas similares en sus demandas y divergencias frente al Estado o los grupos dominantes, no sólo protestaban para obtener ciertas ventajas de clase o géne- ro, sino que persuadían con sus argumentos y manifestaciones simbólicas de que sus propuestas traspasaban a su grupo y benefi- ciaban otro modelo y orden sociales más justos. Aunque en algunos de los movimientos emancipatorios de las cla- ses populares se dieron formas de lucha armada (guerra de guerri- llas, actos concretos de terrorismo, levantamientos revolucionarios y convulsiones sangrientas), lo más habitual fueron las formas de lucha no armada, bien continuando y ampliando el viejo repertorio de protestas y rebeldías de clase impidiendo la represión estatal: el anonimato, el eufemismo, el refunfuño, la picaresca, etc. (Scott, 2003), como la concurrencia en los sistemas institucionales- liberales y democráticos: participación en elecciones, creación de sindicatos, negociaciones colectivas, peticiones parlamentarias, etc.; así como un amplio repertorio abierto y genuino de métodos no-violentos que acabaron por expandirse como procedimientos muy habituales por los nuevos movimientos sociales, algunos de cuyos métodos (especialmente la huelga) se acabaron convirtiendo en derechos constitucionales. Con las experiencias de lucha del siglo XIX la acción no-violenta (persuasión y resistencia), llegó al siglo XX con un significado mu- cho más amplio. El punto de unión entre un siglo y otro fue la figu- ra decimonónica de Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) y su capital CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 58 58 obra Sobre la desobediencia civil (1848-49), en la que señaló cómo las minorías podían y debían generar sanciones (castigos políticos y reprobaciones), fricciones (disputas, desencuentros, discusiones) y presiones (apremios, recomendaciones, etc.) contra las políticas de las mayorías aún cuando éstas fueran respaldadas por un gobierno salido de las urnas. Thoreau fue conocido por sus ideas sobre el deber de resistencia a un gobierno liberal-democrático (y no sólo opresivo); pero no sólo eso, él también buscaba un método para conducir más adecuadamente los conflictos (disparidades y discre- pancias en términos incompatibles) entre minorías-mayorías (e incluso a la inversa). 6 Su idea de fricción y presión era una manera de ver el derecho de resistencia clásico -el deber de oponerse o matar a un soberano cruel y tiránico- de otro modo, esto es, no sólo desde la resistencia no-violenta sino yendo más allá de la hol- gura que ofrecían las instituciones de un régimen liberal que, sien- do liberal, negaba los derechos y libertades de sectores de la po- blación o mantenía políticas inadecuadas con los principios de la democracia. Es lo que Thoreau tradujo como el derecho a la des- obediencia civil a las leyes. Thoreau situaba la cuestión no sólo en el derecho a desobedecer leyes injustas y antidemocráticas, sino que planteaba -en términos de poder- la relación entre gobernar y obedecer, alumbrando apuntes fundamentales para las posteriores doctrinas políticas sobre el consentimiento y la obediencia (Goodwin, 1997: 329-361). El individuo se situaba entre la obligación y la protesta, la primera en relación con el Estado y el conjunto de la sociedad, digamos del orden social y jurídico; en cuanto a la segunda, la protesta, respal- dado por su conciencia moral, por su idea de la justicia, por su afán de mejora, por su razón ciudadana. Este auténtico dilema entre razón de Estado y razón ciudadana tuvo una enorme influencia en Tolstoi y Gandhi y, posteriormente, entre Luther King, Mandela, Havel o Aung San Suu-Kyi. Este dilema conducía a preguntarse ¿por qué obedecer las leyes? ¿cuándo se tiene derecho a protestar? ¿dónde están los límites de ambas? ¿qué tipo de razones morales existen tras estas actitudes? ¿qué importancia tienen los medios 6 Un ejemplo de minorías-mayorías, minorías no-violentas frente a la mayor- ías fue el caso de los abolicionistas de la esclavitud o el movimiento pro dere- chos civiles y políticos de la minoría negra en Estados Unidos. Un ejemplo a la inversa fue el movimiento de liberación nacional en la India o contra el apart- heid en Sudáfrica, donde una mayoría, sin usar métodos violentos generali- zados, se enfrentó a una minoría dominante. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 59 59 elegidos para justificar y legitimar el fin pretendido? Pues bien, esta idea de las múltiples y diferentes formas de la ac- ción no-violenta tiene su origen histórico, más propiamente, en los escritos de Mohandas Gandhi (1928), Clarence Marsh Case (1923), Richard Gregg (1935), Wilfred H. Crook (1931), Bartelemy De Ligt (1935) y Krishnalal Shridharani (1939), así como en algunos otros politólogos de la segunda mitad del siglo XX, entre los que cabe destacar el italiano Aldo Capitini (1949), la norteamericana Joan Valérie Bondurant (1958), el británico Adam Roberts (1969), el estadounidense Gene Sharp (1973), el noruego Johan Galtung (1976), entre otros; y, los más modernos: los franceses Jean-Marie Muller (1983) y Jacques Sémelin (1989), el alemán Theodor Ebert (1984), el italiano Alberto L’Abate (1985), el australiano Brian Mar- tin (1993 y 2001) y los norteamericanos Christopher Kruegler (1994) y Peter Ackerman (2000), entre un nutrido elenco puesto que la literatura sobre el estudio y la investigación de los métodos, a partir de los años 60, se ha ampliado considerablemente, llegan- do a ser un tema importante en algunos centros de investigación - y entre algunos académicos- preocupados por la transformación y resolución de conflictos por métodos no-violentos. 4 Gandhi way: la satyagraha (conversión política y transforma- ción de conflictos) Mohandas Gandhi (1869-1948) pretendió modular de una manera coherente la investigación vital 7 y la puesta en práctica de su que- hacer político. 8 Tal cosa fue más allá de poner en marcha todo un conjunto de métodos de acción no-violenta a los que englobó bajo el concepto de satyagraha (es decir, la fuerza y la persistencia en la verdad), si bien tal idea es mucho más compleja y va mucho más allá de una simple escenificación o articulación de métodos de 7 Mohandas Gandhi, Autobiografía: la historia de mis experimentos con la verdad (volumen I, 1927 y volumen II, 1929). 8 Algunas obras, en un umbral de tiempo amplio, insisten en la importancia de no soslayar el análisis político de la filosofía o la espiritualidad gandhiana, este es el caso del politólogo Bhikhu C. Parekh (1989 y 1997) y muchos años después Bidyut Chakrabarty (2006) expresando la importancia que adquirió el nacionalismo tamizado por un lenguaje noviolento (satya, ahimsa, etc.) y el potencial del programa económico y social de swaraj; así como Gene Sharp (1979) que siguió insistiendo, afortunadamente, en la dimensión más com- pleja de la filosofía política de Gandhi. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 60 60 protesta, persuasión o resistencia y, por supuesto, va más allá de una simple definición funcional de qué son tales métodos. En términos occidentales vendríamos a decir que supo combinar tácticas y estrategias pero -dado el fuerte componente político, social, espiritual, ético y religioso de la satyagraha- estaríamos reduciendo, en exceso, su significado integral (Rai, 2000; Sharma, 2008). Para el político Gandhi la lucha satyagraha 9 implicaba no sólo un alto grado de conocimiento tecno-científico (lo diríamos así con nuestro lenguaje actual) de la lucha, sino una implicación espiritual y una preparación personal que trascendía el simple método para, en realidad, comprometer toda una forma de vida (Diwakar, 1946). Pero, satyagraha era, también, la puesta en práctica de ideales humanos: fraternidad, igualdad, justicia, dignidad, etc., (de ahí la importancia de no matar en nombre de ellos) por tanto implicaba una concepción humana y una visión de la historia y del universo en transformación y cambio, no determinado pero sí orientado hacia la perfección. Por esto, también, no se puede ver exenta la satyagraha de otros conceptos gandhianos como swaraj, swadeshi o sarvodaya (Galtung, 1992; Pontara, 1983, 2004 y 2006). Influido por la “no-resistencia” de Tolstoi, por la “desobediencia civil” de Thoreau, por la resistencia pasiva del feminismo y por la crítica al capitalismo de John Ruskin, el método satyagraha era mucho más que todo lo anterior. Satyagraha era más que resis- tencia moral, implicaba muchas más acciones que la desobediencia a ciertas leyes, suponía un trabajo activo de tenacidad e involucra- ba un proyecto alternativo a las formas de producción y explota- ción capitalistas. Asimismo, en la concepción gandhiana no era tan importante el resultado final o el alto grado de eficacia del método sino el propio proceso, o visto también de otra manera, uno (resultado) y otro (método), no podían estar separados y desconectados, porque para Gandhi medios y fines eran intercambiables. Gandhi deducía que los métodos no-violentos había que cuidarlos escrupulosa- 9 La obra original de Gandhi salió publicada en 1928 como M.K. Gandhi, Sat- yagraha in South Africa, Navajivan, Ahmedabad y, en una edición moderna se puede consultar en M. Gandhi (2001) Non-violent resistance (Satyagraha) Dover Publications; no obstante, recomiendo las consultas de dos obras, una con textos parcialmente del libro de 1928 en M.K. Gandhi (1973) y más re- ciente (2009). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 61 61 mente para cuidar así los fines u objetivos, y aún más, que ambas cosas eran una misma, porque satyagraha no era sólo método sino una manera de perfeccionamiento y búsqueda del yo social, sin causar daño y sufrimiento a los demás. Bajo la mentalidad gandhiana se entendía el conflicto como una confrontación profunda, no sólo de intereses y necesidades, sino especialmente de percepciones, cada pugna era, por tanto, una batalla entre dos puntos de vista aparentemente irreconciliables, los cuales iluminaban a la auténtica “verdad”. Por esto, desde el punto de vista gandhiano, el sentimiento de certeza era una peli- grosa ilusión. De manera que, cualquier pugna debiera ser una oportunidad para lanzar sobre el terreno conflictivo las frustracio- nes y los límites propios de cada uno de los adversarios, que lu- chan y pugnan pero acaban conociéndose mutuamente. En esta visión del conflicto consisten algunas de las intuiciones más intere- santes de Gandhi (encontradas en el Bhagavadgita), según el cual, toda persona posee al mismo tiempo grados de verdad y de false- dad, de lo que Gandhi dedujo que el conflicto era el terreno apro- piado para separar falsedad de verdad, una oportunidad para puri- ficar las posiciones morales por medio de la confianza, porque la clave no estaba en la solución del conflicto o en el conflicto mismo, sino en los que combaten, ahí es donde radica la transformación y la claridad moral, por ello era preciso eliminar los métodos de la mentira, las malas artes, las ofensas, porque nada de ello ayudaba a aclarar, dejar puros y transparentes los puntos de vista contra- puestos, sino a dejar en el centro del conflicto la misma violencia y la falsedad 10 . De alguna manera, la clave que permite comprender la filosofía gandhiana en este preciso punto de los métodos está en el térmi- no “conversión” 11 . Lo que pretendía Gandhi era conseguir la trans- formación y el cambio del adversario político y no la victoria sobre él o la derrota del mismo. Todo tipo de presión, forcejeo o resis- tencia había de estar encaminada a la búsqueda de la conversión. Gandhi, además, se interesó porque su método satyagraha fuese eminentemente entendido como una práctica cotidiana o forma de vida y no algo reducido exclusivamente a conquistas políticas y 10 Para destacar la importancia del proceso es indispensable el libro de Johan Galtung (1992). 11 Es muy recomendable el capítulo VIII del libro de Giuliano Pontara (2006). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 62 62 sociales o a la sola independencia de la India. De ahí que, aunque siempre evitó precisar en qué consistía su método de acción no- violenta, sí que se pueden precisar sus nervaduras en cinco princi- pios generales que acaban identificando a satyagraha con humani- zación de la lucha, y que paso simplemente a describir (Galtung, 1992; Pontara, 2004: 493-498 y 2006: 203-234; López Martínez, 2012 c): A La abstención de la violencia: lo que implicaba la auto- privación de lesionar, dañar o hacer sufrir al adversario, así como seleccionar muy cuidadosamente los métodos a elegir para mini- mizar al máximo cualquiera de esas acciones. B La disposición al sacrificio: toda lucha requiere ciertos nive- les de compromiso, coraje y sacrificio. Para Gandhi el valor desta- cable estaba en el sacrificio propio (tapasya) y no en la demanda del ajeno, en la disposición a sufrir como una manera de testimo- nio de la importancia de una lucha noble y justa por la que se está dispuesto a morir pero no a matar. No obstante la tapasya que es, también, la renuncia al interés personal y a los propios deseos, no significa por el contrario la pasiva autodestrucción. C El respeto por la verdad: implicaba, según el método gand- hiano, el mantenimiento del máximo nivel de objetividad e impar- cialidad en cada fase de la lucha, así como orientar aquella hacia objetivos compatibles con la justicia y la ética. D Un empeño constructivo: el método gandhiano está pensa- do y hecho para integrar y construir con el adversario, no para destruirlo, así como para la realización de un modelo social donde todas las partes se sientan integradas y participantes. Asimismo el método está considerado como instrumento de transformación político-social que, a la vez que tiene objetivos, los va desarrollan- do al mismo tiempo que se despliega la lucha. E La gradualidad de los medios: esta condición exige una ade- cuación progresiva de los medios a los elementos de tensión, for- cejeo y lucha adecuados a cada situación y circunstancia, mante- niendo la proporcionalidad y la serenidad que no permitan alejarse del compromiso. Gandhi conocía muy bien los métodos de presión social, máxime cuando había tenido una dilatada vida como activista y político en CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 63 63 Sudáfrica y la India; sin embargo, no tuvo ningún interés en siste- matizarlos. Sin embargo, la psicología social, Clarence Marsh Case, en su obra más acabada Non-Violent Coercion (1923), 12 sí que se refirió a cómo había que comprender a líderes como Gandhi en su faceta para forzar, presionar y constreñir a un adversario a través de la no-violencia. Esto se fundamentaba en el conocimiento pro- fundo y fundado de cuáles podrían ser y cómo deberían ser usados adecuadamente los denominados “métodos de presión social”, unos procedimientos que -a su juicio- debían ser manejados en el contexto de lo que significa el “ejercicio de la presión social- psicológica no-violenta”. Case (1923) primero, como Sharp (1973) mucho después, tuvieron un análisis más utilitarista de esta cuestión (no-violencia pragmáti- ca). Y aunque también defendieron la existencia de una fuerte identidad entre los métodos y los objetivos, no obstante, se aleja- ban bastante de la interpretación que Gandhi o el italiano Aldo Capitini daban a la relación entre medios y fines. Case y Sharp es- taban más preocupados por entender y optimizar las técnicas de acción no-violenta, tenían una visión más funcionalista de esta relación, en cambio los otros dos se preocupaban porque la rela- ción medios y fines fuese totalmente coherente (sólo los medios no-violentos se pueden usar para fines no-violentos) y porque una de las cuestiones fundamentales del proceso se hallaba en la con- versión del adversario (no-violencia de principios). Gandhi consideraba que los medios no-violentos no podían usarse en cualquier momento, ni a la ligera, ni para cualquier causa. Usar- los para defender privilegios, para extender formas de dominio, para razones poco dignas resultaba contraproducente e inadecua- do. Los medios tenían que tener una relación coherente, íntima y directa con los fines que se perseguían (la semilla y el árbol). Gandhi insistió mucho en esto de la convertibilidad de medios- fines, por tanto la elección de los medios no era menos importante que la elección de los fines en una lucha. Junto a los medios: ahim- 12 Años antes publicó (1915) The social psychology of passive resistance. Uni- versity of Wisconsin-Madison [vuelto a publicar en 2010 en BiblioBazaar] y el de 1923 Non-violent coercion: a study in methods of social pressure. Century ed. Se puede ver a Brian Martin (1996) que ha desarrollado una amplia litera- tura sobre estas cuestiones. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 64 64 sa, satyagraha, swaraj, swadeshi, sarvodaya, etc., en ellos mismos (no dañar, resistirse a las injusticias, la autonomía, la autosuficien- cia o el bienestar de todos) estaban incorporados los objetivos más apetecidos por un satyagrahi, de dignidad, libertad, justicia. En cambio, en Sharp, existe una extremada preocupación por de- mostrar la eficacia y la utilidad de las técnicas no-violentas, el es- tudio de los procedimientos permitiría analizar un conjunto de fenómenos observables que podían variar según el espacio, el tiempo y las circunstancias en las que se dieran; y, además, permit- ían usar indicadores o marcadores para comprobar los resultados obtenidos. Por ejemplo, si estuviéramos estudiando una campaña o una movilización social no-violenta, la clasificación de esas técni- cas (198 métodos según Sharp) servirían tanto al académico, como al activista, para tener un instrumento de medición de resultados o posibilidades, lógicamente dentro de los parámetros en los que se desenvuelven las ciencias sociales (que no siempre son exactos sino un reflejo de la vida real). Sin embargo, para Gandhi, la no-violencia, no es exactamente una técnica o un saber, sino una manera de preguntar, indagar y bus- car respuestas sin romper, en ese camino, la unidad y la interrela- ción de todo lo existente, de todo lo viviente. La no-violencia es una filosofía de vida, un lugar de encuentro humano, una espiri- tualidad y no sólo una filosofía política y una nueva forma de lu- cha. De alguna manera el sistema satyagraha de lucha era un desafío político y social pero, también, una manera de contención en un luchador, de autoconocimiento, de aprendizaje del espíritu huma- no. Como señalara Naess (1974: 60-84), sólo un verdadero satya- grahi sería capaz de pensar en grupo y a largo plazo, reduciendo al máximo cualquier violencia, tendría en cuenta los medios más que los resultados, trabajaría por un programa constructivo, lucharía contra las injusticias pero consideraría a los antagonistas, respetar- ía y no humillaría a sus oponentes, estaría pensando en ofrecerles un espacio social y político en una sociedad más justa, mostraría confianza en el cambio, estaría dispuesto al sacrificio por la causa, no se aprovecharía torcidamente de la debilidad táctica de su an- tagonista y estaría, siempre, dispuesto a compartir el resultado positivo de la lucha. Sólo teniendo en cuenta el conjunto de estas características podríamos apreciar las grandes diferencias entre una forma de lucha armada y violenta y la satyagraha gandhiana. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 65 65 5 Las influyentes enseñanzas de Gene Sharp Gene Sharp, el viejo politólogo nacido en Ohio en 1928, ha consti- tuido un auténtico revulsivo en el campo de la teoría política -como ciencia social aplicada- a través del estudio de la no- violencia. Mohandas Gandhi como político, personaje histórico e inventor del método satyagraha, con más de cuarenta años de lucha activa y directa; y, Gene Sharp como filósofo-teórico, cientí- fico social y académico ha sabido sintetizar la complejidad de la no-violencia, ofreciendo una mirada aplicada, útil y pragmática de una filosofía profunda y abierta. Debemos a ambos una compren- sión joven y actual de lo que Gandhi denominó algo “tan antiguo como la montaña”. Aunque Sharp fue un objetor de conciencia al servicio militar y un pacifista activo frente al armamentismo nuclear, sin embargo, su trabajo adquirió renombre gracias a sus estudios como profesor de filosofía política. Sus primeros trabajos fueron sobre Gandhi, en 1960 (Gandhi Wields the Weapon of Moral Power), precisamente sistematizando la literatura dispersa y desigual que sobre el perso- naje se había publicado pero ofreciendo un elemento de originali- dad al reforzar el concepto de “poder moral” que se hallaba en la lucha satyagraha. Esta primera publicación se completó con un estudio más sistemático e integral, en 1979, sobre Gandhi as a Political Strategist, en el que revisaba a teóricos como Erik Erikson, Joan V. Bondurant o Shridharani. Además, Sharp, estuvo muy interesado por evidenciar que Gandhi no fue una excepción en el campo de la acción política no-violenta. Rastreó muchos ejemplos históricos, así como su posible lectura para la ampliación del campo de las ciencias sociales y la adopción de políticas alternativas a la seguridad, la defensa y la acción políti- ca convencionales. Esto le permitió colaborar con autores como Walter Conser y Ronald McCarthy (1986) para evidenciar la impor- tancia que la desobediencia y la rebeldía tuvieron en la indepen- dencia de las Trece Colonias, más allá de la posterior deriva hacia la violencia armada, una historia poco conocida incluso por los especialistas en ese episodio. Así como años más tarde, y junto a Joshua Paulson (2005), editar un compendio de prototipos históri- cos sobre procesos de liberación nacional, luchas políticas y sindi- cales, movimientos de masas, etc., con hegemónicas formas de CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 66 66 acción no-violenta. Sharp se sintió muy comprometido con los valores de la no- violencia, aunque sin perder su marcado sentido pragmático y utilitarista, lo que le condujo no sólo a cuestionar los modelos de defensa nuclear estratégica y de defensa armada convencional, sino a plantear alternativas a ellas. Junto a Adam Roberts (1967) se introdujo en la “defensa de base civil”, ampliando y explorando originales caminos en la década de los 80s. Justo esta etapa fructí- fera para su producción científica coincidía con el despliegue de nuevos misiles en Europa y la denominada “guerra de las galaxias”, una etapa muy significativa para las relaciones internacionales en los prolegómenos de la extinción de la Guerra Fría y, especialmen- te, para el movimiento pacifista internacional. ¿Qué sucedería si Europa occidental fuese invadida por el Ejército Rojo? ¿Cuál sería la mejor manera de oponerse a esa ocupación? ¿Qué enseñanzas se podrían derivar de ello para trascender el sistema de armas nucleares estratégicas fundamentado en la “disuasión” y la “des- trucción mutua asegurada”? La respuesta a ello fue aplicar la teor- ía de la acción política no-violenta, desarrollada en 1973, a la de- fensa civil sin armas en varias obras que concedieron a Gene Sharp (1985a; 1985b y 1990) un lugar privilegiado entre los partidarios del desarme total y de la “opción cero” de E. P. Thomson (1983). Sin embargo, Gene Sharp pasará a la historia de la filosofía política, no tanto por sus trabajos sobre Gandhi, el análisis de ciertos epi- sodios históricos o por sus obras sobre defensa civil no-violenta, sino por su teoría del poder no-violento, su aplicación práctica y la relevancia que para muchos movimientos políticos concretos ha supuesto su teoría, muy difundida y conocida entre líderes locales, gentes del común y activistas sociales. Sharp (1970) comenzó ex- plorando las alternativas no-violentas a la política convencional releyendo autores como Etienne de la Boetié (1576) y Henry David Thoreau (1848) a la luz de acontecimientos contemporáneos, es- pecialmente asociados a caídas de dictaduras militares y de movi- mientos de masas, obra ampliada en 2003. Esto le condujo a des- arrollar su campo de aplicación con varias obras posteriores, en 1994 y 2009, siendo la primera: De la dictadura a la democracia (publicada en Bangkok en plena ebullición del movimiento por la democracia liderado por Aung San Su-Kyi contra los militares), la que le daría fama internacional al maduro profesor de Boston. Una obrita que tuvo un gran éxito editorial (traducida a más de 20 CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 67 67 idiomas) y una enorme repercusión en el campo de la movilización política de masas. Y, sin duda, la obra más controvertida en el jue- go de la “real politik” que aún continúan aplicando los nostálgicos de la guerra fría y los “maquiavelistas” dentro de la filosofía políti- ca y las relaciones internacionales 13 . Pero su obra monumental, la más importante (resultado de su tesis doctoral), se publicó en 1973, The Politics of Nonviolent Ac- tion, dividida en tres volúmenes, complementada posteriormente, en 1980, con el estudio: Social Power and Political Freedom, en términos de repensar la política. Una obra, ciertamente, menos sistemática que la anterior pero que abordaba interesantes temas muy relacionados con la teoría política del poder y el gobierno, tales como el punto de vista de Hannah Arendt en relación con 13 Algunos gobiernos, como el de la República de Irán (http://www. youtu- be.com/watch? v= OTCuBFuhikM) o la República Bolivariana de Venezuela (http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=fvsG0GAkrqI), algunos grupos de opi- nión a través de páginas webs y documentales (“The Revolution Business”) y académicos incluso de prestigio (como creemos que es el caso de Doménico Losurdo, 2010: 228), han querido asociar –o han caído en la fácil teoría de la conspiración- coligando a Gene Sharp con la CIA y con otros servicios secretos de inteligencia al servicio de las economías imperialistas de mercado o le han hecho responsable e inductor de la mayor parte de las protestas de masas que han conducido a cambios de régimen o caídas de gobiernos en países (revoluciones blandas o de colores) que, a juicio de los acusadores, ya no sirven a los intereses de la República de Estados Unidos. En mi caso no puedo decir que cuente con información para desmentir, de manera absoluta, estos juicios contra Sharp, pero desconfío de personas y teorías que puedan argu- mentar que sólo una persona o un grupo de personas puedan manipular a miles de individuos que protestan por adquirir más libertad y justicia. La experiencia histórica señala que muchas cancillerías y gobiernos, y sus servi- cios secretos, no tienen ninguna estima porque las ciudadanías tomen las calles desafiando el statu quo, entre otras cosas porque la historia demuestra que la gente en la calle es un poder social y político potencial difícil de ser controlado. Esto no desmiente que pueda existir una coincidencia de inter- eses entre los defensores de la democracia liberal de mercado y el uso que se pueda hacer de las teorías políticas de Gene Sharp. Otra cosa distinta es que las teorías políticas de Sharp sólo sirvan para traer ese modelo de democracia y no desarrolle, como creo que sí lo hace, un potencial social y político que es inherente a las masas cuando deciden no obedecer y no dejarse gobernar. Lo que quiero decir es que la teoría de Sharp está abierta a todos aquellos que quieran usarla, incluido a aquellos que no tienen un interés por la democracia formal. De hecho, teóricos y revolucionarios de la no-violencia coinciden con la teoría de Sharp (L’Abate, 1990; Krippendorff, 2003), si bien entienden que la misma no puede reducirse sólo a cambios de un solo modelo de democra- cia. http://www/ CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 68 68 Eichmann en Jerusalén y con su concepto de libertad y revolución, el modo de enfrentar las dictaduras o el apartheid, la desobedien- cia civil en democracias o el equivalente político de la guerra. Volviendo a su obra de 1973, en ella desarrolla –de modo general- la idea de que la no-violencia ha de ser tratada como una ciencia, cuyo valor no es sólo su aporte al conocimiento humano sino, también, una enseñanza técnica, metodológica, sistemática, que permita elaborar hipótesis, deducir principios, desarrollar razona- mientos o experimentar sus límites. Sharp está preocupado por encontrar un método eficaz de ejercicio del poder, más allá del bien y del mal, más allá de la ética. Una forma de acción eficiente, de “demostración de fuerza, de solución práctica de problemas concretos, de disciplina de la acción, pero no de mística, no un acto de ingenuidad moralista” (Soccio, 1985: 20). Sharp busca una alternativa realista a los graves problemas de nuestro tiempo: la guerra, la violencia, la escalada en las luchas sociales, etc., tratan- do de que sea la no-violencia un conocimiento estratégico y táctico de la acción política sustitutivo, y más provechoso, que las anterio- res y sin sus múltiples repercusiones negativas (daños materiales e inmateriales). Por ello, Sharp hace mucho hincapié en que la no- violencia, como acción política, se comporta como un sistema que ha de conocerse en toda su complejidad: sus principios, sus reglas, sus técnicas. Debe ser aprendida, enseñada y experimentada. Sólo un profundo conocimiento permite desarrollar su potencialidad y eficacia, pues hay que manejar múltiples factores (tácticos, huma- nos, jurídico-políticos, accidentales, etc.), variables (miedo, lide- razgo, poder, preparación, presión, etc.), junto a otros saberes y conocimientos (psicología, historia, geografía, etc.), así como la combinación de todo ello. Sharp, en definitiva, quiere construir una ciencia de la acción desechando los métodos armados por resultar contraproducentes y, a la larga, inútiles. Como dijimos anteriormente, The Politics of Nonviolent Action está dividida en tres volúmenes: el primero denominado “poder y lu- cha” en el que se desarrolla cuál es la naturaleza del poder político y cuáles serían las bases estructurales para controlar a los gober- nados, seguida de múltiples ejemplos históricos –especialmente del siglo XX- donde la acción no-violenta ha sido una forma activa de lucha. En este libro desarrolla su concepto de poder, que no es monolítico y compacto, sino fragmentado y distribuido entre di- versas fuentes que lo abastecen (autoridad, recursos humanos, CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 69 69 factores psicológicos e ideológicos, recursos materiales, sanciones) y que, además, se sustentan esas fuentes sobre la capacidad de gobernar y obedecer y los factores que en ello pueden influir, tales como: el hábito, el miedo a las sanciones, la obligación moral, los intereses personales, la identificación política, social y psicológica con el gobernante, la falta de confianza de los ciudadanos o el margen de indiferencia o falsa tolerancia con quienes gobiernan. Es esa difícil ecuación entre gobernar-obedecer, en equilibrio per- manente y con posibilidades de quebrarse, el que sustenta la doc- trina del consentimiento político, más sostenible en democracias que en sistemas dictatoriales y tiránicos. Es en esa capacidad de desobedecer, de resistirse, de decir que no lo que ofrece un mar- gen amplio a la constitución de la política de la acción no-violenta como un arte (López Martínez, 2006: 71-106 y 2012: 37-62). En el segundo volumen sobre “métodos de acción no-violenta”, es donde Sharp desarrolla sus famosos 198 métodos o técnicas de acción política, dividiendo en tres grandes grupos los mismos, no sólo explicando en qué consisten, desde el punto de vista teórico, cada uno de ellos, sino poniendo ejemplos histórico-políticos de cómo se han desarrollado en la práctica dichos procedimientos. De una parte divide los métodos de la acción no-violenta en tres grandes bloques en función de la naturaleza de la participación: A Si su expresión es fundamentalmente simbólica y comunica- tiva les llama “Métodos de protesta y persuasión”. Se trata de ac- ciones muy simbólicas que expresan el desacuerdo, el rechazo o, por el contrario, el apoyo a ciertos asuntos específicos. Pueden buscar influir -directamente o indirectamente- sobre el adversario o sobre terceros en un conflicto. Se trata, de un primer nivel de intervención en el que se busca persuadir, convencer o inducir al adversario a que rectifique o actúe de cierta manera 14 . 14 Entre sus tipos están las declaraciones formales (discursos, cartas, firmas, peticiones), las formas de comunicación a grandes audiencias (consignas, banderas, pancartas, folletos, panfletos, periódicos, revistas), las quejas en grupos (piquetes, delegaciones), las acciones públicas simbólicas (desnudar- se, hacer fogatas, realizar pinturas y rotulaciones, sirenas, silbatos, gestos irreverentes), presiones sobre individuos concretos (hostigamiento, burlas, confraternizar, vigilias), espectáculos y música (sátiras, parodias, humor, representaciones teatrales-musicales, cánticos), procesiones (marchas, desfi- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 70 70 B Si su modo consiste en la retirada activa del apoyo o del consenso, o de una esperada participación o relación en activida- des conjuntas, a ello le llama “Métodos de no-cooperación”, los cuales pueden ser de “no-colaboración social” (aquellos que difi- cultad o entorpecen el normal desenvolvimiento de la vida social o del orden social de una comunidad, llamando la atención no sobre las normas del ordenamiento jurídico positivo, sino sobre las nor- mas, las costumbres y los hábitos de una comunidad política, o aquellas que afectan a la moral establecida o a los usos ciudada- nos. Algunos de ellos fueron muy famosos como el boicot sexual que aparece en la obra “Lisístratas” o el boicot a los autobuses de Montgomery en Alabama). 15 Los de “no-cooperación económica”, aquellos que afectan al normal funcionamiento de la economía, que alteran la libre producción, distribución o consumo de mer- cancías, productos y servicios, aquello que trastorna el habitual consumo, etc. Es la realización de muchos tipos de huelga o paros de muy diversa naturaleza y funcionalidad: para protestar, para trabajar más, para bajar el rendimiento, etc. No sólo estaría la huelga general, muy conocida en la historia y habitual en Occiden- te especialmente en la época contemporánea, sino la huelga de- nominada “hartal”, una forma de huelga general que implica no sólo no trabajar sino dedicarse a la meditación, la reflexión y la oración, que se daba en las culturas indostánicas. Así, también, son interesantes las acciones de bloqueo económico, esto es, asediar y les, procesiones religiosas, peregrinaciones, caravanas motorizadas), tributo y homenaje a los muertos (duelo y luto, funerales fingidos, funerales en masa, homenajes a tumbas y en cementerios), asambleas públicas (mítines), aban- donos, retiradas y renuncias (guardar silencio, renunciar a premios, volver la espalda, abandonar un lugar como protesta), etc. Como se puede comprobar históricamente, han existido muchísimas expe- riencias de este tipo en las luchas de liberación nacional frente al colonialista, en las luchas contra las dictaduras, en la defensa de los derechos humanos, en el movimiento feminista, ecologista y pacifista, etc. Pero, asimismo, tam- bién en las relaciones interpersonales, en el ámbito doméstico o de pequeños grupos resulta bastante habitual usar este tipo de acciones de manera más o menos deliberada y al margen de si sus fines están compuestos de juicios y decisiones ético-morales (López Martínez, 2012a) 15 Los métodos de no-colaboración social como el ostracismo de personas (boicot social, sexual, religioso), no colaboración con eventos, costumbres e instituciones sociales (suspender actividades sociales, deportivas, huelgas estudiantiles, desobediencia social, retirada de instituciones sociales), retira- da del sistema social (quedarse en casa, fuga de trabajadores, asilo y refugio en lugares con inviolabilidad, desaparición colectiva, emigrar como forma de protesta). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 71 71 cercar a ciertos productos o a ciertas marcas comerciales. La histo- ria de la “lucha de clases” entre Capital y Trabajo, los procesos de liberación colonial o las campañas por el comercio justo están sal- picadas de esta forma de despliegue de la no-violencia en su di- mensión de boicot económico. 16 Y, en tercer lugar, se refiere a los métodos de “no-colaboración política” que implican, entre otras cosas, el rechazo de la autoridad o el retiro de la fidelidad y de la obligación política, en una clara muestra de resistencia. Esto fue muy habitual durante la ocupación militar o colonialista de un te- rritorio, fuese en tiempos de paz o de guerra, por supuesto duran- te los procesos de ocupación territorial y de reparto colonial esta resistencia se hizo constante con períodos de mayor o menor ten- sión, pero también durante las guerras concretas o de ocupación y sometimiento de poblaciones que se negaban a reconocer las nue- vas leyes del conquistador, su ideario político o sus costumbres sociales. Esto permitió múltiples formas de resistencia civil en si- tuaciones verdaderamente difíciles y aparentemente imposibles para desplegar acciones no-violentas pero, los estudios de casos, nos están permitiendo considerar que, aún en márgenes estre- chos, la inventiva de resistencia sin armas fue extraordinaria (Bose- rup y Mack, 2001; Ebert, 1984; Sémelin, 1989; López Martínez, 16 He aquí algunas de las formas de la no-colaboración económica: acciones de parte de los consumidores (no consumir mercancías boicoteadas, política de austeridad, no pagar rentas o alquileres, negarse a alquilar, no comprar a otro país), acciones por parte de los trabajadores y productores (no trabajar con productores o herramientas del adversario, negativa a vender o distribuir sus productos), acciones de parte de los intermediarios, acciones de parte de los propietarios, administradores y comerciantes (paro patronal, negar asis- tencia industrial o técnica, huelga general de comerciantes o cierre de nego- cios), acciones de naturaleza financiera (retiro de depósitos bancarios, negar- se a pagar impuestos, no contribuir con los ingresos del Estado, rechazar dinero del gobierno), acciones por parte de los gobiernos (embargo domésti- co, lista negra de comerciantes, embargo a vendedores o compradores inter- nacionales, embargo comercial), huelgas simbólicas (huelga de protesta, huelga relámpago), huelgas agrícolas (campesinas y de braceros), huelgas de grupos especiales (huelga para no realizar trabajos forzados, de prisioneros, huelga de artesanos, h. de profesionales), huelgas industriales comunes (co- operativas y gerenciales, industriales, huelgas de solidaridad), huelgas limita- das o restringidas (huelgas a paso lento, por sectores, huelgas de celo o blan- cas, absentismo para fingir enfermedad, huelga por horas, selectiva para ciertos trabajos), huelgas multitudinarias (generalizada, h. general), combina- ción de huelgas con cierres económicos (hartal, cierre económico donde trabajadores y empresarios van a la huelga). Víd Sharp (1973, vol. II). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 72 72 2012b y d) 17 . C Cuando se trata de acciones basadas en la interposición o el impedimento sistemático, Sharp lo clasifica como “Métodos de intervención no-violenta”. Se trata de un nivel de participación concentrado, profundo y sistemático, que desarrolla de manera muy coordinada grados de actuación y diseños estratégicos en una lucha planteada a un nivel de escalada. En estos métodos se com- prenden varias áreas de intervención que van desde lo individual a lo masivo, desde lo más concreto y simple a lo más complejo. Uno de esos métodos es la abstinencia política de comer alimentos, entre esa privación habría que distinguir: el ayuno de presión mo- ral (aquel que se hace con la intención de ejercer una cierta in- fluencia moral en otros para conseguir un objetivo), la huelga de hambre (rechazo a comer con la finalidad de forzar al adversario a tomar ciertas decisiones pero sin intentar cambiarle, sino ejercien- do cierto grado de coerción sobre él), y el ayuno satyagrahi o gandhiano que buscaba la “conversión” del corazón del adversario. Otro elemento importante de este nivel es la intervención deno- minada “acción directa” no-violenta que implica un elenco grande de actuaciones (contra procesos, ocupación, asaltos, incursiones, invasiones, interposiciones, obstrucciones, etc.). Un apartado es- pecial lo ocupa la desobediencia civil, arma “extremadamente 17 Los métodos de no-cooperación o no-colaboración política son: el rechazo a la autoridad (retirar la obediencia, negarse a dar apoyo público, discursos que inviten a la resistencia), no colaboración de los ciudadanos con el gobier- no (boicots de elecciones, de parlamentarios, de funcionarios, retirarse de las instituciones educativas, no colaboración con las fuerzas del orden, quitar, cambiar o trasladar señales de su emplazamiento, no aceptar funcionarios, negarse a disolver instituciones existentes), alternativas ciudadanas a la obe- diencia (cumplimiento de mala gana o a disgusto, no obediencia en ausencia de supervisión directa, desobediencia encubierta, no dispersarse estando en reuniones y asambleas, sentadas, no cooperación con la conscripción y las deportaciones, asumir falsa identidad, desobediencia civil a las leyes ‘ilegíti- mas’), acciones de parte del personal gubernativo (colaboración selectiva, bloqueo de la cadena de mando, evasivas, ganar tiempo, obstruccionismo, no colaborar administrativamente, no cooperación selectiva por las fuerzas del orden, amotinamiento), acciones gubernativas nacionales contra un ejército o gobierno invasor (evasivas, retrasos, aplazamientos fingidos, no colabora- ción administrativa), acciones gubernativas de carácter internacional (cam- bios de representación diplomática, retraso, cancelación o anulación de en- cuentros diplomáticos, rechazo o aplazamiento del reconocimiento diplomá- tico, ruptura de relaciones diplomáticas, retirada o rechazo a estar en orga- nismos internacionales, expulsión de esos organismos). Víd. Sharp (1973, vol. II). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 73 73 peligrosa” -tal como recordaba Gandhi-. La desobediencia civil es el incumplimiento público de una ley u orden de la autoridad, que se hace por motivos ético-políticos, de manera no-violenta y en donde se acepta el castigo de la ley penal como parte de esas mo- tivaciones. Gandhi la usó en pocas ocasiones de manera masiva y como un arma excepcional (1919 contra las leyes Rowlatt, 1921 contra la vida político-administrativa británica, 1930 la Marcha de la Sal, 1942 campaña Quiet India). Luther King Jr. (1968: 200) tam- bién lo entendió así, de hecho se refirió a la desobediencia civil como un acto último de rebeldía, un hecho terminal, el pre acto de la “coexistencia o la aniquilación total. Ésta será la última alterna- tiva del género humano: caos o comunidad”. También resulta bastante original, en Sharp, su concepción del enfrentamiento político en términos de Aikido, arte marcial, me- diante el concepto de “jujitsu político” (aprovecharse de la mayor fuerza y potencia del contrario en beneficio propio, beneficiarse de sus errores o provocarlos para obligarle a recomponer, enmendar o rectificar sus acciones o sus políticas), máximo grado de inter- vención directa (desafío y provocación) que permite abrir la espo- leta de la creación de instituciones paralelas (administrativas, judi- ciales, políticas, culturales, etc.). Implica una organización de la vida económica, social y política en términos de máxima resisten- cia, desobediencia y rebeldía frente a los poderes establecidos (en realidad es crear una “doble soberanía” y un gobierno paralelo). El ju-jitsu abre un nuevo escenario que tiene una difícil marcha atrás pero que es posible y, en ocasiones, recomendable poder rectifi- car. La ventaja a la hora de rectificar, como la ventaja de todas estas formas de acción política y de metodologías, es bien eviden- te: Hacer política no letal 18 . 18 Los métodos de intervención no-violenta son: la intervención psicológica (ayuno o huelga política de hambre, contraprocesos o contrajuicios, hostiga- miento, exponerse a riesgos, incomodidades o malestar), intervención física (sentadas, quedarse de pié, ocupación de un lugar con vehículos, o de espa- cios abiertos, hacer caminatas en puertas de bases militares, ponerse a rezar, asaltar u ocupar lugares prohibidos, incursiones aéreas, invasiones, interposi- ciones o peacekeeping, obstrucciones, ocupaciones no-violentas), interven- ción social (establecer nuevos patrones sociales, sobrecargar instalaciones o servicios públicos, ralentizar, atascar o parar negocios y comercios a la hora de comprar o pagar, discursear o interrumpir, interrupciones dramáticas fingidas e improvisadas, crear instituciones sociales alternativas, crear un sistema alternativos de comunicaciones), intervenciones económicas (traba- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 74 74 El tercer libro de Sharp es sobre la(s) dinámica(s) de la acción no- violenta, es decir, sobre cómo funciona, cuál es el nivel de intensi- dad y cómo un sistema de fuerzas se dirige hacia un objetivo. A juicio de Sharp sabiendo cómo es la dinámica se puede entender cómo este método opera en la sociedad y la política para evaluar el potencial de utilidad en múltiples situaciones de conflicto. Sien- do el análisis de la dinámica un proceso muy complejo, pero nece- sario, al igual que resulta complicado realizar un examen con otros sistemas que se comportan de manera activa como las campañas militares o el sistema de guerra popular. Es la dinámica la que permite ejercitar la filosofía política de la no-violencia (sus funda- mentos) y su conjunto de técnicas (métodos) y, en consecuencia, la que hace real el poder político y social que aquella representa co- mo una práctica que -renunciando al uso de la violencia- no renun- cia al ejercicio del poder y de su capacidad de transformar la vo- luntad del adversario en un conflicto. En seis capítulos aborda, en primer lugar, las bases de la acción no- violenta, es decir: a) afrontar el poder del adversario (por lo gene- ral un gobierno y su estado con toda su maquinaria administrativa, militar y policial, con amplios apoyos, por lo que hay que evitar ataques frontales y desgastes innecesarios), b) los riesgos y varia- bles de la acción (el peligro a perder en la contienda, el riesgo a perder la vida, las propiedades y otras seguridades, el que aparez- ca de manera abierta la violencia o la represión, etc.), c) liberarse del miedo (superarlo, aumentar el coraje, la capacidad), d) las cau- sas sociales de los cambios de poder (conocer las fuerzas propias y las del adversario, jugar con los acontecimientos para engrosar más apoyos, etc.), e) el liderazgo en una lucha (la no-violencia permite una dirección más descentralizada, comités populares de base, organizaciones menos jerarquizadas y rígidas sin tener que renunciar a liderazgos personales), f) la preparación de la lucha jar en exceso, ocupar el puesto de trabajo, incautarse temporalmente de tierras, desafiar los bloqueos, falsificación de dinero o documentos, comprar o acaparar productos en el mercado que el adversario necesita, apropiación de bienes y capitales financieros, provocar caídas económicas como vender productos a muy bajo precio, crear mercados alternativos, tener instituciones económicas y transportes alternativos), intervención política (sobresaturar los sistemas administrativos políticos, revelar la identidad de agentes secre- tos o de actividades secretas, dejarse arrestar y encarcelar, desobediencia civil a leyes ‘neutrales’, no trabajar y no colaborar con nuevas instrucciones o normas que se consideran ilegítimas, tener y crear una doble soberanía, tener y crear un gobierno paralelo. Víd. Sharp (1973, vol. II). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 75 75 (investigación, negociaciones, focalizar el punto de ataque, crear una “conciencia de causa”, cantidad y calidad de la acción, y orga- nización del movimiento), g) la acción abierta o encubierta (de- pendiendo de múltiples variables y valoraciones), h) los elementos fundamentales de una estrategia (la importancia y los elementos claves de la estrategia y las tácticas –factores psicológicos, físicos, geográficos, elección adecuada, número de participantes, selec- ción de las técnicas, etc.), o i) el ultimátum (el momento de difícil marcha atrás). En segundo lugar, Sharp tiene claro que cualquier desafío desen- cadena la represión, esto conviene saberlo porque la acción no- violenta implica a) finalizar con la sumisión y la pasividad (retirar el consentimiento entraña una provocación que puede ser contesta- da con extrema dureza); b) toda lucha se inicia polarizada pero luego se van recomponiendo las fuerzas en presencia; c) el adver- sario ha de responder pero ¿cuándo? ¿cómo? y ¿dónde?; d) la represión abierta (controlando las comunicaciones y la informa- ción, presionando psicológicamente, confiscando, sancionando económicamente, prohibiendo y restringiendo, deteniendo y en- carcelando, adoptando medidas excepcionales, con formas de violencia directa, e) perseverancia en la acción no-violenta; f) la exigencia de sufrir todos estos inconvenientes, g) enfrentarse a la brutalidad del adversario (la brutalidad institucional y la paralela, mantenerse indomable frente a esa brutalidad). En tercer lugar, Sharp aborda un capítulo importante que permita salir de la situación anterior, el cómo combatir la represión desde la solidaridad y la disciplina. El mantenimiento de la moral y la solidaridad internas, así como la continuación de la lucha son ele- mentos en la línea de aumentar la capacidad de aguante y de re- star eficacia a la represión: a) fomentando la solidaridad (mante- ner los contactos, crear incentivos para mantener la lucha, reducir las bases para una rendición, apelar al uso de sanciones y restric- ciones en caso de persistir la represión); b) neutralizando la repre- sión (haciéndola muy visible, afeándola, apelando a terceros, etc.); c) si el adversario prefiere seguir usando la violencia (neutralizar las provocaciones, buscar la máxima transparencia, backfire o tiro por la culata); d) persistir en una conducta no-violenta; e) evitar que cualquier conato de violencia pueda debilitar al movimiento no-violento; f) el sabotaje (destrucción de bienes materiales) pue- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 76 76 de resultar contraproducente y hasta incompatible con el movi- miento no-violento; g) tener un plan B en el que se contempla el uso de la violencia puede hacer caer en la tentación de usarlo; h) la necesidad de mantener la disciplina interna; i) promocionar y des- arrollar la disciplina no-violenta; j) negarse a odiar; k) la ineficacia de la represión (arrestar y detener a líderes puede resultar muy infructuoso y acabar fomentando nuevos liderazgos, nuevas medi- das de represión acaban generando nuevas demandas y más pre- sión sobre el adversario). Uno de los aportes interesantes de Sharp es el concepto de “jujitsu político” que pretende ir más allá del “jujitsu moral” de Richard Gregg (1935). Éste se refiere a los efectos morales y psicológicos de la persistencia no-violenta sobre los agentes de la represión (un aspecto importantísimo como parte de la construcción de poder moral y legítimo frente al contrincante), no obstante para Sharp el “jujitsu político” y el “jujitsu social” son procesos más importantes por cuanto -tras la brutalidad y la crueldad cometidas contra per- sonas inermes- pueden producir una reacción que genere desequi- librios políticos y sociales (y no sólo sentimientos de conmiseración o indignación) que resten o quiebren sustentos, generen disensos y hagan cambiar de bando a muchos sectores sociales y políticos inclinando hacia el otro polo el desequilibrio y la asimetría de fuer- zas. Para ello conviene conquistar el apoyo de terceras partes no comprometidas (la indignación internacional, controlando los fac- tores que pueden determinar el impacto en la opinión pública de terceros), hacer nacer la división y la oposición en el campo del adversario (fomentando el cuestionamiento de la represión, alen- tando las deserciones, suscitando el amotinamiento de las tropas, favoreciendo la división interna, provocando y apelando a sectores del adversario), desarrollando el apoyo y la participación del grupo de protesta (la represión puede aumentar las filas de los que pro- testan pero también puede motivar a la opción por una resistencia armada que responda de igual forma a la represalia), en general, haciendo ver a los adversarios que una represión dura es contra- producente e inadecuada para enfrentarse a la no-violencia y que ésta requiere de otro tipo de medidas que, en cualquier caso, habrían de ser de una violencia muy medida y controlada; y, final- mente, no conviene olvidar el elemento esencial del modo de ope- rar del “jujitsu político” que consiste en lograr alterar las relaciones de poder, trasvasando autoridad y poder del adversario al grupo CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 77 77 de protesta. El penúltimo capítulo plantea tres procesos o mecanismos por los cuales la acción no-violenta puede influir sobre el adversario, su capacidad de acción y facilite decantar la causa hacia el grupo de protesta. Estos mecanismos son la conversión, la acomodación y la coerción no-violenta. En el primer caso, el adversario ha sido trans- formado interiormente así que éste quiere realizar los cambios reivindicados por los activistas no-violentos (los factores para este cambio pueden ser múltiples, en razón de la empatía al sufrimien- to ajeno, la cercanía social, la personalidad de los adversarios, las creencias y normas compartidas, nunca haberse sentido humilla- dos, etc.). En el caso de la acomodación (o adaptación), los adver- sarios no quedan ni convencidos, ni persuadidos –de hecho podr- ían continuar la lucha-, sin embargo, concluyen que es mejor aten- der en parte o en todo a las demandas del grupo de protesta (para evitar perder credibilidad y legitimidad, disminuir su poder, perder el control y resignarse ante lo inevitable, etc.). En la coerción, el adversario no ha cambiado, ni acepta la adaptación, su voluntad es la de alcanzar la completa victoria sobre los protestantes; sin em- bargo, situaciones ajenas a su albedrío, situaciones de fuerza ma- yor, le hacen doblegar su posición inicial, por ejemplo: cuando el desafío ha sido tan generalizado que no puede ser controlado por el aparato represor; cuando la no-cooperación política, social y económica está estrangulando a la institucionalidad a punto de colapsarla; o, cuando se han perdido buena parte de las fuerzas que permiten mantener posiciones de dureza y puntos de vista inamovibles. Es justo en esos contextos cuando las protestas ejer- cen una fuerza intangible que obliga al adversario a actuar contra su propia voluntad. El último capítulo revela el aspecto más significativo en la dinámica de la acción no-violenta, ¿para qué se realiza ésta? ¿cuáles son las consecuencias que acarrea el proceso?, ¿cuál es el objetivo final? Sharp es muy contundente en esta última cuestión: para propiciar la redistribución del poder, es decir, el método de la acción no- violenta comporta, de manera inevitable, importantes efectos sobre el propio grupo no-violento y sobre la (re)distribución del poder entre los contendientes en conflicto, así como en el conjun- to del sistema social. Esta cuestión era, también, crucial para Gandhi y su método satyagraha, pues la aspiración más importan- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 78 78 te de este sistema de lucha (“abrazar la verdad”, “persistir en la verdad”, etc.) era la conversión de los contendientes, el aprendiza- je en el propio proceso y la aspiración a la reconciliación. Ahora bien, es evidente que en Sharp este lenguaje gandhiano se carga de connotaciones políticas y se aleja de elementos espirituales y éticos. La redistribución del poder se efectúa generando varios efectos, de una parte sobre el grupo no-violento (logra poner fin a la sumisión; se aprende a actuar frente a la adversidad; se experimenta una técnica que revela el poder de cada uno; aumenta la capacidad de superar el miedo; acrecienta la autoestima; genera satisfacción, entusiasmo y esperanza; reduce, canaliza o atempera la agresivi- dad, la virilidad, la criminalidad y la violencia; aumenta la unidad del grupo; acrecienta la colaboración interna; y, produce contagio), y de otra, no menos importante, sobre los equilibrios, contrapesos y correspondencias de poder(es). Una sociedad con poderes mo- nolíticos, opacos y concentrados hace disminuir e incluso anular cualquier capacidad de control, revisión o independencia de una sociedad civil. Para romper esas asimetrías peligrosas se hace ne- cesario, a través del trabajo no-violento, generar grupos e institu- ciones fuertes e independientes, con capacidad de organización social, con técnica política y capacidad de crítica. De hecho, Sharp, ve una relación directa entre la violencia y la concentración y cen- tralización del poder, así como en el uso de aquélla para conseguir formas de poder absoluto y concentrado (las revoluciones o con- quistas por medio de la violencia han acabado generando nuevas formas de violencia), de ahí la importancia de mostrar que la ac- ción no-violenta puede facilitar la descentralización del poder, teniendo diversos efectos a medio y largo plazo con respecto a la distribución del propio poder dentro de una sociedad, así como otros resultados bastante perceptibles para sectores muy amplios de una sociedad (crear una ciudadanía más responsable y organi- zada, desarrollar espacios de libertad y participación, ayuda a des- centralizar la toma de decisiones y los controles, favorece las dinámicas que generan poder social-popular, etc.). 6 Conclusiones El científico social y el analista de fenómenos políticos deberían precisar, conceptual y metodológicamente, entre la pléyade de CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 79 79 métodos que recorren el vasto espectro de técnicas de moviliza- ción colectiva, protesta social e intervención en conflictos. Es im- portante por tanto, a nuestro juicio, superar la confusión que se suele encontrar al creer que los métodos no-violentos podrían confundirse, con cierta facilidad, con otros procedimientos con- vencionales e institucionalizados. Hemos visto que, con bastante facilidad, podemos distinguir entre los métodos de lucha armada y violenta, los cuales generan con- ductas crueles, inhumanas y degradantes (guerra, genocidio, terro- rismo, asesinado, etc.), con respecto a los procedimientos funda- mentados en la no-violencia. A medida que observemos casos más extremos de una y otra forma de lucha podremos vislumbrar con más facilidad las evidentes diferencias. Las campañas de desobe- diencia civil lideradas por Martin Luther King Jr., pasando por la acción directa de Greenpeace, hasta las recientes protestas del 15- M en España entran dentro de la esfera de unos métodos no- violentos. En el otro extremo, el lanzamiento de bombas napalm en Vietnam, pasando por los desaparecidos en Argentina y Chile, hasta la intervención bélica en Irak, son un pequeñísimo muestra- rio de hasta dónde estos métodos pueden causar dolor y sufri- miento humano. Pero donde suele haber mayor confusión es entre los métodos no- violentos y otros como los procedimientos democráticos y los me- dios alternativos de solución de conflictos. Se confunden porque muchas de esas técnicas, cuando se ejercen, resultan ser pacíficas o ausentes de violencia. Por ejemplo, en una consulta electoral hay campañas políticas, declaraciones, el día electoral, el escrutinio y la publicidad sobre quién resultó vencedor, en general, habiendo juego limpio hay una ausencia clara de formas de violencia, y por ello se confunden con que sea métodos “no violentos” 19 . Sin em- bargo, hay que tener presente que se tratan de métodos institu- cionalizados y normativizados, con reglas muy claras, resultan con- vencionales y aceptados, están dentro de un ordenamiento jurídi- co-político. Igual podríamos decir de un ejercicio de mediación familiar, existen unos protocolos de actuación mínimos, las partes 19 Ver las diferencias que establezco entre “no violencia” (sin violencia), “no- violencia” (métodos y técnicas) y “no-violencia” (programa constructivo) y sus significados y genealogía (López Martínez, 2004 a: 784-786, 2006: 5-8, 2012 a: 7-10). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 80 80 han de aceptar unas reglas, ciertamente el proceso se realiza con ausencia de violencia, sin ejercer intimidación y extorsión, pero no podríamos decir que se trata de métodos no-violentos, pues en la mediación, como en la negociación y el arbitraje resultan ser métodos convencionales, institucionalizados y normativizados, las partes conocen básicamente los límites y los márgenes en los que se desenvuelven. De hecho, cuando existe una negociación colecti- va, por ejemplo, de naturaleza capital-trabajo, cuando una de las partes abandona la mesa negociadora lleva el proceso a un terreno no convencional tratando de forzar la situación, aquí sí se podría entrar en el terreno de los métodos no-violentos (o, incluso de los violentos). Debemos, por tanto, a Gandhi primero y a Sharp después, la exac- titud de cuáles son y en qué consisten los métodos no-violentos de presión, protesta, no cooperación y acción directa. También de- bemos a ellos la precisión de cuáles son los contextos más propi- cios y las dinámicas adecuadas para sacarle el máximo partido a estas formas de lucha y desafío en conflictos abiertos. Sin embargo, conviene precisar algo más. Una de las cuestiones claves está (una vez delimitados cuáles son esos métodos) en rela- cionar el uso de los medios no-violentos con la finalidad de esa práctica. En una ciencia exenta de considerar valores, y que se centre sólo en la teoría y su aplicación, quiénes, de qué manera, con qué intención o con qué resultados se usen los medios no- violentos puede resultar un tanto superfluo. En cambio para los irenólogos tiene que haber una consonancia entre teoría, práctica y valores. Podemos decirlo en términos clásicos, para el maquiave- lismo “vale cualquier medio para obtener un fin”, en términos no- violentos esta premisa no es aceptable. Llevado al ejemplo, entre un Gandhi y un Hitler hay diferencias muy evidentes que no admi- ten comparaciones pero, el científico social, no siempre tiene la suerte de encontrar personajes tan puros, ni situaciones o proce- sos que claramente se puedan delimitar en sus fronteras concep- tuales entre métodos no-violentos y violentos. De hecho, durante algún tiempo, los partidarios de Hitler usaron algunos métodos que entrarían dentro de la clasificación de Gene Sharp, lo hicieron para evitar ser molestados por la policía o tener que enfrentarse a juicios y jueces que podrían conducirles a la cárcel, lo hicieron por meras razones pragmáticas y tácticas, métodos que fueron pronto olvidados cuando el sistema fue más indulgente con ellos, permi- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 81 81 tiéndose el lujo de usar los métodos violentos que resultaban ser para los que habían sido entrenados y que coincidían con su filo- sofía política. Con lo dicho hasta ahora, se nos plantean varios problemas sobre los métodos en relación con situaciones históricas. De una parte, la historia nos muestra que pueden existir grupos que usan los métodos no-violentos en situaciones de conflicto pero que, esos mismos grupos, pueden usar métodos violentos cambiando las circunstancias o, más simplemente, porque los usaban de manera provisional. También la historia nos demuestra que en conflictos abiertos y duraderos nos vamos a encontrar con grupos no- violentos puros y con grupos violentos que comparten escenario (y hasta parecida causa y objetivos), siendo habitual una cierta cere- monia de la confusión que suele ser aprovechada para accionar la represión y el descrédito de un movimiento o una causa, por parte de sus adversarios. Uno de los problemas inmediatos por parte de esos grupos no-violentos consiste en delimitar y aclarar las fronte- ras en torno a la elección de los medios para la lucha. Por ello Gandhi distinguió muy bien a qué se refería cuando hablaba de lucha no-violencia o satyagraha y cuándo sólo se trataba de puros métodos “sin armas”. Esa precisión puede ser muy reveladora para quien se dedique al análisis de procesos de esta naturaleza con sensibilidad hacia los valores. No obstante, nos puede ayudar lo que señalan Ronald M. McCart- hy y Ch. Kruegler (1993) –miembros de la escuela de Sharp-, res- pecto a cuáles deberían ser los componentes o denominadores comunes consensuados por la comunidad de investigación en la no-violencia. Algunos de estos denominadores parecen claros: a) las técnicas de acción no-violenta deben ser usadas dentro de un conflicto para influir en el curso o en el resultado del mismo; b) las técnicas no se agotan con el exclusivo uso de la razón, el diálogo o la persuasión en un contencioso; c) no tienen cabida en ellas el uso de la amenaza, la violencia hacia las personas o las agresiones y lesiones físicas, aunque bien es posible que tales acciones puedan causar otro tipo de perturbaciones emocionales o de costes económicos a personas o grupos; d) las acciones están cimentadas en los efectos que puedan producir el despliegue de códigos simbólicos y comunicativos sobre el adversario; y, e) tales métodos no se detienen o se agotan dentro del marco legal o de los proce- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 82 82 dimientos políticos institucionalizados, sino que pueden ir más allá. Precisamente en lo que al marco legal se refiere, la acción no- violenta puede usarse como un instrumento de poder político y de control del poder. De hecho, los Estados y los sistemas legales in- tentan manejar y limitar las maneras en los que la acción no- violenta puede ser usada. Por ejemplo, al regular las huelgas y las demostraciones, un gobierno puede estar conservando el orden público o sólo protegiendo ciertos privilegios contra sus efectos. Sin embargo, obviamente, un Estado no puede determinar (ni limi- tar con facilidad) los procedimientos y, sobre todo, los efectos que pueden tener los métodos no-violentos sobre la sociedad, que pueden traspasar, en muchas ocasiones, los límites marcados por un ordenamiento legal y/o social. Siempre cabe la duda entre los gobiernan y los que se dejan gobernar. A pesar de lo dicho, queda aún pendiente la difícil cuestión del uso “ético” y la orientación deontología que debiera encauzar una lucha con métodos no-violentos o, dicho de otra manera, ¿hasta qué punto resulta irrelevante que se usen métodos de esta natura- leza con objetivos que no coincidan con esta cualidad? Antes nos hemos referido a los nazis, pero podrían ser muchos los ejemplos en los que se han usado los medios no-violentos para defender privilegios, objetivos espurios o causas indignas. Como historiador me inclino por dejar que sea el tiempo quien nos muestre si esos medios eran puramente coyunturales y tácticos para ocultar o desviar la atención sobre las verdaderas intenciones de un movi- miento o lucha o no era así; sin embargo, como científico social e irenólogo las consideraciones de Ronald M. McCarthy y Ch. Krue- gler pueden ser de una gran ayuda; no obstante y una vez más, tenemos que usar un decálogo de valores para ver qué concordan- cia y coherencia existe entre realizar una huelga de hambre y tra- tar de defender con ella la causa del racismo, o realizar una cam- paña de boicot contra los derechos humanos, o desobedecer una ley que garantiza la libertad civil de un grupo social. Desde los va- lores de la dignidad humana, esos objetivos hacen que esos méto- dos, aunque no se usen con presencia de violencia física, resulta que defienden formas de violencia cultural o estructural que si- guen siendo formas incompatibles con la filosofía de la no- violencia. Terminamos estas conclusiones haciendo referencia a los dos per- sonajes de referencia que hemos usado: Gandhi y Sharp. Es evi- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 83 83 dente que Sharp ha influido mucho en el ámbito académico que se dedica a los estudios de la no-violencia. De hecho ha creado una escuela propia y muchos seguidores no sólo en el ámbito escolar sino entre los movimientos sociales y de protesta. Tiene un reco- nocido prestigio como analista de los métodos y como teórico del poder no-violento, pero Gandhi sigue siendo la referencia funda- mental, tanto política, como ética y espiritual, entre otras cosas porque además de reflexionar, llevó una vida política coherente, supo extraer todo el potencial a los medios no-violentos y llegó a confeccionar una crítica seria y profunda al capitalismo industrial e imperialista. Esto último es lo que más se echa en falta en los libros de Shap, las referencias a cómo los métodos no-violentos pueden subvertir unas formas de violencia estructural tan arraigadas. En Sharp hay, aún, una intensa mirada hacia la no-violencia como un sistema alternativo a la violencia política y la guerra, pero muy pocas referencias a aquélla como un sistema alternativo a las cre- cientes formas de violencia estructural y cultural. En esto Gandhi es un campeón, está más interesado en encontrar una forma de liberación social y económica de los más oprimidos, marginados y pobres del sistema que en una alternativa a la violencia física. Para Sharp los métodos no-violentos son los más adecuados para derri- bar dictaduras y sistemas totalitarios, así como para traer sistemas de participación democrática donde la gente adquiere voz y sobe- ranía, de manera consecuente esto implica cuestionar los conven- cionales sistemas de defensa y seguridad de una sociedad (que evite el monopolio de éstas en manos del ejército), así como una redistribución del poder en la tensión entre Estado y ciudadanía a favor de esta última. Para Gandhi los medios no-violentos tendrían similar función pero éstos debían ir más allá, de hecho no pode- mos decir que su modelo político fuese la democracia representa- tiva sino la democracia de las pequeñas aldeas (village democracy) y unas formas de participación ciudadana y de construcción del poder fundamentados en conceptos como la autogestión, el auto- gobierno y la autosuficiencia, entre otros. 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work_n5jeesfrvrf3vbnrovvd5olze4 ---- Environmental Ethical Commitment (EEC): The Interactions Between Business, Environment and Environmental Ethics Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 1877-0428 © 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. Selection and peer-review under responsibility of Centre for Environment-Behaviour Studies (cE-Bs), Faculty of Architecture, Planning & Surveying, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia doi: 10.1016/j.sbspro.2013.08.368 AcE-Bs 2013 Hanoi ASEAN Conference on Environment-Behaviour Studies Hanoi Architectural University, Hanoi, Vietnam, 19-22 March 2013 "Cultural Sustainability in the Built and Natural Environment" Environmental Ethical Commitment (EEC): The interactions between business, environment and environmental ethics Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman* Faculty of Business Management, UiTM, Malaysia Abstract Traditionally, businesses that regard the natural world as “free” and “unlimited” have abandoned environmental considerations. Environmental considerations also act not only as the source of raw materials and energy to meet human needs but also act as the repository for human-generated waste. Because of this, business functions and their intrusion into ecosystems have frequently had unfavourable effects. Business produces dangerous products and causes pollutions that may result in many kinds of dangers. Therefore, it is the purpose of this study to review the interactions between business, the natural environment and environment ethics. © 2013 Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and peer-review under responsibility of the Centre for Environment- Behaviour Studies (cE-Bs), Faculty of Architecture, Planning & Surveying, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia. Keywords: Environemntal ethical commitment; business; natural environment 1. Introduction Today, business corporations have broader responsibilities to society besides providing profits to their shareholders. The broader responsibilities are due to the demand of a bigger population that corporations have to serve. Saha and Darnton (2005) developed a long list of these broader responsibilities. According to them, the broader responsibilities of business corporations may include producing not only products but safe products, providing high-quality reliable services and applying ethical business practices. The responsibilities also include paying contribution to society, involvement in social investment, exercising welfare and rights, considering health and safety, offering employment, offering working conditions and * Corresponding author. Tel.:016-2340387 E-mail address: malizadelima@yahoo.co.uk. Available online at www.sciencedirect.com © 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. Selection and peer-review under responsibility of Centre for Environment-Behaviour Studies (cE-Bs), Faculty of Architecture, Planning & Surveying, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia ScienceDirect http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ 393 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 practices, conducting fair trade, responsibility in marketing and communication, involvement in stakeholder affairs and disclosing information, codes and conducts. Above all, the social responsibilities of a corporation are to produce goods and services, make a profit for its shareholders, respond to the market and operate along with the competitors. Asking businesses to do more than those responsibilities stated above is unfair to them (Hoffman, 1991). Nonetheless, the broader responsibilities stated by Saha and Darnton (2005) do not include the responsibility towards the natural environment. The business corporations, according to them, do not have the responsibility to protect the natural environment. Bansal and Roth (2000) argue that corporations will have an association with initiatives and benefits by having motivations towards the ecology. Corporations would benefit from higher profits, gain process intensification, gain a larger market share, enjoy lower cost and differentiation, gain higher share price, rent-earning resources and capabilities. They also emphasize that with legitimation, corporations would gain long-term sustainability, survival, operation license, fines and penalties avoidance, lessen risk, and employees satisfaction. Corporations would also benefit from feel-good factors, employee morale, and individual satisfaction by engaging in social responsibility. According to Bansal and Roth (2000), all these benefits would be enjoyed by corporations if they are motivated to respond to the ecology. Although the benefits seem to be abstract and immeasurable, the anticipated benefits can act as a trigger for corporations to commit ethically. Besides the broader responsibilities of the corporations, Hoffman (1991) includes ethical responsibilities. Corporations have the ethical responsibility to become an increasingly active partner in dealing with social concerns. Hoffman (1991) agrees that business corporations are urged to think creatively to find solutions and not to create problems in order to achieve environmental success, as it has become an aspect of the search for total quality. Hoffman (1991) included ethical responsibilities in total social responsibilities, that ranked the most difficult responsibilities to comprehend. Other factors are discretionary responsibilities, legal responsibilities, and economic responsibilities. It is difficult and ethically hard for corporations to carry these responsibilities as well as to be motivated towards ecology. 1.1. Health risk The interaction between business activities and the natural environment had brought tremendous risk to the environment, people’s health, and the economy. An example is the release of chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) for food preservation. It is not really going to harm us but constitutes risks for future generations as it depletes the ozone layer. Synthetic insecticides are not only cause illness to human but also cause destruction to crops and will eventually affect birds and mammals gradually. The health risks include the risk of impairment, contraction of diseases, and other health implications that are not only harmful to present population but also to future generations. In the worst case, humans chance of death will increase by one in a million if they breathe New York’s polluted air for two days (Wilson, 1990). In terms of food consumption, it is very hard to avoid consumption of food that contains potentially dangerous additives or pesticide residues as the way to realise their presence is limited. Based on Foon and Kong (1998), the haze that has effects on human beings comprises carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons (both caused by vehicles), sulphur dioxide (caused by power plants and industrial fuel), nitrogen dioxide (caused by vehicles and power plants), and the main pollutant in the current Trans boundary haze (caused by the industrial processes). Among health problems, carbon monoxide could weaken heart contractions; sulphur dioxide could cause bronchitis; nitrogen dioxide could aggravate asthma; ozone could cause chest pain, sore throat, and coughing, particulates could damage lung tissue; while lead could destroy the brain and nervous system. 394 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 1.2. The ecological risk Ecological risk is another risk in consideration to environmental issues. According to Ives (2000), more than 50 percent of the world’s land surface has been transformed and used in supplying freshwater for human use. Humans have used non-renewable energy by engaging in land deforestation activities. This produces enormous waste that results in water supply contamination and will worsen human activity. In order to increase food supply, the human use of crop growth agents such as nitrogen and phosphorus fertilizer that will eventually result in Lake Eutrophication and and also use wood and coal that will cause deforestation and climate change. Wood and coal are cheap and readily available sources to create energy for consumer and industrial use. The use of synthetic insecticides to curb crop destruction affects animals severely, especially birds and mammals, which will result in their extinction. Cheap energy often requires wood and coal, notwithstanding that humans are actually reducing forest area. Thus, it results in global climate change that can cause global warming and dangerous acid rain. The use of nitrogen and phosphorous fertilizers to increase food supply had killed many lakes. In Ives’s article (2000), a scientist from Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organization (CSIRO) estimated that all these activities decreased oxygen and increased carbon dioxide in the atmosphere to an estimate of 70 percent since more than 200 years ago. In addition, Ives (2000) emphasized that a combination of carbon dioxide and other gases in the air will create a greenhouse effect that leads to global warming and climate change. Surrounding issues are burning rivers, dying lakes, oil fouled oceans, radioactivity in food, lead and mercury in water (Hoffman, 1991), ozone depletion, acid rain, declining biodiversity, toxic waste (Shrivastava, 1995), air and water pollution, toxic emissions, chemical spills and industrial accidents. The environmental issues also include global warming, mass destruction of the rain forest, species extinction, and clean water. Other issues in environmental concern are serious adverse effects on agriculture, plant and marine life (Foon and Kong, 1998), water rights, waste export, power generation and exchange, scarce clean air and water, and pesticide use. The species extinction is estimated to affect a quarter of the world’s mammalian species, three quarters of the world’s birds, and at least 50 thousand species go extinct each year and the rapid climate change will accelerate this extinction rate more severely. There has also been widespread damage to the world fisheries of about 50 per cent depletion during the last 50 years which has resulted in 18 of the world’s major fisheries already reaching or exceeding their maximum sustainable yield levels (Hart, 1997). 1.3. The economic risk Besides health and ecological risks, the interaction of business and the environment incurs economic risk. The environmental disasters have caused many risks to businesses economically. Shut downs in economic activities, massive financial losses, flight cancellations (Foon and Kong, 1998), high medical costs, workers’-productivity lost (due to illness), and damage to building structures and materials are some of the examples. Companies might also face monetary settlement, pressure group activities, negative press, industry reputation downturn, and stringent legislation. In order to seek lower cost for hazardous waste disposal, Exxon caused injuries to people and industry. They had to pay monetary settlement and endured negative press for two years (Hamilton and Berken, 2005). Union Carbide in Bhopal, India, faced the reputation downturn of the entire chemical industry, lost an estimation of one million dollars or 28 percent in market capitalization, and experienced cumulative abnormal returns for 50 days, following the Bhopal chemical leak (Blacconiere and Patten, 1994). 395 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 2. The interactions between business between business activities and the natural environment Manufacturing activities have contributed to the decline of the natural environment and, in turn, can lead to the destruction of the Earth. Humans are said to “commit biocide” (Ives, 2000) when the planet is being “beaten and poisoned to death” (Rowe, 1990). It is because, compared to people, the planet is considered to be relatively unimportant. In addition, according to an estimation, within the next few generations the planet will become a “superheated pressure cooker” (Skillman, 1998) due to the risks faced, which will bring major chaos to the human race. Therefore, integrating of environmental ethical considerations and commitment towards the natural environment into everyday business operations, as well as giving them equal weight as other business considerations, is a critical move. 3. Environmental ethics The development of environmental ethics began with the publication of Leopold’s Sound County Almanac in 1949 (Thompson, 1998). Aldo Leopold was the pioneer of American Wildlife Ecology and was the first ecologist to extend the ideas into environmental ethics. Later, Rachel Carson became the catalyst for the environmental movement after she released her book, Silent Spring, in 1963 (Brennan and Yeuk-Sze-Lo, 2000). Since then, environmental ethics has become a crucial issue. Modern Western perspectives on the management of organization in the natural environment have many influences, some of the best known of which are based on Starik and Marcus (2000) as shown in Table 1. They come from various fields, which include environmental conservation, natural science, environmental economics and environmental philosophies. Table 1. The environmental ethics influencers Field Authors Environmental Conservation John Muir, John James Audubon and Aldo Leopold Natural Science Charles Darwin, Rachel Carson and Fritjof Capra Environmental Economics Thomas Malthus, Ronald Coase and Herman Daly Environmental Philosophies Henry David Thoreau, Arne Naess and E. F. Schumacher Source: Starik and Marcus (2000) 3.1. Environmental ethics philosophy Environmental ethics emerged as a new sub-discipline of philosophy in the early 1970s by posing a challenge to traditional anthropocentrism, a human centred way of thinking (Brennan and Yeuk-Sze-Lo, 2002; Partridge, 1980), in conjunction with the opposite theory of non-anthropocentrism. According to Thompson (1998), theoretically, anthropocentric places the human species at the center of the human moral universe. However, human beings are not the only moral agents in the world. They are only creatures with oral interests of “intrinsic” worth. In anthropocentrism, the rest of nature has no such interest and only has worth to the extent that it is instrumental in meeting the needs of the people. Anthropocentrism consists of two varieties, i.e., Egocentric and Homocentric while Non- anthropocentrism consists of Biocentrism and Ecocentric (Thompson, 1998). In an extreme corner, egocentric perspectives regard man as the master or the justification of the natural community (Partridge, 1980). Normally, egocentric theories have relation with laissez faire 396 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 liberalism, capitalism, and free market. In addition, the theories pay scant attention to environmental concerns and see nature as an exploitable resource for human benefit (Thompson, 1998). The prominent contributors in egocentric theories are Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, Adam Smith, Thomas Malthus and Garret Hardin; while J. S. Mill, Jeremy Bentham, Barry Commoner and Murray Bookchin represent anthropocentric theories (Thompson, 1998). Thompson (1998) argues that the Anthropocentric or Homocentric view perceives all moral claims in terms of humans and their interest (Hoffman, 1991). More commonly, anthropomorphic theories can be described as homocentric as they are grounded in notions of welfare and social justice. Both utilitarianism and Marxism are categorized as homocentric theories. If utilitarians come to regard the stewardship of the natural world as an important priority, it would only be because this, in turn, contributes to the greatest happiness to the greatest number of people (Thompson, 1998). This theory also put the “dignity of personhood” in front of nature (Partridge, 1980). Biocentric environmental ethics comprises all things that are alive or a vital part of an ecosystem (Hoffman, 1991). Biocentric environmental ethics includes plant and animals, i.e. it extended its concern beyond the boundaries of moral significance. Some philosophers advocate the principle of biocentric egalitarianism (Bio-egalitarianism) according to which human lives is not just parts of nature; they are an equal part of nature (Thompson, 1998). Non-anthropocentrism/Ecocentric started from a radically different position. They base their ethics on the view that all living things, and in some theories, even non-living things like rocks or mountains, have intrinsic moral value and humans, therefore, owe a duty to them (Thompson, 1998). Anthropocentric reflects the concern about human beings as a subset of biocentric that comprises the concerns for both human and animal. Both anthropocentric and biocentric are subsets of ecocentric, which concern all parts of nature such as trees, land, water, animals, and people. Rowe (1990) has portrayed attitudes that should govern people’s relationship with the environment. Attitude that slowly killing the world and, if continued, will finish the human race is Anthropocentrism that puts people first before all matters. The highest goal of anthropocentrism is a service only to the human community. The saving attitude, the attitude in short supply is ecocentrism, which identifies the ecosphere as a center, a main point not only for ethics but also for arts and religion, at least in the latter, immanent aspects. However, ecocentrism is challenged by the cultural obstacles. The goals of traditional management are to achieve growth and shareholders wealth while ecocentric management aims for sustainability and quality of life as well as stakeholder welfare. Table 2 views the traditional versus ecocentric management in terms of goals, values, products, production systems, organizations, and environment and business functions. According to Shrivastava (1995), in action of Ecocentric, management proliferates all aspects of organization mission, inputs through and outputs. Shrivastava argues that Ecocentric management seeks ecofriendly product designs, packaging, and material use. They also seek to renew natural resources systematically in order to minimize waste and pollution. Ecocentric management encourages the use of low energy and small amounts of resources as they have scaled appropriately provide meaningful work, decentralized participatory decision making, have low earning differentials among employees and non- hierarchical structures. Ecocentric management also establishes a harmonious relationship between the natural and social environment. 397 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 Table 2. Traditional versus ecocentric management Business Functions: Traditional Management Ecocentric Management Marketing aims at increasing consumption Finance aims at short-term profit maximization Accounting focuses on conventional costs Human resource management aims at increasing labour productivity Marketing for consumer education Finance aims at long-term sustainable growth Accounting focuses on environmental costs Human resource management to make work meaningful & the workplace safe/healthy Extracted from: Shrivastava (1995), p. 131. Shrivastava (1995) also emphasizes that marketing in ecocentric management seeks to educate customers about responsible consumption, instead of promoting unrestricted consumption. The finance aims for long-term sustainable growth, instead of short-term profits, accounting seeks to incorporate the social and environmental costs of production instead of externalizing them while management in ecocentric management seeks to provide meaningful work and safe working conditions, instead of single- mindedly pursuing labor productivity. According to Shrivastava, in ecocentric companies, their mission and vision include a corporate commitment to 1) minimize the use of virgin materials and non-renewable forms of energy, 2) eliminate emissions, effluents and accidents, and 3) minimize the life cycle cost of products and services. 3.2. Environmental sustainability It was predicted that the most important issues in the next century would be the issues related to the environment (Schmidheiny, 1992). Schmidheiny (1992) and his colleagues provided a vision of “sustainable development” at the 1992 Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro. They saw that there is a linkage between environmental protection and economic growth. In 1997, the Kyoto Protocol – a codicil to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) – was signed in Japan. The Kyoto Protocol commits most industrialized countries to reducing their emissions by six to eight per cent below 1990 levels by 2012. Corporations would be able to obtain valuable information by capturing the environment as a commodity (Egri and Herman, 2000). Corporations would be able to identify environmental strategies, understand the decision process, understand organizational participants and also reintegrate humanity and ecology, both of which could advance long-term ecological or organizational sustainable development. Parallel to the understanding of organizational participants, Hart (1997) argues that corporations must change the way the participants think, especially the customers, in order to create products and services preferred by them that are consistent with sustainability and enable the corporations not only to be known as marketers but also to be known as educators. In doing so, corporations must lower material and energy consumption, develop clean products and technology, reduce pollution burdens, build the skills of the poor, ensure sustainable use of nature’s economy, replenish depleted resources and foster village-based business relationships. There are various terms by several authors in order to define sustainable development. The term includes vision expressions, value change, moral development, social reorganization and transformational process. They have also come out with the components of sustainable development, operational principles and techniques of biophysical sustainable behavior. Environmental or ecological sustainability could enjoy the benefit of the ongoing challenge to ensure the prosperity of humankind, which deals with the 398 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 ability of more individuals, sufficient duration and related systems (Starik and Marcus, 2000) by adapting to the sustainable competitive strategies. In order to represent sustainable sector (emerging sector), marketing opportunities were created from better consumer information and product labeling where corporations can recycle the waste and find its new uses in order to venture into new emerging economies such as in food industry, cosmetics industry, paper products industry, household products industry, and other upstream industries that could be adjusted to meet the environmental requirements. In order to achieve sustainability of the biosphere, some alterations must be done by the corporations. Corporations must reduce the extraction of virgin ores of toxic heavy metals, change many industrial processes, and curb the use of toxic, mutagenic and carcinogenic metals. “Spiritually” the corporations are also urged to pledge and support the environmental guideline, namely, the “Business Charter for Sustainable Development”. The aim of any corporation pertaining to sustainable development is to achieve zero emission, zero pollution and zero waste, however, to achieve zero discharge or no pollution at all is impossible. If corporations understand the concept of ecological sustainability, they could achieve several benefits to ecological sustainability such as driving down the operating cost, competitive advantage, to become environmental leaders, maintain and enhance corporate image, reduce the long-term risk, benefits ecosystems and communities and achieve a firmer legal footing (Shrivastava, 1995). However, there are several major challenges to sustainability. The process of achieving sustainability involves a tremendous amount of money (Hart, 1997) and leads to severe pollution, depletion and poverty. According to Hart (1997) developed economies face greenhouse gases, use of toxic materials, contaminated sites, scarcity of materials, insufficient reuse and recycling, urban and minority, and unemployment. Emerging economies experience industrial emissions, contaminated water, lack of sewage treatment, over exploitation, overuse of water for irrigation, migration to cities, lack of skilled workers and income inequality. Survival economies experience the worst scenarios including dung and wood burning, lack of sanitation, ecosystem destruction due to development, deforestation, overgrazing, soil loss, population growth, low status of women and dislocation. However, in order to counter this scenario, corporations could reduce their corporate footprint, avoid collision and meet basic needs in order to achieve success. 4. The benefits of environmental ethical commitment Moving towards environmental sustainability could benefit corporations in many ways. Many research findings discuss those benefits. The benefits were presented in various approaches, detailed explanations, and broadly explained opportunities (Saha and Darnton, 2005; Starik and Marcus, 2000). They also came from business process that considers social, moral, and ethical factors. The benefits are interpreted into quality of life such as customer satisfaction, quality of work life, and environmental impact. They consist of achieving cost leadership and competitive advantage (Shrivastava, 1995; Saha and Darnton, 2005; Starik and Marcus, 2000), boosting profitability (Shrivastava, 1995), improving public relations (Shrivastava, 1995), and improving ecological and business performance (Shrivastava, 1995). Other benefits include capturing the green market, achieving environmental leaders, improving image of the company, reducing long term risk, reducing health expenses, gaining firmer legal footing (Shrivastava, 1995), gaining stakeholder importance, avoiding environmental fines, improving raw materials utilization, rejuvenating employee’s morale, improving public perception of the industry, increasing sales, gaining interest from investing institutions and gaining more business (Saha and Darnton, 2005). Companies were offered a wide range of opportunities while dealing with core and primary environmental products and services. These opportunities include a decrease in cost of waste 399 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 disposal, a gain in reputation in environmental responsibility, a reduce in operating cost, a venture in new environmental packaging, a gain in new marketing for existing and new green products, an in crease in revenue from pollution control products, and finally, an ability to sell their pollution compliance capacity. Therefore, it can be concluded that environmental ethics has evolved into a platform that concerned with the rise of the earth and its creatures that portray what is needed to solve ecological crisis as often argued in the on-going debate. Finally, Kamarul-Zaman (2012) emphasizes that corporations must understand, believe, plan, and acquire skills of EEC in order to achieve environmental excellence. References Bansal, P. and Roth, K. J. (2000). Why companies go green: A model of ecological responsiveness. 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work_n5lno7q3w5cfhbqfo7u36vvegy ---- polis43_14.p65 7 Prólogo Noviolencia, resistencias y transfor- maciones culturales Mario López-Martínez Universidad de Granada, Granada, España. Email: mariol@ugr.es Óscar Useche Aldana Uniminuto, Bogotá, Colombia. Email: ouseche@uniminuto.edu Carlos Eduardo Martínez Hincapié Uniminuto, Bogotá, Colombia. Email: cmartinez_esp@yahoo.com Estamos viviendo una etapa muy interesante en los estudios sobre las resistencias, los cambios sociales y la producción cultural contempla- das desde la noviolencia. De hecho, en ese campo muy amplio y diverso que son los Peace Studies (Estudios para la Paz), la noviolencia en general y la resistencia noviolenta en particular están ocupando y adquiriendo re- novadas interpretaciones. Algunos ejemplos de ello, son la realización de múltiples trabajos de investigación (tesis doctorales, de maestría, etc.), la publicación de monográficos en revistas de alto prestigio (Journal of Peace Research, nº 50 de mayo de 2013), incluso nuevas revistas específicas so- bre este campo (Journal of Resistance Studies, desde 2015), junto a una gran cantidad de monografías sobre campañas de resistencia noviolenta, movimientos sociales que usan técnicas e instrumentos de lucha noviolenta o nuevas formas de expresión artística, estética y cultural opuesta a la creciente globalización de la violencia, denunciando, recuperando viejas utopías o reconociendo las muchas formas de rebeldía y desobediencia cívica y social contra la violencia de la globalización. Hay que reconocer que, a pesar de los impulsos tan interesantes y hasta numerosos en el mundo académico –en gran medida reflejo de lo que está sucediendo en el mundo a escala real- sobre estas temáticas que, gené- ricamente, hemos denominado noviolencia, somos conscientes de que la generación de esta nueva epistemología contestataria y genuinamente liberadora, va a seguir coexistiendo con las preferencias en el mundo acadé- mico de múltiples interpretaciones hegemónicas (el realismo político, los análisis funcionalistas, las teorías de la elección racional, las epistemologías neoliberales, etc.) que, de una u otra manera, perpetúan tendencias explica- tivas y de análisis de arriba abajo, donde la agencia estado es preeminente, Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016, p. 7-15 Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 8 valora acríticamente la institucionalidad, es muy poco sensible hacia for- mas de violencia estructural, tiende a justificar sino a legitimar a los actores poderosos, conserva una visión andro y eurocéntrica, es prejuiciosa con el activismo radical y las “nuevas” epistemologías críticas, etc. En este contexto, las resistencias sociales, económicas, culturales, políticas, etc., realizadas por los “nuevos” actores, donde la agencia huma- na resulta de vital importancia, es decir, un espacio y unos grupos que viven, luchan y se defienden frente a las múltiples agresiones de los merca- dos, los intereses privados y los procesos crecientes de domesticación y aculturación, se despliega el universo creativo de lo que muchos denomi- namos la Noviolencia como resistencia y transformación cultural. Como decimos en ese contexto, no obstante, y a través de ella, florecen riquísimas y diversas formas de vida solidaria, de ayuda mutua, de creatividad, de fortalecimiento de lazos afectivos, de economías alternativas y “buen vi- vir”, de nuevas verdades, de encuentros y redefiniciones metodológicas, conceptuales e intelectuales que se construyen socialmente de manera di- námica y viva. Justo como reflejo de ese mundo real, pero invisible en muchas oca- siones para medios de comunicación, para agencias de calificación, para los grandes consorcios económicos transnacionales, para los G-8 y G-20, etc., también para una parte del mundo académico, estas luchas tienen su reflejo para conquistar espacios de verdad, de realidad y de control de lo que se piensa, se investiga, se debate, se financia. La noviolencia también es un campo que se la juega en el mundo académico y universitario sobre cómo se construye la ciencia, para quiénes y con qué finalidad. Es de esperar, pues, que el trabajo que hay por delante se antoja ya difícil, un espacio propio de las resistencias sociales (por la vida, la libertad, la autonomía, el reconoci- miento, etc.). La noviolencia ha tenido y tiene múltiples caras y expresiones. Aún no hemos sido capaces de crear, en el mundo occidental, una palabra que refleje su auténtica riqueza semántica. Una visión ingenua es considerarla una simple negación y deslegitimación de la violencia en todas sus formas y manifestaciones. Ciertamente puede ser esto pero es, también, mucho más. Gandhi consiguió recuperar el viejo concepto de ahimsa, dotándole de un sentido político moderno y dinámico. También inventó el concepto de satyagraha, lo más parecido a nuestra concepción de resistencia civil de masas usada para fines ético-políticos. Todo esto es mucho pero aún no es suficiente para ofrecer la riqueza histórica y vital que tiene la noviolencia. Respetar la vida, negarse a deshumanizar a los otros, rebelarse frente a lasiniquidades, no colaborar con las injusticias, atreverse a desobedecer las leyes que aseguran las arbitrariedades, derribar gobiernos tiránicos, enfrentarse a las formas del colonialismo e imperialismo, luchar por los derechos y las libertades, movilizar a amplios sectores sociales en el reco- nocimiento de sus identidades y personalidades etno-culturales, serían sólo algunos de esos aspectos de la protesta, la concienciación y la persuasión, junto a la no colaboración o la intervención directa. Sin embargo, parece 9 Prólogo que la noviolencia siga perfilándose como aquello que se opone a algo que ya existe y que se califica de abyecto o negativo. No obstante es mucho más. Igual que originalmente el concepto de ahimsa es más que no matar, no causar daño o sufrimiento, y puede traducirse como inocencia, pureza, amor, compasión y valores similares. Noviolencia, asimismo, se expresa mucho más allá de negar a la(s) violencia(s) y, por tanto, es mucho más: desde proyectos de vida y programas constructivos complejos y profun- dos (“buen vivir”, villagedemocracy, sarvodaya, hindi swaraj, etc.), hasta múltiples intentos de formas de vida sostenible (ecología profunda, permacultura, veganismo, bienestar animal), usos y costumbres económi- cas alternativas y sociales (economía budista, decrecimiento, banca ética, mutualismo, trueque, renta básica), pasando por acciones ético-políticas desobedientes (objeción de conciencia, insumisión, rebeldías culturales) o búsquedas y propuestas alternativas a la hegemonía de instituciones estatalesy sociales, esto ha permitido debates sobre formas diferentes de protección, educación, comunicación, etc. (defensa popular, educación y comunicación noviolenta). Muchos movimientos sociales y formas de resistencia popular no usan necesariamente para autocalificarse el concepto de noviolencia pero son conscientes de su importancia doctrinal, estratégica y aplicada, saben que es la fuerza propia y genuina del poder popular, del poder de la gente del común. Ellos no sólo protestan contra las formas de la violencia de la globalización y otros procesos de privatización de los recursos que permi- ten la reproducción de la vida, sino que se niegan a sí mismos el uso de métodos que no aceptan se usen contra ellos. No tratan de luchar contra los sectores privilegiados que usan la violencia (en sus diferentes formas) con sus mismos métodos sino con otros repertorios ligados a formas clásicas y modernas de protesta, no colaboración y desobediencia. Muchos de esos métodos han sido sistematizados, desde un punto de vista político y doctri- nal, por líderes como Gandhi, Luther King, Mandela, Kelly, Aung San SuuKyi, entre otros; por activistas-académicos como Jean Marie Müller, Theodor Ebert, Michael Randle, Howard Clark; o por teóricos como Gene Sharp, Peter Ackerman, Giuliano Pontara, Alberto L’Abate. El elenco es tan grande de pensadores/as, académicos/as, filósofos de la política, investigadores/as, etc., dedicados a reflexionar e investigar sobre todos los campos de la noviolencia que la lista comienza a ser más que notable. Lo importante, hoy por hoy, es que es un tema en alza por muchas razones, entre ellas, y son sólo algunas: por lo que ya sabemos sobre los efectos nocivos que producen las violencias en las sociedades (deshumanización, embrutecimiento, violación de los derechos humanos), por el uso de las nuevas tecnologías (que permiten acercar las luchas y las energías contra las formas negativas de la globalización), por la importancia que han adquirido los nuevos movimientos sociales (críticos con el sistema pero vitales para las democracias), por el resurgimiento de movimientos de excluidos (indígenas, afrodescendientes, movimientos de identidad), por la Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 10 necesidad de encontrar alternativas económicas al capitalismo depredador (neoprimitivismo, calidad de vida noviolenta, vida lenta, etc.). Estas son algunas razones que están detrás de un repertorio amplísimo de maneras de “resistencia” o de “transformaciones culturales” que, en el fondo, son se- rias contestaciones a la crisis civilizatoria actual. En este sentido, la noviolencia se identifica con este amplio proceso crítico-alternativo con la deriva sistémica del mundo y sus formas de dominación. En este número monográfico de la Revista Polis hemos intentado combinar académicos e investigadoras de ambos lados del Océano, librepensadores/as, personas críticas y analíticas, pero también comprome- tidas con su mundo local y concreto en el que aplican su tiempo, sus esfuer- zos y sus terapias para mejorar, desde la resistencia noviolenta, la vida del Planeta. Son estudios de aspectos muy diversos, que nos ofrecen una va- riedad de casos históricos y sociales, en los que se mezclan reflexiones, investigaciones y diagnósticos de problemas pero también soluciones que se han ofrecido desde la noviolencia. La sección “Lente de Aproximación” del número 43 de Polis reúne, en tal sentido, quince artículos, de amplio espectro, sobre Noviolencia, Resistencias y Transformaciones culturales que reflejan, tras un proceso selectivo muy riguroso, algunas de las muchas historias y experiencias que ha habido sobre la búsqueda de alternativas que permitan una radical apues- ta por una vida sostenible y perdurable. En este número de POLIS convocamos a una gama de autores lati- noamericanos y europeos que reflexionan sobre la noviolencia desde dis- tintas perspectivas. Este Lente de Aproximación se inicia con el aporte de Giuliano Pontara, el filósofo pacifista italiano que se refiere a“Gandhi el político y su pensamiento”. Allí da cuenta de la propuesta revolucionaria del gandhismo, de su lucha noviolenta anti-colonial, de su doctrina ético- política que contiene un mensaje todavía muy relevante para los movimentos sociales y los grupos de resistencia civil empeñados en su oposición con- tra el colonialismo, la globalización de la violencia y los procesos violentos de dicha globalización. Mario López Martínez, en “La resistencia civil examinada” realiza un repaso por la bibliografía más importante que abarca desde la obra de Henry David Thoreau hasta Erica Chenoweth. La literatura sobre la resistencia civil va desde el estudio de los fenómenos de movilización de las masas durante el siglo XIX atravesados por los movimientos obreros, abolicionis- tas, pacifistas y sufragistas, hasta la lucha liderada por Gandhi en Sudáfrica y la India. Gandhi, como inventor de la satyagraha, la fuerza del alma, genera muchos estudios y trabajos para comprender su potencialidad. En los años 70s, la figura del investigador Gene Sharp inaugura la corriente funcionalista y aplicada de la resistencia civil. Tras la Guerra fría se extien- den los «resistance studies» con una clara visión estratégica y pragmática de la resistencia. 11 En una perspectiva similar, Óscar Useche, en “La resistencia social india y el bien de todos. Aportes de Gandhi para una economía noviolenta”, presenta algunos de los acontecimientos que definieron el devenir del pro- ceso noviolento de la India, centrándose en el examen de sus aportes en la dimensión de una economía del bien de todos basada en la potencialidad de los pequeños productores y de las redes comunitarias. Allí analiza el impac- to de la política gandhiana a través de su Programa Constructivo de la India y los aprendizajes que dejan sus principios y prácticas económicas novedosas asentadas en la cultura y en la fuerza ética de su verdad. El profesor colombiano Carlos Eduardo Martínez presenta su artícu- lo “Mandela y la construcción histórica de la noviolencia. Otras formas de hacer y de pensar”. La propuesta de la noviolencia, plantea el autor, es una construcción histórica, es decir, hija de los retos que como humanidad he- mos tenido en los últimos cien años. Es también una propuesta de transfor- mación cultural que pretende dar cuenta de cambios profundos en nuestras formas de relacionarnos entre los humanos y con la naturaleza. Mandela y su gente hicieron de la política el arte del encuentro y no de la confronta- ción, contribuyendo a una transformación de la concepción y la práctica de la política contemporáneas.El artículo evidencia varios de los elementos que les permitieron salir avante de la tentación de la guerra y leerlos como su aporte a este camino en proceso, que es la noviolencia. “Movimiento por la Paz con Justicia y Dignidad: construir paz en la guerra de México” es el título que el investigador y activista por la paz en México, Pietro Ameglio, da a su artículo en el que reflexiona sobre las for- mas de lucha noviolentas ejercidas por el Movimiento por la Paz con Justi- cia y Dignidad(MPJD), como fuerza moral, en el contexto de guerra de Méxi- co y de las diferentes fases de resistencia civil que ha ido ejerciendo la sociedad. Se analizan las etapas de las estrategias y tácticas noviolentas que realizó este movimiento, el testimonio de dolor e indignación de las víctimas y su determinación de luchar para encontrar a sus desaparecidos; hacer justicia a sus muertos y “parar la guerra” en las plazas de México y ante los medios nacionales e internacionales. Se analiza un ejercicio de presión moral y material hacia el poder político, señalado por los familiares como directamente responsable de la muerte o desaparición, en contuber- nio con el delito organizado. Por su parte Juan David Villa nos presenta su texto“Perdón y recon- ciliación: una perspectiva psicosocial desde la noviolencia” en el que desa- rrolla una reflexión sobre la importancia del perdón en la construcción de paz en situaciones de conflicto armado prolongado, como la que vive Co- lombia, además de aportar a transformaciones subjetivas y la recuperación de dignidad en víctimas de violencia política. Allí desarrolla una breve revisión de procesos investigativos y teóricos donde se han evidenciado fuertes relaciones entre narrativas de memoria, dispositivos socio-emocio- nales e intereses políticos para el mantenimiento de guerras y violencia. Luego convoca las voces de participantes en el trabajo colectivo de apoyo mutuo que configuró escenarios transformadores para construir una lógica Prólogo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 12 noviolenta de reconciliación social y perdón conducentes a la transforma- ción y superación de conflictos violentos. Daniel Ricardo Martínez Bernal presenta su trabajo: “La Noviolencia en los Nasa, del norte del Cauca: relaciones entre la teoría y la experiencia específica”. El autor se refiere a las resistencias indígenas del Cauca, en el occidente colombiano, y cómo en ellas se pueden descifrar algunos de los principales caminos y alternativas a los ciclos de violencia vividos en este país.Se propone una aproximación a las concepciones y significaciones propias de las comunidades indígenas frente al concepto de noviolencia, mostrando la existencia de condiciones político-prácticas que llegan a cons- tituir un ejemplo de cómo hacer política de manera no armada, civil y no cruenta, en contextos de guerra. Leonardo Nicolás González y María Eugenia Patiño contribuyen con el artículo“Noviolencia como alternativa de resistencia en Chiapas, México: el caso de Las Abejas de Acteal”. La pregunta que problematiza el texto es acerca de la posibilidad de que la noviolencia pueda servir como categoría analítica de los procesos de resistencia en Chiapas, México. Para ello se retoma el caso de la organización indígena y pacifista “Las Abejas de Acteal” y se exploran las relaciones entre la noviolencia y la resistencia que dicha organización ha realizado entre los años 2009-2015; atendien- do fundamentalmente a la relación entre medios y fines en su lucha, la búsqueda de autonomía y justicia y, el papel de la memoria. Se plantea la necesidad de un abordaje diferenciado de los fenómenos de resistencia indígena en la zona y se resalta la potencialidad que la teoría ético- política de la noviolencia puede tener para el estudio de la resistencia indígena en Chiapas. Por su parte, José Luis Aguilar, en su artículo “Resistencia civil noviolenta: la lucha contra el Socialismo Real en Polonia”, plantea la plura- lidad de formas de acción noviolentas, desde las protestas simbólicas hasta las organizaciones paralelas al estado, posibilitando un empoderamiento de la sociedad civil, que tomó la apariencia del Sindicato Solidaridad. Esta organización heterogénea, formada por un gran número de plataformas ci- viles de distinto cariz, alcanzó un poder social que con posterioridad le otorgó un papel clave en la disolución del régimen socialista y en la confor- mación de la nueva Polonia democrática. El artículo de Dennyris Castaño “El feminismo sufragista: entre la persuasión y la disrupción”, presenta una revisión de los aportes que el movimiento sufragista realiza a los métodos de lucha no armada a finales del siglo XIX y principios del siglo XX. Hace un análisis de la relación entre estos métodos de lucha y los objetivos perseguidos, estableciendo matices entre las opciones de lucha de suffragists y suffragettes. Igualmente, pre- tende hacer una comparación entre lucha sufragista y «resistencia pasiva», más allá de la distinción hecha en el artículo escrito por Gandhi sobre Satyagrahavs. «resistencia pasiva». 13 Por su parte, Sabina Cárdenas y María Verónica D’Inca, en su artícu- lo “Arquitectura de la noviolencia, el papel del otro en la construcción del espacio común” plantean que la arquitectura de la noviolencia es una ma- nera de resistir a las formas arquitectónicas higienizadas y fortificadas de la ciudad de hoy, haciendo énfasis en el profundo papel transformador que tiene el “otro” en la reconquista del espacio común. Proponen una revisión crítica de las principales ideas asociadas a la producción del espacio: una cercana al territorio vacío, otra como resultado de los proyectos hegemónicos de ciudad y una tercera como alternativa hacia una ciudad más humana, que es la arquitectura de la noviolencia. Esta última explora maneras creativas para la producción de espacios de ciudad, desde las ideas de transforma- ción, inclusión, solidaridad propuestas en el concepto de noviolencia. Carlos Ángel Ordaz en “Noviolencia, objeción de conciencia e insu- misión en España, 1970-1990” analiza cómo la resistencia al servicio militar obligatorio en España, durante el último tercio del siglo XX, sirvió para articular un importante movimiento antimilitarista y juvenil. Este movimien- to comenzó durante la década de los setenta muy ligado a la doctrina de la noviolencia y su vinculación con la objeción de conciencia. La extendida desobediencia a las leyes de conscripción acabó forzando el fin del servicio militar obligatorio. Para conseguir este objetivo, los jóvenes desobedientes tuvieron que hacer frente a diversos contextos políticos, redefiniendo sus estrategias, logrando conseguir un paulatino aumento de apoyos sociales, consiguiendo un constante trasvase generacional y, sobre todo, asumien- do y convirtiendo la represión derivada de la desobediencia a las leyes en algo dañino para el propio Gobierno. En el artículo “Sa´el jun ontonal, la búsqueda del bienestar, la auto- nomía y la paz desde Las Abejas de Acteal”, Carla Zamora aborda el origen de la organización Sociedad Civil Las Abejas, en el estado de Chiapas – México, y su configuración en áreas de trabajo que atienden a lo económi- co, lo social y lo cultural, para ilustrar los procesos que han desarrollado como alternativas a la violencia y al conflicto social y político que se ha mantenido desde la década de los noventa en la región. Las Abejas emergen como un actor colectivo que opta por la noviolencia y se suma a la reivindi- cación de los derechos de los pueblos indígenas, desde la construcción de sus procesos de autonomía orientados hacia lo que definen como el Lekil Kujlejal, el buen vivir, articulándose en distintos proyectos de trabajo co- lectivo como alternativas de vida. Nicole Darat y Andrés Maximiliano Bello en “Desobediencia intelec- tual: resistencias a la privatización del conocimiento”, describen y analizan una forma específica de la desobediencia civil que surge en medio de la reciente expansión de los procesos de privatización del conocimiento a nivel global. Se refieren a la “desobediencia intelectual” frente a los nuevos dispositivos jurídicos que aseguran los procesos de acumulación del capi- talismo contemporáneo. Luego de revisar el contexto económico-político en que esta desobediencia intelectual aparece, ahondan en tres ejemplos de sus prácticas: las obras de Nina Paley, el activismo de Aaron Swartz y el Prólogo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 14 caso del portal Sci-Hub. Estos casos remiten a prácticas que infringen las leyes de la propiedad intelectual, buscando poner de manifiesto la ilegitimi- dad de las mismas. El autor Danny Monsálvez en “Un espacio de resguardo y resisten- cia no violenta bajo la dictadura cívico-militar: El Boletín de Derechos Hu- manos de la Pastoral de Derechos Humanos del Arzobispado de la Santísi- ma Concepción (1986-1989)” analiza cómo las formas de oposición en con- tra del régimen de la dictadura cívico militar, que gobernó Chile durante 17 años, adquirieron diversas y variadas expresiones de resistencia y denun- cia, siendo el tema de la sistemática violación a los derechos humanos el aspecto más visible y reconocible de todos aquellos actores, grupos y movimientos que fueron víctimas de la violencia institucional de la dictadu- ra. El presente artículo busca situar el Boletín de Derechos Humanos del Arzobispado de la Santísima Concepción como uno de los principales es- pacios de resguardo y resistencia no- violenta en favor de quienes fueron perseguidos por los aparatos represivos de régimen en el Gran Concepción. La creación de un conocimiento sobre el tema de la violencia, represión y tortura, dieron paso a una lucha en favor de quienes estaban siendo asedia- dos por la dictadura de Pinochet. En ese sentido, el Boletín de Derechos Humanos fue un espacio de denuncia, de resguardo, de resistencia y de llamado a la acción no violenta por parte de la ciudadanía. Se trata de quince trabajos que han tratado sólo algunos de las múltiples miradas y acercamientos que se puede hacer a la noviolencia. En un mundo globalizado, la ciencia ha de construirse con conciencia. Análi- sis, investigaciones y aplicaciones se deben a la propia sociedad, de donde surge la propia comunidad científica. No existe la una sin la otra. ¿Pero qué ciencia social? La noviolencia no tiene respuesta completa e incontroverti- ble a tal interrogante, sólo nos dice que el saber se debe construir para dar respuesta a los grandes problemas de las necesidades y las potencialida- des humanas, partiendo de la capacidad de la gente para encontrar y cons- truir respuestas a sus retos específicos, acudiendo al poder de los “sin poder”, una paradoja que devela nuevas perspectivas de la potencia huma- na, para plantear alternativas al desigual reparto de los recursos planetarios y de las exclusiones hechas por los que se perciben como más rápidos, más fuertes o más idóneos. Una ciencia que no deshumanice al otro, sino que lo tenga en cuenta, que resista la presión de los que, con dinero, quieren comprarlo todo y, sobre todo, que se haga para expandir la felicidad de la vida. La sección “Cartografías para el futuro” incluye cuatro artículos que aunque no forman parte de la monografía convocada proveen de interesan- tes perspectivas para el trabajo de transformación cultural. Gilma Balleste- ros abre la sección con “Desobediencia Civil Indígena: El pueblo Nasa y el incidente del Cerro Berlín” que aborda entre otras cosas las formas espon- táneas de desobediencia civil, en la que los indígenas se manifiestan en contra de una postura institucional. 15 El segundo artículo de Gustavo Cantero Meza titulado “La trayecto- ria social del arte y cultura nogalense: artistas, colectivos, circunstancias, reflexiones y oportunidades” presenta miradas alternas sobre la frontera norte de México, subrayando su sentido, valor social y humano desde el arte y los colectivos culturales de la ciudad de Nogales. De autoría de Patricia Lora León se titula el tercer texto “Desvendando o potencial de uma humanidade “outra” a través do pensamento indígena serrano” y nos presenta el enorme potencial para una transformación cultu- ral hacia otro mundo posible contenida en el pensamiento de los pueblos indígenas que habitan la Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. Finalmente Maria Consuelo Oliveira Santos, cierra la sección con su artículo “Hablando de resistencia y del ejercicio de la noviolencia en la experiencia comunitaria en candomblés” con un novedoso aporte a nuevas formas de resistencia social noviolenta, desde el Terreiro de candomblé un espacio afro-brasileño de resistencia como una forma de persistencia cultural,en defensa de un conocimiento integrador, Se completa el número 43 de la revista con la sección “Propuestas y avances de investigación” que contiene un total de diez artículos y la sec- ción “Comentarios y reseñas de libros” en la cual son presentadas tres reseñas. Prólogo
work_ndpbll3ypjfhhfp66d6hlle3la ---- untitled Multiple and interacting disturbances lead to Fagus grandifolia dominance in coastal New England Posy E. Busby1 ,2,3, Glenn Motzkin, and David R. Foster Harvard Forest, Harvard University, Petersham, MA 01366 BUSBY, P. E., G. MOTZKIN, AND D. R. FOSTER (Harvard Forest, Harvard University, Petersham, MA 01366). Multiple and interacting disturbances lead to Fagus grandifolia dominance in coastal New England. J. Torrey Bot. Soc. 135: 000–000. 2008.—Recent studies have emphasized the importance of multiple and interacting disturbances in controlling plant community dynamics. However, detailed information on disturbance history and changes in species abundance are unavailable for many forest ecosystems. As a result, it is often difficult to evaluate the influence of disturbance interactions on changes in species composition over time. This study examines the history and dynamics of Fagus grandifolia-dominated forests in coastal New England to evaluate the role of multiple disturbances in the development of Fagus dominance. Detailed historical and dendroecological data were used to reconstruct disturbance history and compositional trends for the past . 300 years. At the time of European settlement, the study area supported mixed forests of Quercus, Fagus, Carya, and Pinus. Intensive harvesting in the early 19th century resulted in abundant Quercus alba, Q. velutina, and Fagus regeneration. Thereafter, harvesting and fire were limited, but repeated low-moderate intensity hurricanes allowed Fagus but not Quercus species to establish and persist in the forest understory. A severe hurricane in 1944, accompanied by intense herbivory from a high deer population, accelerated the development of Fagus dominance by releasing Fagus saplings, initiating Fagus establishment, and preventing Quercus establishment. The extreme shade tolerance of Fagus, in combination with its flexible regeneration strategy (i.e., the ability to regenerate from seed or from root sprouts), and low palatability to deer, contributed to the increase in abundance of Fagus in response to this complex disturbance history. Thus, long-term changes in forest composition and reduced species richness resulted from species-specific responses to multiple, interacting disturbances. Key words: beech, disturbance interactions, Fagus grandifolia, herbivory, hurricane, monodominance, oak, Quercus. Forest composition and dynamics are heavily influenced by disturbance history. While most studies emphasize the importance of individual disturbance events, or distur- bance regimes of a particular type (e.g., fire, wind, or cutting), in driving forest dynamics, in fact, most temperate forest ecosystems are characterized by complex histories of natural and anthropogenic disturbance (Whitney 1994, Foster and Aber 2004). Recent studies demonstrate that multiple disturbances often interact to shape landscape-level patterns of forest vegetation (e.g., Veblen et al. 1994, Bigler et al. 2005). For example, intense herbivory may prevent the regeneration of species otherwise expected to establish follow- ing severe wind disturbance (Peterson and Pickett 1995), and prior disturbance may strongly influence the probability and severity of subsequent disturbance (Veblen et al. 1994, Bigler et al. 2005). Thus, disturbance interac- tions influence patterns of species composition in ways that are not easily predicted based on the independent effects of each disturbance. In this study, we examine the role of natural and anthropogenic disturbances over the past . 300 years in the development of extensive forests dominated by Fagus grandifolia Ehrh. on Naushon Island, Massachusetts (MA). Fagus is common in northern hardwood forests across the northeastern U.S., but is uncommon in coastal New England where it occasionally forms unusual ‘monodominant’ stands, with Fagus representing . 90% of stem density (Good and Good 1970, Busby 2006). The study area contains the largest (approx- Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:28 346 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 1 We would like to thank Charlie Canham and Wyatt Oswald for comments on an earlier draft of this manuscript. Emery Boose reconstructed the history of hurricane frequency and intensity on Naushon Island using the HURRECON model. We appreciate field assistance from Harvard Forest volunteers. Paul Elias, Gon and Holly Leon, and Bruce Bagley provided valuable historical informa- tion and logistical support. Financial support for this project was provided by the National Science Foundation through the Harvard Forest Long Term Ecological Research Program, the Beech Tree Trust, the Coalition for Buzzard’s Bay, and the Harvard Graduate Student Council. 2 Author for correspondence: e-mail: busby@ post.harvard.edu 3 Current address: Stanford University, Depart- ment of Biology, Stanford, CA. Received for publication January 9, 2008, and in revised form June 8, 2008. Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society 135(3), 2008, pp. 346–359 346 imately 1,000 ha) known monodominant Fagus forest in the eastern U.S. Although consider- able attention has been devoted to understand- ing the influence of disturbance on high species richness in forests (e.g. Janzen 1970, Connell 1978), the role of disturbance in the develop- ment of species-poor forests is not well- understood (but see Hart et al. 1989). In particular, few studies have documented the long-term history and dynamics of mono- dominant forests, despite the widespread occur- rence of such forests in tropical, temperate, and boreal regions (Connell and Lowman 1989). We use detailed historical records of distur- bance and vegetation change, data on stand age structure and growth dynamics, and information on life history traits of the study species to investigate the influence of a complex disturbance history on long-term forest development. The specific objectives of this study are to: 1) document the history and development of Fagus forests in the study area since European colonization, and 2) examine the role of multiple disturbances and life history traits in the development of single- species dominance. Materials and Methods. STUDY SITE. Study sites are located on Naushon Island, MA (12 3 2 km), the largest of the Elizabeth Islands (Fig. 1). The island is morainal, with medium- to-coarse sandy soils (Fletcher and Roffinoli 1986). Two large areas on the island, hereafter referred to as the East and West End forests, cover 1,052 ha (47%) of the 2,226 ha island. Fagus dominates nearly all of these forests, with scattered large Quercus alba L. and Quercus velutina Lam. occurring at very low densities. Beech bark disease has been present on the island for . 30 years (D. Houston pers. comm.), but has resulted in little decline or mortality, in contrast with high mortality rates throughout the northeastern U.S. (Twery and Patterson 1984, Morin et al. 2006). Naushon Island has an unusual history of ownership and land use that has ensured the preservation of this landscape, and may have facilitated the development of extensive forests characterized by single-species dominance. Before European settlement, the nearby and substantially larger islands of Martha’s Vine- yard and Nantucket supported the highest Native American population densities in New Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:44 347 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 FIG. 1. Map of the study area along the southern New England coast. Forested areas on Naushon Island, MA in 1999 (top panel) (MassGIS 2002) and in 1845 (bottom panel) (USCGS 1845) are shown with locations of study plots and stone walls. 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 347 England (Bragdon 1996), suggesting that Native peoples may have lived on Naushon and used it extensively for hunting and gathering. The Native population in the mid- 17th century was 40 families, but may have been larger before the 1612–1613 epidemic that killed large numbers of coastal Native Americans (Emerson 1935, Banks 1911). Since European settlement (1641 AD), the entire island has remained in single-family owner- ship, with only four different families through time. The current ownership was established in 1843. Population densities on the island were thus substantially lower than in surrounding areas through the historical period (Yentsch 1974, Foster et al. 2002). STUDY SPECIES. Fagus grandifolia is found throughout eastern North America, and is considered a late-successional species in north- ern hardwood forests where it regenerates in gaps created by small-scale wind disturbance (Runkle 1981, Canham 1990). Fagus repro- duction occurs both by seed and vegetatively by root sprouts that develop in response to above or below-ground injury (Jones and Raynal 1988). In the Northeast, Fagus was abundant in pre-Colonial forests (Cogbill et al. 2002), especially in northern New England and at higher elevations, but frequent and intense anthropogenic disturbances in the historical period have contributed to its region-wide decline (Siccama 1971). Since the 1930s, beech bark disease, a scale-fungus complex, has led to further Fagus decline and substantial changes in forest structure and dynamics in most inland locations (Twery and Patterson 1984, Morin et al. 2006). These historical changes contributed to a long-term Fagus decline in the Northeast that began 1,000– 2,000 years ago due to broad-scale climate change (Russell et al. 1993, Fuller et al. 1998). Although the role of Fagus in northern hardwood forests has received substantial attention (e.g., Siccama 1971, Canham 1990, Merren and Peart 1992, Poage and Peart 1993), the long term dynamics of coastal Fagus forests are poorly understood. Coastal Fagus dynamics likely differ from inland dynamics because hurricanes, which may facilitate Fagus forest development, are more frequent and intense in the coastal region (Boose et al. 1994, 2001). In addition, fire, which has the potential to limit or restrict Fagus, has been more frequent in the coastal region historically than in most other areas in New England (Parshall et al. 2003). FOREST HISTORY. A detailed historical rec- ord for the study area was used to determine the timing, and in some cases extent, of natural and anthropogenic disturbance events, and to track compositional changes in forested areas (Appendix). Early nautical maps (Des Barres 1780), municipal land cover maps (Crapo 1837), and a detailed US Coast and Geodetic Survey map (USCGS 1845, scale: 1:10,000) identified areas that were forested through the mid-19th century. Documentary sources, aerial photographs, and land-cover maps were used to track changes over the past century (MacConnell 1951, 1973, MassGIS 2002). Study sites were established in areas continu- ously forested throughout the historical peri- od, defined as areas consistently mapped as forested for which we found no documentary or field data to suggest otherwise (Fig. 1). WIND DISTURBANCE. We used the HURRE- CON model (Boose et al. 1994, 2001) to reconstruct hurricane frequency and intensity for Naushon Island for 1620–1997. Boose et al. (1994, 2001) identified all hurricanes with damaging winds for the Northeast based on a comprehensive review of a wide range of sources: personal diaries and town histories for the period 1620–1699, contemporary news- papers from 1700–1997, and meteorological data from 1871–1997. The HURRECON model predicts the frequency and intensity of hurricanes at a specific site based on wind damage reports and meteorological observa- tions for each storm. In addition, we used local documentary sources from Naushon Island (e.g., personal descriptions, anthologies, and annual reports) to develop an independent reconstruction of hurricane strikes. MODERN FOREST STRUCTURE AND DYNAMICS. To characterize forest development, we sam- pled vegetation in 24 fixed-area plots (400 m2) in continuously wooded areas. Within each plot, species and dbh were recorded for all trees . 10 cm dbh, and increment cores were taken from 15–20 trees . 7 cm dbh for age determination and radial growth analysis. Because of the low density of Quercus spp. in study plots, and their greater age than the more abundant Fagus, additional Quercus trees outside of study plots were cored to Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:49 348 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 348 JOURNAL OF THE TORREY BOTANICAL SOCIETY [VOL. 135 facilitate reconstructing long term forest dy- namics. We collected sound cores from 647 trees: 433 Fagus, 146 Quercus alba, and 68 Q. velutina. Tree rings were counted and mea- sured to the nearest 0.01 mm using a Velmex measuring system (East Bloomfield, NY). Cores were used to determine tree ages, excluding those that were rotten or substan- tially missed the pith. All cores were used to examine growth releases. Because our analyses did not require precise chronologies, we did not cross-date the complete sample. However, a sub-sample of cores (Fagus N 5 92, Q. alba N 5 58, and Q. velutina N 5 25), cross-dated using the program COFECHA (Holmes 1983), was used to validate results obtained using the complete sample. This comparison indicated that partially or completely missing rings were extremely uncommon, and thus were not significant for our analyses (Busby 2006). Cross-dated cores were used for the growth suppression analysis. To characterize patterns of tree response to disturbance across the study area, we generat- ed island-wide (East and West End data pooled) disturbance chronologies for Fagus, Quercus alba, and Q. velutina. By identifying the percentage of trees that experienced growth releases each decade, a disturbance chronology is used to estimate the average level of decadal small-scale disturbance, and to approximate the timing of stand-level distur- bance events based on pulses in decadal release. The severity of a disturbance event is estimated by the percentage of trees released, with a stand-level disturbance defined as growth release in a minimum of 25% of stems (Lorimer 1980, Nowacki and Abrams 1997). We identified growth releases using criteria developed in previous studies of Fagus and Quercus growth response to disturbance (Lor- imer and Frelich 1989, Nowacki and Abrams 1997). Moderate and major releases for Fagus were defined as growth changes of 50–100% and . 100% (Lorimer and Frelich 1989). Moderate and major releases for Quercus species were defined as growth changes of 25–50% and . 50% (Nowacki and Abrams 1997). Using all cores, percent growth change (GC) was calculated for all years using prior (Mp) and subsequent (Ms) ten-year growth means: GC 5 [(Ms 2 Mp) / Mp] 3 100. Running comparisons of sequential ten-year means were made and release dates were assigned to years in which the maximum GC reached the pre-determined threshold (Now- acki and Abrams 1997). We examined growth changes based on ten-year averages to filter out short term tree responses to climate while detecting sustained growth responses caused by disturbance (Lorimer and Frelich 1989, Nowacki and Abrams 1997). Disturbance events resulting in growth suppression (GC 5 50% or less) from structural damage to surviving trees were identified using crossdated subsamples (Foster 1988). Results. FOREST HARVESTING. In the early colonial period, valuable tree species (i.e., Quercus spp., Sassafras albidum Nutt., and Chamaecyparis thyoides L.) were selectively, and in some cases heavily, cut from the study area for shipping timbers and other special uses (Fig. 2, Appendix, Emerson 1935). Addi- tionally, a major logging operation from 1824– 1827, employing 10–20 men, clear-cut much of the West End and portions of the East End forest (Fig. 2). Detailed records indicate that there has been minimal cutting in continuously forested areas over the past . 150 years under the current ownership (Appendix). DOMESTIC AND NATIVE HERBIVORES. Nau- shon Island supported a large domestic sheep population through much of the historical period, peaking in the mid 19th century with . 2,000 sheep (Figs. 2, 3; Emerson and Leon 2003). The number of sheep remained high through the 19th century, and then declined in the 20th century. White-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginiana) are native to Naushon Island, and have maintained a population ranging from 50–500 over the past 200 years (Fig. 3). Whereas sheep grazing was largely restricted to open pastures in the central and far eastern and western portions of the island (Emerson 1935, Raup 1945), deer browsing undoubtedly occurred in continuously forested areas throughout the historical period. In the Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:49 349 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 FIG. 2. Timeline of human activities and live- stock and deer impacts on Naushon Island for the past 400 years. 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 349 1980s, coyotes (Canis latrans) established on the island and quickly reduced the populations of both deer and sheep. The deer population has since recovered to . 100 animals, but the sheep population remains low (G. Leon, unpubl. data). WIND DISTURBANCE AND FIRE HISTORY. The HURRECON model identified 58 storms that impacted the study area since 1620 (frequency 5 0.15/year, Fig. 4). We found historical descriptions of storms affecting Naushon Island for only 16 hurricanes. Historical descriptions were restricted to the most intense storms and indicate high variability in forest damage among storms (Appendix, Busby 2006). We found little documentary evidence of fire on Naushon Island for the historical period. Large forest fires would almost cer- tainly have been recorded in the detailed historical records available for the island. The absence of such records suggests that few fires occurred in permanently wooded areas during the past 200 years. VEGETATION HISTORY. Historical descrip- tions of Naushon and nearby islands provide information on pre-settlement vegetation, and help to document changes in landscape conditions since colonization. In 1602, forests on Cuttyhunk Island, approximately 10 km southwest of Naushon and also part of the Buzzard’s Bay moraine, were described as: ‘‘…full of high timbered oaks, their leaves thrice as broad as ours, cedars, straight and tall; beech, elm, holly, walnut trees [hickory] in abundance’’ (Appendix). Given the close proximity and similar geological history of these islands, the vegetation on Naushon Island may have been comparable at the time, with Quercus spp., Fagus, and Carya spp. dominating upland forests, and Chamaecy- paris thyoides restricted to wetlands (Foster et al. 2002). Although we found few descriptions of forests on Naushon Island from the 17th and 18th Centuries, paleoecological reconstructions indicate that Quercus spp. and Fagus were common, with lesser amounts of Carya, Pinus, Acer, and Nyssa (Foster et al. 2006, W. W. Oswald and D. R. Foster unpub. data). Historical descriptions indicate that Fagus and Quercus spp. were the dominant tree species on Naushon from at least the early 19th century. (Appendix). In 1815 it was estimated that three fifths of the island’s trees were Fagus, while the remaining trees were Quercus spp., Carya spp. and Pinus spp. (MHS 1815). In 1856, Henry David Thoreau visited Naushon Island and wrote: ‘‘I was surprised to find such a noble primitive wood, chiefly beech, such as the English poets celebrate, and oak (black oak, I think)…’’ (Torrey and Allen 1962). Fagus and Quercus spp. persisted into the 20th century. In 1930, J. M. Fogg reported that: ‘‘In some regions…these woods present an almost pure stand of beech, in others there is considerable admixture of oak, hickory, hop Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:50 350 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 FIG. 3. Historical changes in sheep (introduced to Naushon in 1684) and native deer populations on Naushon Island (Emerson and Leon 2003). Deer populations . 10 per km2 (equivalent to 224 animals on Naushon) are thought to negatively affect tree regeneration (Healy 1997). FIG. 4. HURRECON reconstruction of hurri- canes affecting the study area (1620–1997). An average of 6.5 years elapsed between hurricanes. F0 5 wind speeds 18–25 m s21, minor damage to buildings and broken branches and shallow-rooted trees uprooted; F1 5 26–35 m s21, buildings unroofed or damaged and single trees or isolated groups blown down; F2 5 36–47 m s21, buildings blown down or destroyed and extensive tree blowdowns; F3 damage 5 48–62 m s21, buildings blown down or destroyed and most trees blown down (see Boose et al. 1994, 2001 for details of HURRECON). 350 JOURNAL OF THE TORREY BOTANICAL SOCIETY [VOL. 135 hornbeam, maple and black gum’’ (Fogg 1930). MODERN FOREST CONDITIONS. Fagus trees dominated all study plots, accounting for . 96% of stems. Quercus spp. accounted for the remaining stems; other species (Acer rubrum L. and Ostrya virginiana Mill.) made up , 1% of stems and were excluded from age structure and growth analyses. Fagus trees ranged in age from 26 to 204 years (median 5 61 years, N 5 433). Two major pulses of Fagus establishment occurred in the past 200 years—one following the logging in 1824–1827 that persisted for . 50 years and a second following the 1944 hurricane (Fig. 5). In addition, with the exception of 1910–1920, some Fagus estab- lished in every decade since 1800. The oldest trees in the study area were Q. alba, which ranged from 59 to 351 years (median 5 181 years, N 5 146) (Fig. 5). Q. alba establishment occurred in the late 1700s, followed by a period of increased establishment beginning in the 1820s. Q. velutina establishment occurred from 1820–1860, synchronous with the second period of Q. alba establishment. Q. velutina ranged in age from 108 to 196 years, with a median age of 152 years (N 5 68) (Fig. 5). GROWTH DYNAMICS. Greater than 25% of Fagus trees were released in the 1920s (28% of trees) and 1940s (37%) (Fig. 6a). Excluding these decades, 13% of Fagus trees experienced moderate or major release each decade (Fig. 6a). An average of 10% of Fagus trees showed suppression every decade. Decades with . 25% moderate and major releases in Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:53 351 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 FIG. 5. Tree establishment (binned by decades) for Fagus and Quercus spp. on Naushon Island. Quercus spp. sampled outside of study plots are not included. FIG. 6. Disturbance chronologies for Fagus grandifolia, Quercus alba, and Q. velutina. Bars above the x-axis indicate the percentage of released stems (moderate and major); bars below the x-axis represent the percentage of suppressed stems. The sample size of trees used in the release analysis is shown above the panels; the size of the sub-sample used for the suppression analysis is shown below. We report the percentage of stems showing release or suppression only for N . 10. 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 351 the Q. alba chronology were: 1820 (38% of trees), 1840 (35%), 1860 (27%), 1880 (27%), 1920 (32%), and 1940 (50%) (Fig. 6b). Ex- cluding these decades, the average level of Quercus alba release per decade was 13%. Abundant Q. alba suppression occurred in two decades (1810, 1830) which were also charac- terized by low levels of release (Fig. 6b). Two decades were characterized by . 25% Q. velutina release: 1840s (33% of trees) and 1960s (40%) (Fig. 6c). Excluding these de- cades, the average decadal moderate and major Q. velutina release was 14%. Major Q. velutina release events occurred when the even- aged cohort was young (1840–1870), while varying levels of moderate release occurred thereafter (Fig. 6c). Q. velutina suppression occurred in the 1940s (9% of trees) (Fig. 6c). Discussion. Temperate forests across the eastern U.S. are characterized by complex histories of natural and anthropogenic distur- bances (Williams 1989, Whitney 1994, Foster and Aber 2004). However, attempts to evalu- ate the influence of such complex histories on forest composition and dynamics are frequent- ly limited by the lack of detailed information on both disturbance history and changes in forest composition over time. On Naushon Island, detailed historical records for the past . 300 years, in combination with dendroeco- logical analyses, provided an unusual oppor- tunity to document disturbance history and historical changes in forest composition. Our results suggest that modern Fagus-dominated forests developed as a result of species-specific responses to multiple disturbances through the historical period, including forest harvesting, hurricanes, and deer herbivory, and the absence of fire. Thus, our results support a growing body of literature that highlights the importance of disturbance interactions in shaping long-term forest structure and com- position (e.g., Veblen et al. 1994, Pickett and Peterson 1995, Bigler et al. 2005, Cowell and Hayes 2007). STAND DEVELOPMENT. Early historical de- scriptions and paleoecological data indicate that mixed forests of Quercus spp. and Fagus, along with several less abundant species, were widespread at the time of European settle- ment. Several factors apparently contributed to the decline in Quercus spp., and an increase in the relative importance of Fagus in the past 200 years. Selective logging of highly valued Quercus spp. may have reduced their abun- dance, as has occurred elsewhere in the eastern U.S. and in Europe (Vera 2000, Cogbill et al. 2002, Abrams 2003). However, a large clear- cut in the 1820s initiated abundant Q. alba and Q. velutina (and Fagus) establishment and the second biggest pulse of Q. alba release in the study period. Following heavy cutting, Quer- cus spp. may re-sprout from the root collar or establish from seed, with sprouts and seedlings thriving in open conditions (Roberts 1990, Sander 1990, Abrams 2003). However, a lack of substantial cutting in the past . 150 years has resulted in little further establishment by Quercus spp. (Abrams 2003). In the eastern U.S., fire-adapted ecosystems often contain Quercus spp. capable of surviv- ing fires or establishing from seed or sprouts after fires. Fire suppression, in combination with selective cutting, has contributed to a regional decline in Quercus regeneration (Abrams 2003). The lack of fire in the study area during the historical period has presum- ably contributed to Quercus declines by maintaining conditions unfavorable for Quer- cus establishment, while allowing for an increase in fire-intolerant Fagus (Tubbs and Houston 1990). Hurricane history has apparently also con- tributed to the increase in Fagus over the past . 150 years. Fagus in the study area have higher rates of average decadal release than those in inland forests (Lorimer 1980, Lorimer and Frelich 1989). We suspect that this results from the high frequency of low-moderate intensity hurricanes on the coast, which create scattered canopy gaps that initiate growth release among understory Fagus (Busby 2006). While most such hurricanes have not resulted in substantial establishment of Fagus or Quercus spp., they provide a mechanism for Fagus seedlings and saplings to reach the canopy, and thus contribute to an increase in Fagus abundance relative to less shade-toler- ant Quercus species (Canham 1990). Results of our dendroecological analyses indicate that, in addition to frequent low- moderate intensity hurricanes, a major distur- bance affected the study area in the 1940s. We interpret this event as the 1944 hurricane based on documentation of severe damage (,1/5 of trees island-wide were reported to have been uprooted) and subsequent salvage operations (Appendix). Although the proportions of Fa- Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:00 352 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 352 JOURNAL OF THE TORREY BOTANICAL SOCIETY [VOL. 135 gus, Quercus alba and Q. velutina uprooted by the hurricane are unknown, all were in the overstory at the time and were susceptible to damage and blowdown (Busby 2006). A high percentage of Fagus present in the understory experienced substantial growth releases, and Fagus established abundantly following the 1944 hurricane. Unlike Fagus, we observed no Quercus spp. regeneration in response to the 1944 hurricane. As Fagus, Q. alba, and Q. velutina were all previously common and were blown down by the storm, but only Fagus successfully established, the 1944 hurricane apparently resulted in a substantial increase in the proportion of Fagus relative to Quercus spp. High levels of herbivory undoubtedly also contributed to the relative increase in Fagus versus Quercus over time. Quercus spp. are more palatable to deer than Fagus and may decline in response to high browsing pressure (Tubbs and Houston 1990, Vera 2000, Tripler et al. 2005). Through the historical period, deer densities on Naushon ranged from 2–22 deer/km2, with substantially higher densities when expressed relative to the area of wood- lands. Elsewhere in the Northeast, deer densities . 10 per km2 have reduced Quercus rubra L. sapling abundance and overall sapling species richness (Healy 1997). Following the 1944 hurricane on Naushon, H. M. Raup observed that deer browsing in forested areas restricted Quercus and Carya regeneration, while Fagus reproduction was abundant (Raup 1945; Appendix). We suspect that deer herbivory favored Fagus over Quercus. spp. through the histor- ical period, and that this was particularly important following the 1944 hurricane. How- ever, if herbivory alone prohibited Quercus spp. establishment, Quercus regeneration would have been expected to increase follow- ing a drastic reduction in the sheep and deer populations in the 1980s; this did not occur. Thus, selective herbivory is not the only mechanism responsible for Fagus dominance (Gross et al. 2000). Rather, Quercus spp. regeneration requires not only release from herbivore pressure but also open canopy conditions created by fire, heavy cutting, or other disturbances (Abrams 2003). To summarize, several interacting factors resulted in the rise in Fagus dominance over the past . 300 years. Early selective harvesting of Quercus spp. accompanied by intense herbivory and frequent, low-moderate intensi- ty hurricanes favored Fagus over Quercus spp. Although a large clear-cut operation in the early 19th century resulted in both Quercus spp. and Fagus establishment, thereafter, a century of limited harvesting but frequent low-moder- ate hurricanes encouraged Fagus but little Quercus spp. regeneration. A severe hurricane in 1944, accompanied by selective herbivory of Quercus seedlings, accelerated the develop- ment of Fagus monodominance by releasing Fagus saplings and initiating abundant Fagus establishment. In the absence of severe distur- bance that may allow Quercus spp. to regen- erate, we expect the relative importance of Fagus to continue to increase as mature Quercus spp. begin to die off. GEOGRAPHIC VARIATION IN BEECH STAND DYNAMICS. Unlike the gap dynamics model of beech regeneration that has been described throughout much of its geographic range (Ward 1961, Leak 1975, Canham 1990, Tubbs and Houston 1990, Poage and Peart 1993), beech regeneration in the study area has occurred in pulses related to severe distur- bance (e.g., after the early 19th century cutting event and the 1944 hurricane). Importantly, our results confirm the importance of wind disturbance for the establishment and persis- tence of beech (Russell 1953). The ability of beech to develop abundant root-sprouts in response to crown, stem or root damage contributes to successful regeneration after wind disturbance (Putz and Sharitz 1991, Cooper-Ellis et al. 1999). For example, fol- lowing a catastrophic tornado in northern Pennsylvania, Peterson and Pickett (1995) reported that 66% of beech stems originated from sprouts and 33% from seed. We suspect that root sprouting was similarly important in beech response to the 1944 hurricane. Positive growth change following the 1944 hurricane is a second line of evidence suggest- ing that wind disturbance may be important for the establishment and persistence of beech. The high frequency of substantial growth increases among understory trees confirms the importance of advanced regeneration in establishing dominance following wind distur- bance (Zimmerman et al. 1994, Bellingham et al. 1995, Peterson and Pickett 1995, Cooper- Ellis et al. 1999). This behavior is similar to beech growth following the severe hurricane that struck central New England in 1938 (Merrens and Peart 1992), and following a Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:01 353 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 353 moderate hurricane that struck Florida in 1985 (Batista et al.1998, Batista and Platt 2003). However, unlike results from this study, no long term increase in beech abundance was observed or predicted by Merrens and Peart (1992) or Batista et al. (1998). In Florida, at the southern edge of beech’s geographic range, beech apparently do not develop root sprouts, which may help explain why a positive long term effect of hurricanes on the beech population was not observed. In central New England, where hurricanes occur less frequent- ly than along the coast, a single hurricane may release beech or initiate sprouting, but beech may be subsequently overtopped and the positive effects of the disturbance may be short-lived (Peterson and Picket 1995). As a result, in inland northern hardwood forests, beech typically requires several periods of release before reaching the canopy (Canham 1990, Poage and Peart 1993). Conclusion. Numerous prior studies at- tempting to relate disturbance history to changes in species composition and richness over time have focused on simple systems characterized by disturbances of a single type, assuming that ‘pioneer’ species are favored by frequent disturbance, whereas superior com- petitors are favored in the absence of distur- bance (e.g., Connell 1978). Results of this study, and others (e.g., Collins et al. 1995), do not support such a trade-off between the ability to withstand disturbance and compet- itive ability. In coastal environments charac- terized by complex disturbance history, Fagus has both a superior competitive ability (pro- nounced shade tolerance) and a superior ability to tolerate disturbance (through ad- vanced regeneration and sprouting). Thus, rather than following generalized models relating species composition or richness to disturbance frequency or intensity, our results highlight the importance of individual species responses to complex and interacting distur- bances in controlling changes in forest com- position over time (Veblen et al. 1994, Pickett and Peterson 1995, Bigler et al. 2005, Cowell and Hayes 2007). In our coastal study area, modern Fagus dominance developed in re- sponse to such a complex history of natural and human disturbance over several centuries. Interestingly, Fagus was apparently equally abundant in the study area and other coastal sites at various times before European coloni- zation (Foster et al. 2002, Foster et al. 2006), having undoubtedly developed in response to differing disturbance regimes. 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Historical descriptions of Naushon and nearby Elizabeth Islands. 1602 ‘‘On the outside of this Island [Cuttyhunk] are many plane places of grass, abundance of strawberries and other berries…This Island is full of high timbered oaks, their leaves thrice as broad as ours, cedars, straight and tall; beech, elm, holly, walnut trees in abundance’’ (Brereton in Quinn and Quinn 1983). ‘‘[Cuttyhunk]…is overgrown with wood and rubbish, viz. oaks, ashes, beech, walnut, witch-hazel, sassafras and cedars…’’ (Archer in Quinn and Quinn 1983). Cedar and sassafras were harvested from the Elizabeth Islands by Bartholo- mew Gosnold’s crew (Emerson 1935). 1682 ‘‘mostly good land…tho something unsub- dued…a very rugged place’’ (Winthrop in Emerson 1935). 1684 First tenant farmer on Naushon Island (Emerson 1935). 1696 From the Captain’s Log, H.M.S. Falkland: ‘‘In this place [Naushon Island] is but one small house in which live one family the Island affords wood and sum deare for other convenient very barren land but being obledged for severall reasons and necessaries we are happy in our safe arrival’’ (Emerson 1935). Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:02 356 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 356 JOURNAL OF THE TORREY BOTANICAL SOCIETY [VOL. 135 1699 Lease, Winthrop to tenant farmer: ‘‘And shall not cut or fell any the red cedar trees nor make any strip or waste of the white cedar trees upon the said land except such of the white cedars as shall be needful for the building and fences upon the said farme and the repairs thereof’’ (Emerson 1935). 1700 Letter from Matthew Mayhew to Wait Winthrop: ‘‘Sr. you may please call to mind you promised to let me have cedars [1,000] for inclosing my field, out of the swamps at Nashawna’’ (Emerson 1935). 1718 Letter from Thomas Lechemere regarding illegal sale of cedar by Naushon tenant farmer: ‘‘…more accounts are told me concerning his carrying cedars to Nantucket whereupon I wrote him and told him it would not be allowed and directed him to desist there from’’ (Emerson 1935). 1765 ‘‘Bill for the Preservation of Moose and Deer on Tarpaulin Cove Island and Nennemessett Island’’ passed in the Massachusetts Legislature (Emerson 1935). 1776 ‘‘The said Commissary, be and hereby is directed with the assistance, or the soldiers on said station, to build as many log houses with timber on said Island as will be sufficient for the reception of 70 or 80 men [rebels]’’ (Emerson 1935). British soldiers set fire to ‘‘everything that would burn, so that neither house, barn, hay nor Indian corn that could be met with escaped the Flames, nor did the live stock share a better fate for what could not be carried off was shot’’ (Emerson 1935). 1801 Diary of Josiah Quincy: ‘‘The soils of this Island are weak and sandy. All of the cluster appeared destitute of wood, although I was assured there was enough in the interior. On Nashant deer run wild and are protected to the proprietor by an act of Legislature’’ (Emerson 1935). 1807 James Bowdoin to Albert Gallatin: ‘‘…the Island of Naushon is appropriated to grazing and to the rearing of horses, cattles and sheep principally the latter; as the Island is long and narrow and has many landing places, it is much exposed to be robbed of its stock; owing to the circumference I have obliged to erect houses and to attach families to them unprofitably for the sake of protecting stock. The same circumstance required me to build a house and connect there with 200 acres of land for a Tavern for the accommodation of the sea men belonging to vessels which anchors on Tarpaulin Cove Harbor…[who]…frequently kill the stock and steal both timber and fire wood from ye island’’ (Emerson 1935). 1813 From the Captain’s Log, H.M.S. Albion: ‘‘Still in Tarpaulin Cove. Daylight sent the boat for wood and water’’ (Emerson 1935). 1814 From the Captain’s Log, H.M.S. Nimrod: ‘‘Anchored in Tarpaulin Cove…sent boats for water…carpenters on shore cutting wood’’ (Emer- son 1935). 1815 ‘‘There are on it [Naushon] four farms, four dwelling houses, at which are milked 40–50 cows. The soil in the eastern part is a sandy loam and good; in the western part it is light, and not so good. The principal part of the mowing land is at the east end…Nashaun is well wooded: the other Elizabeth Islands, except Nanamesset, have no wood. About 3/5 of trees are beech: the remainder of the wood is white and black oak, hickory, and a little pine. About K of the island is in wood and swamps; and in the swamps grow white cedar. Some fire wood is sold, and transported from the island. Very little ship timber remains, not more than 300 tons; but it is of a superior quality’’ (Winthrop in MHS 1815). 1817 ‘‘While all the Elizabeth islands west of it have been stripped of their woods, the trees here, consisting of beech, pine, oak, and hickory, have been carefully preserved, and afford shelter to a hundred deer, one of which bounded across our path at a little distance before us’’ (American Review 1817). 1823 ‘‘…[West end forest] generally to be in a state of decay and great deterioration… the wood on the aforesaid large tract which is oak and particu- larly the larger and older oak are in a state of actual decay and that they are growing worse daily…- Quantity of beech is great, but great deal of wood is in a state of decay and deterioration. No walnut wood, except some dead or dying trees…the woodland at this end [East End] is more valuable and the growths more thrifty – there is a large proportion of oak on the same and that it is young and sound generally and that the beech wood is also thrifty and healthy and valuable…The oak timber on this said east end is also generally better than on the west end of this Island’’ (SJC 1823). 1824 ‘‘I have taken a partial view of the timber on Naushon Island. I find there is a tract of the best timber land I have seen in this part of the country, say, timber suitable for ships, from 300 to 400 tons…the timber is white oak and yellow bark oak’’ (Emerson 1935). ‘‘And as there are many places where the trees are all old and going to decay and no young wood to sprout and therefore no matter what season cut, it might be well to continue the ten best men through the season chopping – the foregoing calculation upon the supposition that about 3,000 cords are to be cut the next spring’’ (Towne in Emerson 1935). ‘‘When the wood choppers had come and gone, leaving behind them a great denuded area, the island returned to its peaceful routine. Many vessels still stopped at the Cove and vegetables, meat and cheese were still in demand, but the farms were on the wane. Those at the French Watering Place and the Tall Farm were abandoned’’ (Emerson 1935). 1825 ‘‘The Island is extremely well wooded, a great number of men being now employed cutting timber from it, about thirty horses are annually raised for market from the farm, and a vast number of sheep find rich pasture in its forest and upon its waste land’’2 (Emerson 1935). 1838 ‘‘Account of Wood on Hand, 121 cords at the Cove, 20 K at North Wharf, 2 K at Lower Landing, and 5 in Cottage Woods’’ (Emerson 1935). 1841 Oct. 3 1841 ‘‘A gale from the north-east commenced in the morning and in the course of the Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:03 357 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 2 The accuracy of this description of sheep grazing in forests is questionable. The quote is taken from an article written in the Barnstable Gazette, which falsely described 200 British soldiers stationed on Naushon Island in the Revolutionary War (Emerson 1935). 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 357 afternoon and night blew most violently and undoubtedly was the heaviest storm which has occurred since the memorable one of 1815….Tues- day afternoon took a ride in the woods; sad havoc the storm has made there. The ground is covered with leaves torn from the trees; large limbs are wrenched and twisted off; many of the time honored and venerable old oaks and beech lie prostrate with an air of grandeur about them even in their lowly estate. The air is fragrant with the odor of bruised and crushed leaves: the roads and paths are blocked up in many places with trees uprooted and lying across them’’ (Forbes and Gregg 1979). 1856 ‘‘…I was surprised to find such a noble primitive wood, chiefly beech, such as the English poets celebrate, and oak (black oak, I think), large and spreading like pasture oaks with us, though in a wood. The ground under the beech was covered with withered leaves and peculiarly free from vegetation. On the edge of the swamp I saw great tupelos running up particularly tall, without lower branches, two or three feet in diameter, with a rough, light colored bark….No sight could be more primeval…’’ (Thoreau in Torrey and Allen 1962). 1860 John Gifford sold $84.13 worth of wood in 1860, $65.39 in 1861, and $13.90 in 1862 (Forbes and Gregg 1979). 1869 ‘‘September…It was the greatest gale since the famous September gale of 1815. The ‘‘Apollo’’ tree in the amphitheatre was rooted up, and many other fine trees’’ (Hughes 1902). 1870 ‘‘…nearly the whole of the rugged isle is covered with thick woods, in which paths and carriage tracks have been cut…rich oak and beech woods’’ (Bryce 1870). 1875 Thinning along roads, for example: ‘‘I have this marked for culling about 100 old trees on Main Road between Grapevine Walk and Yellow Gate, and about 100 more from Red Gate (at Trotting Course) along Ridge Road as far as Amphitheatre Path, including 100 yards or so on said path – also including some on the south ridge of the valley where Robert’s grave stands’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). Additional thinning along South Bluff road: ‘‘Along the ridge from the Cove to the Black Woods seems to have been left a strip of the original forest now chiefly fine old oaks and beech. I have, along the wood road, tried…thinning out the beech saplings and sprouts around any good oaks and I mean to extend this plan’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). Very few descriptions of thinning in contin- uously forested areas were found: ‘‘The Black Woods and beech woods are fine bodies of wood with many old trees which we gradually thin for fuel’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1882 Thinning along roads: ‘‘They have made quite a show in thinning along the Gap in the Wall Road to the north end of Painted Path, and some on the Cove Road. I have marked some 80 trees with O with a limit of 12 ft. to be cleared around each’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1898 ‘‘We were at the bottom of a hollow, where the trees grew straight and tall; but as I looked about me, following the sides of the hollow up, I observed that the trees immediately about me grew no taller than the top of the hollow. They were tall because their growth started from the very bottom; and by just so much as the other trees were rooted higher along the sides of the hollow, but just so much they were shorter than those rooted in the depths. All growth was checked at the top of the hollow. Those trees which grew near the top, where the wind could dive in upon them, were like the cedars you see in the sand hollow along a beach. Their branches had been blown on so from one direction that they all grew leeward’’ (Kobbé 1898). 1898 Winter gale: ‘‘probably wrecked 1,000 trees on Naushon…you would be surprised to see the tremendous number of trees that are down every- where through the woods…that whole hillside sloping north looks like a battleground; it is so thick with the fallen bodies of trees’’ (Forbes and Gregg 1979). 1902 ‘‘Probably 50 chords (of firewood) this winter will round up all traces of the gale of 1898, and the dead and dying trees that have fallen since, as well’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1901 ‘‘The forest growth was a revelation, as most of it had all the appearance of never having been disturbed by civilization. The trees are in every stage of growth, from seedling and small saplings to those which are in their prime or past it, while lying on the ground, where they have fallen naturally, are the decaying trunks of former generations…In certain sections there are acres of forest where this tree [beech] monopolized fully nine-tenths of the growth, and a complete tree census of the island would undoubtedly show it to be in a considerable majority…Another peculiar effect is also produced by these conditions in the relative heights of trees. The trunks of those which grow in the bottom of any depression are tall, while those on the sides are successively shorter and shorter, according as their location approaches the summits’’ (Hollick 1901). 1911 ‘‘The Forbes family, as the last ‘Masters of Naushon,’ has emulated successfully its predecessors in the high ideals of the establishment created by the Winthrops and Bowdoins, and it bids fair to pass on under their tenure with this unique reputation untainted by commercial exploitation’’ (Banks 1911). 1918 ‘‘…Naushon alone attests to the noble forests of the past’’ (Pratt in Dunwiddie and Adams 1994). 1916 ‘‘Trees, in stretches of miles; beech, oaks, most numerous; - many of them hung with moss, looking like bearded Druids; some coiled in the clasp of huge, dark-stemmed grape-vines’’ (Holmes 1919). 1924 ‘‘A hurricane struck the Island in August after three days of heavy rain. It was short-lived but violent, coming from the northwest and laying low a swath of trees from the vicinity of the Green Gate Wall across to the South Shore’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). ‘‘…we realized that a lot of trees had been blown down, and I went out the next day to clear trees that had fallen on the Main Road’’ (Forbes 1964). Post-hurricane timber salvage (1926): ‘‘Chair- man reported that arrangements have been made for the sale of wood now being cleared out and cut up’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1928 ‘‘The hurricane which hit Florida on Sept 6 reached Naushon on the 9th [September] with gale winds and torrential rains. Cellars were flooded and trees were down, 28 on Lackey’s Bay Road alone. Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:03 358 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 358 JOURNAL OF THE TORREY BOTANICAL SOCIETY [VOL. 135 Except for the uprooting of trees no great damage was done’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1930 ‘‘The most conspicuous vegetational fea- ture of the islands, aside from the open grassy downs, is the dense growth of rather low beech woods which clothes the greater part of Naushon and smaller areas on some of the other islands…In some regions, like the area near French Watering Place, these woods present an almost pure stand of beech, in others there is considerable admixture of oak, hickory, hop hornbeam, maple and black gum. Almost the only portions of Naushon which are not wooded are those right along the shore or some of the higher exposed ridges in the central part of the island’’ (Fogg 1930). 1938 Sept. 21. ‘‘Terribly destructive hurricane hit the Island at extreme high tide. Pine Island was swept clean of its age-old cedars and all but washed away. At the Blue Hills Observatory the wind reached 186 mph’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). ‘‘A great many of the noblest trees on the island were blown down….Most of the trees on Cedar Island were blown down’’ (Forbes 1964). ‘‘The storm, by far the worst in many years, blew down thousands of trees, some of magnitude and beauty, but fortunate- ly most of those blown down showed that they had been defective in sundry respects, and once they had fallen and were cleared away, there were enough fine trees left so that the grandeur of the forest will be in no way impaired’’ (Annual Report 1939). 1944 Sept. 14. ‘‘The hurricane hit Naushon with 134 mph winds. All bath houses were destroyed and wharves and bridges damaged but the greatest destruction was to the trees. In many places the woods were flattened down to the ground in tangled masses’’ (Forbes 1964). ‘‘A survey of the woods after the 1944 hurricane shows that although the damage was very severe in several of the most heavily wooded regions, about two thirds of the island woods containing many very fine trees have not been appreciably injured…The forests were not seriously damaged by the hurricane of 1938, but were hard hit by that of September 1944. The wind came across the island from the southeast and blew down a large proportion of the heaviest stands of timber. The wind was gusty, so that the damage is not entirely uniform, leaving some stands relatively untouched and de- stroying others almost completely. In general, how- ever, most of the woods containing large trees were more or less affected’’ (Raup 1945). An estimated 1/5 of trees, or 30,000, blew down in the hurricane (Annual Report 1945). Post-hurricane timber salvage (1946–48): ‘‘So far the total amount removed is a little under 1,000 cords or less than 10% of the estimated total’’ (Annual Report, 1946). ‘‘To date Smith has sawed up about 330,000 feet of lumber, 90% of which is oak.’’ (Annual Report 1947) ‘‘H.D. Smith sawed over 200,000 board feet, chiefly oak, most of which remains unsold’’ (Annual Report 1948). 1945 ‘‘Forests composed primarily of white and black oaks, beech and hickory cover a large portion of the island of Naushon. Other species that appear commonly or occasionally are hop hornbeam, red maple, red oak, pitch pine, coastal white cedar, flowering dogwood, holly tupelo, red cedar, etc’’ (Raup 1945). ‘‘In spite of the fact that they [deer] do not eat it [Fagus] if other browse is available, many of the young beech sprouts in the east end have been severely nibbled back. Further more numerous oak seedlings have been reported early in the year but no young oaks are to be found. Also a place that was wired in by D.C. Forbes to keep deer and sheep out did show a good growth of oak as well as other young trees that he planted there’’ (Raup 1945). 1954 Aug. 31 ‘‘[Hurricane] Carol, with winds of 135 mph, struck Naushon at high tide. All bridges to Nonamesset were carried away and the Monsod boat house landed upside down in the swamp across the road at the head of Lackey’s Bay’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). ‘‘Hurricane Carol turned most of the leaves grayish-brown so that it looked like winter’’ (Forbes 1964). 1954 Sept. 11 ‘‘[Hurricane] Edna, with winds of almost 100 mph, did some damage to already weakened trees and structures but far less than ‘Carol,’ as the tide was low when it hit the island’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). ‘‘Hurricane Edna blew leaves off the trees that had been recently damaged by Carol’’ (Forbes 1964). 1954 Oct. 16 ‘‘[Hurricane] Hazel, the third hur- ricane to strike the islands this autumn, did immense damage to the trees. Clouds of wind-swept spray were driven right across Naushon. This final blast denuded the forest, already weakened by the previous storms, and actually killed great numbers of trees, especially on the south side of the Island. The forest has never recovered’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1955 Aug. 13 ‘‘[Hurricane] Connie did not do much harm at Naushon’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1955 Aug. 19 ‘‘[Hurricane] Diane, with winds reported at 74 mph, struck the Island hard, also at high tide. Tremendous rain (16 inches reported at Hartford) and heavy seas washed out the beaches and banks along the shores. Cedar Island lost all its cedar trees and Fisherman’s Island was badly denuded of trees and badly washed away in places’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1960 Sept. ‘‘[Hurricane] Donna again washed away the shores…the woods, which were just beginning to show signs of recovery from the past hurricanes were again badly battered. Although it seemed that the forest would never recover, nature has reasserted herself, and except for some blow- downs and areas of thickly crowded new growth, the forest has come back and regained much of its former beauty’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1985 ‘‘[Hurricane] Gloria hit with winds of 70 mph’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1991 ‘‘In August, ‘‘Bob’’ hit the Island, going from east to south to west and creating many downed trees and from spray, caused much loss of foliage which sprouted out again later, in some cases flowering’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 2005 Fagus grandifolia dominates areas contin- uously forested throughout the historical period. In plots in dwarf Fagus stands, 96% of stems are Fagus and 4% are oak species. In intermediate sites, 98% are Fagus and 1% Quercus spp., and in tall plots 93% are Fagus and 6% Quercus spp. Other species found in study plots, but not used for age or growth analysis, included Acer rubrum and Ostrya virgini- ana. No Quercus spp. regeneration was observed in continuously wooded area, although oak have established in open areas. Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:04 359 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 359
work_ndpfxjuiovbl3gnypq64phrgu4 ---- SF5 S&F_n. 23_2020 337 GIACOMO SCARPELLI FILOSOFIA SELVATICA. UNA RIVISITAZIONE DEL PENSIERO WILDERNESS 1. Una civiltà dai nervi scossi 2. Pennelli selvaggi 3. La bestia nell’uomo, l’uomo nella bestia 4. Il wilderness riattualizzato ABSTRACT: WILD PHILOSOPHY. REVISITING WILDERNESS THOUGHT The notion of nature has been changing during the last two centuries: from an antagonist that must be conquered, to the environment of which the Homo sapiens is part of. Perhaps this second notion of nature is subjective too. Thoreau considered nature a free creative force and a resource that can decrease but never grows. It is precious for manhood only if humanity understands it is independent and self-governing. Consequently, the man should preserve habitat and prevent its transformation in exclusively human world. But recreating a wild environment, isn’t it an artifice? Will nature be transformed in a mummified representation or pathetic caricature of itself? Does the preservation of wild nature really improve the quality of life? Probably yes, if preservation is not recreation, and if quality of life is quality of life of all species. Certainly, something good is coming for manhood because we will stop to think only of ourselves. 1. Una civiltà dai nervi scossi La natura oggi si è trasformata in ambiente, mentre la storia naturale in ecologia: la doppia metamorfosi concettuale è espressione dell’urgenza di salvare il pianeta. A queste rappresentazioni se ne lega un’altra che ha invece ascendenza secolare, il wilderness. Secondo la definizione di un atto emanato dal Congresso degli Stati Uniti nel 1964, per wilderness si intende una data porzione di territorio popolata di animali allo stato selvatico, in cui predominano le forze della ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 338 natura, in contrasto con le aree dove l’uomo e la sua opera costellano il paesaggio; un territorio protetto che pertanto può rappresentare una risorsa di tipo scientifico, educativo ed estetico. Il trascendentalista Henry David Thoreau, convinto che la natura fosse una risorsa che poteva decrescere ma non aumentare, affermava nell’infuriare della Guerra Civile che il wilderness (lo chiamava ancora wildness) costituiva un tesoro da salvaguardare piuttosto che da saccheggiare, poiché in esso era racchiusa l’intera «preservazione del mondo»1. E John Muir, il fondatore della più autorevole istituzione americana per la difesa dell’ambiente, il Sierra Club, osservava già nel 1898 come il wilderness fosse diventato una necessità di fuga per «migliaia di persone affaticate, dai nervi scossi e ipercivilizzate»2. Oggi il discorso varrebbe a maggior ragione, alla luce di pandemie ricorrenti: il wilderness potrebbe rappresentare un luogo d’asilo anche per chi è traumatizzato dalle conseguenze della globalizzazione. Entrambi gli autori, Thoreau e Muir, esprimevano in termini pratici le idee filosofiche di colui che era stato il loro capofila, Ralph Waldo Emerson. Questi aveva introdotto nel Nuovo Mondo un idealismo tedesco dagli echi panteistici e intendeva la natura come un simbolo metafisico o, più precisamente, l’ente spirituale stesso cui tendeva la psiche umana. In altri termini, wilderness significava una condizione mentale, a prescindere dall’intento di preservazione ecologica, poiché assumeva il rilievo di un valore assoluto, legato all’idea di qualità della vita, non soltanto fisica e materiale, ma anche e soprattutto sentimentale, etica ed estetica3. 1 H.D. Thoreau, Walking (1862), Arc Manor, Rockville 2007, p. 26. 2 J. Muir, The Wild Parks and Forest Reservations of the West (1898), in Nature Writings, The Library of America, New York 1997, p. 721. 3 Vedi R.W. Emerson, Nature, Munroe & Co., Boston 1836, e anche il saggio con lo stesso titolo, ma dal diverso contenuto, pubblicato in Essays, ibid., 1844, pp. 183-216. S&F_n. 23_2020 339 Un tempo si riteneva che la natura fosse il mezzo attraverso il quale Dio parlava agli uomini. E allora il continente americano, con la sua abbondanza di riserve incontaminate, teoricamente avrebbe dovuto essere in vantaggio sull’Europa, dove millenni di civiltà si erano stratificati, separando l’uomo dall’opera del Signore. Tuttavia, è anche vero che i primi coloni del Nuovo Mondo non erano ancora americani, bensì europei in fuga da terre che li affamavano o li perseguitavano. Essi consideravano il continente selvaggio scoperto da Colombo come un paese da conquistare, dissodare, rendere fertile, in nome del Cristo e delle diverse fedi da esso derivate. Questa opinione discendeva dalla tradizione religiosa e culturale secondo cui il mondo era stato donato agli uomini, la creatura prediletta dall’Altissimo, per il loro personale beneficio4. Non possedevano, i pionieri, un patrimonio intellettuale sufficiente per capire che quel paese selvaggio non era precisamente un nemico5. Del resto, i pionieri, impegnati ogni giorno per cercare di sopravvivere e per ricreare comunque una parvenza di vecchio mondo nel nuovo, non potevano soffermarsi ad ammirare e considerare la magnificenza di quelle terre. Erano strenuamente impegnati nella ricerca di cibo e sicurezza, e il wilderness appariva soltanto come un rischio costante e una fatica spossante6. Aristotele non aveva forse stabilito una precisa cronologia delle tappe culturali? Soltanto quando furono raggiunti «tutti i mezzi indispensabili alla vita» e «quelli che procurano benessere, agiatezza, gli uomini incominciarono a dedicarsi a una sorta di indagine scientifica» e anche filosofica7. 4 Cfr. W. Leiss, The Domination of Nature (1972), McGill-Queen’s University Press, Montreal 1994. 5 Vedi C. Culmsee, Malign Nature and the Frontier, Utah State University Press, Logan 1959. 6 R. Nash, The Cultural Significance of the American Wilderness, in M. McCloskey e J.P. Gilligan (a cura di), Wilderness and the Quality of Life, Sierra Club, San Francisco 1969, p. 96. Vedi anche M. Cioc e C. Miller, Roderick Nash – Interview, in «Environmental History», XII, 2007, pp. 399-407. 7 Aristotele, Metafisica, I, 982b. Cfr. G. Scarpelli, Bergson e la techne. Le origini della precisione, in «Intersezioni», XIV, 1994, pp. 229-242. ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 340 Analogamente, è possibile che l’atteggiamento di stupore, ammirazione e partecipazione del colono americano per il wilderness nascesse soltanto dopo la conquista del continente, non durante la sua dura marcia verso l’Ovest, quando egli doveva rimboccarsi le maniche e lavorare, sempre tenendo a portata di mano lo schioppo. Kant aveva affermato nella Critica del Giudizio che il piacere del sublime per la natura selvaggia e incontaminata non implica tanto una gioia positiva quanto una meraviglia in senso negativo8. Il sublime suscita emozione e sgomento e inoltre ha carattere matematico e dinamico. Matematico perché prodotto dall’immensamente grande (montagne, foreste, firmamento) e dinamico perché prodotto dall’immensamente potente (oceano, vento, vulcani). Così, l’uomo da un lato scopre di essere piccola cosa e si sente schiacciato, ma dall’altro lato si accorge di essere superiore a ciò che è immensamente grande e potente, perché coltiva dentro di sé l’idea di ragione, intesa come totalità assoluta. Affermava Kant che sublime è ciò che per il solo fatto di poterlo pensare, attesta una facoltà dell’anima superiore a ogni misura dei sensi. Forse questa tesi, insieme alla lezione aristotelica, ci aiuta a capire il motivo per cui furono gli artisti, prima dei pionieri, a rapportarsi con il sublime americano. 2. Pennelli selvaggi Fino all’inizio dell’Ottocento la pittura americana fu contraddistinta dagli stilemi europei. Quando un artista riproduceva un paesaggio del Nuovo Mondo si rifaceva al manierismo pastorale, punteggiato di pecore, ruscelli, mucche e, sullo sfondo, qualche evidenza dell’opera dell’uomo. Nel 1823 Thomas Cole, giovane immigrato inglese, giunse nella Ohio Valley e fu 8 I. Kant, Critica del giudizio (1790), tr. it. Utet, Torino 1993 (l’«Analitica del sublime» è affrontata nella parte prima, sez. prima, libro secondo). S&F_n. 23_2020 341 affascinato dalla sua selvatica bellezza. Decise di abbandonare il vecchio stile figurativo e di dedicarsi a ritrarre cascate, boschi, montagne inviolate, cercando di cogliere lo spirito della vita selvaggia. In luogo di oggetti e animali domestici inserì nei propri dipinti alberi stroncati, nuvole e banchi di nebbia e dichiarò che la scenografia americana aveva caratteristiche opposte a quelle del Vecchio Continente: i coloni dovevano essere grati a Dio per aver creato quel paesaggio, ideale per la contemplazione del sublime e dell’eterno9. L’iniziativa di Cole sancì una sorta di dichiarazione d’indipendenza dell’arte americana (anche se va riconosciuto che egli risentiva dell’influsso del fiammeggiante romanticismo tedesco). Le prime concrete immagini del wilderness uscirono dunque dal pennello dei pittori piuttosto che dalla penna dei suoi teorici. L’arte di Cole e del suo allievo Frederic E. Church, e soprattutto di Albert Bierstadt raffigurò con sincera magniloquenza il Gran Canyon, Yellowstone, Yosemite, su tele di enormi dimensioni10. In seguito, come è noto, i pittori che fecero del Far West una leggenda furono Frederic Remington, Charles M. Russell, Charles Schreyvogel e altri, ma qui è necessario sottolineare il posto che spetta a un’altra corrente pittorica, la cosiddetta Brandywine School. Agli inizi del Novecento essa fissò nell’immaginario collettivo l’avventura nell’estremo Ovest, nell’estremo Nord e non solo. Howard Pyle, il fondatore della scuola, viene tutt’oggi considerato il padre dell’illustrazione americana. Tra i suoi più celebri allievi Frank Schoonover, Philip Goodwin, Dean Cornwell e il geniale Newell C. Wyeth11. Va tuttavia notato che se l’arte di Cole risaliva al tempo in cui il pioniere doveva lottare per la vita, diversamente l’arte della Brandywine School risaliva al 9 R. Nash, The Cultural Significance of the American Wilderness cit., pp. 69- 73. Vedi anche M. Lewis (a cura di), American Wilderness. A New History, Oxford University Press, Oxford 2007. 10 R. Nash, Wilderness and the American Mind (1967), 3a ediz., Yale University Press, New Haven and London 1982, pp. 82-83. 11 J.E. Dell e W. Reed, Visions of Adventure. N.C. Wyeth and the Brandywine Artists, Watson-Guptill Publications, New York 2000. ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 342 tempo in cui la Frontiera aveva ormai raggiunto il traguardo del Pacifico: il wilderness era diventato una deliberata ricerca di un piacere, di un brivido, del confronto con l’ancestrale e il primitivo. L’uomo rientrava in scena o, meglio, in azione. Era il momento del richiamo della foresta, che ebbe come aedo Jack London12. Quando l’idea di wilderness americano raggiungerà l’Europa, si mescolerà ad altre suggestioni esotiche, generate dall’espansione coloniale in Oriente, nel Pacifico e nel cosiddetto Continente Nero, e troverà nel Theodore Roosevelt di African Game Trails l’autorevole incarnazione di una simile miscela culturale13. In seguito, grazie al pensiero di Aldo Leopold, l’atteggiamento verso il wilderness si modificherà ulteriormente, in senso più decisamente etico. Leopold trasformerà il sentimento di istintivo trasporto verso la vita selvaggia in rispetto responsabile e in autentica scienza14. 3. La bestia nell’uomo, l’uomo nella bestia Oggi l’idea di wilderness che, come abbiamo visto, è strettamente associata a quella di ecologia e di ambiente, appartiene tuttavia a un tumultuante movimento di pensiero attraversato da correnti che non sempre si muovono nella stessa direzione. Il principio comune di base è che la conservazione della natura selvaggia vada considerata una risorsa che migliora la qualità della vita, ma le motivazioni che vi risiedono si presentano anche in contrasto fra loro e sono di natura non solo etica ed estetica, ma anche 12 Il celebre romanzo di Jack London, The Call of the Wild (Macmillan, New York 1903), fu illustrato da Philip Goodwin e da Charles L. Bull. 13 Anche African Game Trails (Scribner, New York 1910) fu illustrato da Philip Goodwin. Vedi inoltre C.C. Mann, 1493: How Europe’s Discovery of the Americas Revolutionized Trade, Ecology and Life on Earth, Granta, London 2012. L’economista catalano Joan Martinez Alier (The Environmentalism of the Poor: A Study of Ecological Conflicts and Valutations, Edward Elgar, Cheltenham 2002), ha auspicato un’alleanza tra i propugnatori del wilderness e le popolazioni native del Terzo Mondo. 14 A. Leopold, Pensare come una montagna (1949), tr. it. Piano B Edizioni, Prato 2019. S&F_n. 23_2020 343 religiosa, scientifica, psicologica e persino mistica15. In questa situazione confusa il filosofo forse se la cava meglio del cittadino comune, dal momento che il suo compito prevalente non è quello di dare risposte ma di porre domande. Circa la necessità di un «ritorno» alla natura, qualcuno afferma che si debba ragionare non soltanto in termini ecumenici – vale a dire la necessità della più ampia adesione a un progetto di salvaguardia – ma anche economici – vale a dire la questione della sostenibilità in rapporto al mercato. A ciò si potrebbe replicare che non di rado è la cultura che traina il mercato. John Davies, autorevole storico dello sviluppo industriale, ha per l’appunto dichiarato che il libero mercato è un’astrazione di comodo e che la cultura è il vero motore dell’economia16. Il wilderness, come l’ecologia, è dunque una forma di cultura che non prescinde nemmeno dalle istanze religiose, anche se, appunto, si tratta di atteggiamenti che vanno in direzioni diverse. Il Puritanesimo, fortemente insediato nel New England, aveva guardato ai territori selvaggi come un luogo di prova, lo sfondo per una purificazione spirituale, dove la corruzione morale della Vecchia Inghilterra avrebbe potuto essere definitivamente eliminata. In tal modo, colui che si fosse rifugiato in seno al wilderness avrebbe trovato nutrimento materiale e spirituale in nome del Signore17. Tuttavia, non è difficile individuare nell’idea wilderness anche valori che appaiono pagani, o per certi versi panteistici, una ricerca della verità dentro la realtà naturale. Thoreau definiva Dio come un «Qualcosa» di vicino, che si manifestava con la natura ed era immanente alla natura18. Al wilderness appartiene pertanto anche un sentimento di esasperato individualismo che non esclude la misantropia, la fuga 15 Cfr. H. Rolston III, Philosophy Gone Wild, Prometheus Books, Buffalo 1989. 16 Cfr. G. Scarpelli, Ingegno e congegno. Sentieri incrociati di filosofia e scienza, Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, Roma 2011, p. 140. 17 Vedi C. Albanese, Nature Religion in America, Chicago University Press, Chicago 1990, pp. 37-40. 18 H.D. Toreau, Walden, or Life in the Woods (1854), Houghton Mifflin, New York 1995, p. 129. ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 344 dell’Homo sapiens dai co-specifici19. Esso rappresenta un rifiuto della società oppressiva e ipertecnologica, che si esprime come ritorno, ideale o fattuale, alla selva primeva, alla ricerca di una libertà ancestrale. Nietzsche scriveva nella Genealogia della morale: «Non intendo in alcun modo aiutare i nostri pessimisti a tirare nuova acqua ai loro stridenti e cigolanti mulini del tedio vitale: al contrario dev’essere espressamente attestato che allorquando l’umanità non si vergognava ancora della sua crudeltà, la vita sulla terra era più serena di oggi che esistono i pessimisti. L’offuscarsi del cielo al di sopra dell’uomo è andato aumentando in rapporto al fatto che è cresciuta la vergogna dell’uomo dinanzi all’uomo»20. Si tratta di un aspetto non estraneo al pensiero wild, almeno a livello immaginifico: essere crudeli tra le bestie come le bestie quale via per recuperare l’innocenza originaria. Da entusiasta dell’idea di Superuomo, Jack London combinava questi concetti con il principio di lotta per la vita darwiniana, per temperarli poi con un’ottimistica fede nel socialismo. Ai nostri giorni, certe propensioni possono nondimeno condurre a delusioni pericolose. Wildmen non ci si improvvisa, come hanno dimostrato negli ultimi anni imprese di dilettanti o velleitari che si sono concluse tragicamente, perché la natura autentica non perdona. Muir fu tra i primi ad averne consapevolezza: wild life può significare wild death, ed è inutile aspettarsi l’aiuto divino21. Giunti fin qui, il concetto di wilderness sembra assumere davvero tanti significati diversi fra loro o addirittura contrari. Il wilderness è una realtà e un ideale, in cui il cristiano si riscatta lo spirito, e anche dove il panteista avverte di essere 19 R.W. Gilbert, Notes from a Wilderness Layman, in M. McCloskey e J.P. Gilligan (a cura di), Wilderness and the Quality of Life cit., pp. 81-87. 20 F. Nietzsche, Genealogia della morale (1887), tr. it. Adelphi, Milano 2000, p. 55. 21 M. Cohen, The Pathless Way. John Muir and American Wilderness, University of Wisconsin Press, Madison 1984, p. 61. S&F_n. 23_2020 345 immerso nel divino, dove il pagano crede di non avere più freni alla propria libertà e il laico si sente moralmente nobilitato. È uno scenario di godimento estetico e però di sofferenza, nel quale è inutile raccomandarsi all’Onnipotente. Il wilderness è una fuga dal consesso civile e però salvaguardarlo richiede sostenibilità economica. È un nido di istinti primordiali che va protetto con l’impiego della ragione. L’uomo non vuole rinunciare al wilderness, ma nel wilderness l’uomo è meno importante della altre creature; anzi, perché esso continui a esistere l’uomo deve impedire a se stesso di violarlo. E allora, come recuperare il posto dell’uomo nella natura? Forse, non si tratta soltanto di sollecitare quel che di animalesco si trova nell’uomo, ma anche di individuare quel che di umano si trova nella bestia. Per Darwin infatti ogni specie prosegue nella successiva e lascia qualcosa di sé nella precedente. È più animale l’uomo che si comporta da bestia o la bestia che dimostra barlumi di affetto, di intelletto e persino di morale, come le scienze biologiche ritengono di aver determinato? Inoltre, qualsiasi specie per modificarsi fisicamente e nelle abitudini deve cambiare lì dove è immagazzinata l’informazione genetica. Ciò significa che gli animali possono assumere modificazioni nel comportamento a livello individuale, ma per tutto il resto l’adattamento ai mutamenti d’ambiente è estremamente lento, nell’ordine di migliaia o di milioni di anni22. Al contrario, per un essere umano se l’ambiente cambia, egli trova soluzioni adattative e la generazione successiva è già preparata ad affrontarla, poiché la trasmissione delle caratteristiche psico-comportamentali acquisite è praticamente immediata23. Di qui discende che se l’Homo sapiens scegliesse la via del recupero ambientale, le prossime generazioni sarebbero teoricamente in grado proseguirla. 22 Cfr. B. Commoner, The Closing Circle, Knopf, New York 1971. 23 Vedi A. Nisbett, La vita di Konrad Lorenz (1976), tr. it. Adelphi, Milano 1978, p. 276. ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 346 4. Il wilderness riattualizzato Il moderno concetto di wilderness parte dal principio di tutela, che deve impedire il consumo di massa dell’habitat naturale, pena la sua irrimediabile trasformazione, appunto, in contesto umano, passibile di essere corrotto. Tuttavia, questa forma di trascendentalismo adattato in alcuni casi non è contraria alla fruizione degli spazi protetti, secondo dettami che non escludono aprioristicamente la caccia24. Le convinzioni anti-caccia e la scelta di un animalismo vegetariano sono per la verità generalmente bersagli polemici del pensiero wilderness, che in questo si distacca dal pensiero ecologista e le considera inadeguate, postmoderne e artificiose. Inoltre, ricreare artificialmente un ambiente selvaggio potrebbe risultare una contraffazione, trasformare la natura in uno spettacolo mummificato o in una sua patetica caricatura ad usum del turista: in altre parole, la «società dello spettacolo» finirebbe per trasferirsi e rovesciare lo spettacolo della natura in una natura- spettacolo. Nondimeno, il precetto wilderness non può essere applicato al Vecchio Continente – ad alta densità urbana e culturale – allo stesso modo che alle Americhe, all’Africa equatoriale, all’Asia tropicale e all’Oceania. Sarebbe improponibile. In Europa, per tradizione, è più rilevante l’albero che la foresta: la quercia, l’olmo, il tasso, il melo, il cipresso secolari sono una sorta di monumenti della tradizione, che risalgono all’epoca di San Francesco, di Chaucer, di Elisabetta I, di Newton, di Garibaldi25. L’Associazione Italiana Wilderness (AIW), per fare un esempio, si dichiara consapevole che nell’accezione di base la tutela delle aree selvatiche comporta un impegno continuo a non modificare determinate zone, e però si mostra favorevole a moderati prelievi di risorse rinnovabili. 24 J.F. Reiger, American Sportsmen and the Origins of Conservation, Winchester Press, New York 1975. 25 K. Thomas, L’uomo e la natura. Dallo sfruttamento all’estetica dell’ambiente (1500-1800) (1983), tr. it. Einaudi, Torino 1994. Vedi anche M. Agnoletti, Storia del bosco. Il paesaggio forestale italiano, Laterza, Bari-Roma 2018. S&F_n. 23_2020 347 Riguardo al territorio italiano, storicamente lavorato e umanizzato, pertanto vengono ragionevolmente abbandonati i presupposti di verginità di derivazione americana, spostando l’interesse dall’integrità ambientale all’integrità paesaggistica26. D’altra parte, persino Thoreau si era chiesto: è possibile combinare la durezza selvaggia con l’intellettualità dell’uomo civilizzato, amalgamare le due forme apparentemente antitetiche e recuperare l’una senza rinunciare alle conquiste dell’altra? Se la risposta fosse positiva, forse oltre che di un nuovo wilderness si dovrebbe parlare di autosufficienza: questo non significherebbe retrocedere obbligatoriamente a una qualità della vita idealizzata e primitiva, quanto piuttosto proseguire cimentandosi in un modo di vivere diverso, che comporta l’accettazione delle responsabilità di uomo e di individuo. Spetta all’uomo ponderare attentamente prima di agire e avvalersi dei propri poteri per interferire con la piramide della vita27. In definitiva, un’area selvatica potrebbe avere un proprio valore indipendentemente dal fatto che costituisca o meno una risorsa per gli umani28. Secondo Leopold i luoghi selvaggi sono le unità di base della natura e lo stato di salute di ciascuno di questi luoghi dovrebbe essere misurato sulla base della sua capacità di 26 Per un’idea dello stato dell’arte in Italia: M. Armiero e S. Barca, La storia dell’ambiente. Un’introduzione, Carocci, Roma 2004 e, a cura di M. Armiero e M. Hall, Nature and History in Modern Italy, Ohio University Press, Athens (Oh) 2010. 27 Cfr. J. Seymour, Il libro della autosufficienza (1976), tr. it. Mondadori, Milano 1989, pp. 7-11. 28 Vedi T. Regan, The Case for Animal Rights, University of California Press, Berkeley 1983; A. Brennan Thinking about Nature, University of Georgia Press, Athens (Ge) 1988. William Cronon (The Trouble with Wilderness; or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature, in W. Cronon (a cura di), Uncommon Ground: Rethinking the Human Place in Nature, Norton, New York pp. 69-90), ha affermato che il wilderness è una “invenzione culturale” dell’uomo civile per sottrarsi alle sue responsabilità di abitante delle metropoli. Vedi anche G. Scarpelli, Wilderness, in A. La Vergata, G. Artigas-Menant, J.J. Boersema (a cura di), Nature, Environment and Quality of Life, «Archives internationales d’histoire des sciences», LXIV, 2014, pp. 83-93; L. Robin, Wilderness in a Global Age, Fifty Years On, in «Environmental History», XIX, 2014, pp. 721-727. ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 348 autoregolazione29. Il valore reale del wilderness non risiederebbe quindi né nel passato né nel presente, ma nel futuro. Tuttavia, ciò implicherebbe un recupero del principio della biodiversità, un recupero che sarebbe realizzato attraverso alcuni cambiamenti fondamentali e definitivi: limitazione e controllo della tecnologia, modifica dello stile di vita, riconoscimento della diversità organica30. Il wilderness andrebbe perciò inteso come impegno etico nel suo significato più limitato e più ampio allo stesso tempo: una vera e propria filosofia d’azione. Potrebbe allora delinearsi la possibilità che civiltà e wilderness non siano due concetti strenuamente opposti. La civiltà, nella sua ricerca di un’etica rassicurante, trova conforto nella certezza che la fauna e la flora selvatiche ancora esistono e, del resto, il wilderness per esistere richiede pur sempre che la civiltà si assuma il compito di proteggerla. GIACOMO SCARPELLI sceneggiatore cinematografico e storico della filosofia e delle idee, insegna all’Università di Modena e Reggio Emilia. È Fellow della Linnean Society of London e della Royal Geographical Society giacomo.scarpelli@unimore.it 29 A. Leopold, Pensare come una montagna cit. Vedi anche J.M. Turner, Rethinking American Exceptionalism: Toward a Transnational History of National Parks, Wilderness, and Protected Areas, in A. Isenberg (a cura di), The Oxford Handbook of Environmental History, Oxford University Press, Oxford 2014, pp. 282-308. 30 P. Ehrlich, The Loss of Diversity, in E.O. Wilson, Biodiversity, Washington, D.C., Natural Academy Press, 1988, pp. 21-27.
work_nec2qql3xrgg3feoq7bltzc5xq ---- 12-Hist.Nat. 77/2-Jax 349ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATIONRevista Chilena de Historia Natural 77: 349-366, 2004 Ecological theory and values in the determination of conservation goals: examples from temperate regions of Germany, United States of America, and Chile Teoría ecológica y valores en la definición de objetivos de conservación: ejemplos de regiones templadas de Alemania, Estados Unidos de América y Chile KURT JAX1,2 & RICARDO ROZZI2 1UFZ Centre for Environmental Research Leipzig-Halle, Department of Conservation Biology, Permoserstr. 15, D-04318 Leipzig, Germany; e-mail: kurt.jax@ufz.de 2Omora Ethnobotanical Park, Universidad de Magallanes, and Omora Foundation, Puerto Williams, Chile; e-mail: ricardo.rozzi@umag.cl ABSTRACT The definition of conservation goals is a complex task, which involves both ecological sciences and social values. A brief history of conservation strategies in Germany (protection of cultural landscapes), United States (wilderness ideal), and southern Chile (preservation paradigm and the more recent interest in ecotourism) illustrates a broad range of conservation goals. To encompass such an array of conservation dimensions and goals, the ecosystem approach adopted by the Conference of the Parties of the Convention on Biological Diversity represents a good approach. However, to become effective, this kind of approach requires clarifying and agreeing upon basic concepts, such as ecosystem. To serve that purpose, we present a scheme that considers the selected phenomena, internal relationship, and the component resolution to define an ecosystem. We conclude that: (1) conservation traditions encompass interests in the preservation of both natural and cultural heritages, which also appear as mutually dependent dimensions. Hence, nature and humans are brought together as much in the goals as in the processes of conservation. (2) In the context of current global change, it is impossible to completely “isolate” protected areas from direct or indirect human influences. In addition, the current view of nature points out that biota and ecosystems will change over time, even in protected areas. Hence, in order to preserve species or habitats it is not enough to isolate protected areas, but it often requires active management and conservation actions. The two former conclusions suggest the need to revise the conservation approach that has been undertaken in the southern region of Chile, because (a) local people have been systematically excluded from protected areas, and (b) these areas lack personnel and facilities to conduct appropriate conservation and/or management programs. (3) Our analyses of the views of nature and conservation goals in different regions and/or historical moments demonstrate that these involve not only scientific criteria, but also philosophical, political and broader cultural, social and economic dimensions. Hence, effective conservation requires a greater degree of interdisciplinary and interagency cooperation. Key words: conservation, comparative approach, ecological theory, Chile, ecotourism, ecosystem management, Germany, images of nature, Magellan region, social values, Yellowstone. RESUMEN La definición de los objetivos de conservación es una tarea compleja que involucra tanto valores sociales como teorías ecológicas. Un breve análisis histórico de las estrategias de conservación en Alemania (protección de paisajes culturales), Estados Unidos (protección de áreas silvestres) y el sur de Chile (paradigma preservacionista y más recientemente ecoturismo) exhibe un amplio espectro de objetivos de conservación. Para abordar tal diversidad de objetivos y dimensiones de conservación, la aproximación de ecosistemas de la Conferencia de las Partes de la Convención de Biodiversidad representa una aproximación apropiada. Sin embargo, para que este tipo de aproximaciones sea efectivo se requiere clarificar y coincidir acerca de conceptos básicos, tales como el de ecosistema. Para facilitar este propósito, presentamos un esquema que considera los fenómenos seleccionados, las relaciones internas y grado de resolución de los componentes. Concluimos que: (1) las tradiciones de conservación demuestran un interés tanto por el patrimonio natural como cultural, dimensiones que además aparecen como mutuamente dependientes. Por lo tanto, la naturaleza y los seres humanos se reúnen tanto en los objetos como en los procesos que conciernen a COMMENTARY 350 JAX & ROZZI la conservación. (2) En el contexto del cambio global actual es imposible aislar completamente las áreas protegidas de la influencia humana directa o indirecta. Además, la actual perspectiva dinámica de la naturaleza enfatiza que las biotas y los ecosistemas cambiarán, aun en las áreas protegidas. En consecuencia, para preservar especies o hábitats no es suficiente “aislar” áreas protegidas, sino que a menudo se requieren acciones de conservación y manejos activos. Las dos conclusiones anteriores sugieren revisar la aproximación para la conservación adoptada en el extremo sur de Chile, debido a que (a) la gente local ha sido excluida de las áreas protegidas y (b) en estas áreas el personal y la infraestructura son insuficientes para conducir programas de conservación y/o manejo adecuados. (3) Análisis de las visiones de la naturaleza y de los objetivos de conservación en diferentes regiones y/o momentos históricos demuestran que estos involucran no solo criterios científicos, sino también dimensiones filosóficas y políticas, en contextos culturales, sociales y económicos. Por lo tanto, una conservación efectiva requiere promover un mayor grado de cooperación interinstitucional e interdiciplinaria. Palabras clave: Alemania, conservación, Chile, ecoturismo, Magallanes, manejo de ecosistemas, visiones de la naturaleza, teoría ecológica, valores sociales, Yellowstone. INTRODUCTION A significant number and diversity of people and institutions agree about the necessity of conservation today (Primack et al. 2001). However, in spite of this general agreement, defining conservation goals is a complex issue a n d t h e r e i s m u c h d i s a g r e e m e n t o n t h e questions of what to conserve and, moreover, how should this be done. At the same time, c u r r e n t g l o b a l i z a t i o n a n d l a r g e - s c a l e ecological, economic and social problems make i t n e c e s s a r y t o s e t p r e c i s e g o a l s f o r conservation actions (Figueroa & Simonetti 2003). Setting aside some areas and leaving them alone, protecting them by drawing lines or even fences around them is not enough (Pickett et al. 1997, Armesto et al. 1998, Bruner et al. 2001, Liu et al. 2001). First, environmental problems are no longer purely local or regional, but they have now an important global dimension ( C h a p i n & S a l a 2 0 0 1 ) . F o r e x a m p l e , atmospheric changes induced by humans, such as the Antarctic ozone hole or global warming due to greenhouse gases, are problems that affect and concern the planet and society as a whole (Vitousek 1994). Even more the causes and consequences of those changes are often s p a t i a l l y u n c o u p l e d , t h e y d o n o t s t o p a t national boundaries, and they may lead to sequels of hitherto unknown dimensions (Rozzi & Feinsinger 2001). A second reason to argue about the direction of conservation efforts is that it is becoming increasingly evident that conservation cannot b e d o n e a g a i n s t t h e p e o p l e a n d / o r b y completely excluding them from protected a r e a s , b u t o n l y w i t h t h e m ( A l c o r n 1 9 9 1 , Shaxson 1991, Toulmin 1991, Rozzi et al. 2 0 0 0 ) . L a c k o f p a r t i c i p a t i o n o f l o c a l communities has been a major cause of failure in many conservation projects (Abu Sin 1991), and at the same time, the rights of indigenous people and the value of traditional ecological knowledge has gained increasing recognition (Mark 2001)1, especially after the 1992 Earth Summit (Jardin & Kares 2000). W e a r g u e t h a t c o n s e r v a t i o n q u e s t i o n s cannot be delegated to science alone because they are also questions of values for at least three reasons: (1) humans are affected by conservation actions (Alcorn 1991, Armesto et al. 2001), (2) the role of humans within conservation must be discussed in the face of conflicting social interests (Jardin & Kares 2000, Rozzi et al. 2000), and (3) conservation e s s e n t i a l l y c o n c e r n s o u r m o r a l a t t i t u d e s t o w a r d s h u m a n a n d n o n - h u m a n n a t u r e (Callicott & Nelson 1998, Callicott 1999). This paper analyzes the role of ecological science and social values in the definition of c o n s e r v a t i o n g o a l s a n d d i s c u s s e s t h e difficulties of this definition. In particular, we d i s c u s s w h y n a t u r e a l o n e c a n n o t p r o v i d e unequivocal guidelines and how ecological theory can contribute to define conservation units and criteria. Going beyond the traditional role of ecology as a provider of empirical data and predictions, we emphasize the hitherto neglected heuristic role of ecological theory in clarifying conservation goals and connecting facts and values. We provide a historical introduction on the origins of protected areas in two Northern Hemisphere temperate countries, Germany and the United States, as two contrasting models. Following, we examine conservation criteria and policies involved in the protected areas of 1 MARK A (2001) Symposium: managing protected natu- ral areas for conservation, ecotourism, and indigenous people. Journal of The Royal Society of New Zealand 31: 811-812 351ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION the southernmost forests of the world, in the Magellan archipelago of Chile. We compare t h e C h i l e a n c a s e w i t h t h e N o r t h e r n H e m i s p h e r e c a s e s , a s w e l l a s w i t h m o r e r e c e n t c o n s e r v a t i o n a p p r o a c h e s i n v o l v i n g zoning and regulation of human activities w i t h i n p r o t e c t e d a r e a s . T h e s e e x a m p l e s display a wide range of possible conservation approaches and the values implied within t h e m . B u i l d i n g o n t h e s e e x p e r i e n c e s , w e finally discuss a novel approach for defining conservation goals, derived from ecological theory and ecosystem management concepts, which may help clarify the goals and the i n t e r f a c e b e t w e e n s o c i e t a l d e c i s i o n s a n d scientific knowledge. EXPERIENCES FROM THE NORTH: HISTORICAL AND RECENT CONSERVATION GOALS IN GERMANY AND THE UNITED STATES Conservation efforts and the establishment of t h e f i r s t p r o t e c t e d a r e a s s t a r t e d i n b o t h , Germany and the United States, in the 19th c e n t u r y . H o w e v e r , t h e m a i n e m p h a s i s o f conservation and the kinds of areas that were protected differed strongly on the two sides of the north Atlantic (Table 1). T h e f i r s t p r o t e c t e d a r e a i n G e r m a n y , e s t a b l i s h e d d u r i n g t h e 1 8 3 0 s , w a s t h e Drachenfels, a hill with an old castle ruin towering above the banks of the Rhine south of Bonn (Fig.1). The reason to protect it as a natural monument (Naturdenkmal) was the danger of a complete destruction of the castle and the mountain side pointing towards the Rhine by a quarry, which had already caused part of the old ruin to collapse. Later the area w a s g r e a t l y e x t e n d e d t o i n c l u d e t h e surrounding hills in the nature protection area (Naturschutzgebiet) in Siebengebirge. Both the hills of the Siebengebirge and the Drachenfels ruin, however, had a high symbolic value in the context of romanticism and the search for national identity in Germany, which at that time was divided into many small more or less independent states. The broader conservation movement in Germany was articulated and driven towards practical and political relevance most effectively by the musician Ernst Rudorff. Inspired by the traditions of romantic art and skilled in writing, Rudorff became the major spokesman of the new i d e a o f c o n s e r v a t i o n ( K n a u t 1 9 9 0 ) . T h i s conservation idea started not as a movement to p r o t e c t “ w i l d ” l a n d s c a p e s , b u t a s “Heimatschutz” (Dominick 1992, Knaut 1993), which meant the protection of the home country or home landscape (the “Heimat”). This was essentially the protection of cultural landscapes, that is of landscapes molded by centuries of extensive and use practices. “Heimatschutz” was an explicit reaction a g a i n s t t h e r i s e o f i n d u s t r i a l i z a t i o n a n d urbanization in Germany. It expressed the desire to secure what was conceived as the historical identity of the German nation, which during Rudorff’s time already existed as a unified state, s i n c e 1 8 7 1 . T h u s i n i t s f i r s t d e c a d e s , conservation was mainly Heimatschutz and the conservation of natural monuments, a word coined explicitly as a parallel to cultural monuments, meaning extraordinary singular features of nature like particular old trees or remarkable rock assemblages. TABLE 1 The beginnings of nature conservation in Germany and the United States Comienzos de la conservación de la naturaleza en Alemania y Estados Unidos Germany USA First protected area 1830s: first natural monument 1872: first national park (Drachenfels) (Yellowstone) Later extended to nature conservation area (Naturschutzgebiet Siebengebirge) Main emphasis of early Cultural landscapes, Wild landscapes, conservation protection of resources protection of resources Role of humans Equilibrium including humans Equilibrium excluding (modern) humans 352 JAX & ROZZI A n a d d i t i o n a l e m p h a s i s o f e a r l y conservation in Germany was the protection of natural resources, e.g., birds (but only “useful” birds; see Berlepsch 1899) or game (Rozzi et al. 2001). Human beings were not excluded from conservation but, as major agents of the development of the rural landscapes, they were i n c l u d e d i n t h e i d e a o f “ H e i m a t s c h u t z ” , h o w e v e r o n l y a s f a r a s t h e y d w e l l e d i n traditional, non-industrial lifestyles. I n c o n t r a s t t o t h e G e r m a n m o d e l o f “Heimatschutz”, conservation efforts in the United States emphasized the protection of “wild”, “untouched” landscapes, pursuing the “wilderness” ideal of Henry David Thoreau and John Muir (Nash 1982, Oelschlaeger 1991). The first park in the United States (state park at that time) was the Yosemite Valley in the Sierra Nevada of California, established in 1864 by the state of California. Later in 1890, Yosemite was declared a national park (Runte 1997). The first national park in the United States was established in 1872, namely Yellowstone National Park, which also constitutes the first n a t i o n a l p a r k o f t h e w o r l d . M o r e o v e r , Yellowstone can be considered the prototype of all national parks and has shaped this notion (Runte 1997, Sellars 1997). The area is situated in the northern Rocky Mountains of the United States, mostly in the state of Wyoming, and covers an area of almost 9,000 km2. It protected the wild landscape, which was perceived as not used and altered by humans. The main features which led to the establishment of this park were its magnificent l a n d s c a p e s , i n c l u d i n g m a n y g e o t h e r m a l features – geysers and hot springs – and abundant wildlife, including attractive large mammals, such as grizzly bears (Ursus arctos) and elk (Cervus elaphus) (Fig. 2A and 2B). Following the idea of wild landscapes, humans were explicitly excluded or at least considered irrelevant for the current appearance of the protected landscapes. This does not, however, imply that national parks were meant to exclude human visitors. The founding law of Yellowstone stated explicitly that the Park was created “for the benefit and enjoyment of the p e o p l e . ” U n t i l t o d a y t h e c r i t e r i a o f t h e International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources (IUCN 1994) for the establishment of national parks explicitly r e q u i r e r e s t r i c t e d p u b l i c a c c e s s . B e s i d e s Fig. 1: The Drachenfels hills at the banks of the river Rhine, south of Bonn, Germany. The remains of the quarry that endangered the hill and the castle in the early 19th century can still be seen. (Photo: Kurt Jax, early 2001). Las colinas de Drachenfels en las riberas del río Rin al sur de Bonn, Alemania. Los remanentes de las canteras que amenazaron a la colina y al castillo a comienzos del siglo XIX. (Fotografía de K Jax, a comienzos del 2001). 353ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION Fig. 2: The creation of the world’s first national park (established 1872), Yellowstone National Park, was motivated by the fascination provoked by its magnificent landscapes, including geysers (A) and its wildlife, including large mammals like Cervus elaphus (B). (Photos: K Jax 1998). La creación del primer parque nacional del mundo, Parque Nacional Yellowstone (establecido en 1872), fue motivada por la fascinación que provocaban sus magníficos paisajes (A) y su vida silvestre, que incluye grandes mamíferos como ciervo rojo (Cervus elaphus) (B). (Fotografías K Jax 1998). A B 354 JAX & ROZZI protecting wild nature, another emphasis of e a r l y A m e r i c a n c o n s e r v a t i o n w a s – a s i n Germany– the protection of natural resources, particularly forests, a current connected with the name of the forester Gifford Pinchot (see Norton 1991). The American idea of preserving wild nature has become very popular and has been the inspiration of conservation systems in southern South America (see below). However, what is often forgotten is the fact that national parks were never meant to completely exclude people. SIMILARITIES BETWEEN GERMAN AND NORTH AMERICAN MODELS OF CONSERVATION Evident differences place early conservation strategies in Germany and the United States at opposite ends of a gradient: culturally molded nature versus wild nature. At the same time, however, there are also important similarities b e t w e e n c o n s e r v a t i o n a p p r o a c h e s i n b o t h N o r t h e r n H e m i s p h e r e r e g i o n s , a n d t h o s e similarities have even become more apparent as knowledge about the conditions that prevailed in 19th century North America increased. A s i n G e r m a n y , t h e e s t a b l i s h m e n t o f protected areas in the United States was a reaction to the growing impact of humans on the landscape. In North America, human impact w a s n o t a s m u c h i n d u s t r i a l i z a t i o n a n d urbanization, but the extensive land use that reached the “untouched” western areas of the continent. In addition, the natural heritage of the wild and magnificent landscapes, protected in parks, was considered part of the identity of the American nation, as a substitute for the longer cultural heritage of the European nations (Nash 1982, Runte 1997). D u r i n g t h e 2 0 t h c e n t u r y t h e e a r l y conservation aims were criticized in many respects (e.g., as being to narrow or too conservative), and were changed in that course. The German tradition of conserving cultural landscapes was soon extended to particular (rare) species of plants and animals, which often depended on these habitats, and later to the protection of wild landscapes. In 1970, almost 100 years after the establishment of Yellowstone National Park, the establishment of national parks began also in Germany with the creation of the Bavarian Woods National Park, the first German national park. Today, there are 13 national parks in Germany, with a f e w m o r e i n t h e s t a g e o f p l a n n i n g o r negotiation. It is important to note, however, that to date most German parks do not fulfill the strict IUCN- criteria, which demand that at least 75 % of the area should be completely free of human use. Especially in the last decade, the traditional approach of German conservation has been criticized as being too conservative and antiquated, turning nature into a museum with species. Further, many of those species would not occur in those protected areas without human influence, and they will not survive without the perpetuation of these old practices or their substitution by other forms of active management. This debate is still prevailing. On the other hand, in the United States the n o t i o n o f “ u n t o u c h e d ” n a t u r e h a s b e e n seriously challenged (see Callicott & Nelson 1998). Recent ecological, anthropological, and geological research has demonstrated that the landscapes of North America were not in a “ p r i s t i n e ” s t a t e w h e n E u r o p e a n s a r r i v e d (Russell 1980, Callicott 1999). First, North American indigenous population was in the order of millions (Diamond 1999). Secondly, the notion of the American Indians as “noble savages” or “homo oecologicus” which had no significant impact on the natural setting has turned out to be an idealization. That simplified notion is as false as that of an almost “empty” country, waiting to be taken over by the white intruders (Mann 2002). The pendulum has swung back so far that some scholars see almost every landscape as influenced by land use practices of native Americans (e.g., Kay 1994; see Vale 1998 for a criticism). Similar doubts about the factual basis of the western wilderness idea have also been expressed for other parts of the Americas (e.g., Gomez- Pompa & Kaus 1992). Under this perspective, Yellowstone or other American national parks would also be “ c u l t u r a l l a n d s c a p e s , ” i f t h e y a r e t o b e protected as “vignettes of primitive America,” i.e., in the state which the first Europeans found them (as proposed in an influential paper by Leopold et al. 1963). In this case, humans, with their traditional land use practices would be included in American national parks as much as in traditional German “Naturschutzgebieten”. However, both the American and the German ideal would exclude modern man as a valid a c t o r , a v o i d i n g i n d u s t r i a l a n d u r b a n development in Europe, and non-indigenous European settlers in the United States. In contemporary conservation strategies t h e s e e m i n g ( a n d s o m e t i m e s r e a l ) contradiction between the German and United States contrasting conservation philosophies 355ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION becomes even less relevant. Several concepts have been developed aimed at reconciling conservation and human needs, which propose t h e d e s i g n o f p r o t e c t e d a r e a s i n c l u d i n g different zones subject to different intensity and type of human use. Hence, different conservation concepts – such as those of the c o n t r a s t i n g G e r m a n a n d U n i t e d S t a t e s traditions – would apply to different zones of a protected area. T h e z o n i n g c r i t e r i o n i s a n e s s e n t i a l component of the Biosphere Reserve concept launched by UNESCO through its Man and Biosphere (MAB) program in the 1970s. Each biosphere reserve includes three distinct zones: (1) core zone, strictly dedicated to protect “ w i l d e r n e s s , ” w h i c h i n v o l v e s c o m p l e t e exclusion of human activities (except regulated scientific research); (2) surrounding buffer areas, which are defined to permit or even foster traditional forms of land use which, in turn, may be essential to conserve the culturally founded diversity of habitats and species associated with those traditional practices; (3) transition areas, where productive and other economic activities and infrastructure are permitted (Jardin & Kares 2000). In southern South America, zoning criteria have been implemented as a mean to reduce u s e r c o n f l i c t s b y t h e A r g e n t i n e a n administration of national parks in Patagonia (Martin & Chehébar 2001, Salguero 2001). Each Argentinean national park includes five zones: (1) strict conservation areas, where human activity (except for scientific research) is forbidden; (2) extensive public use zones, w h e r e e x t e n s i v e u s e s s u c h a s s c i e n t i f i c , e d u c a t i o n a l , t o u r i s t a n d r e c r e a t i o n a l a r e permitted; (3) intensive public use zones, w h i c h a r e r e l a t i v e l y s m a l l a r e a s w h e r e intensive tourism and recreation is allowed, including associated service infrastructure such a s h o t e l s , l o d g e s , r e s t a u r a n t s , c a m p i n g facilities; (4) natural resource use zones, where sustainable productive activities and indigenous people residence are allowed; (5) special use areas, which are small areas for administration, services or human settlement not related to public use. Strategies based on zoning criteria can provide a valuable bridge between opposite notions associated with the wilderness United S t a t e s o r t h e c u l t u r a l l a n d s c a p e G e r m a n conservation traditions. The zoning approach seems to us particularly suited for regions, such as southern South America, which maintain heterogeneous mosaics of landscapes regarding the degree of human influence. The extreme south of Chile, for example, includes a broad diversity of ecosystems that range from pristine (i.e., wild) to completely man-modified (i.e., cultural) landscapes (Rozzi 2002). CONSERVATION AND PROTECTED AREAS IN SOUTHERN CHILE O n l y f o u r y e a r s a f t e r t h e c r e a t i o n o f Yellowstone National Park in United States, the f i r s t L a t i n A m e r i c a n p r o t e c t e d a r e a w a s established in Mexico. The creation of the Mexican Reserva Forestal Desierto de los Leones, was followed by the Reserva Perito Moreno in Argentina (1903), and the Reserva Forestal Malleco in Chile (1907) (Ormazábal 1988). Since then the number of national parks, state and private reserves has significantly increased in Chile (Armesto et al. 2001) and throughout Latin America (Primack et al. 2001). Today, the Chilean state maintains 92 protected areas, which includes 32 national parks, 47 reserves, and 13 national monuments (Table 2). The area protected by these 92 units represents 19 % of the Chilean land surface, which almost triplicates the mean of 6.4 % for South American countries (Armesto & Smith- Ramírez 2001). Among Chilean administrative regions, Magallanes exhibits an outstanding 7,079,285 ha of protected land, which represents more than 50 % of the region. National parks cover 4,732,785 ha, which represent 53 % of the total area devoted to public national parks in Chile. Magellanic reserves comprise 2,346,189 ha, i.e., 42.6 % of the area of reserves in the entire country. Therefore, Magallanes has the highest rank of protection in Chile, concentrating nearly 50 % of the country’s protected land. At the same time, such large amount of protected land emphasizes the importance of the Magellanic r e g i o n a s a r e s e r v o i r o f n o n - f r a g m e n t e d temperate ecosystems for Chile and the world. In spite of the large proportion of protected l a n d , c u r r e n t f i g u r e s a n d c o n s e r v a t i o n approaches in Magallanes present several problems. First, the country’s distribution of protected areas is very biased toward the e x t r e m e s o u t h ( A r m e s t o e t a l . 1 9 9 8 ) . Administrative regions Eleventh (Aysén) and Twelfth (Magallanes), which extend between 44° and 56° S, include more than 80 % of the Chilean protected land. Hence, large protected areas in Magallanes should not hide the lack of protection in other critical regions of Chile. A second problem arises from the scarcity of park personnel: less than 20 park rangers work 356 JAX & ROZZI permanently in Magallanes. This yields a mean of one park-ranger per 3,540 km2. This is a common problem in Latin America, where a dramatic situation also occurs in the Brazilian Amazon, which has only 23 permanent park rangers for the whole basin, i.e., an average of one park ranger per 6,053 km2 of protected land (Primack et al. 2001). This situation contrasts with the United States, which has 4,002 permanent park rangers, that is an average of one park ranger per 82 km2. The majority of protected areas in Magallanes also lack proper infrastructure, such as navigation media that are indispensable in this archipelago region. This lack of transport and personnel determines that not a single park-ranger works in the diverse habitats included in the 1,460,000 ha of the National Park de Agostini – the second largest of Chile. Therefore, most protected land in Magallanes, as is the case in other regions of Latin America, would fall within the label of “paper parks” (Rozzi & Silander unpublished results). In fact, Magellanic national parks do not fulfill the requirements and the criteria of IUCN (1994) for this category of protected areas. A third problem in the Magellanic region arises from the almost complete disregard for local people living close to protected areas, and in some cases indigenous residents have been displaced from their land (Rozzi et al. 2000, Rozzi 2002). The United States preservationist paradigm, sketched above, has had a strong influence on the conservation approach in the extreme south of Chile. The debate about the influence that pre-Columbian cultures had on their local ecosystems and regional landscapes, and the integration of indigenous people into conservation areas is as intense and controversial in South-America as in North America. This discussion involves two extreme positions: (1) one that idealizes aboriginal people as living in harmony with nature; and (2) another that considers native people as threats that should be removed from “pristine” or “natural” landscapes. Both are misleading oversimplifications (Alcorn TABLE 2 Protected areas in the southernmost Administrative Region of Chile, Magallanes. For each category the total numbers (N) and total area in Chile are given in parenthesis. The extreme right column calculates the percentage that each Magellanic protected area represents relative to the entire country Áreas protegidas en la Región Administrativa más austral de Chile: Magallanes. Para cada categoría de área protegida se indican en paréntesis el número total (N) y el área total en Chile. La columna al extremo derecho calcula el porcentaje que representa la superficie de cada área protegida de Magallanes respecto al área total protegida en el país Category Name Province Area Percentage relative (ha) to total protected area in Chile (%) Bernardo O’Higgins Última Esperanza *2,962,420 33.2 National Park Torres del Paine Última Esperanza 242,242 2.7 (total in Chile: Pali Aike Magallanes 5,030 0.1 N = 32; Cabo de Hornos Antártica 63,093 0.7 8,912,724 ha) Alberto d Agostini Antártica 1,460,000 16.4 Subtotal 4,732,785 53.1 Alacalufes Última Esperanza 2,313,875 42.0 Reserve Laguna Parrillar Magallanes 18,814 0.3 (Total in Chile: Magallanes Magallanes 13,500 0.2 N = 47; Subtotal 2,346,189 42.6 5,503,499 ha) Cueva del Milodón Última Esperanza 189 1.1 National Los Pingüinos Magallanes 97 0.5 Monument Laguna de los Cisnes Tierra del Fuego 25 0.1 (Total in Chile: Subtotal 311 1.8 N = 13; 17,669 ha) Total Magallanes 7,079,285 49.0 Total Chile 14,433,892 100.0 * This figure corresponds to the area of the National Park Bernardo O’Higgins included in the Region of Magallanes. The total area of this national park is 3525901 ha, but 563481 ha are included in the Region of Aysen, north of Magallanes (data from Muñoz et al. 1996) 357ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION 1994). Regarding the first position, it would be interesting to evaluate the work done in southern Chile by the German missioner and anthropologist Martin Gusinde, who was deeply concerned about the future of the Fuegian Indians. In his monumental ethnographic work, Gusinde describes in detail several concepts and practices of traditional ecological knowledge of Kaweskar, Yahgan, and Selknam, indigenous people at the austral extreme of South America (see Gusinde 1946, 1961). Regarding the second position, it follows a preservationist approach identified with John Muir (see Norton 1991), which has been strongly influential for conservation designs in Latin America during the last 130 years (Rozzi et al. 2001). In southern Chile, indigenous populations have been excluded from national parks. For example, the national parks of Chiloé, Bernardo O’Higgins, and Cape Horn have respectively excluded Huilliche, Kaweskar, and Yahgan communities. Interestingly, today the general trend of abandonment and human exclusion in protected areas of southern Chile is changing due not only to conceptual changes about the role of humans as ecosystem components (McDonnell & Pickett 1993, Rozzi et al. 1994), but also to a growing interest in ecotourism. Ecotourism is promoting a shift, which i n s t e a d o f e m p h a s i z i n g a p r e s e r v a t i o n i s t approach, underlines the statement “parks are created for the benefit and enjoyment of the people,” asserted in the founding law of Yellowstone National Park. In the extreme south of Chile, this statement (which is closer to the United States conservation tradition identified with Gifford Pinchot, see Norton 1991), is acquiring a prevalent role today. This shift toward ecotourist activities requires, however, careful examination in order to achieve a sustainable compatibility between conservation and human needs or benefits (di Castri & Balaji 2002, Figueroa et al. 2003). Between Yellowstone National Park and the Magellan national parks, in particular Torres del Paine National Park, some remarkable similarities exist. In the Magellan Region, Torres del Paine National Park constitutes an area that, like Yellowstone, possesses marvelous landscapes (including glaciers and mountain peaks), and attractive megafauna (including species like rheas, Pterocnemia pennata, and guanacos, Lama guanicoe) (Fig. 3A and 3B). Also, like Yellowstone, Torres del Paine is visited by a large number of tourists (Fig. 4). Although the number of visitors to Torres del Paine (43,624 in 1995) ranks two orders of magnitude below Yellowstone (more than 3 million in 1995), for Chile it holds the largest number of foreign visitors and it has a substantial impact on the development of the nearby city of Puerto Natales (Villarroel 1996). Of the visitors to Torres del Paine, 62 % are from overseas, coming from Europe (37 %), North America (15 %), and Oceania (10 %) (Ferrer 2001). Torres del Paine National Park was created in 1959, and was designated as a Biosphere Reserve in 1978. Like Yellowstone National Park, the Torres del Paine landscape shows s i g n s o f h u m a n i n f l u e n c e . T h e a u s t r a l landscape exhibits the marks left mainly by European colonists that arrived to Magallanes at the beginning of the 20th century (Dollenz 1991). Before the Chilean government acquired the park, it belonged to German ranchers who burned large expanses of forests to increase pasture area, which was later overgrazed (see Martinic 1984). Therefore, in spite of the goal to protect pristine or “wild” areas, the imprints of both indigenous and European settlers, are present even in the remote austral regions of the American continent. W i t h i n t h i s c o n t e x t e c o t o u r i s m p o s e s complex puzzles to conservation biology. On the one hand, it seems to favor a larger integration between society and protected areas. On the other hand, with current deficiencies in the planning and regulation of ecotourism within parks, such as Torres del Paine, undesirable environmental impacts may follow (Villarroel 1996, Massardo et al. 2001). Hence, a close c o l l a b o r a t i o n a m o n g g o v e r n m e n t o f f i c e s , tourism agencies, and academic institutions is required for the planning of protected areas, and defining their conservation goals. HUMAN VALUES, SCIENCE, AND THE DETERMINATION OF CONSERVATION GOALS The short overview of conservation strategies in Germany (protection of cultural landscapes), the United States (wilderness ideal), and southern Chile (preservation paradigm, and the m o r e r e c e n t i n t e r e s t i n e c o t o u r i s m a s a potentially sustainable economic activity) illustrates the broad spectrum of conservation goals and the different role of humans within conservation. Consequently, it is not always clear what exactly should be protected within reserves or national parks. However, with increasing human pressure on nature, especially in a period of rapidly growing global economy, and an increasing probability of human-induced global changes, the necessity for a conscious decision about conservation aims and measures 358 JAX & ROZZI Fig. 3: Torres del Paine National Park was created in 1959, and declared a Biosphere Reserve in 1978. The criteria for the creation of Torres del Paine National Park follow closely those of Yellowstone National Park, that is, magnificent landscapes (particularly the Paine Towers [A]), and the abundant wildlife megafauna, which includes the guanaco (Lama guanicoe) [B]. Notice the analogy between Fig. 2 and 3. (Photos by Orlando Dollenz [A], and Ricardo Rozzi [B]). El Parque Nacional Torres del Paine fue creado en 1959, y se declaró Reserva de la Biosfera en 1978. Los criterios para la creación del parque Torres del Paine son muy similares a aquellos que motivaron la creación del Parque Nacional Yellowstone: sus majestuosos paisajes (particularmente los Cuernos del Paine [A]), y la abundante presencia de megafauna y vida silvestre, que incluye al guanaco (Lama guanicoe) [B]. Nótese la analogía entre las Fig. 2 y 3 (Fotografías de Orlando Dollenz [A] y Ricardo Rozzi [B]). (A) (B) 359ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION becomes greater. Confronted with this scenario, and a broad range of conservation goals: what should we protect? What roles should humans play in this context? Where can we find guidelines? What is the role of science? A n s w e r i n g t h e s e q u e s t i o n s r e q u i r e s t o systematically integrate multiple aspects that influence any conservation strategy, aspects that hitherto have in part been developed independently from each other (Jentsch et al. 2003). Such integration has not been achieved, and it challenges the prevailing trend of specialization that dominates science and other disciplines since the second half of the 20th c e n t u r y ( R o z z i e t a l . 1 9 9 8 ) . H e n c e , t o interconnect diverse aspects of conservation, such as empirical data, ecological theory, human values and worldviews, represents an urgent and important task. At the same time, t h i s t a s k d e m a n d s n o v e l t h e o r e t i c a l a n d practical approaches. V a l u e s e n t e r t h e d e t e r m i n a t i o n o f conservation goals in many different ways: in our images of nature (Ahl & Allen 1996, Rozzi 1999, Rozzi 2003), in our economic values (Daly & Townsend 1994, Daily 1997), in our political preferences (Norton 1991), in our moral attitudes towards human and non-human n a t u r e ( R o l s t o n 1 9 9 0 ) , a n d e v e n i n o u r decisions about what is important in science. However, values are often not explicit and remain hidden behind seemingly objective scientific facts or economic necessities. The provision of empirical data is one of the basic tasks of ecological research within conservation. It is necessary to describe the current conditions of an area or – by means of e.g., paleoecological analyses – to restore its “original” or “natural” conditions, e.g., in terms of plant cover or animal life. However, criteria for selection of particular areas and their subsequent management are not purely based on scientific knowledge. What kinds of data are collected and what kinds of questions are asked is already a matter involving value decisions. Although many people argue that for conservation purposes ecology should simply identify the “natural” c o n d i t i o n , t h i s t a s k i s f a r f r o m a p u r e l y “objective” scientific enterprise. For example, the concept of what is natural plays a major role when deciding which role should humans play within protected “natural” areas. Both the German and American early conservationists wished to protect “natural” landscapes although their images of what is “natural” differed Fig. 4: Number of visitors to the national parks Yellowstone and Torres del Paine in the 1990s. Notice that the scales are visitors x1,000 for Torres del Paine, and visitors x1,000,000 for Yellows- tone (Data from the administrative offices of CONAF, and Yellowstone National Park). Número de visitantes a los parques nacionales de Yellowstone y Torres del Paine en 1990. Nótese que las escalas son de visitantes x1.000 para Torres del Paine, en cambio visitantes x1.000.000 para Yellowstone (datos de las oficinas adminis- trativas de CONAF y Yellowstone National Park). 360 JAX & ROZZI considerably. In addition, these concepts have changed during the following decades and they still have different meanings for different g r o u p s o f p e o p l e . P a r t i c u l a r l y d i f f i c u l t questions related directly to value decisions arise today with respect to alien plants and animals (invasive species) entering an area and spreading there. Should they be considered as “natural”? Ecological theory is a third important and often neglected ingredient in the determination of conservation goals, which can serve two main purposes. First, ecological theory allows us to go beyond a purely static description of an area, by providing insights into the interactions between the elements of ecological systems, their dynamics, and the ways they might respond to external changes. Ideally, ecological theory should provide the means for predicting the development of ecological systems. A second, much less considered role of ecological theory is its heuristic use in the f o r m u l a t i o n o f r e s e a r c h q u e s t i o n s a n d conservation goals (Jax 2003). Ecological theory can help identify gaps in our knowledge and expose uncertainties. Even more important within conservation, ecology can help clarify our questions, forcing us to be more precise about the concepts we use. Although this remains a difficult task, ecological theory can also help distinguish between values and facts and promote their integration in the definition of conservation goals. We illustrate this point using one of the currently most discussed approaches to conservation, the strategy of ecosystem management. PRESERVING ECOSYSTEMS: THE SOLUTION TO CURRENT CONSERVATION DILEMMAS? E c o s y s t e m m a n a g e m e n t r e p r e s e n t s a n i n c r e a s i n g l y p o p u l a r s t r a t e g y , w h i c h i s compatible with a dynamic view of nature ( C h r i s t e n s e n e t a l . 1 9 9 6 ) . I t r e c o g n i z e s ecosystems as permanently changing and, at the s a m e t i m e , p r o m o t e s a m u l t i p l e u s e perspective. The management of whole ecosystems –in contrast to that of single “commodities”– seems to be an elegant solution to many conservation problems. By protecting the whole ecosystem, we avoid protecting only certain parts of an area at the cost of others. This approach, to our knowledge, was first applied systematically in Yellowstone National Park, starting in the late 1960s (Jax 2001, 2002b). During the 1990s the notion of ecosystem management experienced a rapid rise in North American environmental policy (Grumbine 1994, Christensen et al. 1996, Boyce & Haney 1997, Jax 2002b). In contrast to its beginnings, in which ecosystem management was mainly a particular way of dealing with complex natural settings, t h e n o t i o n h a s n o w b e e n e x t e n d e d t o a n a m b i t i o u s s o c i e t a l p r o g r a m ( J a x 2 0 0 2 b ) . Although the ecosystem approach in the United States means very different things to different people (Yaffee 1999), some common ground is emerging. The ecosystem is used here as a cipher for the treatment of “the whole”, a whole that also includes humans, their societies and resource use practices. Moreover, it emphasizes, interagency management and a focus on natural boundaries in contrast to administrative ones (Grumbine 1994, Carpenter 1995, Szaro et al. 1998). In this context, the ecosystem and ecosystem management concepts are becoming s t r o n g l y v a l u e - l a d e n , d e p a r t i n g f r o m t h e perspective of “value-neutral” science. It is this ecosystem approach which is a p p l i e d b y t h e C o n v e n t i o n o n B i o l o g i c a l Diversity (CBD). The Fifth Conference of the Parties of this convention, which took place in Nairobi in 2000, passed a resolution that recommended the “ecosystem approach” as a cross-cutting issue for the CBD and obliged all parties to implement this approach within their conservation policies (resolution COP V/6). Based on the so-called Malawi-Principles, the approach emphasizes the social dimensions of management and that societal choices have to be made. It also acknowledges the changing nature of ecological systems (Botkin 1990, Pickett & Ostfeld 1995, Plachter 1996). The ecosystem approach is considered a major tool for implementing the three basic g o a l s o f t h e C B D , n a m e l y b i o l o g i c a l c o n s e r v a t i o n , s u s t a i n a b l e u s e o f n a t u r a l resources, and equitable sharing of benefits ( S m i t h & M a l t b y 2 0 0 1 ) . H o w e v e r , t h e implementation of such an approach is far from simple. First of all, it is an illusion that we would really be able to grasp the whole. This is an epistemological problem (Pickett et al. 1994, Rozzi et al. 1998). To investigate anything in nature, we have to select and isolate a particular characteristic of interest, from which we mentally form the system which we then d e s c r i b e a n d a n a l y z e . T h i s h a s d i r e c t consequences for the scientific perception of the ecosystem as the very object of the ecosystem approach. In spite of some “naive-realistic” attitudes, an ecosystem is not a natural entity that can be identified in nature without reference to particular interests and selection criteria (Jax 361ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION et al. 1998). It is defined in a task-specific manner. Definitions of ecosystems are manifold (Jax 2002a), and those that are commonly accepted as embracing the many and contrasting meanings are, in consequence, very general, too general to provide clear criteria for defining the goals of ecosystem management. To implement an effective approach to ecosystem management it is necessary to: (1) set a baseline, (2) define what an ecosystem is, and (3) to have criteria to decide when it is “destroyed” or deviates significantly form a baseline condition. For example, the case of southern Chile might involve questions such as: are the subantarctic evergreen rainforest ecosystems c h a r a c t e r i z e d b y a p a r t i c u l a r s p e c i e s c o m p o s i t i o n o r j u s t b y a p a r t i c u l a r physiognomy of plant and animal types? Has the invasion of the North American beaver (Castor canadensis) –which started in the late 1940s on Tierra del Fuego, Navarino island and other areas of the Cape Horn archipelago (Lizarralde & Venegas 2001)– created new and more diverse ecosystems? Today, is Castor canadensis part of the “old ecosystem” or is it the destroyer of the “original ecosystems”? Will we say that an ecosystem has become “ a n o t h e r ” e c o s y s t e m i f s o m e n a t i v e undergrowth species are lost (or replaced by alien species) or will the ecosystem only be “another” if also its physiognomy is changed? The ways in which ecosystems are defined must be communicated in a clear manner. However, this is still frequently not done, generating difficulties at different levels. To serve this communication purpose, Jax and collaborators (Jax et al. 1998, Jax 2002a) have recently developed an approach to clarify and p r o v i d e a n u n a m b i g u o u s d e f i n i t i o n a n d specification of any ecological unit. To do this, statements are needed about: (1) whether the unit is bounded topographically or functionally, (2) which kind of relationships among the components are minimally required, (3) which phenomena (i.e., components and internal relations) are selected for the definition of the unit, and (4) what is the degree of resolution of the unit’s components. The first criterion represents an essential distinction. It describes an element (e.g., organism) either seen as a part of a unit by virtue of being in a particular spatial location or b y v i r t u e o f b e i n g f u n c t i o n a l l y ( i . e . , b y interactions) related to other elements. For example, within the bounds of a Nothofagus forest on an austral island, are all species components of one ecosystem or are there several separate ecosystems characterized by specific functional connections within these topographical bounds? The remaining criteria apply to both spatialy and functionaly bounded units. They can be seen as gradients, which can be assembled as three axes into a graphical scheme that allows visualizing the different definitions (Fig. 5). The axis of selected phenomena displays which and how many phenomena (kinds of objects and/or processes) are included in the definition of the ecosystem. The axis of internal relationship indicates the degree of intensity and specificity that internal relationships are required to have in order to call a unit an ecosystem, or even an intact ecosystem. In some definitions, for example, the requirements to call a system an ecosystem are such that interactions have to be very specific and lead to an equilibrium state, or that feedback-loops are present which lead to the self-regulation of the system (high internal r e l a t i o n s h i p s ) . I n o t h e r d e f i n i t i o n s a n y interactions between the organisms (low internal relationships) are sufficient to call the system an ecosystem. The axis of component resolution describes to what degree the components of the ecosystem must be resolved, e.g., whether the system parts are considered at the species or just trophic levels. Based on the initials of the three axes (selected phenomena, internal relationship, component resolution) this scheme was named “SIC-scheme” (Jax 2002a). Fig. 5 displays this general scheme to illustrate some of the most common meaning of ecosystem in the context of ecosystem management. These meanings vary according to the conservation aims. The most general definition i s d e p i c t e d b y t h e e l l i p s e “ A . ” H e r e t h e ecosystem is preserved simply as a system of i n t e r a c t i n g n a t u r a l o b j e c t s . I n d e e d , t h e interactions themselves may be the focus of management (which can also mean to refrain from active management). The kinds (i.e., s p e c i e s ) o f o r g a n i s m s a r e n o t o f s p e c i a l importance here (low component resolution), and the degree of required internal relationships m i g h t a l s o v a r y . F o r e x a m p l e , p a r t i c u l a r feedbacks may be demanded within the system to call it an ecosystem, such as the criterion that most primary production must occur within the system itself. This kind of ecosystem may be useful for the management of wilderness areas, even in regions that have been strongly impacted by humans but where now “nature can take its course”. This is an especially interesting concept for ecosystem management i n c e n t r a l E u r o p e a n c o u n t r i e s , w h e r e completely “pristine” areas no longer exist. 362 JAX & ROZZI S p h e r e “ B ” ( F i g . 5 ) d e p i c t s a n o t h e r frequently applied definition of ecosystem, which focuses on particular interactions and processes. Here, the ecosystem is described by particular functional compartments, interacting in a manner that particular services –such as primary production, clean air or waters– are provided by the system. Component resolution is thus slightly higher than in type A, but still particular species are not of interest, only functional types. The degree of interaction is higher than in many other definitions because interactions, and particular feedbacks, between specific functional elements are essential for the definition. This kind of definition is s u f f i c i e n t w h e n t h e a i m o f e c o s y s t e m management is to provide benefits for humans in the form of “ecosystem services” (Costanza et al. 1997). Sphere “C” (Fig. 5) depicts a third type of ecosystem definition that demands a higher resolution in the three axes. For example, a Nothofagus forest ecosystem or a Sphagnum b o g a n d t h e e s s e n t i a l i n t e r a c t i o n s t h a t perpetuate such systems are to be protected. The aim is to protect a large ecosystem which is “typical” for the area, without the necessity that all constituent species have to be preserved in the long run, except for some conspicuous and dominant taxa such as Nothofagus trees and Sphagnum mosses. Particular types of taxa ( i n d i c a t o r s p e c i e s , k e y s t o n e s p e c i e s o r “umbrella species“; see Simberloff 1998) are thus already part of the definition. This – physiognomic– view of ecosystems is perhaps the most common one in the practice of conservation and resource management. Finally, sphere “D” (Fig. 5) illustrates a concept of ecosystem defined by all species occurring in a setting. Interactions themselves are protected mostly for the sake of conserving the interacting components. These may be those species which are present in a protected area at a date t (e.g., the date at which the measures start) or –much more difficult to determine– all species which are considered as “typical” for a particular site. The aim is here t o p e r p e t u a t e a l l s p e c i e s , w i t h o u t f i x i n g particular growth rates or dwelling places, abundances, or specific ratios between species. Everything, besides the species composition, is in a condition of waxing and waning, including local disturbances and recolonizations (within t h e s y s t e m ) . T h i s a i m i s f o r m u l a t e d , f o r Fig. 5: Representation of different definitions of “ecosystem” that are applied in ecosystem mana- gement strategies (see text). Representación de diversas definiciones de “ecosistema” utilizadas en las aproximaciones de manejo de ecosistemas (véase el texto). 363ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION e x a m p l e , i n s o m e n a t i o n a l p a r k s a n d c o r r e s p o n d s t o t h e c u r r e n t s t r a t e g y o f e c o s y s t e m m a n a g e m e n t i n Y e l l o w s t o n e national park (Jax 2001). CONCLUDING REMARKS B a s e d o n t h e c o n c i s e e x a m i n a t i o n o f conservation approaches that have taken place in temperate regions of Germany, United States, and Chile, followed by the analysis of conservation units based on the SIC-scheme, what can we learn for conservation in the austral Magellanic region? First, conservation traditions encompass interests for the preservation of both natural and cultural heritages. Even more, these two dimensions are mutually dependent, as shown by the “natural areas” of Yellowstone and Torres del Paine, which have been molded in part by humans. Therefore, nature and humans a r e b r o u g h t t o g e t h e r i n t h e o b j e c t o f conservation, as well as in the processes occurring in the protected units. Consequently, the dichotomies between nature and culture, a n d b e t w e e n p r o t e c t e d a r e a s a n d h u m a n presence become irrelevant. Second, in the context of current global change it is impossible to completely isolate p r o t e c t e d a r e a s f r o m h u m a n i n f l u e n c e s (Primack et al. 2001). Human impacts can arise as much from local populations (for example, f i r e w o o d e x t r a c t i o n ) a s f r o m r e m o t e populations inhabiting a different hemisphere, as in the case of the austral ozone hole caused by the emissions of chemicals in Northern Hemisphere industrialized countries. Moreover, in the three temperate regions considered, humans as components of ecosystems may be a “keystone species.” In addition, a dynamic view of nature –the “flux of nature”– points out that biotas and ecosystems will change over time, even within “protected areas.” Hence, to preserve species or habitats it is not enough to “isolate” protected areas, but often it requires active management and conservation. The two former conclusions invite us to revise the conservation approach undertaken in the extreme south of Chile, where local people have been excluded from protected areas, and where the National Forestry Service (CONAF, the organization responsible for these areas) has serious logistic and financial limitations to carry out conservation and/or management programs. T h i r d , o u r a n a l y s e s d e m o n s t r a t e t h a t conservation goals involve not only scientific criteria, but also philosophical, political and b r o a d e r c u l t u r a l , s o c i a l a n d e c o n o m i c d i m e n s i o n s . H e n c e , i n t e r d i s c i p l i n a r y a n d interagency cooperation is urgently needed. None of these actors can see or understand the “whole” by themselves. Therefore, operational d e f i n i t i o n s o f t h e u n i t s a n d g o a l s o f conservation need to be jointly defined. This process requires presenting explicitly the goals, methods and values involved in conservation or management of species and ecosystems. Finally, we consider that the ecosystem a p p r o a c h t o c o n s e r v a t i o n , a s c u r r e n t l y conceptualized within the guidelines of the CBD, represents an extremely valuable tool. It allows integrating solid empirical research, sound ecological theory and human value dimensions. However, it is important to avoid the pitfalls that these approaches can have, when unproductive and improper mingling of facts and values involve a fuzziness of basic and practically relevant theoretical concepts, such as the ecosystem concept. These problems c o u l d u n d e r m i n e t h e u s e f u l n e s s o f t h e ecosystem approach, concealing the issues really at stake. In this context, ecological theory, embedded in interdisciplinary work and social participatory proceses, represents an indispensable key element for determining conservation goals. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors thank Juan J. Armesto and an anonymous reviewer for valuable comments on the manuscript. The work that initially led to this paper has been kindly supported by travel g r a n t s o f t h e D e u t s c h e r A k a d e m i s c h e r Austauschdienst (DAAD) to Kurt Jax. Ricardo R o z z i a c k n o w l e d g e s t h e s u p p o r t o f t h e D e p a r t m e n t o f E c o l o g y & E v o l u t i o n a r y Biology, University of Connecticut, and the Millenium Center for Advanced Studies in Ecology and Biodiversity (CMEB). This article is part of the BIOKONCHIL project (FKZ 01 LM 0208, German Ministry of Education and Research, BMBF), and the ongoing research and conservation activities conducted by the Omora Foundation and the Universidad de Magallanes, at the Omora Ethnobotanical Park, Puerto Williams, Chile. LITERATURE CITED ABU SIN ME (1991) Community-based sustainable development in central Butana, Sudan. In: Baxter 364 JAX & ROZZI PTW (ed) When the grass is gone: 152-161. The Scandinavian Institute of African Studies, Uppsala, Sweden. AHL V & TH ALLEN (1996) Hierarchy theory: a vision, vocabulary, and epistemology. Columbia University Press, New York, New York, USA. 206 pp. ALCORN JB (1991) Ethics, economics and conservation. 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work_neve5en4xvfmtld46tfzs55n5m ---- Why Look at Animals? Creaturely Encounters in Philosophy and Literature This is a repository copy of Why Look at Animals? Creaturely Encounters in Philosophy and Literature. White Rose Research Online URL for this paper: http://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/117729/ Version: Accepted Version Article: Malay, M. (2017) Why Look at Animals? Creaturely Encounters in Philosophy and Literature. Forum for Modern Language Studies, 53 (2). pp. 142-162. ISSN 0015-8518 https://doi.org/10.1093/fmls/cqx004 eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ Reuse Items deposited in White Rose Research Online are protected by copyright, with all rights reserved unless indicated otherwise. They may be downloaded and/or printed for private study, or other acts as permitted by national copyright laws. The publisher or other rights holders may allow further reproduction and re-use of the full text version. This is indicated by the licence information on the White Rose Research Online record for the item. Takedown If you consider content in White Rose Research Online to be in breach of UK law, please notify us by emailing eprints@whiterose.ac.uk including the URL of the record and the reason for the withdrawal request. mailto:eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ WHY LOOK AT ANIMALS? CREATURELY ENCOUNTERS IN PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE MICHAEL MALAY ABSTRACT This essay considers encounters with animals in the work of Henry David Thoreau, Stanley Cavell and J. M. Coetzee. More specifically, it explores what it calls ‘poetic’ engagements with animals – engagements in which our relations with nonhuman others are not cast in appropriative or instrumental terms. Along the way, it draws on the work of the American philosopher Cora Diamond. It also takes inspiration from a famous passage from George Eliot’s Middlemarch, and offers a creaturely, environmental reading of some of the ideas invoked in that novel. What, it asks, might it be like to respond to Eliot’s injunction to treat the lives of others with complete seriousness? Keywords: poetry; animal studies; ecocriticism; philosophy; literature. _______ If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. (George Eliot) This well-known sentence from Middlemarch enacts what it celebrates: it turns outwards. Beginning with a ‘vision’ of ‘ordinary human life’, it moves towards a larger, ecological landscape, one which includes the grass’s growth and the squirrel’s beating heart. Moving outwards, the sentence also rides on the circles of a widening sensibility – modulating from a human ‘we’ to an intimate form of ‘hearing’ others, before ending with a recognition of the immense activity that ‘lies on the other side of silence’. Yet the sentence, it should be noted, is predicated on a subjunctive clause: ‘If we had’. This mode of attention, it seems, is difficult to inhabit. Indeed, it seems impossible to sustain: ‘we should die of that roar’. This listening, this intense attunement, would destroy you. The sentence thus says two things: imagine, but also acknowledge the impossibility of truly imagining. The sentence begins with ‘vision’ but ends with ‘silence’. The narrator does not try to resolve this tension. On the one hand, she praises the effort involved in imagining. On the other hand, the sentence is an injunction whose very terms are impossible to fulfil: the state it imagines would lead to a terminal breakdown, an overwhelming of one’s self. Eliot has explored these dangers before. In The Lifted Veil (1859), for instance, she endows her narrator Lattimer with extrasensory abilities, so that, able to participate in ‘other people’s consciousness’, he can hear a ‘roar of sound where others find perfect stillness’.1 For Lattimer, however, these abilities turn out to be debilitating: they overwhelm – constantly, and against his will – his sense of self. It seems that the narrator in Middlemarch is alert to the dark side of sympathy, to the possibility of total (and therefore incapacitating) absorption in the lives of others. Her exhortation to imagine is qualified by a caveat emptor. But the qualification is also qualified, I think, by the narrator’s affirmative vision of the imagination. If unlimited sympathy is unsustainable and even impossible, one must also guard against being too guarded. The novel is partly an exploration of this proposition. True, even the most sensitive of people can be insensible to others: Eliot is realistic about this. ‘As it is,’ her narrator observes in Middlemarch, the ‘quickest of us walk about well wadded with stupidity.’2 Nevertheless, her narrator enjoins us to imagine anyway – even if the effort is patchy and hard to sustain. One may not physically ‘hear’ the squirrel’s heartbeat, but one might imagine what that sound might ‘be like’, and this might be sufficient. What is at stake, after all, is not the success or failure of sympathetic identification but the sensibility involved in the imaginative effort. There is a richness to the attempt which stands independent of its success. What might it mean to stand before animals in the way described by Eliot? What would it ‘be like’? This essay explores that question by looking at animal encounters in the work of Henry David Thoreau and Stanley Cavell. In different ways, both writers dramatize what it means to see animals with ‘keen vision and feeling’, not as ideas, symbols or allegories, but as living, breathing creatures. They therefore show what it might be like to see animals as fellow others or as companion species, and in such a way that attends to their ‘significant otherness’, as Donna Haraway has put it.3 This essay then engages with Elizabeth Costello (the fictional protagonist of J. M. Coetzee’s The Lives of Animals) and the work of Cora Diamond (an American philosopher); it concludes with some brief remarks on poetry and the philosophy of Ludwig Wittgenstein. Thoreau’s moose In The Maine Woods, a record of three separate journeys to Maine between 1846 and 1857, Thoreau reflects on the experience of disturbance before an animal – namely, a dead moose discovered by his travelling companion during a hunting expedition. ‘He had found the cow-moose lying dead, but quite warm, in the middle of the stream, which was so shallow that it rested on the bottom, with hardly a third of its body above water.’4 Thoreau’s first response betrays the instincts of a naturalist. Lacking a measuring tape, he fashions a gauge using a rope from his canoe, tying knots to mark out the moose’s length and height. All these pains he takes, Thoreau writes, because he ‘did not wish to be obliged to say merely the moose was very large’ (MW, 153). Once the measurements have been taken, however, and once his companion begins to ‘skin the moose’, the voice of Thoreau the naturalist is troubled by another, more complicated presence: I looked on; and a tragical business it was, – to see that still warm and palpitating body pierced with a knife, to see the warm milk stream from the rent udder, and the ghastly naked red carcass appearing from within its seemly robe, which was made to hide it. […] In the bed of this narrow, wild, and rocky stream, between two lofty walls of spruce and firs, a mere cleft in the forest which the stream had made, this work went on. (MW, 156-57) The discovery of the moose is, to some extent, the culmination of Thoreau’s expedition. Earlier in The Maine Woods, he explains that he has come to the woods as ‘reporter or chaplain to the hunters’ in order to satisfy his desire to see ‘a moose near at hand’ (MW, 133). But his reaction to the moose surprises him, prompting a range of unexpected feelings. The above passage is fascinating but particularly difficult to interpret. For a moment, Thoreau’s voice seems to lift free of the scene, as though he and his companion were being watched from above, from a detached, even cosmic perspective. In the bed of a stream, in the cleft of a forest, ‘this work went on’. The detachment of that phrase, ‘this work’, is especially marked Thoreau’s close observations of the moose being skinned, a process which prompts both horror (the moose’s carcass is ‘ghastly’) as well as admiration for the creature’s former dignity (its ‘seemly robe’). Vacillating, his voice is at once engaged and detached, embedded and quite apart: in any case, it bears the signs of being deeply troubled. The event is described as a ‘tragical business’, and, in a repetition of that theme, Thoreau later speaks of the ‘afternoon’s tragedy’ (MW, 160). He has come to the woods to see moose ‘near at hand’, but this encounter is much too close. The expedition has somehow gone awry. Part of Thoreau’s anxiety is explicable. The moose has been shot neither for its hide nor for its flesh but ‘merely for the satisfaction of killing him’ (MW, 161). In this regard, the moose’s death is without utility – a shocking waste of life. But what does it mean to see the moose’s death as a ‘tragedy’? There is something powerfully charged about Thoreau’s response that cannot be explained conventionally – that exceeds, I think, the ‘normal’ response which many of his contemporaries would have had to the moose’s death. During his expedition in the woods, Thoreau spends a great deal of time studying local plants. This fact is worth stressing, as it gives some indication of his state of mind at the time of the moose’s discovery. When his companion stumbles upon the dead creature, indeed, Thoreau says that he was ‘absorbed’ in the activity of looking at a flower, an Aster macrophyllus (MW, 152). Part of his disturbance at the moose’s death can thus be attributed to the shock of transition. The gentleness of botanizing, characterized by close looking and noticing, is interrupted by a different form of relating to the natural world, one characterized by harmful imposition. The ‘tragedy’ of the afternoon is partly this loss of ‘innocence’. It seems that this loss allows Thoreau to appreciate, in a particularly striking way, the violence involved in hunting. The ‘hunting of the moose’, he goes on to write, ‘merely for the satisfaction of killing him […] is too much like going out by night to some wood-side pasture and shooting your neighbor’s horses’. The moose, he continues, ‘are God’s own horses, poor, timid creatures’ (MW, 161). Despite the severity of these remarks, however, Thoreau’s view of hunting is not at all straightforward. Although he has ‘had enough of moose-hunting’ after the moose’s death, he also recognizes, in the same paragraph, the appeal of the hunter’s life: ‘I think that I could spend a year in the woods, fishing and hunting just enough to sustain myself, with satisfaction.’ He continues, ‘this would be next to living like a philosopher on the fruits of the earth which you had raised, which also attracts me’ (MW, 161). There are aspects to the hunter’s life, and the hunter’s embeddedness in the natural world, which he refuses to disparage. As his thoughts develop, however, he goes on to wonder why others cannot spend time in the ‘solitude of this vast wilderness’ without the urge to hunt animals or cut down trees: ‘For one that comes with a pencil to sketch or sing, a thousand come with an axe or rifle’ (MW, 162). Thoreau is pained by the fact that, for some, engagement with nature means damaging it in some way. On the other hand, he does not spare himself from these critical musings, even in his capacity as a ‘chaplain’. For the ‘chaplain’, he notes, ‘has been known to carry a gun himself’ (MW, 133). ‘The afternoon’s tragedy,’ he later admits, ‘and my share in it, as it affected the innocence, destroyed the pleasure of my adventure’ (MW, 160). Thoreau’s account is noteworthy for the range of feeling it records. His response to the moose’s death is animated by subtle moods and complex tensions. There is his aversion to the moose’s exposed flesh, for instance, but also his curiosity for detail (as the animal is being dragged to the stream’s edge, Thoreau wonders if the colour of its skin is best described as being ‘brownish-black’ or ‘perhaps a dark iron- gray’ (MW, 152-53). Or, mixed in with his interest in the hunter’s life, there is his visceral sense of its unscrupulousness. Finally, there is his sense of guilt and ownership over what has happened. Though he had not come to Maine to hunt, and though he had ‘felt some compunctions about accompanying the hunters’ through the woods, he accepts that he is somehow complicit in the moose’s death (MW, 133). Of course, Thoreau must have seen dead animals before: hunting scenes would have been difficult to avoid for someone who liked roaming in the woods. For whatever reason, however, the death of this particular moose cannot be ignored so easily. Indeed, it marks Thoreau’s conscience as it does his consciousness, and, once his companions have left him to make his camp alone, his meditation reaches its apogee: As I sat before the fire on my fir-twig seat, without walls above or around me, I remembered how far on every hand that wilderness stretched, before you came to cleared or cultivated fields, and wondered if any bear or moose was watching the light of my fire; for Nature looked sternly upon me on account of the murder of the moose. (MW, 163) The fire, the night and the expansiveness of the forest all prompt in Thoreau a sense of awe for the world around him. But the mood is compromised by the wrong which he feels has been committed against the moose, a wrong which involves him intimately. The ‘botanical specimens’ he studies by the light of the fire may remind him of gentler hours – but the ghost of the moose chastises and haunts him: ‘Nature looked sternly upon me’ (MW, 163). Oddly, this experience of being looked on from above reprises Thoreau’s earlier description of the moose’s skinning: in the cleft in the forest, in the middle of a stream, ‘this work went on’. Is this initial description perhaps the first iteration of being watched by the ghost of the moose – and was that earlier ghost, as it were, shrugged off even as its presence was felt? Is it being addressed more directly now? In any case, the natural world that so absorbed Thoreau in the day rebukes him at night. And Thoreau’s response, to use a phrase from Donna Haraway, is to ‘stay with the trouble’, to avoid, that is, simplifying or trivializing the moose’s death.5 Sitting by the fire, reflecting on his ‘share’ in the day’s ‘tragedy’, he stays awake to the disturbance the moose has caused in him, encountering it face to face, as it were – even if in ghostly form. Cavell’s horse In a letter to his friend and fellow philosopher Vicki Hearne, Stanley Cavell recounts an equally memorable encounter with an animal – in this case a horse. Cavell’s record is more philosophical than Thoreau’s, at once denser and more self- reflexive, but it contains reflections of a similar nature, not least feelings of shame and awe before a nonhuman other: The horse, as it stands, is a rebuke to our unreadiness to be understood, our will to remain obscure ... And the more beautiful the horse’s stance, the more painful the rebuke. Theirs is our best picture of a readiness to understand. Our stand, our stance, is of denial ... We feel our refusals are unrevealed because we keep, we think, our fences invisible. But the horse takes cognizance of them, who does not care about invisibility.6 A number of things seem to be happening here. First, Cavell suggests that our relation to the horse is defined by a desire for knowledge. ‘There is something specific,’ he writes, ‘about our unwillingness to let our knowledge come to an end with respect to horses.’ At the same time, Cavell writes that we fail to acknowledge what horses can ‘know of us’. There is an ‘unwillingness to make room for their capacity to feel our presence’ (AT, 115). Our relationship with the horse, in other words, is asymmetrical. We approach the horse as a subject of knowledge but refuse to stand before it unguardedly, exposed to what it might know of us. But what if horses have the ‘capacity to feel our presence incomparably beyond our ability to feel theirs’ (AT, 115)? Why might we be unwilling to acknowledge this? In one of his essays, Cavell says that we sometimes forego acknowledging others because of our fear of being exposed before them. Our denial of others is thus partly a denial of ourselves, and this is partly how we keep ourselves hidden. In particular, Cavell speaks of Shakespeare’s famous tragedy, King Lear, and of Lear’s attempt to ‘avoid recognition’, which he sees as linked in complex ways to a ‘shame of exposure’ and the ‘threat of self-revelation’.7 Understanding this, Cavell writes, can lead to a shock of recognition as we realize the ways we have also evaded the work of acknowledgment: Lear is not a tragic figure because he is ‘singled out’ to suffer, but because he keeps himself in ‘hiddenness, silence, position; the ways people do’.8 But since, Cavell writes, we are ‘ineluctably actors in what is happening’ in our lives, ‘nothing can be present to us to which we are not present.’9 Our hiddenness, which also hides others from us, is not an inevitable fact about the world but something to which we commit. We therefore bear responsibility for what we miss or make present. A similar denial of an other occurs in Cavell’s encounter with the horse. We miss the horse’s presence by casting our relationship with the animal in primarily epistemological terms – terms not entirely apposite to the embodied experience of seeing and being seen by another. Our stance is therefore one of ‘denial’ because, by grasping for knowledge, we curtail the possibility of understanding. As Stephen Mulhall writes in a related context: It is not, after all, too difficult to imagine ways in which the picture of a concept as subsuming a particular, or of concepts as ways of grasping reality, might encode a kind of imperialism of reason with respect to the real. Heidegger, for example, noted the echo of ‘greifen’ [grasp] in the German for concept (Begriff), and the possibility it opens up of picturing thinking as grasping or clutching at things, even pawing or clawing at them, rather than (say) allowing them to make an impression on us, or taking them to heart.10 The horse’s stance, in contrast to that of the grasping thinker, is open to what it cannot know. As such, it presents a kind of rebuke, chastising us for ‘our will to remain obscure’. The knowing human subject, it turns out, is the least ready. But the horse remains unperturbed: it takes ‘cognizance’ of our ‘fences’ but does not care for them (AT, 115). Cavell’s account can be read productively alongside Thoreau’s experience of the moose. There is an ‘unwillingness’ which Cavell admits to, and which can be discerned in Thoreau, to be entirely exposed to the animal other: ‘Nature’s stern gaze’ and the horse’s ‘rebuke’ suggest that some form of evasion has taken place (AT, 115). At the same time, there is a self-watchfulness in both writers that tries to take ‘cognizance’ of inner fences that have been built, of ‘refusals’ that are ‘unrevealed’ but powerfully active. Indeed, both accounts can be seen as painful exercises in fence- dismantling – painful because, in Thoreau’s case, one must confront a ghostly accuser in a difficult tribunal, and because, in Cavell’s case, the disavowal of intellectual mastery over the horse means the relinquishing of control. Both Thoreau and Cavell attempt ‘to make room’ for the animal’s presence even though the cost of making room is a profound disturbance to the self. By the end of his meditation, Thoreau opens himself more fully to the moose’s death, an occasion which involves difficult self-interrogation, while Cavell gently remonstrates himself for his own deflections, deflections which he recognises in the hope of overcoming. Denials take place all the time in human encounters. We risk dealing out ‘little deaths’ to others every day, Cavell writes, through ‘our slights of one another’, a ‘willful misconstrual’, a ‘shading of loyalty’, and through ‘any countless signs of skepticism with respect’ to the ‘separateness of another’.11 But the risk of denying others is especially pronounced in the case of relations between humans and nonhumans. This is because the factors that we count on in human encounters – a shared cultural context, for instance, or the ability to speak English – are limited or even non-existent. The possibilities for ‘willful misconstrual’ are therefore endless. There is of course a rich spectrum in which this is and is not the case. In thinking of the language I share with my dog, for instance, I feel satisfied that we understand each other in certain ways, even if many things remain incommunicable.We share a world with each other – and to the extent that we share a world, our forms of life share meaningful points of contact. When I watch my dog chase a bee, however, I realize that there are cases in which understanding and being understood are impossible. The bee’s seems completely unavailable to me in a way my dog’s life is not. I simply do not know how proceed with some animals – or what proceeding would even look like. Even in the case of my dog, however, what I may sometimes take to be mutual understanding might not be understanding at all, as when I think my dog has understood and assented to an instruction (not to pee on the shoes of our house-guests), only to find that that instruction has not been understood (we wake to find that the shoes are wet). Or there might be moments when I point to the distance, indicating a dog in another field, only to see that my dog is looking at my finger. These are comic instances of misunderstanding, and one can list many more. But there is also a more substantial sense in which our attempt at mutual intelligibility comes to an end, not so much because of ‘miscommunication’, but because the grounds for what it might mean to communicate simply do not exist. As Ludwig Wittgenstein writes, ‘A dog cannot be a hypocrite, but neither can he be sincere.’12 Here Wittgenstein is not making a value-judgement about dogs but illustrating the radical differences between us and them. ‘Hypocrisy’ and ‘sincerity’ only make sense, only have a proper home, in inter-human communication, because of the particular ways in which human beings can lie to each other or be desirous of honest conduct. There are deep connections, in other words, between a culture’s way of being and the words that make sense for it. The dog’s inability to be a ‘hypocrite’ is a powerful index of cultural difference, an indication of what Wittgenstein might call a different ‘form of life’.13 What is significant about Cavell's encounter, however, is the sense in which openness to the other can continue even when our knowledge comes to an end. It is in this sense that the horse’s stance provides a model for the human observer: its deportment is not defined by a need for knowledge but by a readiness to understand and be understood. But it is also in this sense that the horse rebukes us for our unwillingness to acknowledge what it might feel of us. As Cavell writes in a different context: To withhold, or hedge, our concepts of psychological states from a given creature, on the ground that our criteria cannot reach to the inner life of the creature, is specifically to withhold the source of my idea that living beings are things that feel; it is to withhold myself, to reject my response to anything as a living being.14 However, as much as Cavell’s horse rebukes us, its stance is also an invitation to relate to it differently, to stand before it without withholding ourselves. This includes resisting the movement in which our lack of knowledge turns into a curtailment of what the horse may know of us, a projection of our own lacunae, that is, onto the animal other. One can continue being open to the other without being certain what one is relating to. The horse is a good picture of this. This quality of being radically open exemplifies what I want to call a ‘poetic’ relationship to the world. It is a relationship George Eliot, Thoreau and Cavell explore in the passages discussed above – and it is a relationship J. M. Coetzee explores with extraordinary intensity in The Lives of Animals (1999), through his fictional character Elizabeth Costello. If the horse is, for Cavell, our best picture of understanding, poetry is, for Costello, our best form of reciprocating that understanding in language. ‘The difficulty of reality’ In her essay on Coetzee’s The Lives of Animals, the philosopher Cora Diamond writes that Elizabeth Costello is trying to come to terms with a ‘difficulty of reality’.15 Here, Diamond is alluding to our treatment of animal others under industrial modernity and to Costello’s engagement with this reality. A famous novelist, Costello has come to an Australian university to deliver a lecture and seminar, and, at liberty to select her own topic, has chosen to address what she calls the ‘horrors’ of human domination of animal life, of ‘what is being done to animals at this moment in production facilities (I hesitate to call them farms any longer), in abattoirs, in trawlers, in laboratories, all over the world’.16 According to Diamond, Costello is trying to grasp the immensity of this reality, to think and imagine it fully. By doing so, she is trying to avoid what might be called ‘deflection’. In Diamond’s account, deflection names a movement in which we turn away from or elide the complexity of an experience of life. We sometimes ‘deflect’ an issue, Diamond says, by dishonouring an experience through the form that our responses take. As she explains with reference to Cavell (from whom she borrows the term): Cavell writes about the philosopher who begins (we imagine) from an appreciation of something appalling: that I may be suffering, and my suffering be utterly unknown or uncared about; ‘and that others may be suffering and I not know’. But the philosopher’s understanding is deflected; the issue becomes deflected, as the philosopher thinks or rethinks it in the language of philosophical skepticism. And philosophical responses to that skepticism, e.g., demonstrations that it is confused, further deflect from the truth here. (Diamond, 57) In this example, what originally strikes the philosopher as appalling –the pain of another – loses its force. This is because that pain is diluted as the philosopher tries to think about that pain in the ‘language of philosophical skepticism’ (i.e. in a language which requires justification for any truth-claim about the world). Crucially, both Diamond and Cavell point out that that pain is further deflected by engaging with the sceptic on his or her terms, even if one is refuting what the sceptic says. This is because the issue of pain is being addressed within the wrong framework, one which fails to appreciate the true appallingness of what is going on (ibid.). In addition to ‘deflection’, Diamond uses another important phrase in her essay, the ‘difficulty of reality’: That is a phrase of John Updike’s, which I want to pick up for the phenomena with which I am concerned, experiences in which we take something in reality to be resistant to our thinking it, or possibly painful in its inexplicability, difficult in that way, or perhaps awesome and astonishing in its inexplicability. (Diamond, 45-46) In Diamond’s reading, Costello is someone who particularly tries to resist, as far as possible, certain deflections she sees at work in philosophical thinking with regard to animal others. Deflection is what happens, Diamond explains, ‘when we are moved from the appreciation, or attempt at appreciation, of a difficulty of reality to a philosophical or moral problem apparently in the vicinity’ (Diamond, 57). In trying to avoid such a deflection, not least by refusing the language in which animals are seen as a question, and in which issues are taken up and advanced, Costello wants to engage more fully with the material reality of our relations with animals, including, in this case, the ‘horrors’ of our treatment of them in abattoirs, trawlers and laboratories. Something of this reality, she feels, is threatened by adopting a particular language – the language of philosophy. This is not to belittle the importance of philosophy when it comes to clarifying and explaining our ideas. As Diamond remarks, there are ‘hard problems’ in philosophy, and ‘university philosophy departments’ are integral in helping us see ‘what constitutes a good argument, what is distorted by emotion, when we are making assertions without backing them up’ (Diamond, 58).17 Nor is it to repudiate completely what Diamond calls ‘deflection’ – which is, after all, part of the experience of being human. As Ian Hacking writes in response to Diamond’s essay, ‘Don’t knock deflection […]. Man is the deflecting animal.’18 Here, Hacking is not advocating ignorance as a virtue, nor celebrating the fact that we are sometimes closed off to others. Rather, he is pointing out that, in the course of a normal day, we often act in ways that fall short of the ideal image of the non-deflecting, open-minded person. To open ourselves fully to every uncertainty, exploring the hidden depths of every encounter, including encounters that might pose a threat to our identity, is impractical, undesirable, and perhaps even impossible. There are, after all, bills to pay and buses to catch. One might say that we deflect as a matter of course, as a way of just getting by in the world. But when Diamond remarks that certain philosophical arguments block us from appreciating a difficulty of reality, in this case an aspect of our relationship with other animals, she is saying something much more particular than Hacking’s general claim that ‘Man is the deflecting animal.’ She is pointing out the ways in which certain modes of thought involve deflection, or, more strongly, the ways in which deflection is built into certain ways of relating to the world. The refusal to engage with reality, that is, may not only happen in moments of ignorance or absent-mindedness, but in the very midst of our thinking life. And Costello, for Diamond, is a figure who tries to overcome this kind of deflection: What I have meant to suggest by picking up Cavell’s use of the term ‘deflection’ is that the hardness there, in philosophical argumentation, is not the hardness of appreciating or trying to appreciate a difficulty of reality. In the latter case, the difficulty of reality lies in the apparent resistance by reality to one’s ordinary mode of life, including one’s ordinary modes of thinking: to appreciate a difficulty of reality is to feel oneself being shouldered out of how one thinks, how one is apparently supposed to think, or to have a sense of the inability of thought to encompass what it is attempting to reach. Such appreciation may involve the profound isolation felt by someone like Elizabeth Costello (Diamond, 58–59).19 In remarking upon Costello’s ‘isolation’ in Coetzee’s novella, Diamond seems to have in mind various instances where Costello alienates herself from other characters. John, Costello’s son, thinks that his mother has become too ‘intense about the animal business’ (LA, 66). And Norma, Costello’s daughter-in-law, thinks Costello has withdrawn from the arena of rational thought (LA, 48-49). Then there are instances where Costello makes controversial comparisons between factory farming and the Holocaust, an analogy which offends various characters in the text, none more so than Abraham Stern (a character of clearly Jewish origins), who refuses to attend a dinner held in Costello’s honour (LA, 49-50).20 But Costello’s isolation from others is also much more subtle and pervasive, in that, apart from seeing the ‘animal business’ differently, she often finds herself unable to use the language of her peers. Her isolation is, among other things, deeply linguistic. Coetzee draws our attention to Costello’s differences in a number of ways. Recall, for instance, that Costello is a famous novelist, speaking to a university audience as an invited guest. Her audience, we can assume, is well- versed in the protocols of critical debate, and, in the context of a university lecture, it probably expects her to understand and adopt these protocols too. But Costello is a novelist – a point she emphasizes repeatedly – and this turns out to be a crucial source of tension in the novella. She wants to approach animal others primarily in literary and imaginative terms and not in the philosophical or critical terms of her interlocutors. This makes her impatient with academic debate, and she is often unwilling or unable to clarify herself in the ways desired by others. ‘I was hoping not to have to enunciate principles,’ Costello says in response to a question from an audience member. ‘If principles are what you want to take away from this talk, I would have to respond, open your heart and listen to what your heart says’ (LA, 37). One can only imagine how, in the context of university lecture, this would have baffled (or perhaps even irritated) Costello’s questioner. From time to time, Costello shows an awareness of how she might be baffling others. She also recognizes that her remarks might be taken as sentimental or even irrational. ‘I want to find a way of speaking,’ she says at one point, that is ‘cool rather than heated, philosophical rather than polemical.’ This is the kind of language, Costello continues, in which ‘we can discuss and debate what kind of souls animals have’ or ‘whether they reason or on the contrary act as biological automatons’ (LA, 22). But this philosophical language – the language of ‘Aristotle and Porphyry, of Augustine and Aquinas, of Descartes and Bentham’ – is also precisely what Costello wants to avoid. This is because philosophical discussion of ‘the animal’, in her view, deflects the singularity of animal others by approaching them in the form of philosophical questions. Her refusal to use the language of Descartes and Bentham, then, or even the language of ‘Mary Midgley and Tom Regan’, emerges from her desire to avoid the reduction of animal otherness into an issue or a question. That language partly tempts her, not least because it seems to offer a way of getting a grip on a difficulty of reality, but it is one that she also declines to take up. ‘[S]omething in me resists’ that language, Costello says, ‘foreseeing in that step the concession of the entire battle’ (LA, 25). Resisting a particular philosophical language is of crucial importance to Costello. Indeed, on certain occasions it is a matter of life and death – or rather a matter of how we appreciate or fail to appreciate life and death. This is especially clear in Costello’s debate with Professor Thomas O’Hearne, an academic philosopher who has been invited to respond to her lecture on animals. For the most part, the debate proceeds in a calm and civilized manner. O’Hearne raises a number of substantial objections to Costello’s lecture, to which she responds forcefully but politely. The tone of the debate changes, however, when O’Hearne raises the topic of death. Animals, according to O’Hearne, do not ‘understand death as we do’: death is ‘just something that happens’ to animals, ‘something against which there may be a revolt of the organism but not a revolt of the soul’. ‘And the lower down the scale of evolution one goes, the truer this is. To an insect, death is the breakdown of systems that keep the physical organism functioning, and nothing more’ (LA, 63). Costello’s response is direct and curt, but also, in the context of an academic debate, unusually impassioned: Anyone who says that life matters less to animals than it does to us has not held in his hands an animal fighting for its life. The whole of the being of the animal is thrown into that fight, without reserve. (LA, 65) Costello admits that the ‘fight’ of other animals against death may lack the intellectual dimension of the human fight, but she also argues that it is ‘not the mode of being of animals to have an intellectual horror’. Their ‘whole being,’ she continues, ‘is the living flesh’ (ibid.). Then Costello does something remarkable. She points out the weakness of everything she is saying: If I do not convince you that is because my words, here, lack the power to bring home to you the wholeness, the unabstracted, unintellectual nature, of that animal being. That is why I urge you to read the poets who return the living, electric being to language. (ibid.) Costello feels she has reached the limits of what can be said between herself and O’Hearne, at least in the terms of their current discussion. There is something amiss, she realizes, about the form their dialogue has taken, in which positions are staked out through arguments. O’Hearne has been defending a certain notion, namely that animals do not have an ‘intellectual horror’ of death, a position which Costello thinks mischaracterizes the animal response to death. However, precisely at the point where Costello’s argument stands in need of explanation, and where she might be expected to adduce certain examples, she stops short: ‘my words [ … ] lack the power to bring home to you the wholeness […] of that animal being’(ibid.). At a crucial moment in the debate, Costello breaks off from a particular way of speaking, from a particular manner of continuing. And she turns to poetry: ‘I urge you to read the poets.’ Rilke’s panther, Hughes’s jaguar But what is this thing called poetry? What can it ‘do’ that academic debate cannot? Costello explores these questions in a seminar entitled ‘The Poets and the Animals’, which takes place the day after her lecture and examines the connections between our forms of thought and the ways in which we acknowledge or refuse to acknowledge nonhuman others.. As in her engagement with the philosophers, Costello’s treatment of poetry is patchy: she skates over intricate historical questions connected to particular writers and ideas, and offers unsystematic readings of animals in poetry, confining her analysis to a handful of poems. Unlike her engagement with philosophy, however, which is mostly antagonistic, Costello’s tone in this seminar is more affirmative. She finds in poetry an entirely different mode of relating to the world, one which allows for the kind of sympathetic attachment she thinks philosophy has denied itself in relation to animal life. Costello never explicitly spells out a theory regarding the relations between poetry and animal life. But it soon becomes clear that a definition would be antithetical to her purposes, for what seems to attract her in poetry is precisely its indefinability, its wild resistance to paraphrase. Nevertheless, a kind of thesis emerges in her reading of poetry about animal life. Some poems, it seems, are capable of their own deflections in relation to animal others – while other poems seem to resist this especially well. Costello explores both kinds of poems. Costello’s seminar begins with a reading of ‘The Panther’ (1903) by the poet Rainer Maria Rilke. When Rilke wrote this poem, he was under the counsel of Auguste Rodin, who apparently urged the poet to observe animals at the Jardin des Plantes in Paris. Studying the world with a naturalist’s precision, Rodin said, was integral to his artistic training. The result of this advice was ‘The Panther’, one of Rilke’s most translated poems. The lithe swinging of that rhythmical easy stride which circles down to the tiniest hub is like a dance of energy around a point in which a great will stands stunned and numb. The poem is ranked among Rilke’s finest works. According to Charlie Louth, the poem ‘provided a standard concentrated utterance’ against which Rilke would measure his future writing; and according to T. J. Reed, the poem ‘describes with an exactitude a zoologist can admire’.21 Rilke seems to ‘become the panther’ in this poem, William Pratt writes, ‘pacing in his cage in the menagerie’ of the zoo.22 For Costello, however, there is something amiss about poem. The panther is powerfully evoked, but its energy seems to be projected onto it. In fact, the panther is really a ‘stand-in for something else’, she argues. Its ‘dance of energy around a center’ is an ‘ image that comes from physics, elementary particle physics’. And ‘Rilke does not get beyond this point – beyond the panther as the vital embodiment of the kind of force that is released in an atomic explosion’ (LA, 50). His animal is a trope for trapped energy – and it is energy, not the animal, that is the subject of Rilke’s poem. Costello finds a different spirit at work in the poems of Ted Hughes, whom she says is ‘writing against Rilke’ (LA, 50). As she remarks of two of Hughes’s poems, ‘The Jaguar’ (1957) and ‘Second Glance at a Jaguar’ (1967): He uses the same staging in the zoo, but it is the crowd for a change that stands mesmerized, and among them the man, the poet, entranced and horrified and overwhelmed, his powers of understanding pushed beyond their limit. (LA, 50-51) Against Rilke, whose animal is a ‘standin for something else’, Hughes feels ‘his way toward a different kind of being-in-the-world’ (LA, 51). For him ‘it is a matter […] not of inhabiting another mind but of inhabiting another body’ (ibid). This places Hughes in contact with what might be called a ‘difficulty of reality’, in that he confronts something which resists his ordinary forms of thought. What Cora Diamond says of Elizabeth Costello is true of Hughes’s experience here: ‘shouldered out’ from how he is ‘apparently supposed to think’ about the world, he encounters a limit to his understanding with respect to the jaguar, an animal which brings home to him the ‘inability of thought to encompass what it is trying to reach’ (Diamond, 58). Personal observation was central to the later poem Hughes published about a jaguar, ‘Second Glance at a Jaguar’. ‘I’m having a pleasant time at the [London] Zoo,’ he wrote in a letter, five years before the poem’s publication. ‘I have a season ticket & go nearly every day & draw animals & look at them a bit more closely than I have done heretofore.’23 One result of looking ‘more closely’ was the accumulation of concrete details. Images and associations are not projected upon the creature, as in Rilke’s ‘The Panther’, but seem to emerge from the speaker’s close observation of how the jaguar actually acts and moves: Skinful of bowls he bowls them, The hip going in and out of joint, dropping the spine With the urgency of his hurry Like a cat going along under thrown stones, under cover, Glancing sideways, running Under his spine. There is a complex interplay between rhythm and experience here. The repetitions of certain sounds (‘bowls’, ‘thrown’ and stones’, as well as ‘urgency’ and ‘hurry’,) establishes a dominant pattern of long ‘o’ and short ‘ur’ and ‘ee’ sounds, which, in combination with the repetition of ‘under’ (‘under thrown stones’, ‘under cover’, ‘Under his spine’), has the effect of propelling the poem forward as we read in anticipation of similar cadences. Just as the poem surges forward, however, there is a sense that it also looks back at itself. ‘Skinful of bowls he bowls them’, for instance, is notable not only for its description of the black marks on the jaguar’s skin, but for its daring repetition of ‘bowls’, a word which, in its first iteration, is used as a noun (‘Skinful of bowls’) but then quite suddenly as a verb (‘he bowls them). Through this weird description, the line forces a jarring retrospective glance. Similarly, ‘hurry’ contains the auditory memory of ‘urgency’, just as the third iteration of ‘under’ (‘Under his spine’) makes us conscious of its earlier iterations (‘under thrown stones’, ‘under cover’). The poem’s repetitions sweep us backwards in the movement of going forwards, a dense layering of sounds and energies which seem, at the verbal level, to mirror something of the jaguar’s hunched ‘running’, the ducking movement of its head, and the sway of its hip as it goes ‘in and out of joint’. Unlike ‘The Panther’, in which the creature is a ‘stand-in for something else’, the creature in Hughes’s poem seems to be muscling its way into language, ‘Like a cat […] under cover’. Of course, as with any poem about any animal, Hughes cannot escape the prism of language. The jaguar is necessarily described within an all-too-human framework and so tangled up with human concerns and projections. Later in the poem, Hughes seems to acknowledge this through a number of extreme (and self- consciously outlandish) descriptions of the jaguar. Nevertheless, even as Hughes’s poem owns up to these inescapable contingencies, to the fact that we inevitably anthropomorphize other creatures by describing them, his poem also manages to gesture towards the jaguar’s otherness, not by transcending figures of speech (an impossible task in a poem), but by underscoring the provisional nature of each of his descriptions. By amassing a dizzying array of images to describe the creature, only to then summarily dispense with those images, the poem foregrounds both the inadequacy of its previous images and a sense that future images, however precise, will also fail to capture something of how the jaguar moves. The portrait Hughes completes is also a monument to the impossibility of a complete portrait. The jaguar moves with a A terrible, stump-legged waddle, Like a thick Aztec disemboweller, Club-swinging, trying to grind some square Socket between his hind legs round, Carrying his head like a brazier of spilling embers, And the black bit of his mouth, he takes it Between his back teeth, he has to wear his skin out, He swipes a lap at the water-trough as he turns Swivelling the ball of his heel on the polished spot, Showing his belly like a butterfly. Again, the poem unfolds new images and phrasings in quick succession, as though to keep pace with the creature’s movements. ‘Aztec disemboweller’ gives way to ‘square socket’ which gives way to ‘hind legs round’ which gives way to ‘spilling embers’ which gives way to ‘black bit’ which culminates in the surprising image of ‘a butterfly’. Hughes’s associations flow with an urgent momentum, never quite at rest. At first glance, there seems to be very little that holds these images together; on closer inspection, however, one can see how particular images seem to anticipate the next. ‘Grind’ and ‘socket’, for instance, clearly borrow from a mechanistic vocabulary, and so prepare the ground for ‘Carrying his head like a brazier of spilling embers’, an image which suggests a steam-engine overloaded with fuel. This description anticipates, in turn, the ‘the black bit’ of the jaguar’s mouth, an image which suggest coal or ash, but which in any case contains a memory of the now burnt-out embers. In turn, the ‘a’ and ‘t’ sounds in ‘black bit’ prepares us for ‘back teeth’, just as the description of the jaguar wearing its ‘skin out’ anticipates ‘polished’. Rushing from images of fire to water, from square sockets to round legs, from Aztec disembowellers to butterflies, the poem brings together dynamic opposites, finding in the jaguar a site of multiple forces and energies. It is in this sense that Hughes’s poem may be said to encode an ‘ecological ethic’ that is absent from Rilke’s poem. If Rilke’s ‘The Panther’ uses the animal as a symbol, Hughes’s ‘Second Glance at a Jaguar’ engages with the creature as an embodied other, one with a particular way of moving and being. Like the jaguar, moreover, which at ‘every stride’ seems to ‘turn a corner | in himself and correct it’, Hughes’s poem is full of revisions and recalibrations. It conscientiously breaks apart its own images, underscoring the creature’s otherness by refusing to allow a particular metaphor or conceit for the jaguar to reify into an emblem. In this way, the poem redeems the etymology of poetry as poesis – poetry, that is, as a process of making, creating, producing. The poem also suggests how the restless and transformative activity of poetic making and remaking might offer (non-instrumental) forms of relating to animal others, specifically forms of description which do not simply re- embed the animal other into what we know, but which find a way of acknowledging – even in the act of describing – the other’s otherness to what we know. This is not to say that the jaguar, by the end of Hughes’s poem, is somehow captured in its full totality. On the contrary, the poem cannot be more than its own conceits; even its most precise images reduce the jaguar to a series of verbal figures. By means of continually unsettling language, however, there is a sense in which the poem ‘releases’ the creature by foregrounding the ways in which the jaguar is always other to the poem’s images. The poem affirms that we can only ever ‘glance’ at the jaguar, and that its otherness is finally beyond the figures we make for it. Rather than positing this as a loss, however, the poem celebrates the alterity that ‘glancing’ implies – by itself becoming glancing. Unable to free the animal in reality, in the actual setting of the zoo, this homage is perhaps the only real gesture (if still a feeble one) available to the poem. Recognizing the intolerability of the creature’s caged condition, the poem refuses to burden the creature further by pinning it down in words. The difference between Rilke and Hughes is nicely captured by the phrase ‘becoming-animal’, a term used by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari in A Thousand Plateaus.24 As Randy Malamud explains in relation to ‘The Panther’, Rilke’s poem fails the task of ‘becoming-animal’, a task which would require seeing ‘the whole animal and its life’ over and above ‘its iconically reductive cultural representation’.25 In other words, Rilke sees the panther in all-too-human terms: his poem is not so much an encounter with an animal as an encounter with an idea of energy that the animal embodies. Indeed, this was partly the point: as Ralph Freedman observes of this period in Rilke’s career, the poet was striving to achieve a sculptural stillness in his poems. ‘The panther has become wholly thing,’ Freedman writes, and ‘this was the most advanced development so far in Rilke’s professional life: the absorption, interpretation, and reinterpretation of Rodin’s new sculpture.’26 But if this text marked an artistic breakthrough for Rilke, a thoroughgoing assimilation of Rodin’s influence, the poem is troublingly uncritical in its relation to the actual panther. As Malamud writes, the ‘poet and audience recognise this animal’s intensity and his soul,’ but they ‘remain powerless within the text to celebrate this, or to ameliorate the animal’s constraint […]. There is no emotion possible other than pathos.’27 Malamud might be asking too much of Rilke here. Short of physically liberating the animal, it is not clear how Rilke might ‘ameliorate’ the panther’s life in captivity. Nor is it clear if ‘pathos’ is entirely undesirable: the emotion, after all, might be the catalyst for a more fully- realised sympathy. As a comment on the imaginative trajectory of ‘The Panther’, however, Malamud’s general point is convincing: because Rilke approaches the panther as an aesthetic ‘thing’, and because he is a sentimental and uncritical visitor to the zoo, the animal is further imprisoned by the concepts we make for it. The panther, to adapt a related comment Malamud makes elsewhere, lacks those ‘lines of flight’ which ‘highlight the animal’s mobility and agency’, and which provide animals with ‘paths of escape from the captivity and inertia’ that ‘plague animals in so many of their modern cultural incarnations’.28 Rilke’s panther, in other words, is never more than Rilke’s panther (or the dominant cultural idea of panther’s in his time). Hughes approaches his jaguar differently. If Rilke describes his panther with the eye of an artist, sculpting the animal into an expression of trapped and deflated energy, Hughes is partly sculpted by the animal: his engagement with the jaguar mesmerizes him. This is because Hughes tries to inhabit another body – and in so doing relinquishes some degree of intellectual control over the other. He does not approach the animal as a subject of knowledge (Cavell’s horse), or as an artistic challenge (Rilke’s panther), but as an embodied other that must be met halfway. As Costello remarks, Hughes is feeling his way toward a different kind of being-in-the-world, one which is not entirely foreign to us [ … ] . In these poems we know the jaguar not from the way he seems but from the way he moves [ … ] . The poems ask us to imagine our way into that way of moving, to inhabit that body. (LA, 51) To imagine the jaguar in this way is to recognize the animal’s embodied vitality. The jaguar is not only something to look at, but something that looks. It is full of ‘currents of life’, before which the ‘crowd stands mesmerised’. In this way, Hughes’s poem can lead to what Mark Payne calls, in another context, a ‘perceptual change’ in our relations with animals. ‘To see oneself seen,’ he writes, ‘ is to become aware of oneself as an object of another animal’s perception, then as one object among others in this perception, and then, finally, as a participant in an intersubjective encounter as it is experienced by another subject.’29And that, as Costello tells her audience, ‘is the kind of poetry I bring to your attention today: poetry that does not try to find an idea in the animal, that is not about the animal, but is instead the record of an engagement with him’ (LA, 51). Costello’s analysis is not without its problems. In her reading of Hughes’s jaguar poems, for instance, she acknowledges but does not engage with the ‘ethics of caging large animals’ (LA, 51). If anything, this issue should be central to our reading of the text. Since the poem cannot be separated from zoos as institutions, it cannot be read as a straightforward encounter between a human being and a nonhuman other. It is also a massive oversimplification for Costello to speak of ‘philosophy’ and ‘poetry’ as though they were clearly separable, each characterized by a set of common themes and properties. In many cases the distinction is not only simplistic but untenable. Lucretius’ De rerum natura, for instance, or Ovid’s Metamorphoses, are works of both poetry and philosophy, and these elements cannot be separated without severely distorting the texts. We might also think of modern examples where poetry is in intimate conversation with philosophical themes, as in the work of Wallace Stevens, or philosophy which moves towards ‘lyrical’ or ‘poetical’ forms, as in the writing of Gaston Bachelard or Maurice Blanchot. In these cases, ‘philosophy’ and ‘poetry’ are deeply connected: they form crisscrossing strands of a particular writer’s voice. Finally, we might also resist Costello’s uncritical celebration of the ‘heart’ as the ‘seat’ of sympathy, that ‘faculty’ which ‘allows us to share at times the being of another’ (LA, 34). In ‘Reopening the Question of the Human and the Animal’, Dominick LaCapra argues that we should be wary of such over-reaching formulations, criticizing Costello for ‘seemingly accepting the questionable ideas that sympathy is identification with the other and that such identification is itself a preservative against cruelty and genocidal behaviour’.30 In particular, LaCapra argues that thinking of sympathy in these terms – namely, as a ‘fully identificatory form’ of engagement – is ‘very problematic as a moral or ethical sentiment in that it induces projective or incorporative identification’.31 Sympathetic projection, in other words, may end up eliding the other by turning its otherness into a version of the same, even, paradoxically, as one tries to resist that very move. The ‘type of empathy or compassion Costello seems to be seeking,’ LaCapra adds, ‘would be better construed as an affective response that may involve elements of identification but nonetheless is also informed both by acknowledgement of the other as other and by the realisation that sympathy or empathy alone, however desirable on an ethical level, is not sufficient as a response to social and political problems.’32 To be fair to her, Costello is partly aware of the problems posed by an unqualified conception of sympathy, an awareness that comes out most forcefully when she criticizes Hughes for the ‘primitivism’ of his thought. ‘It is deeply masculine’ and ‘masculinist’, she remarks, and its ‘ramifications into politics are to be mistrusted’ (LA, 52). In any case, however, LaCapra is right to suggest that Costello’s remarks on sympathy and compassion – remarks that are usually couched in aesthetic and ecological terms – require ‘supplementation by norms and processes linked to forms of socio-political practice’. Although such considerations may not ‘contradict’ Costello’s view, they nonetheless ‘take one beyond the world envisaged’ by her.33 Without recapitulating Costello’s simplistic view of philosophy, however, and even as one recognizes the limits of her discussion of sympathy, one may nevertheless take her seriously when she claims that poets return the ‘electric, living being’ to language (LA, 61). One might take seriously, that is, the notion that there are deep relations between our forms of language and the forms of recognition that language makes possible (or unwittingly withholds). Wittgenstein’s ladder Ludwig Wittgenstein was convinced that many of the intractable issues in philosophy were misconstruals of language, arising from what Gordon Hunnings has called ‘mistaken grammatical assimilations’.34 Problems in philosophy came about when words and concepts from different homes were erroneously mixed up. The task of the philosopher, in this context, was to look at the ways this happened and to stop it from happening again: Language sets everyone the same traps; it is an immense network of easily accessible wrong turnings. And so we watch one man after another walking down the same paths and we know in advance where he will branch off, where walk straight on without noticing the side turning, etc. etc. What I have to do then is erect signposts at all the junctions where there are wrong turnings so as to help people past the danger points.35 Given the state of language’s roads, where ‘wrong turnings’ were all too ‘easily accessible’, the philosopher’s role, as Wittgenstein conceived it, was to stop people from getting lost – by bringing an end to philosophy as it was understood by the great figures of the Western tradition, who were concerned with solving metaphysical or epistemological problems. As Wittgenstein puts it in Philosophical Investigations: ‘Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of our language’ (§109). Or, as he remarks in a later passage, ‘What we are destroying is nothing but houses of cards and we are clearing up the ground of language on which they stand’ (§118). But the work of ‘destroying’ a ‘house of cards’ is not a simple task. On the contrary, it can involve the terrifying unmaking of ideas and concepts in which we felt at home, the abandoning of roads with which we were deeply familiar. In Elizabeth Costello’s case, it can also involve a feeling of out-of-jointedness with cultural practices around her, as in her inability to understand the ‘stupefying’ practices of eating meat, something she once took for granted. It can also involve, finally, a wrenching apart of a sense of self. ‘It’s that I no longer know where I am,’ Costello confesses to her son, John, after she has completed her presentation at the university. ‘I must be mad!’ (LA, 69). Here, Costello seems to describing a crisis of language, as well as the loss of a former understanding of the world, one that is deeply frightening.36 Her house of cards comes down with a disorienting swiftness, disrupting all the signposts that had once seemed intelligible. She is now travelling, to put this another way, without a clear sense of direction, perilously close to the edge of sanity. As Diamond writes of such moments, ‘To attempt to think [a difficulty of reality] is to feel one’s thinking come unhinged. Our concepts, our ordinary life with our concepts, pass by this difficulty as if it were not there; the difficulty, if we try to see it, shoulders us out of life, is deadly chilling’ (Diamond, 58). Paradoxically, however, this experience of being ‘shouldered’ out of life can also return one to life, not least by reminding one of the body one inhabits. Or, as Diamond writes in her essay’s conclusion, the ‘coming apart of thought and reality belongs to flesh and blood’ (ibid., 78). Costello’s turn to poetry also belongs to ‘flesh and blood’. By reading poems such Hughes’s ‘Second Glance at a Jaguar’, and by trying to relate to animal life beyond the terms provided by philosophy, she brings herself to the limits of what she can think. Not that poetry is without concepts, or that poetry always avoids ‘deflection’, or that avoiding deflection is always even desirable. Nor even that Costello wants to put a limit on thinking. On the contrary, her turn to poetry seems to signal something else – call it an embrace of ‘negative capability’ (John Keats), or an acceptance of poesis, that activity of restless making and remaking by which, relinquishing what we know, we reclaim the ordinary. Whatever it is, it returns her to life. Poets, Costello remarks, ‘return the living, electric being to language’. NOTES 1 George Eliot, The Lifted Veil (London: Virago, 1985), p. 26. 2 George Eliot, Middlemarch (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 159. 3 Donna Haraway, The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness (Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press, 2003), p. 3. 4 Henry David Thoreau, The Maine Woods (New York: Penguin, 1998), p. 152. Further references will be given in the text as MW, followed by the page number. 5 This phrase is taken from the title of a lecture delivered by Donna Haraway in 2010, ‘Staying with the Trouble: Becoming Worldly with Animal Species’, presented at Duke University Women’s Studies Program, Fifth Annual Feminist Theory Workshop. 6 Stanley Cavell quoted in Vicki Hearne, Adam’s Task: Calling Animals by Name (London: Heinemann, 1987), p. 115. Further references will be given in the text as AT, followed by the page number. 7 Stanley Cavell, ‘The Avoidance of Love’, in Must We Mean What We Say? (New York: Scribner, 1969), pp. 267 – 353 (p. 286). 8 Ibid., p. 351. As Cavell writes of King Lear: ‘The cause of tragedy is that we would rather murder the world than permit it to expose us to change’ (ibid.). 9 Ibid., p. 346. 10 Stephen Mulhall, The Wounded Animal: J. M. Coetzee and the Difficulty of Reality in Literature and Philosophy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), p. 116. 11 Stanley Cavell, ‘The Good of Film’, in Cavell on Film, ed. by William Rothman (New York: State University of New York Press, 2005), p. 340. 12 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, trans. by Elizabeth Anscombe (Oxford: Blackwell, 1958), p. 229. 13 The idea of a ‘form of life’ appears in various sections of Philosophical Investigations and is expressed most succinctly in the following formulations: to ‘imagine a language means to imagine a form of life’ (§19); and ‘the speaking of language is part of an activity, or of a form of life’ (§23). 14 Stanley Cavell, The Claim of Reason: Wittgenstein, Skepticism, Morality, and Tragedy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 83. 15 Cora Diamond, ‘The Difficulty of Reality and the Difficulty of Philosophy’, in Stanley Cavell, Cora Diamond, John McDowell, Ian Hacking and Cary Wolfe, Philosophy and Animal Life (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), pp. 43–90 (p. 57). Further references will be given Diamond, followed by the page number. 16 J. M. Coetzee, The Lives of Animals, ed. by Amy Gutmann (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), p. 19. Further references will be given in the text as LA, followed by the page number. 17 Indeed, Diamond’s own writing on animals, particularly her essay ‘Eating Meat and Eating People’, exemplifies the importance of sustained philosophical thought in reaching clarity about issues which have been ‘distorted by emotion’. This essay is in Cora Diamond, The Realistic Spirit: Wittgenstein, Philosophy and the Mind (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1991), pp. 319–34. 18 Ian Hacking, ‘Deflections’, in Philosophy and Animal Life, p. 164. 19 In speaking of being ‘shouldered out of how one thinks’, Diamond is alluding to a word Ted Hughes uses in his poem ‘Six Young Men’, and which Diamond quotes at the beginning of her essay (Diamond, 44). In the poem, Hughes describes a photograph of ‘six young men’ who were killed in World War I. The poem speaks of the difficulty of coming to grips with the fact that all these men – in the bloom of their youth in the photograph – died fighting during the war. There is something painfully astonishing about this, and the speaker struggles to reconcile these deaths with the joviality of the young men in the photo, ‘all trimmed for a Sunday jaunt’. The poem concludes: ‘To regard this photograph might well dement, | Such contradictory permanent horrors here | Smile from the single exposure and shoulder out | One’s own body from its instant and heat.’ 20 Readers of The Lives of Animals have also taken issue with the comparison, objecting to Costello’s conflation of the deaths of animals under factory farming and the deaths of humans under religious persecution. See Peter Singer’s response in LA, pp. 85–89. 21 Charlie Louth, ‘Early Poems’, in The Cambridge Companion to Rilke, ed. by Karen Leeder and Robert Vilain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), p. 56; T. J. Reed, ‘Nietzsche’s Animals: Idea, Image and Influence’, in Nietzsche: Imagery and Thought: A Collection of Essays, ed. by Malcolm Pasley (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), p. 190. 22 William Pratt, Singing the Chaos: Madness and Wisdom in Modern Poetry (Columbia, MO: University of Missouri Press, 1996), p. 45. [should I put MO here so as to be consistent with reference 31, which places ‘IL’ after Evanston? Happy to leave out the state names, though, if that looks cleaner.] 23 Ted Hughes, Letters of Ted Hughes, ed. by Christopher Reid (London: Faber and Faber, 2007), p. 179. 24 See chapter 10 of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (London: Continuum, 2004), pp. 256 -341. 25 Randy Malamud, An Introduction to Animals and Visual Culture (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), p. 46. 26 Ralph Freedman, The Life of a Poet (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1998), p. 172. 27 Malamud, An Introduction to Animals and Visual Culture, p. 48. 28 Ibid., p. 46. ‘Lines of flight’ is another term Malamud borrows from Deleuze and Guattari. As they explain in A Thousand Plateaus, ‘The line of flight marks: the reality of a finite number of dimensions that the multiplicity effectively fills; the impossibility of a supplementary dimension, unless the multiplicity is transformed by the line of flight; the possibility and necessity of flattening all of the multiplicities on a single plane of consistency or exteriority, regardless of their number of dimensions’ (p. 10). 29 Mark Payne, The Animal Part: Human and Other Animals in the Poetic Imagination (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010), p. 8. 30 Dominick LaCapra, ‘Reopening the Question of the Human and the Animal’, in History and its Limits: Human, Animal, Violence (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2009) pp. 149–89 (pp. 180–81). 31 Ibid., p. 181. 32 Ibid., p. 181. 33 LaCapra, ‘Reopening the Question of the Human and the Animal’, p. 181. 34 Gordon Hunnings, The World and Language in Wittgenstein’s Philosophy (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1988), p. 200. 35 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Culture and Value (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), p. 18. 36It is no exaggeration to describe Costello’s sense of being lost here as a crisis of identity. As Charles Taylor points out in a separate but related context, there are deep connections between our spatial metaphors and our sense of self. ‘To know who I am,’ he writes, ‘is a species of knowing where I stand.’ Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989), p. 27. [MICHAEL MALAY CREATURELY ENCOUNTERS IN PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE]
work_nfjafgapynf3nmcg57dunide3i ---- [PDF] The patient’s lament: hidden key to effective communication: how to recognise and transform | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1136/jmh.2004.000164 Corpus ID: 872346The patient’s lament: hidden key to effective communication: how to recognise and transform @article{Bub2004ThePL, title={The patient’s lament: hidden key to effective communication: how to recognise and transform}, author={B. Bub}, journal={Medical Humanities}, year={2004}, volume={30}, pages={63 - 69} } B. Bub Published 2004 Medicine, Psychology Medical Humanities “Our dancing is changed into mourning” Lamentations 5:15 to “you turned my lament into dancing” Psalm 30:12. Numerous studies and well publicised complaints from the public have long revealed a pressing need for physicians to improve their communication skills and their ability to interpret and respond appropriately to what they hear from patients. Rushed and dispirited, physicians are routinely urged to become more compassionate and to spend more time listening. This article challenges the… Expand View on Publisher mh.bmj.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 21 CitationsBackground Citations 4 View All Topics from this paper Grief reaction Auditory Perception Patients 21 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Understanding compassion in family medicine: a qualitative study. Jane Uygur, J. Brown, C. 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Shapiro Psychology, Medicine Families, systems & health : the journal of collaborative family healthcare 2011 41 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Preparing medical students to become attentive listeners J. Donald Boudreau, E. Cassell, A. Fuks Psychology, Medicine Medical teacher 2009 53 View 1 excerpt Save Alert Research Feed Spiritual assessment of patients with cancer: the moral authority, vocational, aesthetic, social, and transcendent model. K. Skalla, J. McCoy Medicine Oncology nursing forum 2006 26 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed How Music-Inspired Weeping Can Help Terminally Ill Patients K. Norton Psychology, Medicine The Journal of medical humanities 2011 11 Save Alert Research Feed The London Deanery pilot project: Trust-based learning groups to foster professionalism D. Gill, Ann Griffin, +4 authors J. Launer Medicine 2011 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 39 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency The saddest day of my life M. Rudolph Psychology 1978 2 Save Alert Research Feed A study of patient clues and physician responses in primary care and surgical settings. W. Levinson, R. Gorawara-Bhat, J. Lamb Medicine JAMA 2000 558 PDF Save Alert Research Feed The inner life of physicians and care of the seriously ill. D. Meier, A. Back, R. Morrison Medicine JAMA 2001 539 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Strategic Risk Management: Reducing Malpractice Claims Through More Effective Patient-Doctor Communication B. Virshup, A. Oppenberg, M. Coleman Medicine American journal of medical quality : the official journal of the American College of Medical Quality 1999 64 Save Alert Research Feed How well do medical oncologists' perceptions reflect their patients' reported physical and psychosocial problems? Data from a survey of five oncologists. S. Newell, R. Sanson-Fisher, A. Girgis, A. Bonaventura Medicine Cancer 1998 171 Save Alert Research Feed Physician Communication Skills: Results of a Survey of General/Family Practitioners in Newfoundland F. Ashbury, D. Iverson, B. Kralj Medicine Medical education online 2001 42 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Why do people sue doctors? A study of patients and relatives taking legal action C. Vincent, A. Phillips, M. Young Medicine The Lancet 1994 501 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Physician reactions to the health care revolution. A grief model approach. A. Daugird, D. Spencer Medicine Archives of family medicine 1996 19 Save Alert Research Feed “Give Sorrow Words”: Lament—Contemporary Need for Job's Old Time Religion P. H. Byrne Psychology, Medicine The journal of pastoral care & counseling : JPCC 2002 4 Save Alert Research Feed Family physicians' approach to psychotherapy and counseling. Perceptions and practices. J. Swanson Medicine Canadian family physician Medecin de famille canadien 1994 8 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 ... Related Papers Abstract Topics 21 Citations 39 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE
work_nik552td6nbe7pryokgwv2jaji ---- doi:10.1016/j.amepre.2004.10.018 I H O B K B M R C I I l l l F l C e A a A P s l A © ncreasing Walking ow Important Is Distance To, Attractiveness, and Size of Public pen Space? illie Giles-Corti, PhD, Melissa H. Broomhall, MPH, Matthew Knuiman, PhD, Catherine Collins, MBBS, ate Douglas, MBBS, Kevin Ng, MBBS, Andrea Lange, BA (Hon), Robert J. Donovan, PhD ackground: Well-designed public open space (POS) that encourages physical activity is a community asset that could potentially contribute to the health of local residents. ethods: In 1995–1996, two studies were conducted—an environmental audit of POS over 2 acres (n �516) within a 408-km2 area of metropolitan Perth, Western Australia; and personal interviews with 1803 adults (aged 18 to 59 years) (52.9% response rate). The association between access to POS and physical activity was examined using three accessibility models that progressively adjusted for distance to POS, and its attractiveness and size. In 2002, an observational study examined the influence of attractiveness on the use of POS by observing users of three pairs of high- and low-quality (based on attractiveness) POS matched for size and location. esults: Overall, 28.8% of respondents reported using POS for physical activity. The likelihood of using POS increased with increasing levels of access, but the effect was greater in the model that adjusted for distance, attractiveness, and size. After adjustment, those with very good access to large, attractive POS were 50% more likely to achieve high levels of walking (odds ratio, 1.50; 95% confidence level, 1.06 –2.13). The observational study showed that after matching POS for size and location, 70% of POS users observed visited attractive POS. onclusions: Access to attractive, large POS is associated with higher levels of walking. To increase walking, thoughtful design (and redesign) of POS is required that creates large, attractive POS with facilities that encourage active use by multiple users (e.g., walkers, sports participants, picnickers). (Am J Prev Med 2005;28(2S2):169 –176) © 2005 American Journal of Preventive Medicine m a r r p i g p t w t e t p P r v m s ntroduction The indescribable innocence and beneficence of Nature . . . such health, such cheer, they afford! —Walden, Henry David Thoreau (1817–1842) n the 19th century, public open space (POS) was created in the United Kingdom and United States with a view to improving the health and quality of ife of the working classes living in squalid and crowded iving conditions.1–3 Perceived as the “lungs” of pol- uted cities, POS provided alternative activities for the rom the School of Population Health, University of Western Austra- ia (Giles-Corti, Broomhall, Knuiman, Collins, Douglas, Ng, Lange), rawley, Western Australia, Australia, and Division of Health Sci- nces, Curtin University of Technology (Donovan), Perth, Western ustralia, Australia At the time of the studies discussed here, Robert J. Donovan was ffiliated with the School of Population Health, University of Western ustralia, Perth, Western Australia, Australia. Address correspondence and reprint requests to: Billie Giles-Corti, hD, Associate Professor, School of Population Health, The Univer- p ity of Western Australia, 35 Stirling Highway, Crawley 6009, Austra- ia. E-mail: billie@cyllene.uwa.edu.au. m J Prev Med 2005;28(2S2) 2005 American Journal of Preventive Medicine • Published by asses seen to be slipping into “moral decay,” as well as place for physical recreation.4,5 Public open space continues to play an important ole in contemporary society. However, until recent ecognition of the health benefits of brisk walking,6 its otential as a community resource for increasing phys- cal activity has not been the subject of investigation.7 A rowing body of evidence indicates that a range of erceived and objectively measured environmental at- ributes—including access to POS—are associated with alking.8,9 As yet, however, the characteristics of POS hat encourage more physical activity have not been xplored. Items used to measure usage of POS vary in terms of ime period, activities, and types of POS studied. This roduces equally varying estimates of the prevalence of OS usage. For example, U.S. and Australian parks and ecreation surveys report that over 70% of those sur- eyed had visited a park at least once in the previous 12 onths.10,11 However, POS is used for infrequent pas- ive pursuits (e.g., picnicking) as well as for regular hysical activity. The prevalence of use for the latter 1690749-3797/05/$–see front matter Elsevier Inc. doi:10.1016/j.amepre.2004.10.018 p t i 1 w “ e o a o e v g d A s m A f t a o w l a l p i w A f a d f n P c s ( s ( a a u s i t p l ( p a F a p t p i f U t T w a i s M T 4 E i a p P S T a p s o t ( ( ( o e h a r r s w m s A E A 1 urpose is somewhat lower. In Australia, for example, he prevalence of adult use of POS for physical activity n the previous 2 weeks ranges from 13.0%12 to 7.3%.13 This increases to 18% and 23%, respectively, hen combined with use of undeveloped POS (i.e., bushland” or forest). Park usage varies between, and within, countries. For xample, a North Carolina study found that only 8.6% f respondents had used a public park for their physical ctivity in the previous month.14 Unequal distribution f POS throughout cities and between countries may xplain apparent cross-cultural and socioeconomic ariations in POS usage.15 In some Australian states, overnment policy has been used to ensure equal istribution of POS across communities. In Western ustralia, for example, a 1955 metropolitan plan16 tipulated that 10% of land in new housing develop- ents be allocated to POS. This may explain why in ustralia, POS is the third single most popular venue or physical activity, after the streets and home.12,13 Distance from home to POS also seems to influence he frequency of use and type of usage (for physical ctivity or for passive recreation). Two studies of users f a large urban park in Chicago found that compared ith other ethnic groups, Caucasian users were more ikely to visit the park on a daily basis, alone or with nother person. However, they were also more likely to ive nearby and to walk, rather than drive, to the ark.17,18 Non-Caucasian users living farther away vis- ted the park less frequently, were more likely to visit ith a family group, and stayed longer once there. ustralian surveys of users of smaller parks19,20 have ound that, provided there are no physical barriers ffecting access (e.g., a major road), distance is a major eterminant of park use, with most users being drawn rom within a 500-m radius of the park. A literature review by Broomhall21 concluded that umerous observable factors may influence the use of OS. These include the quality and quantity of space; haracteristics of potential users (e.g., socioeconomic tatus, age, gender, and ethnicity); psychological factors e.g., self-efficacy, perceived barriers) influencing per- onal preferences; access to competing local facilities e.g., recreational centers); the match between park ttributes and needs of local users; park maintenance; nd perceived safety. Attributes of POS provide cues about how it is to be sed, and by whom.22,23 Qualitative24 and quantitative urveys suggest that factors influencing use of POS nclude perceived proximity17,24 and accessibility (i.e., he absence of major roads)24; aesthetic features of the ark such as the presence of trees, water (e.g., a ake),10,17,18,24 and birdlife24,26; park maintenance e.g., irrigated lawns)17,18,24; park size (which, in turn rovides variety and opportunities to “lose oneself”)24; nd the availability of amenities such as walking paths.17 actors that influence park usage for passive recre- 70 American Journal of Preventive Medicine, Volume 28, Num tional outings, such as picnics (e.g., availability of icnic tables, barbecues, toilets), are different from hose that encourage physical activity (e.g., walking aths).17,18 Although not raised as an important issue n Australian research,24 perceived safety is another key actor found important to Caucasian users in the nited States.17 The evidence to date suggests that users and poten- ial users prefer proximate, attractive, and larger POS. hus, the aim of this study was to examine the extent to hich access to POS is associated with using POS and chieving recommended levels of physical activity, us- ng three models of accessibility that adjust progres- ively for distance to, attractiveness, and size of the POS. ethods his paper describes three related studies undertaken in a 08-km2 area of metropolitan Perth as part of the Studies of nvironmental and Individual Determinants of physical activ- ty. Two of the studies—an environmental scan of 516 POS nd a survey of adults aged 18 to 59 years (n �1803)—took lace in 1995–1996, and the third, an observational study of OS users (n �772), was carried out in 2002. tudy 1: Environmental Scan he Ministry for Planning (MP) provided the name and ddress of all POS in the study area (n �2500). POS included arks with and without play equipment, recreational grounds, ports fields, commons, esplanades, and buffer strips. Based n qualitative research findings,24,25 the study was restricted o POS �2 acres (n �516). Inaccessible recreational areas e.g., sports stadia) were also excluded. The POS Tool known as the POST) was developed by the second author MB), using information from focus groups24,25 and a review f literature. Content validity was assessed by a panel of six xperts (two community architect and planners, one public ealth academic, one government expert on sport and recre- tion and two government experts on planning). Inter-rater eliability was assessed (n �20),21 and unreliable items were emoved or modified. The reliability of the instrument was atisfactory with kappa values ranging from 0.6 to 1.0. Data ere collected in four domains, including activities, environ- ental quality or aesthetics, amenities, and safety, as de- cribed below. ctivities. Two items related to type of usage (active-formal, active-informal, and passive), and specific activities for which the space was designed (e.g., tennis, football, walking). nvironmental quality. Fifteen items related to the presence of features including birdlife; the number and placement of trees; presence and placement of walking paths, and the amount and quality of shade along the paths; park contours (i.e., slope); whether lawns were irrigated; whether dogs were allowed (leashed or unleashed); and the presence of graffiti. menities. Fourteen items related to the presence of chil- dren’s play equipment, barbecues, picnic tables, parking facilities, public toilets, public transport within 100 meters, ber 2S2 S w l a t p ( r b p t r t p a r p a s p P P S U w h t 4 ( e s S D i p b c a w a a R i d f 2 V a a ( e D m h w P e m d t i o a o o d s g t a a c l w w o t a w a i e b d d M c ( S O T a a P w a a r m ( ( w a seating, fencing within park, clubrooms/meeting rooms, rubbish bins, drinking fountains, a kiosk/cafe, presence and height of boundary fencing, and availability and amount of car parking afety. Four items related to the presence of lighting, visibility of surrounding houses or roads, type of surrounding roads, and presence of crossings. The POST assessed attributes used for active recreation as ell as passive pursuits (e.g., barbecues). Based on the iterature review and focus group research,24,25 ten park ttributes specifically related to participation in physical ac- ivity were selected for inclusion in a composite score of the arks in three domains: five environmental quality factors presence of a water feature, shady trees along walking paths, eticulated lawns and birdlife, the park being adjacent to the each or river); three amenity factors (presence of walking aths, sports facilities, and children’s play equipment); and wo safety factors (presence of lighting and quiet surrounding oads). The advice of expert panel members indicated that hese attributes may not be equally important. Thus, urban lanners in the 13 local government authorities in the study rea were approached to form a second expert panel (77% esponse rate). Based on the importance of each attribute to articipation in physical activity, the panel was asked to llocate 100 points across the attributes; and the average core for each was used as the weight. The weights applied are ublished elsewhere,27 but also appear in Table 2. Two observers collected the POST data, visiting 10 to 15 OS per day (n �516). The observers walked through each OS, checking off each of the items on the POST. tudy 2: Survey of Residents sing probability cluster sampling, healthy homemakers and orkers aged 18 to 59 years were randomly selected from ouseholds in advantaged and disadvantaged collection dis- ricts (CDs) (i.e., top and bottom 20th percentile) in a 08-km2 area of metropolitan Perth, Western Australia n �1803; 52.9% response rate) (referred to later as socio- conomic status [SES] of area of residence).28 CDs are the mallest spatial unit defined by the Australian Bureau of tatistics (ABS) and comprise about 220 households. The isadvantage Index is derived by the ABS from census nformation (e.g., income, educational attainment, unem- loyment, and dwellings without motor vehicles), and was ased on all households in the CD. To control for potentially onfounding variables likely to influence engaging in recre- tional physical activity, ineligible respondents included those ho were unemployed, aged �59 years, ill or injured, and in ctive occupations (i.e., three 20-minutes sessions of vigorous ctivity per week or 1 hour of moderate activity per day). espondents were interviewed in their homes using a 255- tem survey that included measures of the frequency and uration of vigorous and light-to-moderate activity, walking or recreation, and walking for transportation in the previous weeks.29 ariables. Four dichotomous dependent variables were ex- mined: use of POS (defined as use of a POS for physical ctivity in the previous two weeks); sufficient physical activity i.e., accumulation of the equivalent of 30 minutes of mod- rate activity on most days of the week) (see Giles-Corti and s onovan28 for details); walking as recommended (i.e., five or ore walking sessions totaling �150 minutes/week); and igh levels of walking (i.e., six or more sessions of walking/ eek, totaling �180 minutes) (1�Yes, 0�No). The main independent variable studied was accessibility to OS. It was based on a gravity model,30 and is described fully lsewhere.27,28 Geographers conceive of accessibility as a easure of the spatial distribution of facilities adjusted for the esire and the ability of people to overcome distance or travel ime to access a facility or activity.30 Although use of POS is nversely related to distance, the impact of distance depends n the attractiveness of the POS (i.e., its attributes), location, nd the user’s access to transport. The effort required to vercome distance to use a facility is measured by a distance- f-decay parameter. In this study, three models of accessibility were tested: a istance-only model, which estimated distance from the re- pondent’s home to all POS in the study area using geo- raphic information systems software, and which assumed hat all the POS in the study were equally attractive; a distance nd attractiveness model that adjusted for distance and the ttractiveness of the POS, attractiveness being based on a omposite score derived from the nine weighted items col- ected using the POST. The attractiveness score for each POS as estimated as follows: Att � � j Aj * wj here Att is the attractive score, Aj is a binary indicator (0,1) f the presence of the jth attribute, and wj is the weight for he jth attribute. The final model that adjusted for distance, ttractiveness, and size of the POS was as follows: Ai � � j Attj �sj �⁄ d ij � here Ai is the accessibility index at origin i, Attj is the ttractiveness of destination j, sj is the size of destination j, dij s the distance between origin i and destination j; � is an stimated destination-specific attractiveness-decay parameter etween i and j, � is an estimated destination-specific size- ecay parameter between i and j, and � is an estimated estination-specific distance-decay parameter between i and j. ore fully described elsewhere,27,28 destination-specific de- ay parameters were estimated for distance (�), attractiveness �), and size (�). tudy 3: Observations of Public pen Space Users he pilot observational study was undertaken by three of the uthors (KN, KD, CC). The aim was to validate the POST21 to ssess the impact of the attractiveness of POS, independent of OS size. Six pairs of POS from the environmental scan study ere selected, two each from low-, medium-, and high-SES reas. Each pair was located within the same postal code area, nd had a POST score differential of 30 points. The study was estricted to POS �6 hectares in size, and an attempt was ade to match the size of each pair of low-scoring POS mean�3.0 ha, range of 1.8 to 4.8 ha) and high-scoring POS mean�3.3 ha, range of 2.0 to 5.3 ha). An observational tool as used to record the estimated age and gender of users, ctivity performed, who the user was with, and total time pent at the POS. After training observers, the tool was pilot Am J Prev Med 2005;28(2S2) 171 t E 0 w o S T a S 2 a t r o r i p 2 l a e t d s w b q u R D R p a b 1 p w o i D T t o [ ( A P R o o s f s w i w a P 2 t a A a P A n m m A S P A a s l t w t T C A G E S U W W S P 1 ested and satisfactory inter-rater reliability was established. ach pair of POS was monitored on the same Saturday from 730 to1730 hours, with two scheduled breaks. To control for eather-dependent behavior patterns, observations occurred nly on days when temperatures ranged from 20°C to 32°C. tatistical Analysis he data collected in Study 1 were used to develop the ccessibility indices variables described for Study 2. Using PSS, version 11 (SPSS Inc., Chicago), the analysis for Study was based on 1773 survey respondents. Logistic regression nalyses were used to examine multivariate associations be- ween the dependent and independent variables. All models eported were adjusted for age, gender, education, number f children aged �18 years at home, and SES of area of esidence. In one model, use of POS (1�Yes, 0�No) was also ncluded as an independent variable. To develop the distance-, attractiveness- and size-decay arameters used in the accessibility indices described in Study , a linear regression model was used to separately regress the og of distance, attractiveness, and size on the log of percent- ge of opportunities available to access the facilities used. The xponential coefficients from the linear regressions used as he decay parameters in subsequent modeling were 1.91 for istance, 0.52 for attractiveness, and 0.85 for size. The mea- ures of accessibility developed from the three gravity models ere re-coded into quartiles with 1�very poor access (i.e., ottom quartile of access) and 4�very good access (i.e., top uartile of access). Only descriptive analysis of the observational study data was ndertaken. esults escription of Sample eflecting the sampling method, an almost equal pro- ortion of respondents were from high and low SES reas. All age groups were appropriately represented, ut women were over-represented in the sample (Table ). Overall, 28.8% of respondents had used a POS for hysical activity in the previous 2 weeks, 23.0% had alked as recommended, 17.3% reported a high level f walking, and 59.2% had undertaken sufficient activ- ty overall. escription of Public Open Space Attributes able 2 shows the distribution of POS attributes, and he weights assigned to each attribute. The average size f POS in the study area was 6.2 ha (standard deviation SD]�11.1), and the total average POST score was 47.5 SD�9.3). ssociation Between Accessibility and Use of ublic Open Space egardless of the model used (i.e., a simple distance- nly model through to the more complex model), verall use of POS was positively associated with acces- s 72 American Journal of Preventive Medicine, Volume 28, Num ibility (test for trend p �0.000) (Table 3). Accounting or attractiveness as well as distance did not produce a tronger trend with level of access. However, when size as also taken into account, the odds ratio (OR) ncreased for those with very good access. Compared ith those with very poor access, those with very good ccess to large attractive POS were twice as likely to use OS (OR�2.05, 95% confidence interval [CI]�1.52– .75). These results suggest that after distance to POS is aken into account, size was more important than ttractiveness in encouraging use. ssociation Between Use of Public Open Space nd Achieving Recommended Levels of hysical Activity s can be seen in Table 4, those who used POS were early three times as likely as others to achieve recom- ended levels of activity, regardless of how it was easured. ssociation Between Access to Public Open pace and Achieving Recommended Levels of hysical Activity s shown in Table 5, regardless of which model of ccessibility was used, the accessibility of POS was not ignificantly associated with achieving overall sufficient evels of activity or walking as recommended. However, hose with very good access to attractive and large POS ere 50% more likely (OR�1.50, 95% CI�1.06 –2.13) o achieve high levels of walking, that is, six walking able 1. Description of sample haracteristic % (n � 1773) ge group (years) 18–29 26.2 30–39 28.4 40–49 27.1 50–59 17.2 ender Male 32.1 Female 67.9 ducation Subsecondary 21.5 Secondary 23.5 Trade school 5.4 Certificate 22.5 Tertiary 27.0 ES of area of residence Disadvantaged 48.5 Advantaged 51.5 sed POS for physical activity 28.8 alking five sessions/week totaling >150 minutes 23.0 alked six sessions/week totaling >180 minutes 17.3 ufficiently active 59.2 OS, public open space; SES, socioeconomic status. essions/week, totaling �180 minutes. ber 2S2 O T P d O S j o u a h s u i s m i D A m l u C l l f m c w t W o d ( i e s r f r n t g i e p r e r a s f T A S L W S A W Q L B T A a b c P T a T D D D a h b bservational Study Results he observational study was designed to validate the OST by examining whether parks of equal size but ifferential POST scores attracted more or less users. verall, 772 people were observed using the POS. ixty-four percent of those observed were walking or ogging, 12% were cycling, and 5% were engaging in rganized sports. However, 70% of those observed were sing high-scoring POS. Furthermore, 70% of walkers nd joggers and 75% of cyclists observed were using igh-scoring POS. All of those engaged in organized ports were in low-scoring POS. A total of 18.4% of POS sers were engaged in passive pursuits such as picnick- ng, and 82.3% of passive users were visiting high- coring POS. This suggests that high-scoring POS were ore likely to attract walkers, joggers, and those seek- ng passive pursuits. iscussion ccess to proximate and large POS with attributes that ake them attractive appears to encourage higher evels of walking. Having a proximate POS is important because POS se is sensitive to distance.28 Tinsley et al.17 found that able 2. Description of POS attributes ttributes (n � 516) Weight assigneda hade along paths (%) Very good 1.9 16.90 Good 3.1 13.52 Medium 7.0 10.14 Poor 11.0 6.76 Very poor 11.0 3.38 No paths 65.9 0.00 awns irrigated (%)b 63.2 15.30 alking paths present (%)b 34.1 13.90 porting facilities present (%)b 46.7 13.30 djacent ocean or river (%)b 9.6 13.10 ater feature present (%)b 13.0 8.30 uiet surrounding roads (i.e., cul de sac or minor road only)b 54.5 8.00 ighting present (%) Along paths 4.8 6.80 In some areas 23.6 5.10 In barbecue/play equipment areas only 3.3 3.40 No lighting 68.2 0.00 irdlife present (%) 10.9 3.80 otal average score for parks/100 47.5 (SD � 9.3) verage size of POS (ha)c 6.2 (SD � 11.1) Weights assigned based on the presence of each attribute. If attribute not present, weight � 0. Excludes two outliers. OS, public open space; SD, standard deviation. aucasian users of a large, attractive urban park lived q C ocally and walked daily, while non-Caucasian users who ived farther away visited the park infrequently as a amily and for passive recreational pursuits. However, these results suggest that although proxi- ate parks encourage use generally, having good ac- ess to larger POS is associated with higher levels of alking. Larger parks tend to have more attributes21 hat provide more satisfying experiences for the user. hen asked about factors that they liked about POS17 r that influenced use for physical activity,24 respon- ents described trees, water features, bird life, and size, which provided opportunities to “lose oneself”). This s consistent with Kaplan and Kaplan’s31 hypothesis that xposure to nature— even in local parks— can be “re- torative.”31–33 Natural environments are said to be estorative when they give users a sense of being away rom their usual setting, and a sense of fascination esulting from exposure to (for example) birdlife or atural beauty.31 Exposure to restorative environments hat provide satisfying experiences may encourage reater use and help maintain regular walking behav- or. A small experimental study of runners and walk- rs34 randomized to either using the streets or urban arks for their physical activity, found that those who an or walked through urban parks perceived the xperience as more restorative. The respondents also eported higher ratings of happiness, lower anger/ ggression scores34 or anxiety/depression/anger cores,35 and had lower levels of postexercise mental atigue.34 able 3. Logistic regression associating use of POS to ccess to POS ype of model Adjusted odds ratiosa 95% CI istance-only model Very poor accessb 1.00 Poor access 1.28 0.94–1.76 Good access 1.87 1.38–2.53 Very good access 1.87 1.37–2.54 Test for trend p � 0.000 istance and attractiveness model Very poor access 1.00 Poor access 1.03 0.76–1.41 Good access 1.67 1.23–2.25 Very good access 1.62 1.20–2.19 Test for trend p � 0.000 istance, attractiveness, and size model Very poor access 1.00 Poor access 0.90 0.65–1.23 Good access 1.20 0.88–1.64 Very good access 2.05 1.52–2.75 Test for trend p � 0.000 Adjusted for age, gender, education, children aged �18 years at ome and socioeconomic status of area of residence. Very poor access � bottom quartile of access; very good access � top uartile of access. I, confidence interval; POS, public open space. Am J Prev Med 2005;28(2S2) 173 n e m t o s a s t e b c i a I W c n b w u s v a m u u A w i a t u fl e fi o o s a r u s t u o f t a b v g T a T O F S a h C T T o O F S a b C 1 This study found that the impact of POS attractive- ess on park use and higher levels of walking was quivocal without the inclusion of park size in the odel. However, larger POS generally have more at- ributes that make them attractive.21 In addition, the bservational study (Study 3), which controlled for POS ize and compared high- and low-quality POS, found dditional support for the hypothesis that even in maller POS of equivalent size, POS with more at- ributes attract more users. Thus, in the main study, the quivocal results related to attractiveness may have een due to the selection of attributes used in the omposite score, the assignment of weights, or the nclusion of the attractiveness-decay parameter in the ccessibility model. mplications for Research and Practice ell-designed public open spaces are an important omponent of the recreational mix providing opportu- ities for physical activity and social interaction. It may e possible to attract more users to POS by creating able 4. Logistic regression associating use of POS to chieving recommended levels of physical activity ype of model Adjusted odds ratiosa 95% CI verall levels of sufficient activity 2.66 2.10–3.37 ive or more walking sessions/ week totaling �150 minutes 2.78 2.19–3.54 ix or more walking sessions/week totaling �180 minutes 2.82 2.17–3.67 Adjusted for age, gender, education, children aged �18 years at ome and socioeconomic status of area of residence. I, confidence interval; POS, public open space. able 5. Logistic regressions associating different levels of ph ype of behavior and level f accessb Distance-only model OR (95% CI) verall sufficient physical activity Very poor access to POS 1.00 Poor access to POS 0.69 (0.52–0.92) Good access to POS 0.89 (0.67–1.17) Very good access to POS 0.87 (0.66–1.15) ive or more walking sessions/week totaling >150 minutes Very poor access to POS 1.00 Poor access to POS 1.01 (0.73–1.41) Good access to POS 1.04 (0.75–1.44) Very good access to POS 1.20 (0.87–1.65) ix or more walking sessions/week totaling >180 minutes Very poor access to POS 1.00 Poor access to POS 1.02 (0.70–1.48) Good access to POS 1.19 (0.83–1.71) Very good access to POS 1.14 (0.79–1.65) Adjusted for age, gender, education, children aged �18 years at ho Very poor access � bottom quartile of access; very good access � top qua I, confidence interval; OR, odds ratios; POS, public open space. 74 American Journal of Preventive Medicine, Volume 28, Num alking trails that link smaller local parks through the se of signage, developing shaded walking paths land- caped with trees and shrubs selected to maximize isibility,37 creating interest by developing undulating reas around the perimeter of flat POS, and better aintenance and care of the POS. Encouraging more se will have a synergistic effect by attracting even more sers and thereby making the POS safer.37 Redesigning existing space is also important. An ustralian study found that despite the popularity of alking, a disproportionate amount of community POS s zoned for organized sports (i.e., playing fields known s “ovals” in Australia) rather than for informal activi- ies such as walking or jogging.36 Playing fields are sually characterized by being well irrigated, green, and at, and thus, insufficiently interesting to attract walk- rs. When not being used for organized sports, playing elds are usually under-utilized and mainly used for ccasional informal ball sports by children or by dog wners exercising their dogs.24 The small observational tudy confirmed that fewer people use POS with fewer ttributes. With thoughtful design, it is possible to edesign playing fields with public access for multiple sers— organized sports participants, walkers, and pas- ive recreational users—thereby making better use of his important community resource.36 Similarly, greater se could be made of school playing fields, which are ften not used during out-of-school hours. Despite a number of limitations and the need for urther development, gravity models may be useful ools for physical activity research. In attempting to djust for attractiveness and size, this study tried to go eyond simply thinking about distance as the only ariable that encourages use of a destination. As sug- ested by Handy and Neimeier,38 it is also important to l activity to accessibility of POSa Distance and attractiveness model OR (95% CI) Distance, attractiveness, and size model OR (95% CI) 1.00 1.00 0.71 (0.54–0.94) 0.82 (0.62–1.09) 0.90 (0.68–1.19) 0.73 (0.55–0.96) 0.87 (0.66–1.16) 0.91 (0.68–1.20) 1.00 1.00 0.98 (0.70–1.36) 0.68 (0.48–0.95) 1.19 (0.86–1.65) 0.96 (0.69–1.32) 1.23 (0.89–1.69) 1.24 (0.91–1.70) 1.00 1.00 1.05 (0.72–1.53) 0.73 (0.50–1.08) 1.27 (0.88–1.82) 1.11 (0.77–1.59) 1.24 (0.86–1.79) 1.50 (1.06–2.13) d socioeconomic status of area of residence. ysica me an rtile of access. ber 2S2 c a a i c “ r o t a o c b f i u a a m t L W A h s w c r w r e F m a C T c l S t t r m p T P d a b 2 o R 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 onsider the quality of destinations and how this might ffect use. The approach taken in this study could be pplied to other destinations (e.g., access to shops) mportant for walking. Applying a gravity model over- omes the problem of having to define a specific neighborhood.”39,40 For example, in this study, all espondents had access to all destinations (regardless f where they were located). However, by incorporating he distance-of-decay parameter, destinations farther way had little impact on access. This approach also vercomes concerns about the “ecologic fallacy,” be- ause the exposure variables were linked to individual ehavioral outcomes,41 while allowing for adjustment or confounding factors. Future research could exam- ne the specific attributes that make parks attractive to sers, more sophisticated methods of weighting park ttributes before deriving an overall score, different pproaches to using attractiveness factors in gravity odels, and the interaction between factors such dis- ance, size, and attractiveness. imitations ith a population of about 1.2 million, Perth is one of ustralia’s smaller capital cities, and enjoys a relatively igh standard of living by national and international tandards.28 Due to limited resources, a study area ithin Perth was selected, and to control for potential onfounding variables, those who might have some eason not to engage in recreational physical activity ere excluded. In addition, the sample was limited to esidents of socially advantaged and disadvantaged ar- as. These factors may limit the study’s generalizability. inally, the approach to weighting the attributes that ake POS attractive may have resulted in the results on ttractiveness being equivocal. onclusions his study confirmed that POS is an important ommunity resource. Good access to attractive and arge POS is associated with higher levels of walking. imply providing proximate POS appears insufficient o increase walking: Consideration needs to be given o its size and attributes that make it attractive. More esearch is required to understand the attributes that ake POS attractive and which encourage more hysical activity. his research was funded by the Western Australian Health romotion Foundation (Healthway). Kathryn Boyd and An- reana Kursar, who assisted with auditing, are gratefully cknowledged. The first author (BG-C) is currently supported y a NHMRC/NHF Career Development Award (grant 54688). 2 No financial conflict of interest was reported by the authors f this paper. eferences 1. MacMaster N. The battle for Mousehold Heath 1857–1884: popular politics and the Victorian public park. Past and Present, 1990, pp. 117–54. 2. Arnold HF. Trees in urban design. 2nd ed. New York: Van Norstrand Reinhold, 1993. 3. Percifull E, Thomas S, Kendle T. Multi-cultural parks. Landscape Design, 1993, pp. 9 –12. 4. Solecki W, Welch J. Urban parks: green spaces or green walls? Landscape Urban Planning 1995;32:93–106. 5. Maller C, et al. Healthy parks, healthy people: the health benefits of contact with nature in a park context. Melbourne: Deakin University, 2002. 6. U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Physical activity and health: a report of the Surgeon General. Atlanta GA: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, National Center for Chronic Disease Prevention and Health Promotion, 1996. 7. Sallis J, Bauman A, Pratt M. Environmental and policy interventions to promote physical activity. Am J Prev Med 1998;15:379 –97. 8. Owen N, et al. Understanding environmental influences on walking. Am J Prev Med 2004;27:67–76. 9. McCormack G, et al. An update of recent evidence of the relationship between objective and self-report measures of the physical environment and physical activity behaviours. J Sci Med Sport 2004;7:81–92. 0. Veal T. Using Sydney’s parks. Parks and Leisure Australia, September 21–23, 2001. 1. Payne L, Mowen A, Orsega-Smith E. An examination of park preferences and behaviors among urban residents: the role of residential location, race and age. Leisure Sci 2002;24:81–98. 2. DASETT. Physical activity levels of Australians. Canberra: AGPS, 1988. 3. McCormack G, et al. Physical activity levels of Western Australian adults 2002: results from the adult physical activity survey. Perth, Western Austra- lia: Government Printing Office, 2003. 4. Huston S, et al. Neighbourhood environment, access to places for activity, and leisure-time physical activity in a diverse North Carolina population. Am J Health Promotion 2003;18:58 – 69. 5. King AC, et al. Environmental and policy approaches to cardiovascular disease prevention through physical activity: issues and opportunities. Health Educ Q 1995;22:499 –511. 6. Stephenson G, Hepburn J. Plan for the metropolitan region Perth and Fremantle. Perth, Western Australia: Government Printing Office, 1955. 7. Tinsley H, Tinsley D, Croskeys C. Park usage, social milieu and psychosocial benefits of park use reported by older urban park users from four ethnic groups. Leisure Sci 2002;24:199 –218. 8. Gobster P. Managing urban parks for a racially and ethnically diverse clientele. Leisure Sci 2002;24:143–59. 9. Boyle R. Survey of the use of small parks. Aust Parks Recreation 1983;:41–3. 0. Just D. Appropriate amounts and design of open spaces. Aust Parks Recreation 1989;25:32–9. 1. Broomhall MH. Study of the availability and environmental quality of urban open space used for physical activity. Master’s thesis, Department of Public Health, University of Western Australia, Perth, 1996. 2. Rutledge AJ. Anatomy of a park: the essentials of recreation area planning and design. New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company, 1971. 3. Whyte WH. The social life of small urban spaces. Washington DC: Conservation Foundation, 1980. 4. Corti B, Donovan RJ, Holman CDJ. Factors influencing the use of physical activity facilities: results from qualitative research. Health Promotion J Aust 1996;6:16 –21. 5. Corti B, Donovan RJ, Holman CDJ, Shilton TR. Encouraging the sedentary to be active every day: qualitative formative research. Health Promotion J Aust 1995;5:10 –7. 6. Raymore LD, Scott D. The characteristics and activities of older adult visitors to a metropolitan park district. J Park Recreation Admin 1998;16:1–21. 7. Giles-Corti B, Donovan R. Increasing walking: the relative influence of individual, social environmental and physical environmental factors. Am J Public Health 2003;93:1583–9. 8. Giles-Corti B, Donovan R. The relative influence of individual, social and Am J Prev Med 2005;28(2S2) 175 2 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 4 1 physical environmental determinants of physical activity. Social Sci Med 2002;54:1793– 812. 9. Risk Factor Prevalence Study Management Committee. Risk Factor Preva- lence Study Survey No 3 1989. Canberra: National Heart Foundation of Australia and Australian Institute of Health, 1990. 0. Hansen WG. How accessibility shapes land use. J Am Inst Planners 1959;15:73– 6. 1. Kaplan R, Kaplan S. The experience of nature: a psychological perspective. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989. 2. Kaplan S. The restorative benefits of nature: toward an integrative frame- work. J Environ Psych 1995;15:169 – 82. 3. Herzog T, et al. Reflection and attentional recovery as distinctive benefits of restorative environments. J Environ Psych 1997;17:176 – 80. 4. Hartig T, Mang M, Evans G. Restorative effects of natural environment experiences. Environ Behav 1991;23:3–26. 4 76 American Journal of Preventive Medicine, Volume 28, Num 5. Bodin M, Hartig T. Does the outdoor environment matter for pyschological restoration gained through running? Psychol Sport Exerc 2003;4:141–53. 6. Hahn A, Craythorn E. Inactivity and the physical environment in two regional centres. Health Promotion J Aust 1994;4:43–5. 7. Kuo F, Sullivan. Environment and crime in the inner city: does vegetation reduce crime? Environ Behav 2001;33:343– 67. 8. Handy S, Neimeier D. Measuring accessibility: an exploration of issues and alternatives. Environ Planning 1997;29:1175–94. 9. Pikora T, et al. Developing a reliable audit instrument to measure the physical environment for physical activity. Am J Prev Med 2002;23:187–94. 0. Pikora T, et al. Developing a framework for assessment of the environ- mental determinants of walking and cycling. Social Sci Med 2003;56: 1693–793. 1. Hennekens C, Buring J. Epidemiology in medicine. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1987. ber 2S2 Increasing Walking Introduction Methods Study 1: Environmental Scan Activities. Environmental quality. Amenities. Safety. Study 2: Survey of Residents Variables. Study 3: Observations of Public Open Space Users Statistical Analysis Results Description of Sample Description of Public Open Space Attributes Association Between Accessibility and Use of Public Open Space Association Between Use of Public Open Space and Achieving Recommended Levels of Physical Activity Association Between Access to Public Open Space and Achieving Recommended Levels of Physical Activity Observational Study Results Discussion Implications for Research and Practice Limitations Conclusions Acknowledgment References
work_njhqoy54ybexdjqgoy2h6w4cey ---- Another Look from Sanderson's Farm: A Perspective on New England Environmental History and Conservation Another Look from Sanderson's Farm: A Perspective on New England Environmental History and Conservation Author(s): Brian Donahue Reviewed work(s): Source: Environmental History, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Jan., 2007), pp. 9-34 Published by: Forest History Society and American Society for Environmental History Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25473031 . Accessed: 05/04/2012 11:46 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. Forest History Society and American Society for Environmental History are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Environmental History. http://www.jstor.org http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=fhs http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=aseh http://www.jstor.org/stable/25473031?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp BRIAN DONAHUE another look from SANDERSON'S FARM: A PERSPECTIVE ON NEW ENGLAND ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY AND CONSERVATION ABSTRACT Hugh Raup's "Sanderson's Farm" essay is remembered for Its vivid account of New England land use history, illustrated by the famous Harvard Forest dioramas. But Raup also used that history to argue that natural resource conservation (particularly as attempted at Harvard Forest itself) had proven a failure, because it assumed economic and ecological stability that was naive and untenable. This article reexamines the history of New England farming and forests, and explores ways in which the current understanding of that history and its implications have been used at Harvard Forest to support a renewed call for wide scale land conservation. I HAVE ALWAYS FELT a bit uneasy about Hugh Raup's classic "View from lohn Sanderson's Farm," published in the journal of Forest History in 1966. Perhaps the most widely cited article in the history of that journal (which is now merged with this one) it was forcefully written, firmly grounded in New England history, and very persuasive. Conservation, Raup concluded, is out of touch with ecological reality and seldom pays. Was he telling us that conservation is bunk? Raup raised his challenge after the heyday of the gospel of efficiency in resource management, but before the rise of the modern environmental movement. Safeguarding the land's long-term productivity was the conservationist's creed. Raup rejected that. He denied that the use of nature should be clouded by moral considerations, which he called emotional. Instead, Raup championed laissez-faire: Get it while you can. It is naive to try to save resources for tomorrow, said Raup. Tomorrow's demands will be different, and technologies will change to meet them, thanks to human ingenuity. Raup urged Brian Donahue, "Another Look from Sanderson's Farm: A Perspective on New England Environmental History and Conservation," Environmental History 12 (January 2007): 9-34. 10 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 1. Hugh Raup. * "** ^-^_^l43iB_l__W_L " .^v* ?5-f:; ^ ^^ii^^f^^PB^^^ l_____________________i 'wA^ - *$ ^jV4mHH-_-0__-_-_-_-_-_-_H *^^yp^^wwa^^lMy^g i.-v^-'t '^^Sf1^_^____^P_!_P^^__K__^__^__^__^__^__^__H P^^S9_G_9____^__i__Jl^^m'' ?* * * __!__* * ^______^BHi^H-^^__-_________________________ ^_8_!^^j_&i& * - * *^*v#' a ll^_^^i9____^B_H__H_^__^B^_S__Ri^__^__^__^_i^__? II Courtesy of Harvard Forest Archives, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. Hugh Raup (right, with pipe) listens as Ernest Gould (left, with pipe) talks with University of Syracuse forestry students on Petersham town common, 1965. landowners to take advantage of current market opportunities, trusting that those who come next will do the same with whatever resources they inherit. Land and trees, he said, merely provide shifting "stage and scenery" to this unpredictable but always progressive human drama. Hugh Raup was director of the Harvard Forest from 1946 to 1967. His acerbic take on the history of New England land use was even less charitable toward his own institution. Raup's tenure came in the aftermath of Harvard Forest's early twentieth-century push to promote conservation of New England's regenerating forests for sustained timber yield-an effort he declared a "dismal failure." Raup himself was an Arctic biologist, geographer, and field botanist. Under his guidance, Harvard Forest researchers turned away from forest management and toward study of ecology and history. To this day they devote themselves primarily not to silviculture, but to scientific investigation of the New England landscape. Yet in spite of Raup, Harvard Forest still promotes forest conservation, and on a grand scale. The urge to conserve just will not die. Perhaps it is time to reexamine Raup's view of New England's environmental history, and his nettlesome challenge to conservation. ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 11 Figure 2. "Clearing of a Homestead by an Early Settler 1740 A.D." Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. One of the famous series of seven Fisher Museum dioramas that show the history of land use in Petersham. In general, these models have stood the test of time. HUGH RAUP'S HISTORICAL essay had no citations, but his sources aren't far to seek. He clearly drew on Percy Bidwell, Harold Wilson, and John Black.1 These Harvard and Yale men wrote the seminal works on the hardscrabble history of rural New England, up through the first part of the twentieth century. Theirs was a hard-headed, unsentimental economists' view: The way New Englanders used the land had been driven by large-scale market forces that farmers could scarcely comprehend, much less control. This became the classic account of the rise and fall of New England's agrarian culture and landscape, and the matching fall and rise of its forest. But the most succinct, vivid, compelling version of that story may belong to Hugh Raup. His account was particularly moving because it evoked not just one place he knew-the Sanderson farm that became Harvard Forest-but simultaneously another: the Ohio farmland of his youth. The farmers who opened that rich country in his grandfather's day had innocently destroyed the agricultural prosperity of their counterparts back in Massachusetts. They shuttered the noble view the Sanderson family and their neighbors had painstakingly cleared, returning leagues of pastures to pines. In Raup's telling, the changing outlook from this New England hillside unfolded in neat, half century pieces. First came the founding of Petersham, an upland town in central Massachusetts, in 1733-already four generations into the settling of that colony 12 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 3. "Height of Agriculture 1830 A.D." ^^^^^tK^^^^^^^^B^^^^^S^SBl^P'^^':i^^^^ .-^ ;'|iiil!^^ Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. Note the improved farm house, and most of the land converted to pasture. But also note the red cedar and two tall white pines at left, fated to endow much of this landscape with their progeny. by English farmers. The first Sanderson upon the scene, Jonathan, acquired in 1763 the core of the land that would become Harvard Forest and pioneered a farm. In Petersham, the colonial era was a time of slow development of a "self contained economy," according to Raup. The inhabitants "lived by a subsistence agriculture. They had no external markets worthy of the name for three generations. They cleared very little land during that time, for they had no need to, nor could they afford to. ... By 1791 only about 15 per cent of the town had been cleared of forest."2 Next, from 1791 to 1850 came a "period of prosperity" in which farmland in Petersham expanded rapidly to about two-thirds of the landscape, opening bright prospects. On the Sanderson farm, which had passed from Jonathan to his son John, clearing may have reached 90 percent. John Sanderson amassed a large holding of 330 acres, grew prosperous as a farmer and tanner, and built a handsome Georgian house. He and his neighbors succeeded, according to Raup, not because of any change in the land or fresh initiative in how to use it, but in response to an external stimulus-the rise of strong demand for their produce in the mill towns of industrializing New England. Farming brought modest but real wealth in spite of the soil's poor quality, thanks to chance proximity to new markets. Raup's argument followed the main lines of Percy Bidwell's "New England agricultural revolution," though judging from the Sanderson example ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 13 Figure 4. "Farm Abandonment 1850 A.D." HHHH . ^.v^SHS?5\>*'. ^^:i{|^^^^S^__M_________^____| Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. This is perhaps the most problematic of the dioramas. Although pines, cedars, and brush would surely have been invading many pastures, the picture of farm enterprises in utter collapse is misleading. that revolution began some decades earlier than Bidwell thought, as historians have since confirmed.3 No matter when it began, this agricultural prosperity did not last. Abruptly, it all fell apart. Again, it was nothing that the Sandersons and their neighbors did wrong-they had farmed and built as well as their technology allowed, and presumably meant to stay. It was people like Hugh Raup's grandfather-a miller, and then a farm implement manufacturer-who had moved on to more fertile, easily worked soils in places like western Ohio, where corn sprang out of the ground without manure, and a man could plow straight to the horizon. It was investors who built the Erie Canal, and then the railroads, bringing inexpensive midwestern foodstuffs to the East Coast. Once this national network of production was in place, the New England farm economy collapsed "rather suddenly and on a large scale over wide expanses of the landscape. Agricultural use of the land was simply abandoned as the Sandersons and others like them sought prosperity elsewhere. Probably at least half the open land, and perhaps more, went out of farming within 20 years after 1850."4 Here, Raup echoed Wilson's Hill Country of Northern New England along with Black's Rural Economy of New England, right down to the maps of the shrinking road net in the shriveling upland town.5 During the second half of the nineteenth century Petersham farmers moved away, or fell on hard times, or searched for something new. The Sandersons, either through foresight or good fortune, had already sold 14 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 5: "'Old Field' White Pine on Abandoned Land 1910 A.D." i^lM^ttrti^^-- ,...________^__lBi^B ^^H^^^^^^m ^B|ilii^jfc^^^^^^^^^Htiiaiii0r ? * _^tii__fl__^__BP^^ - ---^'^^^bBBjHBB^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^B Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. Here the pine that sprang up on the old farm has been felled, and lumber can be seen issuing from a portable sawmill at the lower left. A few hardwoods have been left standing, and many more would sprout from stumps faster than pines could re-seed and grow?giving rise to a stand dominated by black birch, red maple, and red oak. the farm back in 1845, extricated their capital, and started a bank. The next era in Hugh Raup's chronology was the pine box-board boom, lasting from the turn of the century until 1940, at best. Abandoned farmland had quickly seeded to white pine, which is supremely well adapted to colonize old pastures. As this pine matured, its owners discovered it could be profitably converted into containers to ship goods throughout the nation. Again, none of this-and here is the lynchpin of Raup's argument-was by design, or by good long-term management. The pine just happened to be there because of the earlier collapse of farming, the market just happened to be there because no one had invented cardboard yet. But they had invented the portable sawmill, and landowners responded with alacrity to another unforeseen economic opportunity. And so Petersham's pines were swiftly cut and milled, and some of them made their way to Ohio in the form of pine buckets packed with salt mackerel, which young Hugh brought home from the store for his mother. He didn't much care for mackerel, himself. That bucket gives Raup's story its special flavor. Just as his grandfather's implements had spelled doom for Sanderson's farm back in Massachusetts, now the boy was holding the pine that followed-cut (figuratively, at least) from the very place where he would one day work for himself. For at that moment, in ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 15 1907, as the portable mills were proliferating, Harvard Forest was born. These pioneering conservationists were led by Richard Fisher, an early student of Gifford Pinchot. They saw the pines of Petersham as more than a happenstance of history. They saw the forest as an imperiled resource to be conserved by careful management. The pasture pines were being harvested at the climax of the great cut-over of the primary forests of the eastern half of the United States, half a century of concerted devastation. The boom had swept first across the North Woods from Maine to Minnesota, picking out the towering old-growth pines to build cities like New York and Boston. Now the lumber barons were clear-felling the remainder of the same forests, taking spruce for pulp and hemlock for tanbark. With the advent of logging railroads they had moved on to strip the longleaf pines from the South, and the grand oaks, maples, chestnuts, and tulip poplars up and down the rugged Appalachian mountain chain. Everywhere, in the wake of unscrupulous logging, came scourging fires. With this feverish consumption of natural capital showing no sign of abating, and nothing left standing but the West Coast, the nation seemed headed for a timber famine. As the Harvard foresters looked around at the knotty second-growth pines being cut in Petersham, and the younger trees springing up on more recently abandoned farm land, they set about learning how to provide for the future by managing the rebounding New England forest for sustained yield. They were wrong, said Hugh Raup. Their fundamental mistake was that while they were trying to manage trees on a sixty-year planning horizon (which proved difficult enough in itself), they did not consider the "human element." They did not understand that "the human mind produces changes in uses of wood several times faster than trees can grow." By the middle of the twentieth century sawn wood packaging had been replaced by cardboard and plastic, and the world had entered a long era of timber glut. Just as the New England agrarian landscape didn't provide the permanence that the nineteenth-century farmers who laboriously cleared it had expected, the forests that recovered those pastures proved not to have the lasting value assumed by twentieth-century foresters. In fact, by the second half of the twentieth century, the land in places like Petersham possessed little productive value of any kind, but was instead coming to be appreciated mainly for its aesthetic value as a nice place to live-mere stage and scenery. Indeed, said Raup, the guiding assumption of the whole conservation movement, that "the land and its productivity must be preserved at all costs," was "in serious conflict with reality."6 Conservation, said Raup, "has been plagued by stresses originating from deep cleavages between theory and reality, the former often clouded by emotions." Conservation theory was muddled by "moral issues, whether they belong there or not."7 By framing the issue this way Raup was apparently (again, he cited no one) invoking Aldo Leopold's land ethic, and firmly repudiating it. Leopold's plea was precisely that human society should extend moral consideration to the entire biotic community. Leopold, too, had spoken of a deep 16 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) "cleavage" in American society: between those who saw land as something from which to extract commodities as cheaply as possible and those with a budding "ecological conscience" who saw land as a community within which human beings were "plain members and citizens" with not just privileges but responsibilities.8 Surveying the conservation movement itself, Leopold placed most foresters on the economic side of the divide, "content to grow trees like cabbages" instead of managing natural forests for broader biotic values. But for Hugh Raup, the cleavage was between ecological theory and the real world. Conservation theorists like Leopold accused humans of sinning against nature in moral terms that made no sense to farmers like John Sanderson, who were just trying to produce what people needed to live. Even Leopold's mercenary production foresters were too idealistic for Raup, because their long-term plans assumed both economic and ecological stability that didn't exist. The John Sandersons of the world had no practical way of implementing such plans, without going broke. Raup frequently delivered his view from Sanderson's farm as a public lecture. Addressing a general audience, he concentrated on the economic flaws of conservation. He developed that in a parallel essay called "Some Problems in Ecological Theory and their Relation to Conservation," published in the Journal of Ecology in 1964. Among ecologists, Raup was a mid-century pioneer of the idea that North American vegetation had never enjoyed the predictable march of succession to a stable climax state theorized by the likes of Henry Cowles, Frederick Clements, and Lucy Braun, but had always been marked by disturbance.9 The forests of New England were open systems heading for uncertain futures. Yet conservationist thought had been pervaded by the false ideal that forests and grasslands were closed, self-replicating systems, slowly returning to normal after the unusually harsh disturbances brought upon them by the invasion of European farmers and lumbermen. That idea was wrong too: Disturbance and change were normal. The problem with the Harvard foresters was not that they tried to grow trees like truck crops, without listening to their biotic conscience. It was that they had been misled by half a century of fuzzy ecological thinking, and were trying to induce sustained yield from managed versions of stable ecosystems that had never been there in the first place. Conservation had been dominated from the start by a moral ideal of economic and ecological stability that Raup believed had no basis in fact. Conservationists like Leopold held that human society should strive to achieve harmony with nature, and some degree of permanence (or at least decent long term planning) in our relation to the land, by imposing ethical restraints on economic behavior. Raup responded that rather than planning for a future that was unknowable, we would be better off meeting immediate economic demands-the history of New England proved that, he said. Human innovation makes long-term planning impossible: If you have valuable trees, cut them now. Tomorrow, they may be worth nothing. Luckily, the land is capable of recovering ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 17 from such treatment-trie New England forest proved that also. It had been preconditioned by its long history of adapting to natural disasters to be cut hard and bounce back.10 Hugh Raup was surely right about many things. The half century since he wrote has proven as unpredictable as he predicted. The value of forest products in Massachusetts has gone up and down, with oak often unexpectedly topping pine, and with an unexpected firewood boomlet in the 1970s. But in general the market for wood has been soft, making sustainable forestry (as we now call it) as difficult to practice as Raup said it would be. The land has gained much higher market value for housing development, and that high price has sometimes been met by a new kind of conservation that reflects new social values. Meanwhile, among scientists Raup's position that ecosystems are frequently disturbed, open systems as much a product of their unique histories as of pre-determined, self replicating internal dynamics has gone mainstream. Many ecologists now caution that trying to restore forests to their pre-European condition is a chimera. Harvard Forest researchers have published a great deal of work in support of Raup's position that the New England forest will never develop back toward what it once was, but only forward along a new trajectory influenced by its history of disturbance and by the unknown impact of changes to come.11 And yet, the modern community of scientists at Harvard Forest has drawn a very different lesson from that history of landscape change, and has advanced a conservation initiative as ambitious as any its founders a century ago could have imagined: Wildlands and Woodlands, a call for the stewardship of fully one half of the state of Massachusetts in permanently protected forest. In this proposal prominent roles are granted both to large reserves that closely resemble pre-European conditions, and to sustainable forestry.12 This is a long way from Hugh Raup, even though the past half century has played out much as he foretold. It sounds positively Leopoldian. What changed? Does New England environmental history allow for a different interpretation-a new view from Sanderson's farm-that can support these conservation ideals? IN RAUP'S HISTORY of New England, both human culture and the land in little Petersham responded reflexively to a larger driving force: the market. The market changed repeatedly because of technological progress in people's ability to extract and transport natural resources throughout an expanding industrial economy. In the colonial era there was little outside demand for produce and therefore little farm development, but in the first half of the nineteenth century there were strong markets and therefore rapid clearing. When the farm market collapsed, the forest quickly returned; when a market for pine appeared, it was quickly cut; when that market in turn collapsed it became impossible to sustain long-term forestry, in spite of the best efforts of conservationists. The rise of the automobile by the mid-twentieth century foretold a new market for land in Petersham, for residential development. Only a fool would deny the power of these market forces. But one might ask, 18 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) first, whether people in Petersham had so little ability to adapt their relation with the land to changing demands; and second, whether the response of the land itself was as simple as Raup proposed. Beyond that, of course, one might ask whether the overarching economic and technological changes that Raup described are as eternally progressive or sustainable as he seemed to assume. Maybe Raup was right about the power of the market, but wrong about the corresponding need for conservation. A New England story retold along other lines might again make conservation seem to be a worthy goal. It surely won't make it seem easy. Raup's sharp contrast between a stagnant Petersham in the colonial era and a vigorously expanding commercial Petersham in the nineteenth century captured an important transformation in New England, but in a way that exaggerated and distorted it. Eighteenth-century Petersham was not so isolated and lethargic as Raup made it seem-things were moving right along. Raup's figure of only 15 percent of the town cleared of forest in 1791 was impossibly low, as he knew.13 In fact, Petersham was something like 12 percent cleared in 1771, and already about 25 percent cleared by 1791, after only two generations, not three. Population was growing and farm settlement was expanding fast, repeating a pattern of town making long familiar in Massachusetts. Had agricultural development continued to replicate mother towns such as Concord and Lancaster, Petersham (along with all the similar towns surrounding it) would have been full of farms after three or four generations. Half to two-thirds of the landscape would have been cleared by the mid-nineteenth century, increased outside stimulation or not. These hill towns might have wound up with somewhat more woodland and pasture, and somewhat fewer farmsteads than earlier lowland towns, but not a lot. Raup may have been correct in calling Petersham's economy at this early stage largely "self-contained," although no doubt it had connections with older towns and the coast, principally in pasturing beef cattle. But he was wrong in suggesting that little land was being cleared. New England yeomen and goodwives had proven themselves capable of converting forest to a working agrarian landscape by sheer demographic force, long before they were fully engaged in a larger market economy.14 But something did change in Petersham during the first half of the nineteenth century, as Raup suggested. Population growth in the town slowed, reaching a peak during the century's second quarter. At the same time cleared land jumped to 61 percent by 1831 and kept on climbing for another half century. New farm creation stumbled, while clearing went on leaping ahead. The great majority of this farmland-about two-thirds of it-was pasture, and most of the rest was hay. The number of acres in tillage scarcely grew at all and never rose above 4 percent of all the land in town. New England was in the midst of the rapid expansion of a commercial grazing economy. Much of the clearing was for wool, but Petersham was not really part of the Merino sheep boom that stripped the forests of hill towns farther west and north with lightning speed. Petersham pastured hundreds of sheep, for example, while in the Berkshire hills ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 19 across the Connecticut River valley the town of Ashfield pastured thousands. In Petersham farmers raised beef cattle,followed by butter and cheese. It was a cow economy. Hugh Raup was correct that stronger markets and a more commercial approach to farming accelerated agricultural expansion in Petersham and brought new prosperity to some, like John Sanderson. But, again, there are caveats to Raup's simple argument. First, market opportunities did not strike Petersham farmers like a bolt from the blue, sparking those who were still breathing into belated activity. The market revolution sprang as much from within rural society as from outside it, and did not follow industrialization so much as drive it. After all, the entrepreneurs setting up shop along every brook in New England were often the brothers and cousins of these farmers, if not the farmers themselves. John Sanderson was not just a farmer-he was a real estate speculator, a cattle drover, and a successful tanner. The vertical integration among those enterprises isn't hard to imagine. Second, not everyone prospered in the new commercial environment-farmers were much more likely to go bankrupt than they had been in the past. John Sanderson acquired the bulk of his 330 acres from neighbors who had downsized, or left-his expansion by definition accounted for two new 100-acre farms that were never created, or existing farms that failed. Failure did not have to await western competition, but was woven into the new economy.15 Finally, there was an underlying ecological problem: New England farmers never figured out how to keep all those rapidly cleared pastures productive. They were skinning the land, and they knew it. This is crucial to understanding what happened next: the centerpiece of Raup's anti-planning parable, the fabled collapse of New England farming between 1850 and 1900 at the hands of western competition. It just didn't happen like that. Half of the farmland in Petersham was not "simply abandoned" to forest in the twenty years after 1850, as Raup asserted. In fact, the amount of cleared farmland there kept rising until it peaked at 70 percent in 1885, and then went into steep decline. That consumes most of Raup's supposed period of collapse, but the issue is not just about three or four decades difference in timing. The real point is what was going on within those pastures. For decades, Massachusetts farmers had been aware that they had a problem with their upland pastures and hayfields,the basis of their grazing economy. In the first place, continuous grazing and haying with no effective return of manure (which was consigned to tilled land) along with the weak performance of clover in those acid granite soils led to a steady drain of nutrients and hence declining yields. Second, continuous grazing encouraged the spread of pasture weeds such as hardhack, juniper, red cedar, and (notably) white pine-whatever the cows wouldn't eat. Controlling these native woody invaders of an alien sward took hard labor with the brush whack, in the face of diminishing returns. Not just George Perkins Marsh and Henry David Thoreau worried about excessive clearing and ecological degradation in New England-farmers themselves were 20 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) wrestling with this problem throughout the middle decades of the nineteenth century. In the end, they decided that the only sensible thing to do was to let most of their spent pastures go, and stop clearing new ones. Pastures were not filling up with pines because farms had been abandoned. Even on prosperous farms, pastures were abandoned because they were filling up with pines.16 This startling transformation in the landscape was made possible by the arrival of cheap feed grains from Raup's Ohio, and points west. It was a godsend to New England farmers. The idea that Midwestern grain could have caused the collapse of New England farming is an odd one, considering how little of New England farmland was committed to tillage to begin with. Cheap grain did cause a decline in tilled land-in Petersham between 1850 and 1900 it plummeted from 4 percent of the landscape to 2 percent, for example. But what cheap grain enabled was a surge in dairy production. Cows were fed a richer diet, greatly increasing their year-round yield of milk. They also increased their yield of fertilizer, which farmers devoted to their best hay and silage, most of which was run back through the cows. These changes in stock feeding and nutrient flow gave rise to statistical paradoxes: Between 1880 and 1910, the acreage in agricultural production in Massachusetts fell in half-the vast majority of that loss was pasture. During the same thirty years, the value of agricultural production doubled. New England farming was undergoing dramatic change, but it was hardly collapsing.17 The peak of Massachusetts agricultural production was not in fact around the time of the Civil War, as standard accounts like Raup's would have it, but about 1910. The leading sector in this late nineteenth-century New England farm boom, if I may call it that, was dairy; followed by advances in production of hay, vegetables and fruits, and poultry. New England farmers purchased cheap grain from Raup's Ohio, which they knew very well came from soil mining with which they could not compete, and turned it into what they called "concentrated products" for nearby urban markets. The number of farms in Massachusetts during the second half of the nineteenth century stayed basically flat-by and large, farmers adapted to the new commercial environment and maintained their way of life. In the process they brought themselves some ecological relief as well, as forest rebounded to about 50 percent of the landscape. I don't want to paint too rosy a picture of this difficult passage. Rural people made these changes under great social, economic, and ecological stress, searching for their place in an emerging urban, consumer society, and many of them did lose out. Population in hill towns like Petersham fell in half between i860 and 1910, as much of the old village economy that had accompanied farming was replaced by mass-produced industrial goods, and by services rendered in larger towns.18 Remote from a rail connection, Petersham's farm production only rose to a gentle plateau between 1874 and 1905, whereas across the Connecticut valley Ashfield rode a dairy boom to a tripling of production over the same period. It may indeed have appeared to the residents of Petersham as if the burgeoning pines were eating their town. But in many cases, even the ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 21 Figure 6. "Third Thinning, White Pine and Hardwoods." if* _*' ;.* * \ v -. f' x^ F? - */ ^ySv'^ 41k- ^ r \ I '" ^' %t' '^i_y 8^BiHwBKE_i_Mi8kM_g'-wJsMay.Vj^'--^ i*- wsJ \w / ': v- if-',... K .--'N*':-,-/?/' "" ? 1. ^#itypK^H_BSi^ H_8___H_a_B_M_l% i-^1^1^ :4^i> ' ' * W> / '>L-I v-;?rV' :i-^W/i- x?v .: p^IIB _H__H___H_nmiil?' vTY i ^ .> ''?'<%'/..// ^f':\^i\'V-m^.f^:y ?-' '4 ^^%J^B^mi H__^_H_____ll_^j_^lr ^mI^^ipsl ? " ^---1^' fm .3i\--^ ilK!^^^;ii^ '^llfeft __i___L#^^Pm^^S___i__i _____________H_ffl____Ej:< TiJi^#y I^Ib^%P?"^^^^^^ ^'al^wiiiM __-_-_-_-_-_-_BB___B_^^liiiiiii^^ Hf^'-iiiflliiiiil^^ ..." b ̂"Ti\ ? t' '^^wwili^^ ^^ ' Binr ?K t ^^U.-,: III I'lJIlinB Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. This diorama is one in a longer series showing careful management of re-grown forest stands, aimed at producing high-quality timber. Lower-value trees have been removed over several decades, leaving straight, vigorous specimens of more valuable species. release of those pines may have been a calculated cropping decision: Farmers simply recognized that with grain readily available to feed their stock, pines were likely to make a better return than patchy grass-and so it proved, half a century later.19 These farmers were looking ahead in much the same way as their fathers and grandfathers who had cleared those pastures, and in much the same way as the foresters who would come along later to try to manage the pine. It just happens that the generation that traded grass for pines guessed right, over a time-scale that benefited their own children. Raup was wrong to separate the very human impulse to plan for the future from rural culture and ascribe it solely to muddle-headed, impractical conservationists. It might be more useful to look into the particular circumstances of why long-term stewardship of the land sometimes succeeds and sometimes fails, rather than writing it off as inevitably doomed because of the dynamism of the American economy. Into this turn-of-the-century Petersham, thick with pines, came the Harvard Foresters-determined to manage the forest for the long haul. No doubt, by their own terms, they did fail. It seems worth noticing, though, that they failed not in the same way as the farmers before them, but at the same time as the farmers around them. This suggests that farming and forestry in Petersham may have been not serial but parallel ongoing enterprises that eventually failed together, for distinctly twentieth-century reasons. What Richard Fisher and his fellow 22 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 7. Dr. Richard Fisher (circa 1908). _fl__H_____Bk______ifHHH Courtesy of Harvard Forest Archives, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. Dr. Richard Fisher was director of the Harvard Forest from its inception in 1907 until his death in 1934. A Harvard English major, Fisher went to work for Gifford Pinchot and the Division of Forestry in 1898 before graduating with the first class of the new Yale School of Forestry. conservationists set out to accomplish, and where they went wrong, is all laid out quite nicely at Harvard Forest itself, in the famous models that line the walls of the Fisher Museum. The dioramas were constructed during the 1930s, and most of them were designed by Fisher before his death in 1934. The first half dozen dioramas are world famous, and have been endlessly reproduced. They depict the death and re-birth of the Petersham forest, the rise and fall of New England farming. These models were at the heart of Raup's article, and served to illustrate it. But around the rest of the hall are more models-three-quarters of the exhibit that few but museum visitors ever see. These dioramas display the vision of conservation that flowed from an understanding of that history. The hope was that visitors would take the lessons home and apply them to their own farms and woodlands.20 Those lessons were hard won. At first, the foresters had aimed to harvest mature white pine at a slow rate that could be renewed indefinitely. This would provide steady income, and underwrite the regeneration and management of young pine stands to increase their ultimate value. Good forestry would pay as it went, as Pinchot had insisted it should. Only gradually did Fisher and his ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 23 colleagues learn that the pine forest they had inherited was historically contingent and transient, and could not so easily be renewed. Many upland pine stands had a strong tendency to succeed to hardwoods when cut-something noticed by Henry Thoreau (and for that matter, by legions of farmers) half a century earlier. By the 1930s, the museum displayed this deepening understanding of the New England landscape. Five dioramas show the improvement of hardwood stands that often followed pine; another five the re establishment and care of pine on sandier soils. Other models depict fire protection, control of erosion on farm land, and wildlife management-all the pillars of good conservation stewardship. Something else had entered the foresters' consciousness by then: the value of wildness. Opposite the museum entrance is a double-sized diorama of an old-growth forest on the property, Professor Fisher himself stands deep within the scene, enjoying the view across a wild pond at sunset. Toward the end of his career Fisher sought out stands of old growth throughout New England and led a campaign to purchase the superb Pisgah tract in New Hampshire, protecting it as a reference to study for the better management of woodlands. Taken together, the dioramas depict an autumnal New England landscape of farms and forests-one that is clearly changing from what it had been, yet still attractive and diverse. There are some wild places and many more where people are actively engaged with the land. These foresters were not interested in growing pines like cabbages, but stood well over on Aldo Leopold's side of the conservation cleavage. What went wrong? As Raup reminds us, the timber famine never came. Demand for box boards softened after 1920 as new packaging materials appeared, so the incremental harvest of pasture pines did not yield the steady annual income upon which the foresters had counted.21 But they were not aiming to grow box boards forever-they were managing for high-quality timber. Unfortunately, that market never emerged in the way that the foresters expected, either: Demand for timber in the United States throughout the twentieth century stayed essentially flat. New energy-intensive construction materials like concrete and steel dominated the upward urban surge of the era of oil. Lumber did play a major role in outward suburban sprawl, but demand was met by new sources-first private lands in the Pacific Northwest, then National Forests, then Canada and beyond-with many environmentally problematic consequences. Demand for pulp did increase dramatically, but, again, sources have so far proven more than adequate. Hugh Raup was correct: The twentieth century turned out to be an era not of wood scarcity, but of embarrassing surplus. This, and rising land values, has made it next to impossible to profit from careful, long-term forestry on small parcels in southern New England.22 Even as Harvard Forest was slowly learning these painful economic truths, nature itself turned against them. Upstairs at the Fisher Museum is a smaller room, which not even many visitors chance upon. Tucked away in one corner is an exhibit on the pivotal event in the history of Harvard Forest. On September 24 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 8. A Model of Richard Fisher in an Old-growth Stand. ^____b^Tjt_P_T3im.^SMP^ ?^ -:-, -^-*, _? ____up_mtk ^?^*i**rv - >34k _ ^^^^^^HKHHEK^;^9B?h"^A.^^k?a\: '^ ?^?sm3^B___^_--^^ __ * ̂ *-->- $ ______________H_HB_K^_. ^TTTIIfffBMi;, ~ 1 ____________fll|^^_B_____|_f\_Bp~p%i^ -<^^B" ^P^^^vH^^^Bi^" i^B ____________ff %J^^^HP^W^^^^Hfll^^3P^"^ "B _fil ____________t_!__M_____p^_"~mL'?*'*' _3lCr__Br iTii^flWii ^^"^^ H ' ^Tif^ Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. This stand, the Tom Swamp tract, was severely damaged by the Hurricane of 1938 a few years after the diorama was completed, but was left without added human disturbance to study its process of recovery. 21, 1938, an unnamed category 3 hurricane came across Long Island and rampaged north through central New England. The storm obliterated some 70 percent of Harvard Forest's white pine inventory, along with large chunks of the surrounding forest from the Connecticut River valley east to Boston. This event punctuated the foresters' dream of equilibrium, shredding their sustained yield management plan and leaving it a "sorry spectacle," to quote Hugh Raup again.23 The storm delivered the final blow to Harvard Forest's program of active silviculture, and precipitated a more reflective era of research into ecological science and landscape history. The Hurricane of 1938 certainly had a profound impact on Raup's thinking. Curiously, he never mentioned the storm in his Sanderson piece, but it did figure prominently in his essay on problems in ecological theory and conservation. The storm had a lasting influence on many ecologists, as it drove home the lesson of disturbance at a prominent center of twentieth-century forest research in America. But while no one today would deny the importance of disturbances in regenerating many ecosystems, we should not get the idea that every century or so all forests are routinely blown flat. While this may be true along the coast, as one moves inland storms capable of toppling significant numbers of trees ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 25 Figure 9: The Tom Swamp Tract. l_____R?^_^______i^^l___________C^7_9_l Courtesy of Harvard Forest Archives, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. The sign withstood the Hurricane of 1938, but many of the large old trees in the Tom Swamp tract did not. The distinctive "pit and mound" topography left by this storm is still visible in many forests in southern New England. Although this stand was labeled "old growth," the sign suggests that it had been high-graded in the nineteenth century. become less frequent, and their effects more spotty on the landscape. Large parts of inland New England have pollen records that reveal forest composition persisting in a steady state for many centuries at a time, even for intervals of a thousand years, before a disturbance initiates change.24 It is also important to remember that the extraordinary devastation wrought by the 1938 hurricane was in part a cultural event: Because of pasture abandonment, the landscape was more full than it had been for perhaps eight thousand years of vulnerable white pine, just waiting to be blown over like that.25 Foresters have drawn contrasting lessons from hurricanes. While some in the forest industry use the existence of these storms to justify frequent clear cutting, others take a more moderate stance.26 A measured rate of harvest that diversifies forest age classes and composition can closely mimic the patchiness 26 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 10. Forest Cover and Population Trends in New England. - -- Vermont ^*\^ rW* '^^ fv>y ? - *--Massachusetts ^^^^ \ ?Nr/'*~ ' v V & 40 ~?- New Hampshire \\ y^X//^ ? ? Rhode Island >r S 20 - ? ? Connecticut r^ ? ?New England jr-**^^ population, % of 199()^^^'^ pop'n. ______??i?""""^ o k- ???*-,-,-,-,-,-, 1650 1700 1750 1800 1850 1900 1950 2000 Year From David Foster et al., Wildlands and Woodlands: A Vision for the Forests of Massachusetts (Petersham, MA: Harvard Forest, 2005). This graph from the 2005 Harvard Forest "Wildlands and Woodlands" report shows New England population steadily increasing, while forest cover in all six states fell to a low point in the second half of the nineteenth century. After recovering for about a century, most states have entered a fresh stage of forest decline in recent decades. of a natural landscape, while still allowing most stands to grow to maturity. That, in essence, is what the Harvard Forest management program might have eventually achieved-unfortunately they were caught early in the game by an extreme event. Much the same approach has been employed since the 1930s by the Metropolitan District Commission on fifty thousand acres surrounding nearby Quabbin Reservoir, to guard against the possibility of wholesale destruction of a mature forest. Ironically, this was inspired largely by the same catastrophe that caused Harvard Forest to give up.27 All in all, the early conservationists at Harvard Forest had noble aims, and were not as naive about change as Raup made them appear-but their timing was bad. While the Harvard foresters were failing to show that sustainable forestry was economically viable, farming, too, was declining all around them-and for many of the same reasons. New England farmers had mostly been able to adapt to the changing market conditions of the nineteenth century; not so to those of the twentieth. There was no sudden collapse, but a long descent over roads paved for the automobile. Dairy farming, which had become the keeper of the pastoral landscape in places like Petersham, succumbed farm by farm to competition from larger herds on cheaper land elsewhere-the amount of milk produced in Massachusetts in 1900 has never been surpassed. Production of fruits and ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 27 Figure 11. Wildlands and Woodlands Report. Projected Land Cover After i Change & Proposed i prooosed Recent Land Cover Change J Acres Protection VotectSn ~* j-?.....?__ ....?. ̂? ?____?^^__. 100 j? Ail Other Types i j . J "T 4 -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_JW?1ffi Mif^ 2 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ __^__^^HHH^HHHH ? ,.5555HLT- *? a ? 2 Unprotected Forest i ^^<^ '* - " I m m i -"^^^^^^_^^___fl__lri_l^^ * c lllgimi^ ' -.! m.' - 11 "? 0 __^i^__?_^_______^________Ho& I,..._-_-____?M__m_i^ 0 ? 1951 1971 1985 1999 2013 ^^_7nM\ 2^} w <**"Proposad WIWIandiP_> Year v-? ?^^ From David Foster et al., Wildlands and Woodlands: A Vision for the Forests of Massachusetts (Petersham, MA: Harvard Forest, 2005). A quickened pace of land protection will be needed to protect half the forest in Massachusetts over the next several decades. The "Wildlands and Woodlands" proposal calls for 10 percent of the protected forest to be set aside in large wild reserves, while the balance is managed in diverse ways for a wide range of social and ecological benefits. vegetables followed the same generally downward path after peaking in the early twentieth century. Farmers far away began to grow perishable foods on an unprecedented scale, refrigerate them, and ship them with great speed-a transformation made possible by abundant oil. The conversion from horses to automobiles and trucks also wiped out most of the regional hay market. New England farming was done in not by Raup's canals, railroads, virgin prairie soil, and mechanical reapers, but by fertilizers, pesticides, massive irrigation, trucks, and airplanes-by industrial agriculture. Today, farmland covers just 7 percent of the land in Massachusetts, and we are working hard to protect what is left. But what we mainly have to work with is the returned forest. From about 50 percent at the turn of the century, forest cover increased until it reached 70 percent of Massachusetts in 1970. The story is about the same in other New England states. In many hill towns such as Petersham, forest cover is increasing still, and has reached nearly 90 percent. The forest is growing up as well as out, because harvesting has slowed to infrequent, widely scattered high grade trees. Timber volume in Massachusetts has increased by a factor of ten since 1950, as the forest matures almost unmolested. But the trees aren't gaining ground anymore. Since 1970 forest cover has declined to just a bit over 60 percent, thanks to suburban sprawl. During the twentieth century, but particularly since 1950, the sprawl frontier has surged out from Boston in just the way the agricultural frontier expanded during the colonial era. The 28 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) reforested landscape has acquired a new value for residential development, as Hugh Raup foresaw.28 This onslaught of "hard deforestation" by conversion to lawns and parking lots has given birth to the modern forest conservation movement. Conservation since Raup's time has been driven not by the old ideal of sustained wood yield, but by a simple desire to protect the forest itself as an essential part of the landscape. By this measure, twentieth-century conservation in Massachusetts hasn't done so badly. Between the acquisition of state forests and water supply protection lands in the first half of the century, and the expansion of municipal conservation lands and easements held by land trusts and the state in the second half of the century, about l million acres (or 20 percent) of Massachusetts is protected from development. The vast majority of this protected land is forest. The Wildlands and Woodlands report, published by Harvard Forest in 2005, suggests that an achievable goal is to protect 2.5 million acres of forest, or one half of the state. If current rates of forest conversion were to continue unabated, two to three decades remain in which to achieve that goal. This puts a different spin on the lesson of history than Hugh Raup did. Raup saw the forest's recovery as a temporary artifact of shifting market forces that ought to be allowed to go on running their course and dictating land use. We argue that history has afforded us a rare second chance to get it right, and that the public ought to intervene in the private land market on behalf of a set of larger social and ecological values. As its title implies, the Wildlands and Woodlands proposal doesn't choose between the two traditional, often warring strains of conservation, wilderness preservation and efficient resource management. Instead, it argues that by expanding the scale of forest protection, both wild lands and woodlands can be accommodated and work together. They are joined in support of a broader set of benefits conferred by the forest as a whole: biological diversity, water protection, carbon sequestration, and a nice place to live. Biodiversity is desirable because species have an intrinsic right to exist, make for a richer world, and provide Leopold's "cogs and wheels" that keep ecosystems functioning under changing conditions. The report argues that biodiversity can never be adequately protected within wild reserves alone, but only across a diverse, changing, continuous forest. Similarly, both unmanaged and well managed forests can do a fine job of supplying clean water for healthy aquatic ecosystems and for human consumption, another social and ecological benefit long touted by conservationists. Carbon sequestration to help moderate the rapid buildup of greenhouse gasses and resulting climate change can be accomplished by either working woodlands or untouched old growth, and may soon provide a major new source of funds for forest protection on a large scale. An adequately forested landscape that combines wild places and places of cultural engagement with nature provides a "natural infrastructure" that enables and enhances all other human activity, and ought to be protected on that account, across at least half of the landscape. ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 29 Wildness and sustainable wood production are combined in the proposal, as means to larger goals and as ends in themselves. The report makes historical arguments that try to avoid fundamentalist positions. We call for one-tenth of the protected forest, or 250,000 acres, to be devoted to a set of large wild reserves (5,000 to 50,000 acres in size) across Massachusetts.29 These reserves would be left virtually untouched to gradually develop old-growth structure, and would be large enough to accommodate the natural disturbances that periodically destroy such old growth. A similar ratio applied to the 26 million acre Northern Forest that stretches from the Adirondacks to Maine could generate wild reserves an order of magnitude larger, or hundreds of thousands of acres in size. An absolutist reading of ecological history might conclude that "wild" conditions are a Romantic cultural construction of nature that never really existed, and so there is no point in having any, and no practical way of recreating them anyhow. But paleoecological evidence in fact suggests that in spite of natural disturbances and an important degree of human influence, large parts of the upland New England forest actually were in old growth condition that changed little in composition and structure for long periods of time. New England may have been not strictly "wilderness" but instead deeply inhabited country for many thousands of years, but what was being inhabited, away from the coast and river valleys, was equally deep forest.30 Allowing representative tracts to grow untouched will surely not return them to unchanging climax communities identical in composition to their prelapsarian state. It will provide new examples of a kind of forest dynamics and structure that was once commonplace across the landscape, and that cannot easily be duplicated in managed woodlands: very large old trees, small gaps, large standing deadwood, and much coarse woody debris. Such reserves will not only have special ecological value, they will provide useful comparisons to managed forests, and will have great appeal as places of respite and spiritual connection to the many Romantics among us. An opposite absolutist reading might be that if seldom disturbed old growth forest was once the norm, we ought to return most of our forest to that condition. Should we? The deeper paleoecological record indicates that forest species have been capable of dealing with many different climate and disturbance patterns, and persisting in a wide variety of ecosystem assemblages, throughout the unruly Quaternary era. This means there is nothing that precludes maintaining the bulk of the forest in a similar range of managed ecosystems, if we have good reasons to do that. And we do, because there are millions and millions of us. The ecosystem management toolbox includes hunting, doing battle with invasive species, and prescribed burning-tools to be employed in different ways in different places. The biggest hammer in the box is sustainable harvesting of wood products, which can be used to diversify forest composition and to maintain a percentage of brushy, regenerating habitat. Considerable evidence suggests that the great majority of forest species will thrive perfectly well under such a diverse management regime.31 Sustainable forestry can serve as an 30 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) economic driver for a much broader program of forest stewardship. It doesn't need to produce a competitive return on the full market value of the land to justify itself-the early Harvard foresters set that bar too high. The forest needs to be protected by society at large for the value it provides simply by existing. Forestry just needs to bring a modest return, or at least cover its costs. Perhaps, one day, it will bring a modest return-it depends on whose reading of history proves more correct. Hugh Raup saw the global expansion of timber supply, and the rise of new technologies, as part of the march of economic progress that makes careful management of local natural resources obsolete. That is the cornucopian view. But many conservationists and environmental historians see the ascendancy of the same economic forces as contingent on heedless disregard for environmental consequences and on extraordinarily cheap oil, and thoroughly unsustainable. If the price of energy rises substantially and stays high for more than a few years; if a carbon market to combat rapid climate change emerges, then it may again make eminent economic sense to increase our reliance on local resources. Another Harvard Forest study entitled "The Illusion of Preservation" calculates that Massachusetts now produces a mere 2 percent of the wood products it consumes-we tend to preserve our forests in a wishfully pristine state while importing our pulp and lumber from places we do not often see, or have to live with. Given conservation, recycling, and an increase in sustainable harvesting, the Massachusetts rate could be improved to 25 percent to 50 percent.32 It remains to be seen whether Raup was correct that we are in the grip of an irresistible tide of economic and technological progress that will dictate wholesale landscape change in every generation, willy-nilly, or whether the past century only marks a temporary evasion of an inescapable requirement to forge a more stable, deliberate relationship with the land we inhabit. In rural Massachusetts, both nineteenth-century farmers and twentieth century foresters strove in part for such a lasting relationship, and struggled with economic reality to achieve it. Both were concerned about the health of the land, and both tried to make some provision for the future of human families and communities upon the land. Both made mistakes. The farmers cleared too much forest, and were unable to maintain the productivity of their pastures. They fell back to a more balanced ecological position, but only with the aid of cheap grain being mined from soils in the Midwest-a harbinger of the economic forces that would crush them in the twentieth century. The foresters were false prophets of a twentieth-century timber crisis, and were too narrowly devoted to an inflexible model of sustained yield. What they undertook proved an economic failure. But is the inevitable lesson to be taken from New England's history simply to bow to laissez-faire economics, as Raup would have it? The current generation at Harvard Forest has not drawn that conclusion, but has returned to the vision of their founders. The conservation plan they have proposed looks an awful lot like what you see in the dioramas in their own museum. What they have added, I think, is a stronger Leopoldian conviction ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 31 that conservation cannot succeed if it is subjected to short-term economic tests. People are not simply creatures of the market. Conservation must rest on the faith, cloudy and emotional though it may be, that some moral brake on economic drives is necessary to ensure greater ecological and social well-being. This is not to ignore the healthy skepticism of Hugh Raup. In the end, I cannot tell whether Raup really believed that conservation is bunk. He seemed to stop just short of that conclusion, but to remain uncertain about how conservation could be reconfigured to accommodate the reality of repeated, abrupt changes. He presented a problem that he did not solve, and by not solving it he left the impression that perhaps he thought it insoluble. It is best to plan around open, uncertain systems, and to be flexible, he advised. Strive for efficiency in resource management only in the short run, while retaining a wide variety of options for the future.33 By this Raup seems to have been urging landowners to cash in on new opportunities, avoid getting capital tied up planning to do the same thing forever, and wait to see what the market might call for next that the land might be ready to provide. If technological innovation makes distilling ethanol from cellulose profitable, for example, should we liquidate our returned forest and see what grows in its place? There may be other, more restrained ways to be economically nimble. Flexibility could also mean conserving the landscape in a broadly beneficial mixture of forests, farmland, and settlements, and within those boundaries responding shrewdly to shifting markets-using biofuel sales to finance timber stand improvement, to use the same example. We might guess which course lohn Sanderson would take, left to fend for himself in the wilderness of an untrammeled market. To engage the abilities of the Sandersons of the world, while safeguarding the long view from his farm-one that encompasses both an honest look at the past and a sincere concern for the future remains the hard challenge of conservation. Brian Donahue is associate professor of American environmental studies on the jack Meyerhoff Foundation at Brandeis University, and environmental historian at Harvard Forest. He is the author of Reclaiming the Commons: Community Farms and Forests in a New England Town (Yale, 1999) and The Great Meadow: Farmers and the Land in Colonial Concord (Yale, 2004), winner of the New England Historic Association book award, the Theodore Saloutos award from the Agricultural History Society, and the George Perkins Marsh prize from the American Society for Environmental History. NOTES Thanks to David Foster and lohn O'Keefe for reviewing the manuscript and providing illustrations. This essay owes much to conversations with colleagues at Harvard Forest, and to a Charles Bullard Fellowship there in 2005. 32 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) i. Percy W. Bidwell, "The Agricultural Revolution in New England," American Historical Review 26 (1921): 683-702; Percy Wells Bidwell and John I. Falconer, History of Agriculture in the Northern United States, 1620-1860 (New York: Peter Smith, 1941); Harold Fisher Wilson, The Hill Country of Northern New England: Its Social and Economic History, 1790-1930 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1936); John Donald Black, The Rural Economy of New England: A Regional Study (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1950). 2. Hugh M. Raup, "The View From John Sanderson's Farm: A Perspective for the Use of Land," Forest History 10 (1966): 3. 3. Bidwell, "Agricultural Revolution;" Christopher Clark, The Roots of Rural Capitalism: Western Massachusetts, 1780-1860 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1990); Charles Sellers, The Market Revolution: Jacksonian America, 1815-1846 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991); Winifred Barr Rothenberg, From Market-Places to a Market Economy: The Transformation of Rural Massachusetts, 1750-1850 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 4. Raup, "Sanderson," 6. 5. Wilson, Hill Country; Black, Rural Economy, 159-60. 6. Raup, "Sanderson," 7, 9,11. 7. Ibid., 10. Raup and Leopold did correspond, but their letters in the Harvard Forest archive contain little of substantive interest. 8. Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac with Essays on Conservation from Round River (1949; reprint, San Francisco: Sierra Club/Ballantine, 1970), 239-40, 258-61. 9. Hugh M. Raup, "Some Problems in Ecological Theory and their Relation to Conservation," Journal of Ecology 52 (Supplement) (1964): 19-28. Cowles stressed dynamic succession and never claimed much for the stability of the climax, as Clements later did. Raup's real argument was with Clements. 10. Raup, "Some Problems," 26-27. In his economic argument Raup leaned heavily upon his colleague Ernest M. Gould, Jr., "Fifty Years of Management at the Harvard Forest," Harvard Forest Bulletin 29, i960. 11. See, for example, David R. Foster, "Insights from Historical Geography to Ecology and Conservation: Lessons from the New England Landscape," special issue of the Journal of Biogeography29 (2002); David R. Foster and John D. Aber, eds., Forests in Time: The Environmental Consequences of 1,000 Years of Change in New England (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004). 12. David Foster, et al., Wildlands and Woodlands: A Vision for the Forests of Massachusetts (Petersham, MA: Harvard Forest, 2005). I am among the authors of this report. 13. See Hugh M. Raup and Reynold E. Carlson, "The History of Land Use in the Harvard Forest," Harvard Forest Bulletin 20 (1941), 25. Data on Massachusetts and Petersham land use and agricultural production in my paper are drawn from U.S. Census Population and Agricultural returns, Massachusetts state census returns, and Massachusetts tax valuation town aggregates. 14. Joseph S. Wood, The New England Village (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997); David Jaffee, People of the Wachusett: Greater New England in History and Memory, 1630-1860 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1999); Brian Donahue, The Great Meadow: Farmers and the Land in Colonial Concord (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004); Gloria L. Main, Peoples of a Spacious Land: Families and Cultures in Colonial New England (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001); Rothenberg, Market-Places to a Market Economy; J. Ritchie Garrison, Landscape and Material Life in Franklin County, Massachusetts, 1770-1860 (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2003). ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 33 15. Garrison, Landscape and Material Life; Clark, Roots of Rural Capitalism. 16. See, for example, numerous discussions in the minutes of Concord Farmers Club, Concord Free Public Library, 1865,1866,1875,1883; also numerous discussions in state agricultural reports collected in the volumes Agriculture of Massachusetts 1849,1853,1859,1864,1865. See, also, David R. Foster, Thoreaus Country: Journey Through a Transformed Landscape (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999). Townwide tax and census data for Petersham strongly suggest that from the early nineteenth century depleted pastures were being abandoned even as forest was being cleared to create new pastures, but more research on particular farms is needed to pin down the dynamics of these practices. 17. See Brian Donahue, "Skinning the Land: Economic Growth and the Ecology of Farming in Nineteenth-Century Massachusetts," paper presented to the American Social History Society, Chicago, 1988; Michael M. Bell, "Did New England go Downhill?" Geographical Review 79 (1989): 450-66; Paul Glen Munyon, A Reassessment of New England Agriculture in the Last Thirty Years of the Nineteenth Century: New Hampshire, A Case Study (New York: Arno Press, 1978); David J. Soil, "Milking the Landscape: Reforestation in Norfolk County, Massachusetts, 1850 1900," paper presented to the Boston Environmental History conference, Massachusetts Historical Society, 2006. 18. Hal S. Barron, Those Who Stayed Behind: Rural Society in Nineteenth-Century New England (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1984). 19. Soil, "Milking the Landscape." 20. David R. Foster and lohn F. O'Keefe, New England Forests Through Time: Insights from the Harvard Forest Dioramas (Petersham, MA: Harvard Forest, 2000). All the dioramas are shown here, along with an updated interpretation of their historical and conservation meanings. 21. Gould, "Fifty Years of Management." 22. Michael Williams, Americans and their Forests: A Historical Geography (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989); Thomas Dionysius Clark, The Greening of the South: The Recovery of the Land and Forest (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1984). 23. Raup, "Some Problems," 24. 24. Foster and Aber, Forests in Time, 54, 369. 25. Ibid., 235-58. 26. See, for example, Thomas M. Bonnicksen, "Nature's Clearcuts: Lessons from the Past," in Closer Look (Washington, D.C.: American Forest and Paper Association, 1994), 22-28. 27. Many ecologists would argue that such an approach is not strictly necessary to protect water quality, but the Quabbin forest management program has nevertheless been successful on its own terms, and is widely regarded as a model of sustainable forestry of a fairly intensive kind. See Paul K. Barten, et al., "Managing a Watershed Protection Forest," Journal of Forestry 96 (1998): 8-15. 28. Foster, et al., Wildlands and Woodlands. The report and its detailed figures can be downloaded at http://www.wildlandsandwoodlands.org/. 29. This scale is appropriate and achievable in a small, fragmented region such as southern New England. The same proportions applied to heavily forested regions such as northern New England could yield reserves an order of magnitude larger. 30. David R. Foster, et al., "Oak, Chestnut and Fire: Climatic and Cultural Controls of Long-term Forest Dynamics in New England, USA," Journal of Biogeography 29 (2002): 1359-79 34 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) 31. David Lindenmayer and Jerry F. Franklin, Conserving Forest Biodiversity: A Comprehensive Multiscaled Approach (Washington, D.C.: Island Press, 2002). 32. Mary M. Berlik, et al., "The Illusion of Preservation: A Global Environmental Argument for the Local Production of Natural Resources," Harvard Forest Paper 26 (2002). 33. Raup, "Some Problems," 26-27. Article Contents p. [9] p. 10 p. 11 p. 12 p. 13 p. 14 p. 15 p. 16 p. 17 p. 18 p. 19 p. 20 p. 21 p. 22 p. 23 p. 24 p. 25 p. 26 p. 27 p. 28 p. 29 p. 30 p. 31 p. 32 p. 33 p. 34 Issue Table of Contents Environmental History, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Jan., 2007), pp. 3-226 Front Matter From the Editor [pp. 7-8] Another Look from Sanderson's Farm: A Perspective on New England Environmental History and Conservation [pp. 9-34] 'Mark Well the Gloom': Shedding Light on the Great Dark Day of 1780 [pp. 35-58] From King Cane to King Cotton: Razing Cane in the Old South [pp. 59-79] Democratizing the Air: The Salt Lake Women's Chamber of Commerce and Air Pollution, 1936-1945 [pp. 80-106] The Problem of the Problem of Environmental History: A Re-Reading of the Field [pp. 107-130] Gallery On the Blood-Red Sky of Munch's "The Scream" [pp. 131-135] Sources On Epigraphic Records: A Valuable Resource in Reassessing Flood Risk and Long-Term Climate Variability [pp. 136-140] Interview [pp. 141-152] Book Reviews Book Review Editor's Note [pp. 153-153] Review: untitled [pp. 154-155] Review: untitled [pp. 156-157] Review: untitled [pp. 157-159] Review: untitled [pp. 159-160] Review: untitled [pp. 160-162] Review: untitled [pp. 162-163] Review: untitled [pp. 163-164] Review: untitled [pp. 165-166] Review: untitled [pp. 166-167] Review: untitled [pp. 167-169] Review: untitled [pp. 169-170] Review: untitled [pp. 171-172] Review: untitled [pp. 172-173] Review: untitled [pp. 173-174] Review: untitled [pp. 174-175] Review: untitled [pp. 175-176] Review: untitled [pp. 177-179] Review: untitled [pp. 179-181] Review: untitled [pp. 181-182] Review: untitled [pp. 182-184] Biblioscope. An Archival Guide &Bibliography [pp. 185-218] Back Matter
work_njpaib4fnbeq3dae47d57iu72i ---- JBI376.fm Journal of Biogeography, 27 , 27– 30 © 2000 Blackwell Science Ltd MILLENNIUM GUEST EDITORIAL NUMBER 5 Blackwell Science, LtdOxford, UKJBIJournal of Biogeography0305-0270Blackwell Science Ltd, 200027no issue no.2000376Millennium guest editorial number 5Millennium guest editorial number 5Millennium Guest Editorial Number 5100Graphicraft Limited, Hong Kong From bobolinks to bears: interjecting geographical history into ecological studies, environmental interpretation, and conservation planning A B S T R A C T In these days of supercomputer-based global climate models, large ecosystem experiments including Biosphere II, and aircraft-borne sensors of ozone holes it is often overlooked that many fundamental insights into ecological processes and major environmental issues come not through reductionist or high-tech studies of modern conditions but from thoughtful consideration of nature’s history. In fact, it is foolhardy to make any ecological interpretation of modern landscapes or environments or to formu- late policy in conservation or natural resource management without an historical context that extends back decades, at least, but preferably centuries or millennia. Oftentimes, the ecological and conserva- tion communities, in their search for more detail on the present and simulation of the future, appear to have forgotten the value of a deep historical perspective in research and application. However, the willingness of the geographical sciences to embrace broad temporal and spatial perspectives and to consider cultural as well as natural processes is worth emulating as we address environmental subjects in the new millennium. Keywords History, ecological history, landscape history, historical geography, cultural processes, conservation. G E N E R A L E X A M P L E S FRO M W I L D E R N E S S T O C U L T U R A L L A N D S C AP E S Examples of historical processes that control modern ecosystem pattern and process abound in wilderness settings as well as cultural landscapes. Any attempt to interpret the structure, function or landscape pattern of Northern Hemisphere conifer forests is fruitless without a millennial-scale appreciation for natural disturbance, particularly fire (Mooney et al ., 1980). In landscapes from the Pacific Northwest to northern Scandinavia downed wood, scarred trees, and stand age-structure are legacies of past fires that are critical forest attributes in terms of ecosystem function and habitat value (Franklin & Halpern, 1989; Foster, 1983; Zackrisson, 1977). Since the fire regimes that generated modern landscape patterns were oftentimes quite unlike those prevailing today it is critical not only to recognize the role of history but also to reconstruct and interpret it in detail (Clark, 1988). Failure to grasp this lesson has led to misguided efforts to preserve ecosystems that are, in fact, inherently dependent on continual dynamics (Heinselman, 1996). In quite contrasting regions, ranging from oceanic heathlands to tropical forests in Latin America, a history of human activity has produced cultural landscapes that are dependent on people for their structure, composition, and function (Birks et al ., 1988; Foster et al ., 1999; Gomez-Pompa & Kaus, 1992; Bush & Colinvaux, 1994). In many cases current conditions may be linked to ancient, oftentimes forgotten land-use practices or people that are apparent only in archaeological remains (Denevan, 1992). Failure to appreciate the human element in these lands certainly leads to erroneous ecological inter- pretations, misdirected research emphases, and misguided approaches to management (Gomez-Pompa & Kaus, 1992; Foster et al ., 1999). However, it also misses an opportunity to address major ecological questions with important conservation ramifications. As one stands atop a Mayan temple and gazes across seemingly endless and continuous forest in the Southern Yucatan intriguing questions abound that are central to modern environmental debate. How rapidly do tropical forest landscapes recover from widespread assault of land clearance and intensive agriculture? In the thousand years since the enigmatic decline of the Maya to what extent have forests and aquatic ecosystems recovered towards their earlier condition? And, How do we differentiate these ancient secondary forests from so-called primary forests that have not been so intensively disturbed—what are the legacies of this landscape’s cultural origins? Ecologists and conservationists have only recently joined forces with geographers and archaeologists to investigate such issues. JBI376.fm Page 27 Friday, April 21, 2000 11:21 AM 28 Millennium guest editorial number 5 © Blackwell Science Ltd 2000, Journal of Biogeography , 27 , 27– 30 B O B O L I N K S , B E A R S , A N D C A R B O N S T O R AGE I N T H E N O R T H E A S T E R N U N I T E D S T A T E S Over the next century in many landscapes, including the Northeastern U.S., the history of the land will continue to control ecological processes and influence future changes more than much-debated global climate change (Foster, 1999). This region’s history of landscape transformation—from forest to agriculture and back to forest—determines modern ecosystem structure, composition, process, and response to new human impacts. Thus, this largely forested area provides not only a paradox of a natural appearing, though completely cultural, landscape but it offers important insights into the ways in which history controls modern conditions and will determine future trajectories. These are lessons that geographers, ecologists, environmentalists, and policy managers should all appreciate (MacCleery, 1992; McKibben, 1995). In 1854, after years of walking the Massachusetts countryside, Henry David Thoreau, one of North America’s great natural historians and writers, made an observation that seems incredible today: ‘Is not [the muskrat] the heaviest animal found wild in this township?’ For while he reveled in the open agrarian landscape of 19 th C New England, entertained by meadowlarks, whippoorwills, bobolinks, and bitterns, Thoreau lamented the loss of what he called the ‘noble animals’: the cougar, bear, moose, fisher, and turkey (Foster, 1999). Deer, he observed had not been seen in central Massachusetts for 80 years and beaver had been extirpated in the early 1700s. Indeed, he even despaired that the black fly and ‘no-see-um’, two irritating insects that are the bane of modern hikers, had disappeared before the hand of civilized man. Today, coyotes wander the Boston suburbs and moose-crossing signs line the highways just west of Thoreau’s hometown of Concord, Massachusetts. Deer are abundant and increasing across the eastern U.S. and are routinely maligned for their impact on forest regeneration and their role in spread- ing Lyme disease. Beavers dam streams to flood roads and housing, bears are a common sight among birdfeeders throughout northern and western New England, and confirmation of cougar in more than half of the New England states and wolf in a few indicate the potential for re-establishment of large predators. Meanwhile, the open-land birds of Thoreau’s day—the bitterns, meadowlarks, bobolinks, and upland sandpipers—are declining or disappearing and are major priorities for conservation (Vickery & Dunwiddie, 1997). An explanation for these ongoing wildlife transformations across the Eastern U.S. does not lie in global climate change and will not be revealed through intensive study of modern conditions at any scale (O’Keefe & Foster, 1998). Rather it must be sought in the history of the land and its people and in the decision, some century and a half ago, of a rural population to relocate from the farm into cities and suburbs. As agriculture shifted to the Midwestern U.S., Thoreau’s landscape of extensive pastures, meadows, and grainfields reforested naturally and small and isolated woodlots, such as the one at Walden Pond that provided him with inspiration, became part of a vast, regional forest. The rate and extent of this ecological transformation are staggering and its environmental ramifications are diffi- cult to overstate (McKibben, 1995). Since 1900, forest area in the northeastern U.S. has increased more than 50% to over 70 million acres (Irland, 1999), with increases greatest in states like Vermont, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and Rhode Island (65 – 85%), somewhat less in New Hampshire and New York (45–55%), and least in Connecticut and Maine (15–20%). This new forest continues to grow and mature precisely because the expanding, but ‘environmentally concerned’ population obtains its natural resources from other parts of the globe (Berlik, 1999): a recent survey in Massachusetts documented a 19% increase in wood volume from 1985 to 1998 and an even greater increase (41%) in larger, sawtimber trees. This forest recovery has environmental repercussions at local, regional and global scales. As mature woodland habitat has increased forest-dwelling animals have returned through migration (e.g. bear, moose, pileated woodpecker, fisher), population growth following re-introductions by wildlife agencies (e.g. beaver, turkey, eagle), or expansion of native ranges (e.g. coyote, opossum, vulture). However, the new forests and their wildlife form a very cultural landscape controlled in most aspects by prior, and ongoing human impacts (McLachlan et al ., 2000; Foster et al ., 1996). For example, the single factor that best explains the age, height, and composition of modern woodlands is the history of past land-use (O’Keefe & Foster, 1998). Adjoining forests differ strikingly in appearance depending upon whether they remained as woodlots through time or experienced a short-term bout as farmland, which eradicated the original plant cover. Due to the differential ability of species to disperse and spread across the land- scape, coupled with the inherent inertia in ecological systems once they are established, such land-use legacies are extremely long lasting (Motzkin et al ., 1998). Similarly, wildlife communities have only the JBI376.fm Page 28 Friday, April 21, 2000 11:21 AM Millennium guest editorial number 5 29 © Blackwell Science Ltd 2000, Journal of Biogeography , 27 , 27– 30 appearance of being natural: many are undergoing extremely rapid changes in size and distribution and most are poorly controlled by either natural predators or human intervention (Foster & Motzkin, 1998). The ecosystem function of forests in this region, including their response to novel forms of stress, is also strongly conditioned by cultural history. For example, one of the greatest environmental threats to northeastern forests is the regional deposition of nitrogen resulting from fossil fuel combustion (Aber, 1992). Initially, the addition of a limiting nutrient like nitrogen has a fertilizing effect that leads to increased productivity. However, through time excess nitrogen may leach from forest soils, depleting other nutrients and generating adverse ecological and health effects on aquatic ecosystems (Aber et al ., 1998). Studies indicate that the ability of Northeastern forests to store nitrogen and cope with this threat is not explained as well by the type of forest or trees as whether prior land-use activity altered original levels of nitrogen in the soils (Aber & Driscoll, 1997). At an even broader scale, the grow- ing eastern forests store massive amounts of carbon and are a globally-important sink for some of the excess carbon dioxide added to the atmosphere by fossil fuel combustion and land clearance worldwide (Houghton, 1999). Consequently, the 19 th C decision by farmers to abandon their land will continue to influence the character and function of the northeastern landscape for decades to come (Wofsy et al ., 1993). H I S T O R Y I S A LW AY S M O RE C O M P L I C A T E D And yet, as we look at these forests their dynamics are not a simple matter of response to European impacts, but rather a more complicated, and poorly understood, story of broad-scale environmental change interacting over the last millennium with changing cultural activities by Native Americans and their successors. A regional analysis of modern forest composition in central New England reveals no consistent variation in forest composition across a subtle, but well-defined climatic gradient (Foster et al ., 1998). However, at the time of European arrival the same region displayed variation in forest composition that was strongly correlated with this gradient in growing season length. A simple matter of rather homogeneous land-use activity and reforestation leading to regional homogeneity in vegetation, it would appear. In fact, a deeper look into the past reveals that hundreds of years before the arrival (in 1620) of the Mayflower the regional vegetation was changing substantially and becoming more homogeneous (Fuller et al ., 1998). This early shift was apparently driven by climate change associated with the Little Ice Age and perhaps also by changes in Indian fire regimes (Campbell & McAndrews, 1993; Bragdon, 1996). The substantial changes in forest composition since European arrival are thus a consequence of many factors: rapid decline in species such as beech and hemlock, which were already in decline due to climate change, selective reduction of species like chestnut, elm, beech (and now hemlock) due to the introduction of new pathogens, and broad-scale increases in weedy species that proliferate with intensive land use and early successional conditions. Thus, as ecologists initiate new research projects and address environmental concerns, as conserva- tionists turn to protect or restore species, as the larger population tries to understand the wildlife in its backyards, and as we debate future environmental change, let us not forget to look back to understand the forces and changes that shape the ecosystems we seek to understand. Trees and clonal species have extremely long lifespans. Significant lags exist in ecosystem response to changing conditions or in species ability to re-invade sites from which they have been eradicated (Davis & Botkin, 1985). Soils and many below-ground processes are slow to recover from past changes in physical or chemical characteristics (Motzkin et al ., 1998). For all of these reasons and more, past processes in the landscape condition the present and loom as legacies in modern and future landscapes. For us to succeed in our science, our environmental interpretations and predictions, and our management objectives we must heed the past. For, as Henry Thoreau put it so well in 1860 ‘Our wood-lots, of course have a history, and we may often recover it for a hundred years back, though we do not … Yet if we attended more to the history of our lots we should manage them more wisely.’ DAVID R. FOSTER Harvard Forest, Harvard University, Petersham, MA 01366, U.S.A. R E FE RE N C E S Aber, J. D. (1992) Nitrogen cycling and nitrogen saturation in temperate forest ecosystems. Trends in Ecology and Evolution , 7 , 220 – 223. JBI376.fm Page 29 Friday, April 21, 2000 11:21 AM 30 Millennium guest editorial number 5 © Blackwell Science Ltd 2000, Journal of Biogeography , 27 , 27– 30 Aber, J. D., McDowell, W. H., Nadelhoffer, K. J., Magill, A. H., Berntson, G., Kamekea, M., McNulty, S. G., Currie, W., Rustad, L. & Fernandez, I. 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work_nkpxw3htrvdplfhyiit2nejmcu ---- Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. European journal of American studies Vol 5, No 1 (2010) Spring 2010 ................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ Ramón Espejo Romero Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. ................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ 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Revues.org is a platform for journals in the humanities and social sciences run by the CLEO, Centre for open electronic publishing (CNRS, EHESS, UP, UAPV). ................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ Electronic reference Ramón Espejo Romero, « Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. », European journal of American studies [Online], Vol 5, No 1 | 2010, document 5, Online since 28 June 2010, connection on 04 January 2015. URL : http://ejas.revues.org/8467 ; DOI : 10.4000/ejas.8467 Publisher: European Association for American Studies http://ejas.revues.org http://www.revues.org Document available online on: http://ejas.revues.org/8467 Document automatically generated on 04 January 2015. Creative Commons License http://ejas.revues.org http://www.revues.org/ http://ejas.revues.org/8467 Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 2 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 Ramón Espejo Romero Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby- Dick. 1 The purpose of this paper is to explore the way in which Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick (1851) reflects a dialogue between the novelist and Transcendentalism. Such a dialogue would moreover shape the rest of his career as a writer. Being a fiction writer, Melville uses several of his characters to offer his conclusions, and specifically the traits of their different personalities and their respective outcomes in the novel. These characters are Ismael, Ahab, and Bulkington. Captain Ahab is a living embodiment of the terrible consequences of Transcendentalism when and if taken too literally. Its undeniable allurements are embodied in the elusive yet mystifying Bulkington. However, Melville’s (ambivalent) stand about the Concord movement is best gleaned from a character who stands at the center of his reflection on Transcendentalism. Let us call him Ishmael. Like the eyes of the whale, which can simultaneously receive two different (even conflicting) views of the same reality, or the leviathan’s whiteness, an apparently colorless crucible of all colors and meanings, Ishmael will expose a highly idiosyncratic form of Transcendentalism. It is unorthodox, contradictory, and far from the dogma that Transcendentalist writing appeared to construct (or some insisted it did). But in being unfaithful to “mainstream” Transcendentalism (meaning what is often thought of as defining Transcendentalism), Ishmael is closer to its genuine spirit than any other character in the novel. 2 Difficult as it is to say what Moby-Dick is exactly about, my starting point is that it is very much about Transcendentalism. I might be taking things too far, but it seems obvious that Milton R. Stern was wrong when he affirmed decades ago that [t]hematically, Melville was out of keeping with much of the mainstream of thought in his own times, which popularly and philosophically for the most part emphasized an untrammelled individualism, free from the restrictions of the past (4). 3 It seems clear that Melville was perfectly aware of major intellectual trends in his age, although critics have been divided as to how he specifically interacted with Transcendentalism. Howard P. Vincent says that “Moby-Dick is a satire of New England Transcendentalism” and also “a criticism of American social and ethical thought, a condemnation of brutalizing materialism, and an affirmation of the dignity and nobility of Man” (8). However, how can Melville satirize a movement which contained a profound criticism of American social and ethical thought, condemnation of materialism, and vindication of the dignity and nobility of Man, when these are things which, in Vincent’s opinion, Melville is also commending in the novel? This is just an example of how unfocused critical assessment of Melville and Transcendentalism has often been. 4 Special attention should be paid to the work already done on the Melville-Emerson connection. Among Melville’s reading, which Milton M. Sealts extensively documented in the 1960s, Emerson’s essays figured prominently (see also McLoughlin 171-173). The novelist attended one of Emerson’s lectures in 1849, and then wrote an often-quoted letter to Evert Duyckinck sharing his impressions: I was very agreeably disappointed in Mr. Emerson. I had heard of him as full of Transcendentalism, myths and oracular gibberish . . . To my surprise, I found him quite intelligible, tho’ to say truth, they told me that night he was unusually plain . . . I could readily see in Emerson, notwithstanding his merit, a gaping flaw. It was the insinuation that had he lived in those days when the world was made, he might have offered some valuable suggestions. These men are all cracked right across the brow. (qtd. Freeman 58) 5 This letter establishes a pattern of simultaneous embrace and rejection of Transcendentalist ideas. It also noted the gap between “the Transcendentalist ideal and the real” (Williams 12), Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 3 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 which Melville would explore more fully in the novel with which he astonished American readers two years later. The remark that Melville, while admiring Emerson, did not see himself as at all oscillating in his “rainbow” (Bryant 69) is well known too, as is the scribbling on the margins of a copy of Emerson owned by Melville, specifically next to a passage on the essential goodness of men: “God help the poor fellow who squares his life according to this” (Stern 12). 6 The different stand Emerson and Melville take towards the existence of evil (whose reality the latter was fully and painfully aware of) has too often been used as evidence of Melville’s anti-Emersonianism. But Melville may have disagreed with Emerson on that or other issues, while not necessarily rejecting all of his thought. As a matter of fact, he was not the only one to respond critically to Emerson; even some of his declared followers, like Thoreau, did. For John B. Williams, Emerson was not surrounded by “little Emersons” but rather by “an odd collocation of resolutely-defined figures who shaped their careers as much in reaction to Emerson as in emulation of him” (34). That is the reason moreover why we still consider the age of Transcendentalism one of the most fruitful in American intellectual history. Similarly, it is important to bear in mind that Transcendentalism was profoundly contradictory and thus impossible to contain within the narrow bounds of a simple definition; as a matter of fact, Vincent finds it difficult to characterize beyond saying that it was “a protest against usage, and a search for principles” (154). A movement that regarded individidualism as the supreme value and rejected rationality should not be expected to have, in spite of that, a homogeneous outlook. Not even individual members of Transcendentalism felt constrained to hold on to ideas they had entertained in the past. Emerson wanted to know, somewhat proudly, why one had to “drag about this corpse of your memory, lest you contradict somewhat you have stated in this or that public place? Suppose you should contradict yourself: what then?” (“Self-Reliance” 136). 7 One of the first critics to investigate the Transcendentalist element in Melville was Perry Miller, who, in a lecture read at Williams College at the Moby-Dick’s centennial celebration in 1951, and later re-written as the article “Melville and Transcendentalism,” pointed out a connection between Melville and the Transcendentalists while also admitting that Melville never fully embraced Transcendentalism. While Nina Baym considered Emerson as the most important influence over Melville (Williams 6), both Charles Feidelson in Symbolism and American Literature, and Harry Levin in The Power of Blackness, argued that Melville contributed some skepticism to Emerson’s self-assurance (Williams 7). Other critics have addressed Melville’s connection with Transcendentalism. McLoughlin, for instance, analyzes the different “gams” in the novel as comments upon the Transcendentalist subtext. That between the Pequod and the Albatross “suggests both the difficulty of communication between the self and the outer world and the essential enigma of nature”, and that with the Town- Ho is an endorsement of self-reliance, since it “portrays Moby Dick as an agent of God’s justice in destroying the mate Radney and ending his tyranny over Steelkilt, a rebellious, self- reliant seaman” (85). From a different perspective, Steven Gould Axelrod has suggested the convenience of pairing Melville and Emerson in the teaching of American literature as both of them are more interested in the process of thinking than in whatever results might come from it (68). 8 Only two full-length books have so far taken up this subject, and both are relatively recent: John B. Williams’ White Fire: The Influence of Emerson on Melville (1991), and Michael McLoughlin’s Dead Letters to the New World. Melville, Emerson, and American Transcendentalism (2003). Williams surveys Melville’s fiction up to and including Moby- Dick, but has a limited scope; his aim is mostly to demonstrate that Melville’s view of Transcendentalism in general and Emerson in particular was not only based on a reading of the latter’s works, but also on the newspaper discussion of Emerson’s lectures and essays. Whether to praise or satirize it, Transcendentalism was often discussed in the circles Melville frequented and in the magazines and newspapers he used to read, as well as in his conversations with Hawthorne. McLoughlin’s focus is broader. His book revisits the novels already analyzed by Williams but continues the exploration throughout the fiction that followed Moby-Dick, which acts to him as a hinge between the initial phase in Melville’s career, in which he heartily followed Transcendentalism, and the post-Moby-Dick one, in which he grew more Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 4 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 and more critical of that movement, as revealed by his indictment of self-reliance and the disastrous consequences it entails for characters such as Ahab, Bartleby, or Pierre. McLoughlin also provides the only existing annotated bibliography on the Melville-Emerson connection (171-174). His main conclusion is that any accurate consideration of the Transcendentalism in Melville’s art must ultimately account for the dynamic nature of literary influence, which moves through time in patterns of attraction and repulsion, ranging in emphasis between the poles of original interpretation and critical reaction. (9) 9 He thus discourages any “pro-Emerson” or “anti-Emerson” approach to Melville’s fiction. 10 The successive moves within Melville’s literary career can be seen as a dialogue between the writer and Transcendentalism. It is well known that he at first enjoyed popular success with novels such as Typee or Omoo, sea narratives that amused, and sometimes shocked, American readers, but which definitely established his reputation as a writer. The following novels, still pre-Moby-Dick ones, slightly departed from the “adventure” pattern, and met with more moderate success. Melville discovered that the further he strayed from established literary conventions and patterns, the less successful his writing was, and concluded perhaps that following one’s path rarely meets with the applause that Emerson’s lectures never failed to draw. In all probability, these notions were prominent in Melville’s mind as he was conceiving and executing the one that would be hailed (posthumously) as the peak of 19th- century American fiction and a masterpiece of world literature. But Moby-Dick is Melville’s attempt at testing the validity and scope of Transcendentalist ideas, not only as an abstract or intellectual problem but as a necessary step in figuring out his future career. No matter how inspiring (or otherwise) the topic was for his readers, Melville’s exploration of the concept of self-reliance and how self-reliant one could afford to be was enormously relevant for himself at that juncture. Was he to play it safe so as to insure recognition (and sales), or was he to take to more daring and uncertain paths, even if that alienated a substantial part of his readership? Moby-Dick was both the vehicle and reflection of such debate. 11 What will happen if one models oneself entirely on Transcendentalist principles? What consequences will result from being oneself at all times? Who defines that “self” and how can the degree of faithfulness or unfaithfulness to it be measured? Is it a moral obligation to truly be who one is? Captain Ahab, who clearly concluded with Emerson that “if I am the Devil’s child, I will live then from the Devil” (“Self-Reliance” 134), is one of Melville’s tools for answering the questions above. F. H. Jacobi, the German philosopher, had already been quoted by Emerson in “The Transcendentalist” as saying that he was that atheist, that godless person who . . . would lie as the dying Desdemona lied . . . would assassinate like Timoleon . . . would commit sacrilege with David . . . For, I have assurance in myself, that, in pardoning these faults according to the letter, man exerts the sovereign right which the majesty of his being confers on him. (100) 12 There is not a great distance between such words and Ahab’s: I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here . . . while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights . . . Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee. (616) 13 The Gothic undertones of all such passages in Moby-Dick should not obscure the fact that Ahab is not paying homage to the Devil of Christian mythology but rather claiming the status of a God himself. His, in Captain Peleg’s words, “ungodly, god-like” character (176) is the result of an excessively blind application of Transcendentalist injunctions to respect natural inclinations and be consistent with one’s inner urges. But that always poses a danger for other people. Ahab becoming a God also to his crew has the tragic results that readers of Moby-Dick are perfectly familiar with. These results indict Ahab’s peculiar assimilation of Transcendentalism. Such a radical respect for one’s own self may only be valid if it is not permitted to invade other spaces beyond the self. But how easy is that to accomplish? Is it possible to be a God only to oneself? Melville tries to answer these questions through another character in the novel: Bulkington. Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 5 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 14 In his “Introduction” to Moby-Dick, Harold Beaver regards Bulkington as “a thumbnail sketch of the Emersonian hero” and as a “virtuous and self-reliant transcendentalist, dedicated to the solitary search for truth”; Beaver then refers to Ahab as “Emerson’s transcendental philosopher turned satanic” (32). Bulkington makes a brief appearance in chapter 3, “The Spouter-Inn,” where he is already referred to as someone who “held somewhat aloof,” a fact which his being so tall underscores; he is then described as a formidably strong man, very popular with his comrades and yet gloomier than them (107-108). Chapter 23, “The Lee Shore,” tells us that, in spite of having just disembarked from another vessel, Bulkington enlists right away on the Pequod, the sea acting as a magnet to him. According to Walcutt, throughout Moby-Dick there is “a symbolic opposition of land and sea, according to which the land stands for safety, security, conformity, orthodoxy, and so on, while the sea stands for the hidden, the secret, the half-known world where the other side of reality is shown and where alone one may find the full truth” (qtd. Barrio Marco 124).Bulkington is then attracted to a sea which is in the novel the Transcendentalist haven in which, paradoxically, all of the crew, including Bulkington, will perish. All but one, that is. The island of Nantucket, with its sand plains and so deep into the sea that clams are said to adhere to the furniture, serves as the reader’s rite of passage into the world of the Pequod. It is presented as the capital of the oceans, its inhabitants dominating the watery world. Thus, it stands as a metaphor of the isolated, self-reliant, independent man, who is a lord to that portion of the globe, the sea, where freedom and individuality are only possible, and where communion with Nature is absolute, even while one sleeps: “[A]t nightfall, the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales” (159). His sleep is accompanied by the sea and its creatures, whether the more benign walrus or the dangerous whale. 15 Bulkington’s communion with Nature is as full as the Nantucketers’, and, unlike Ahab, he does not see brutality and destruction in it. But Bulkington’s reading of Transcendentalism, even if superficially more peaceful and harmless, is equally devastating for himself: his Transcendentalist quest for completion and knowledge, and his challenge of assumed ideas, those “wildest winds of heaven [religion] and earth [social norms and custom]” (203) which threaten to dash him against a deceptively safe coast, destroy him. Nevertheless, through this character, Melville concludes that it is possible to undertake a harmless (except for oneself) Transcendentalist quest for free thought. Where Ahab was a God, Bulkington is only a “demigod” (203), however. But Melville is far from proposing Bulkington as a valid Transcendentalist model. As a matter of fact, like Ahab, he is also indicted, though more sympathetically, as the solemn yet skeptical question “Know ye, now, Bulkington?” (203) reveals. Where has that knowledge taken you? Has it given you anything worth having? Was it all really worth it? These are probably questions that the novelist had in mind. Bulkington’s death may be glorious and heroic but it is death all the same, and it is hard to conceive of a philosophy of life that only offers death as the result of its application. 16 Everything so far would seem to confirm the view that Melville is indicting Emersonian self- reliance, and all of Transcendentalism by the same token, as essentially selfish, pointless, bleak, and often harming to others. The path towards freedom and a complete acceptance of individuality may be worth following, but the destination one intends to approach is hardly the haven one probably had in mind. In other words, the dream is more than likely to result in a nightmare. Such a contradictory situation is best gleaned when Ahab confesses to feeling “damned in the midst of Paradise,” as “[g]ifted with the high perception,” he nows lacks “the low, enjoying power” (266). We would all feel “damned” in the midst of such “Paradise” as his personal reading of Transcendentalism has created and where, despite the enlarged vision resulting in that “high perception,” everything beyond the self has vanished, one has completely embraced what one is, intuitions reign undisturbed by logic, and no enjoyment is possible as sensory gratification has been ruled out. But if the ultimate aim of Transcendentalist voyages was such a joyless enlightenment, they are probably, in Melville’s opinion, not worth taking. However, Melville’s dialogue with Transcendentalism does not conclude with that utterance. Such a statement is only the starting point for another journey, one in which Melville will attempt to find some other way to pursue Transcendentalism, one definitely not leading to Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 6 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 such “paradise” as Ahab has created. In chapter 94, “A Squeeze of the Hand,” Ishmael already warns us that the greatest happiness may not reside in having the greatest thoughts or ideals but in enjoying the simplest of pleasures. Such thought was triggered by his pleasant squeezing of the whale’s sperm, an activity that would be meaningless for Ahab (or probably Bulkington), bent as he is upon “loftier” pursuits and “deeper wonders” (176). But, after all, to enjoy the world one must first experience it through the senses, a possibility that Ahab seems to have denied himself: when he tells the carpenter what his ideal man would be like, he insists that he would have “no heart at all, brass forehead, and about a quarter of an acre of fine brains” and is devoid of eyes, having only “a sky-light on top of his head to illuminate inwards” (582). And how is such an ideal man to enjoy what surrounds him if he cannot even see it? Yet, it is Ishmael’s, who can enjoy the squeeze of his colleague’s hands or the contemplation of a tranquil sea, that Melville posits as a more fruitful reading of Transcendentalism, a less literal one to be sure, but one which allows our narrator to survive the tragedy of a ship sunk by a more literal exegesis. 17 It is probably useful to insist that Ahab resembles much more than Ishmael the “hero” that Emerson seemed to have in mind in his essays. In “Self-Reliance,” which, as McLoughlin has noted, Melville read months before writing Moby-Dick (79), Emerson welcomed the “self- helping” man resulting from the application of his ideas in the following terms: “Welcome evermore to gods and men is the self-helping man. For him all doors are flung wide: him all tongues greet, all honors crown, all eyes follow with desire” (146). Ahab certainly fits that description better than Ishmael does. It is him whom all tongues do greet, as his mostly unquestioned leadership shows. Ishmael is unable to explain the captain’s allure: “How it was that they [the Pequod’s crew] so aboundingly responded to the old man’s ire – by what evil magic their souls were possessed, that at times his hate seemed almost theirs . . . would be to dive deeper than Ishmael can go” (286). Emerson would explain that “evil magic” as the attainment of complete self-reliance, and would have applauded gestures such as Ahab’s casting of his pipe into the sea or the destruction of the quadrant as they imply a total commitment to his true nature (by refusing to contain his wrath through the pipe or to follow a reasonable course through the quadrant). Both are also gestures allowing instinctive behaviour to take over, as insisted upon by the Transcendentalists. Ahab has moreover unusual mental strength and a wealth of experience. His long-time seclusion in the remotest seas has led to independent thought and complete self-reliance. Part of his knowledge has come from Nature, as he is said to have received “all nature’s sweet or savage impressions fresh from her own virgin voluntary and confiding breast” (170), such “voluntary” revelations evincing a deeply Thoreauvian communion with it. As a good Transcendentalist, Ahab has received everything that Nature has volunteered and is also familiar with the Transcendentalist injunction to wait for revelations from Nature and not actively seek them. His lethal distrust of the white whale seems to place him far from the more sympathetic attitude of Thoreau, however. He has written the whale into an allegorical enemy and it is to be sure an unexpected reading of Nature (from one who is so close to Transcendentalism in most other aspects). On the other hand, in constructing Nature as text, Ahab is being faithful to Transcendentalist positions, the same from which Thoreau could write that “[e]very morning was a cheerful invitation to make my life of equal simplicity, and I may say innocence, with Nature herself”; he went on to textualize “the faint hum of a mosquito making its invisible and unimaginable tour through my apartment at earliest down” as “itself an Iliad and Odyssey in the air” and “a standing advertisement . . . of the everlasting vigour and fertility of the world” (62). 18 The character in Moby-Dick, however, who most resembles Thoreau, or, as McWilliams would put it, “the self-created character of Henry David Thoreau” (12), is obviously Ishmael, representing as he does “el hombre insatisfecho de sí y del mundo, que busca y deambula de un lugar a otro, exiliado voluntario en pos de respuestas incontestables y de paraísos perdidos” (Barrio Marco 121). Both the character/narrator of Moby-Dick and the celebrated author of Walden adopt “similar personae” (Van Nostrand 114-5): dissatisfied with their lives so far, for reasons neither of them leaves very clear, both moved to new surroundings, and in both cases such a move involves water. Both were probably desirous of a peep at Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 7 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 the everlasting, the unfathomable and the ungraspable sublime, a confirmation that life was more than they knew it to be. Resulting from the lack of a satisfactory life and consequent psychological imbalance, both Ishmael and Thoreau often change the moods in which they come before us: now they are joyful, now moody, now melancholy, now ironic or gloomy. Both are solitary beings, which often leads them to engage in silly dialogues with themselves, dozens of examples of which can be found in Walden and Moby-Dick. Sometimes, though, both Thoreau and Ishmael reach out to other beings, a lumberman in Thoreau’s case, Queequeg in Ishmael’s, and readers in both. Since the famous opening of Moby-Dick and its narrator urging the reader to call him Ishmael, he will address his readers almost as often as Thoreau addresses his: Some of you, we all know, are poor, find it hard to live, are sometimes, as it were, gasping for breath. I have no doubt that some of you who read this book are unable to pay for the dinners which you have actually eaten, or for the coats and shoes which are fast wearing or already worn out, and have come to this page to spend borrowed or stolen time, robbing your creditors of an hour. It is very evident what mean and sneaking lives many of you live, for my sight has been whetted by experience. (5) 19 It seems clear that Thoreau’s project is not to retreat from society for good, and he has not forsaken human connection. Unlike Ahab’s, Ishmael’s thoughtfulness is not an obstacle for him initiating fruitful bonds with people like Queequeg either, or patting his readers’ back heartily every now and then. 20 Nevertheless, and in spite of the similarities above, Ishmael and the Thoreau of Walden also differ from each other in important respects. Ishmael, for one, does not heed the Transcendentalist insistence on laying aside books and traditions, stemming from Emerson’s conviction that “[t]he centuries are conspirators against the sanity and authority of the soul . . . and history is an impertinence and an injury, if it be anything more than a cheerful apologue or parable of my being and becoming” (“Self-Reliance” 141). Whether in the etymologies and extracts at the beginning of the novel or the intertextual games throughout it, Ishmael makes clear that he is heavily indebted to those who dealt with his subject before him. The result is a novel where one easily gets lost in the “unshored, harborless immensities” (227) of so much erudition and learning, the traditional boundaries between different discursive practices (of law, linguistics, or science, to name only a few) being constantly blurred. Ishmael certainly does not feel that the past is an “impertinence” or detects a conspiracy in the intellectual wealth accumulated over the centuries, and such position would constitute a first aspect of his (and Melville’s) argument with Transcendentalism: rather than denounce the castrating potential of authoritative voices, Ishmael concludes that it is possible to empower oneself through them. The specific strategy by which he retains control of the narrative consists in handling such voices of authority ironically, and thus creating a distance or space where they can be contested. Use the past, and do not let it use you, seems to be Ishmael’s response to Emerson’s assertions, while probably agreeing with the need to “[i]nsist on yourself; never imitate” (148), also set forth in “Self-Reliance.” Ishmael’s project is innovative, and yet respectful with his literary heritage. He leaves from Nantucket, the starting point for New England’s whaling industry, and a reasonable kind of departure for one who attaches such an importance to one’s roots. But then Nantucket is just the threshold of a journey that, as intended, takes him to confines (geographical, mental, experiential, sentimental, emotional, literary) he had never visited and for which books had not completely prepared him. 21 Alluding to Emerson, Melville said in 1849 that he loved “all men who dive” (McSweeney 10; author’s emphasis). Ishmael is also made to believe in the Transcendentalist (and neoplatonic) contention that reality is only partly (if it is that at all) what our senses are capable of perceiving, and declares that “some certain significance lurks in all things, else all things are little worth, and the round world itself but an empty cipher” (540; my emphasis). The verb lurk apparently implies that the meaning which is to be extracted from everyday occurrences is not easily or immediately available but can only be got after considerable exertion. This is the idea that underlies Emerson’s contention that “the whole of nature is a metaphor of the human mind” (“Nature” 16) or Thoreau’s minute scrutiny of his Walden surroundings, ones where he Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 8 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 declared he was to “live deep and suck out all the marrow of life” (63), since “we are enabled to apprehend at all what is sublime and noble only by the perpetual instilling and drenching of the reality that surrounds us” (67). Thoreau would also subscribe to Ishmael’s positing of man’s soul as an endless landscape to seek out and discover, though one usually neglected and “parched” by the paradoxically “dead drought of the earthly life” (602). Ordinary life is often empty and deadening, suffocating, but every now and then men may walk those landscapes of the soul and feel “the cool dew of the life immortal on them” (Melville 602). This is akin to the Thoreauvian emphasis on spiritual concerns being the immortal part of man: “In accumulating property for ourselves and our posterity, in founding a family or a state, or acquiring fame even, we are mortal; but in dealing with truth we are immortal” (69). 22 Both Thoreau and Ishmael use the material world as windows into their own selves, even if Melville’s character is more aware than Thoreau of the limitations of such a method. Ahab also tries to use Nature for the same purposes, but he is unable to let meaning flow smoothly and imposes on it only one possible text. He does not really listen to Nature, or at least to everything that Nature has to say. But how is he to know himself (or anyone else) in Nature, or let it disclose who he truly is, when, like a ventriloquist, he has silenced its voice and allows it just to repeat the same (violent) sentence over and over again? And it is a sentence that Nature has uttered (after all, it can indeed be brutal and violent, and Ahab has lost a leg to Moby-Dick). Sadly for him, it is not the only sentence that Nature can utter. Others may be comforting, soothing, invigorating, or inspiring. Towards the end of chapter 68, after noting how the whale preserves its warmth even in very cold climates, Ishmael declares: “Oh, man! admire and model thyself after the whale! Do thou, too, remain warm among ice. Do thou, too, live in this world without being of it. Be cool at the equator; keep thy blood fluid at the Pole. Like the great dome of St Peter’s, and like the great whale, retain, O man! in all seasons a temperature of thine own” (414). Readers are asked to preserve their individualities even if surrounded by unpropitious conditions. In other words, external pressure to change what we are or be what we are not should be resisted at all times.That was a “text” suggested by the peculiar anatomy of the whale, which makes it possible for the animal to keep warm regardless of conditions outside. While Ahab can only impose meaning, Ishmael reveals greater capacity to really listen to, closely observe and make sense of Nature in a more balanced way. He reminds us of the passage where Thoreau tells his readers that “[w]e should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us, like the grass which confesses the influence of the slightest dew that falls on it” (213), and reads the way in which the grass never fails to benefit from a gentle rain, no matter how dry it was yesterday, as an invitation to enjoy and live in the present. Not all readings of Nature are cheerful, however. Much as Thoreau realizes how often men hazard their chances of present enjoyment because of the past getting in their way, Ishmael realizes towards the end of the paragraph quoted above how difficult it will be for man to follow such advice and truly be himself: “[H]ow easy and how hopeless to teach these fine things!” (414). 23 From the very outset of the novel, Ishmael displays a rare thirst for knowledge, which may well remind us of Ahab’s, whose declared foe, the white whale, contains all meanings within its whiteness. It is moreover a symbol of Ahab’s quest for total knowledge, one eagerly engaged in, as “unless you own the whale you are but a provincial and sentimentalist in Truth” (445), but one that can only result in utter frustration and the seeker eventually sucked down by such whirlwind as his eagerness has provoked. Who can know all? But for Ahab, only when Truth is whole, only when it is spelt with a capital letter, is it worth seeking. Ishmael seems at times fairly close to Ahab’s obsession, refusing to leave anything out, however trifling, and calling for Vesuvius’ crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms! For in the mere act of penning my thoughts of this Leviathan, they weary me, and make me faint with their outreaching comprehensiveness of sweep, as if to include the whole circle of the sciences, and all the generations of whales, and men, and mastodons, past, present, and to come, with all the revolving panoramas of empire on earth, and throughout the whole universe, not excluding its suburbs. (567) Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 9 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 24 But, unlike Ahab, Ishmael is often happy to accommodate to the reality of imperfect knowledge. Many chapters end with an exhausted Ishmael, more than ready to settle for half, and who asks readers to complete whatever task he began: “If then, Sir William Jones, who read in thirty languages, could not read the simplest peasant’s face in its profounder and more subtle meanings, how may unlettered Ishmael hope to read the awful Chaldee of the Sperm Whale’s brow? I but put that brow before you. Read it if you can” (455). Sometimes he has to conclude that in his investigations of the whale, “[d]issect him how I may, then, I but go skin deep; I know him not and never will” (487). But Ishmael is not gloomy at such moments; on the contrary, he is happy to be at least engaged in a process which is giving him so much. In Thoreau, such failed quests often ended in bitter disappointment, as is the case with the ending of the section “Former Inhabitants; and Winter Visitors”: “There too, as everywhere, I sometimes expected the Visitor who never comes . . . I often performed this duty of hospitality, waited long enough to milk a whole herd of cows, but did not see the man approaching from the town” (183). His quest for that symbolic “visitor” has only resulted in sadness and frustration. But not only Ishmael has to settle for half; more orthodoxly ambitious (epistemologically speaking) Transcendentalists like Ahab or Thoreau have to. But they are pained to have to do so (Ahab simply refuses), while Ishmael is not. It is not healthy to expect too much knowledge from the world of nature, Ishmael seems to contend throughout the novel, and such a notion would be a second aspect of his (and again Melville’s) argument with Transcendentalism. 25 Every true Transcendentalist needed to feel moments of communion with the Oversoul, that mystic force that bound all living things together by means of invisible ties, which, for brief spells, were somewhat made visible. Upon spying an albatross, Ishmael is awed and confused: Through its inexpressible, strange eyes, methought I peeped to secrets which took hold of God. As Abraham before the angels, I bowed myself; the white thing was so white, its wings so wide, and in those for ever exiled waters, I had lost the miserable warping memories of traditions and of towns. Long I gazed at that prodigy of plumage. I cannot tell, can only hint, the things that darted through me then. (289) 26 Right away, Ishmael leaves it clear that he had never read Coleridge’s poem. It is, quite simply, the coming before a strange, alien nature (having lost the memory “of traditions and of towns”), which shows him things that, because of their profusion (the whiteness of the albatross suggests the simultaneous presence of all colors and meanings), he cannot successfully translate into words. It is impossible not to feel that this is akin to what Ahab feels before the white whale, though he responds differently. In chapter 35 of the novel, significantly entitled “The Mast-Head,” we are offered a new glimpse of the Oversoul or “soul pervading mankind and nature” (257), which implies a loss of personal identity and the crossing of temporal and geographical barriers. It is now represented by that “mystic ocean” to which the narrator abandons himself, going through the kind of experience which, in Emerson’s view, caused man to become “a transparent eye-ball” and to be nothing yet to see all (“Nature” 6). Seductive as such disembodiment undoubtedly is, Ishmael has, however, one final remark to make: “But while this sleep, this dream is on ye, move your foot or hand an inch: slip your hold at all: and your identity comes back in horror. Over Descartian vortices you hover. And perhaps, at mid- day, in the fairest weather, with one half-throttled shriek you drop through that transparent air into the summer sea, no more to rise for ever” (257). Were Transcendentalists listening? Just in case, he stresses that the message is mainly intended for them: “Heed it well, ye Pantheists!” (257). 27 The whole sequence above seems a rebuke of the Transcendentalists and their excessive idealism: too much abandonment and communion with Nature may result in drowning (both literally and symbolically, just as Ahab drowned, or lost his balance, long before he actually drowns at the end of the novel). Shortly before, the narrator had ironically deplored the disastrous consequences, for business, of enlisting “sunken-eyed young Platonists” for whaling ships, boys or men who, perhaps influenced by Transcendentalism, were too introspective and removed from the materiality of the whaling business: [Y]e shipowners of Nantucket! Beware of enlisting in your vigilant fisheries any lad with lean brow and hollow eye; given to unreasonable meditativeness; and who offers to ship with the Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 10 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 Phaedon instead of Bowditch in his head . . . your whales must be seen before they can be killed; and this sunken-eyed young Platonist will tow your ten waked round the world, and never make you one pint of sperm the richer. (256) 28 As Michael Paul Rogin convincingly argues, Ishmael may, at the mast-head, see “all”, but fails to see whales, which is why he was up there (110). In Bryan Wolf’s opinion, his is in that instance “an extreme version of Emersonian innocence, a state of mind that expands consciousness only by diminishing the material world and the dangers it contains” (147). Nonetheless, it is a mistake, in my opinion, to conclude that Melville rejects the communing experience in itself. Vincent quotes Melville’s sarcastic assessment of such an idealistic communion with the Oversoul by referring to a similar insistence on the part of Goethe: “Here is a fellow with a raging toothache. ‘My dear boy,’ Goethe says to him, ‘you are sorely afflicted with that tooth; but you must live in the all, and then you will be happy!’” (qtd. Vincent 152). However, immediately afterwards, Melville claims that such a feeling of communion may be temporarily valid and rewarding. Similarly, in the episode above, Melville sees jeopardy only when such communion threatens to remove all connection with the real and obscures the risks often inherent in Nature. This could also be regarded as a third aspect of Melville’s argument with Transcendentalism. Abstractions are necessary and useful, and so it is to feel disembodied from time to time, and alive to other lives and Life as a whole. But it would be a mistake to let such feelings separate us from reality. Once we let go of the real, a potentially nurturing experience is rendered useless, dangerous even. In chapter 96, “The Try-Works,” Ishmael has an epiphany of sorts and realizes how crazy it is to create ghosts, to yield to irrational hallucinations, though Stern probably makes too much of the character’s warning “look not too long in the face of the fire, o man!” and uses it as proof that Melville is farther from Transcendentalism (247) than he actually was. But it is true that such a passage alerts us to the danger of abandoning reason, which is always inherent in Transcendentalist reveries. 29 A fourth aspect of Transcendentalism alarms Melville: excessive self-absorption, which may throw us into an irreversible state, particularly if we lack the necessary mental equipment. This is eloquently illustrated by means of Pip, who, in chapter 93, “The Castaway,” loses his sanity after having been left alone at sea for a good many hours, enduring “[t]he intense concentration of self in the middle of such a heartless immensity” (525). Richard S. Moore considers that chapter as Melville’s response to Thoreau’s project of isolation (56). But, in my opinion, what happens to Pip is a result of his own mental weakness. Unlike Thoreau, he is just a boy and has not chosen isolation; therefore, he lacks the mental strength needed to face the moment when his “ringed horizon began to expand around him miserably” (525). Moreover, also unlike Thoreau, he does not possess an intellectual or philosophical background allowing him to read the experience profitably and to make sense of that “horizon,” his horizon of consciousness, which kept enlarging without him knowing how to accommodate to its changing shape. Thus, it expands “miserably,” i.e. with disastrous results, bringing him misery and not Transcendentalist joy. But it cannot follow from it that all projects of self-retreat (by adult, willing, intellectually prepared individuals) are going to have the same results. Rather than condemning Transcendentalism, Melville is again interrogating it: What happens if a weak mind tries to swallow larger truths than he can possibly digest, such as those “strange shapes of the unwarped primal world” (525), or the mass of timeless impulses, instincts, intuitions and human universals which Pip had never encountered before? Madness is the obvious answer. Afterwards, “Pip saw the multitudinous, God-omnipresent, coral insects, that out of the firmament of waters heaved the colossal orbs” (525) and begins to see that God of Nature that was manifest in every one of its creatures: “He saw God’s foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it; and therefore his shipmates called him mad” (525). Pip discovered indeed the divine principle in himself and Nature, but, sadly enough, it just led to ostracism and incomprehension. Then, it is affirmed that “man’s insanity is heaven’s sense” (525-6), that is, that Transcendentalist revelations may drive us crazy, though only, I would like to add, if we lack the tools, the age, the strength, or the will, to come to terms with them. 30 Transcendentalism is systematically read in the novel as a cutting edge, a sort of thin line separating self-fulfilment from madness, joy from sorrow, meaning from meaninglessness. Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 11 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 Pip’s episode is only one more example of the danger inherent in a philosophy that seems to be able to give one moments of extreme existential joy, but also the utter hopelessness with which it curses Ahab or Pip. Similarly, in chapter 96, Ishmael was on the brink of becoming another Ahab, bringing disaster upon his fellow sailors, when he was about to lose control of the ship and his own mind by the same token. In the Epilogue of the novel, Ishmael is also “drawn towards the closing vortex” of the maelstrom about to sink the Pequod, “[t]ill gaining that vital centre, the black bubble upward burst” and he was “liberated” (687). Ishmael got dangerously close to the point in which the two other Transcendentalist “heroes” of Moby-Dick (Ahab and Bulkington) and the martyrs of an unimaginative reading of Transcendentalism (the rest of the crew) tragically ended their journeys. But he is saved by the upward thrust of a more idiosyncratic Transcendentalism, one that does not make him unhappy. Unlike Ahab, he is not “damned in the midst of Paradise”; rather like the whales in the “Grand Armada,” he affirms of himself that “while ponderous planets of unwaning woe revolve round me, deep down and deep inland there I still bathe me in eternal mildness of joy” (498). But, in order to reach such a Transcendentalist haven and benefit from it in terms of his personal and experiential growth and of his ability to delve into reality in search of its “marrow,” he had to undertake an arduous, but finally successful negotiation. 31 Resulting from such a negotiation is a prominent use of humour, which was rare in Transcendentalism, but which, as Edward H. Rosenberry in Melville and the Comic Spirit has argued, is a very important part of the novel’s epistemology. When referring to the most trivial of thoughts, Ishmael can say, tongue-in-cheek, “I devoted three days to the studious digesting of all this beer, beef, and bread, during which many profound thoughts were incidentally suggested to me, capable of a transcendental and Platonic application” (557), thus poking fun at Transcendentalism itself. However, McLoughlin is, I think, wrong in regarding Ishmael as “the new post-Transcendentalist man, whose ultimate ironic detachment will become a commonplace pose for the new ‘hero’ of the ‘realistic’ novel” (69). The irony of the novel does not come from Ishmael’s self-conscious ironic detachment but rather from the author’s ironic rendering of Ishmael’s over-serious approach to his task as a narrator. He is often laughable because of his (initial) ill-digested Transcendentalism, as displayed in those passages in which Ishmael earnestly tries not to leave out even the most trivial aspect of the whale’s anatomy, thus coming dangerously close to the sucking vortex of literal Transcendentalism and total knowledge. But it will be precisely as he becomes capable of reading Transcendentalism more creatively that the irony will be left behind. Ishmael’s idiosyncratic Transcendentalism also allows him to engage in an emotionally and intellectually fruitful relationship with Queequeg that a more literal approach to Transcendentalism seems to preclude, as Ahab’s and Bulkington’s conspicuous loneliness heralds. For a spell, Ahab finds his own Queequeg in Pip, but their liaison is doomed from the start by the kind of Transcendentalist journey in which Ahab has embarked. It is also true that shortly before the final chase begins, Ahab tells Starbuck: “[S]tand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God” (652), thereby implying that human contact is likely to give us more than any Transcendental quest, and thus confirming the validity of Ishmael’s agenda. But Ahab is too far into his mad quest to be able to harp on such a fleeting perception for long. 32 Ishmael is the only Transcendentalist hero in Moby-Dick who is finally able to transform ideals into a source of happiness and growth, and, by that token, make them worthwhile. Ishmael wants to know and, above all, he wants to know himself; but he does not think that the attainment of such knowledge justifies the use of whatever means. He also finds out that it is man’s lot to resign himself to live with whatever knowledge he can reach, and should not aspire to know everything. Beyond that, he is able to see that human relationships are also meaningful, that knowledge by itself and without a further goal makes very little sense, that isolation and communion with Nature may be only valid for a while (and as long as one is fully prepared to cope with them). In other words, he does not incorporate Transcendentalism uncritically but after having negotiated his own Transcendentalist agenda, absorbing such aspects as could serve him and discarding the most irrational, selfish and radical ones. Melville Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 12 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 seems to be thus attacking the Ahab-like stereotyped view of Transcendentalism, the surface reading of what was a very sophisticated philosophy but probably also easy to reduce to a few over-simplified notions. Ishmael’s survival is an urge to be faithful to the spirit of Transcendentalism, not to its letter, and thus build our own philosophy of life (inspired rather than dictated by Transcendentalism). Aware as I am of the number of interpretations for Ishmael’s survival that already exist, I would like to propose one more: his final triumph, aside from giving him the chance to transform the story into his story, validates his personal version of Transcendentalism, and indicts alternative ones (Ahab’s or Bulkington’s). Thus, at the Epilogue, we become, with Ishmael, “pragmatic idealists left revolving on the edges of Ishmael’s maelstrom, staring into the vacant suction of Ahab’s political and philosophical idealism” (Bryant 71). This is an Ishmael-like novel, a compromise novel, with the action and adventures of a thrilling sea narrative and yet with the philosophical inquiry Melville was engaged in at the time. Such a combination will moreover characterize Melville’s future career. He indeed wrote works which “se fueron haciendo cada vez más profundos, más psicológicos, más metafísicos y enrevesados, en definitiva más transcendentes y complejos” (Barrio Marco 121), but never failing to give his readers amusing stories. Unfortunately, Ishmael’s pragmatic idealism served him better than his creator’s would serve him, judging by the sad story of Melville’s post-Moby-Dick life and literature. Bibliography Axelrod, Steven Gould. “Teaching Moby-Dick to Non-English Majors.” Approaches to Teaching Melville’s Moby-Dick. New York: MLA, 1985. 66-74. Barrio Marco, José Manuel. “La novela norteamericana desde sus orígenes hasta la Guerra Civil”. Historia crítica de la novela norteamericana. Ed. José Antonio Gurpegui Palacios. Salamanca: Almar, 2001. 65-127. Beaver, Harold. “Introduction [to Moby-Dick].” Moby-Dick. By Herman Melville. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1986. 20-42. Bryant, John. “Moby-Dick as Revolution.” The Cambridge Companion to Herman Melville. Ed. Robert S. Levine. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998. 65-90. Cowan. S. A. “In Praise of Self-Reliance: The Role of Bulkington in Moby-Dick.” American Literature 38 (Jan 1967): 547-56. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “Nature.” Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ed. Richard Poirier. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990. 5-36. ---. “Self-Reliance.” Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ed. Richard Poirier. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990. 131-51. ---. “The Transcendentalist.” Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ed. Richard Poirier. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990. 97-110. Freeman, John. Herman Melville. New York: Haskell, 1974. Marx, Leo. The Machine in the Garden. Technology and the Pastoral Idea in America. London: Oxford UP, 1980. McLoughlin, Michael. Dead Letters to the New World. Melville, Emerson, and American Transcendentalism. New York: Routledge, 2003. McSweeney, Kerry. Moby-Dick. Ishmael’s Mighty Book. Boston: Twayne, 1986. McWilliams, John P. Jr. Hawthorne, Melville, and the American Character. A Looking-Glass Business. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1984. Melville, Herman. Moby-Dick. 1851. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1986. Miller, Perry. “Melville and Transcendentalism.” Moby-Dick. Centennial Essays. Eds. Tyrus Hillway and Luther S. Manfield. Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1965 (1953). Moore, Richard S. That Cunning Alphabet. Melville’s Aesthetics of Nature. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1982. Rogin, Michael Paul. Subversive Genealogy. The Politics and Art of Herman Melville. Berkeley: U of California P, 1985. Rosenberry, Edward H. Melville and the Comic Spirit. New York: Octagon, 1979. Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 13 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 Sealts, Milton M, Jr. Melville’s Reading: A Checklist of Books Owned and Borrowed. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1966. Shanley, J. Lyndon. The Making of Walden with the Text of the First Version. Chicago: Chicago UP, 1957. Stern, Milton R. The Fine Hammered Steel of Herman Melville. Urbana: Illinois UP, 1968. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden. 1854. Ware: Wordsworth, 1995. Van Nostrand, A. D. Everyman His Own Poet. Romantic Gospels in American Literature. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968. Vincent, Howard P. The Trying-Out of Moby-Dick. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1949. Williams, John B. White Fire: The Influence of Emerson on Melville. Long Beach: California State UP, 1991. Wolf, Bryan. “When Is a Painting Most like a Whale?: Ishmael, Moby-Dick and the Sublime.” New Essays on Moby-Dick. Ed. Richard H. Brodhead. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1986. 141-79. References Electronic reference Ramón Espejo Romero, « Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. », European journal of American studies [Online], Vol 5, No 1 | 2010, document 5, Online since 28 June 2010, connection on 04 January 2015. URL : http://ejas.revues.org/8467 ; DOI : 10.4000/ejas.8467 About the author Ramón Espejo Romero University of Seville,Spain Copyright Creative Commons License This text is under a Creative Commons license : Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 Generic Abstract By reviewing the critical literature on Melville and Transcendentalism and then undertaking a close reading of Moby-Dick (1851), this paper argues that the novel reflects, among other things, an ongoing debate between the novelist and Transcendentalist philosophy. While in later works, Melville seems to express a more robust condemnation of the Concord movement and its dangerous idealism, Moby-Dick occupies less firmly-defined territory. The Transcendentalist urge of an Ahab to be himself is a counterpoint to Ishmael’s more idiosyncratic deployment of self-reliance, communion with the oversoul, and various other concepts easy to trace back to Emerson or Thoreau. The conclusion seems to be that a negotiation is necessary if Transcendentalism is to be heeded at all, precisely the kind of negotiation Ishmael undertakes throughout the novel, one which spares him from the maelstrom created by a more radical approach to self-acceptance and self-fashioning. Index terms Keywords : Henry David Thoreau, literary influence, Melville, Moby-Dick, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Transcendentalism http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.5
work_nkrxoyens5bcbjboiluba2dd7m ---- [PDF] Meta-accuracy and relationship quality: Weighing the costs and benefits of knowing what people really think about you. | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1037/pspp0000107 Corpus ID: 3407297Meta-accuracy and relationship quality: Weighing the costs and benefits of knowing what people really think about you. @article{Carlson2016MetaaccuracyAR, title={Meta-accuracy and relationship quality: Weighing the costs and benefits of knowing what people really think about you.}, author={Erika N. Carlson}, journal={Journal of personality and social psychology}, year={2016}, volume={111 2}, pages={ 250-64 } } Erika N. Carlson Published 2016 Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology People use metaperceptions, or their beliefs about how other people perceive them, to initiate and maintain social bonds. Are accurate metaperceptions associated with higher quality relationships? In four studies, the current research answers this question but considers the possibility that the self might not experience the same relational benefits of accurate metaperceptions, or meta-accuracy, as the people who form judgments about the self. For example, people tend to like individuals who… Expand View on PubMed doi.org Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 24 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 2 Background Citations 13 Methods Citations 1 Results Citations 1 View All Tables and Topics from this paper table 1 table 2 table 3 table 4 benefit Verifying specimen Happiness Eye Experience impression (attitude) Trait Paper Mentions News Article It’s time for your annual relationship MOT. Brace for impact! The Guardian 6 January 2018 24 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Blissfully Blind or Painfully Aware? Exploring the Beliefs People With Interpersonal Problems Have About Their Reputation. Erika N. Carlson, A. Wright, H. Imam Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality 2017 3 PDF View 11 excerpts, cites background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Social anxiety and liking: Towards understanding the role of metaperceptions in first impressions. H. Tissera, Lauren Gazzard Kerr, Erika N. Carlson, Lauren J Human Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2020 1 Save Alert Research Feed No Expectation, No Disappointment: How Does Meta-Accuracy Affect Hireability? Laetitia Renier, E. P. Kleinlogel, C. Toma, M. Mast, N. Murphy Psychology 2018 1 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Disagreement About Moral Character Is Linked to Interpersonal Costs Maxwell Barranti, Erika N. Carlson, R. Furr Psychology 2016 10 PDF View 4 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed What is the structure of perceiver effects? On the importance of global positivity and trait-specificity across personality domains and judgment contexts. R. Rau, Erika N. Carlson, +5 authors S. Nestler Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2019 5 Save Alert Research Feed On the relation between felt trust and actual trust: Examining pathways to and implications of leader trust meta-accuracy. Rachel L Campagna, Kurt T. Dirks, A. Knight, C. Crossley, S. Robinson Psychology, Medicine The Journal of applied psychology 2019 2 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Eagerness and Optimistically Biased Metaperception: The More Eager to Learn Others’ Evaluations, the Higher the Estimation of Others’ Evaluations J. Lu, Hebing Duan, X. Xie Psychology, Medicine Front. Psychol. 2018 1 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Inaccurate group meta-perceptions drive negative out-group attributions in competitive contexts J. Lees, M. Cikara Psychology, Medicine Nature Human Behaviour 2019 14 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Consistency between individuals' past and current romantic partners' own reports of their personalities Y. Park, G. Macdonald Psychology, Medicine Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 2019 5 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Perceived Image, Prestige, Respect and Support: How Employees Manage Multiple Reflected Appraisals at the Workplace T. Bongiorno Psychology 2017 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 75 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Resolution of Meta-Accuracy Erika N. Carlson, R. Furr Psychology 2013 16 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Meta-accuracy about potential relationship partners' models of others K. B. Carnelley, J. B. Ruscher, Samantha K. Shaw Psychology 1999 5 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Is It Adaptive for People With Personality Problems to Know How Their Romantic Partner Perceives Them? The Effect of Meta-accuracy on Romantic Relationship Satisfaction. Erika N. Carlson, T. Oltmanns Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality disorders 2018 2 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Do We Know the First Impressions We Make? Evidence for Idiographic Meta-Accuracy and Calibration of First Impressions Erika N. Carlson, R. Furr, Simine Vazire Psychology 2010 42 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Who knows what about a person? The self-other knowledge asymmetry (SOKA) model. Simine Vazire Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2010 622 PDF View 3 excerpts, references background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Overcoming the Barriers to Self-Knowledge Erika N. Carlson Psychology, Medicine Perspectives on psychological science : a journal of the Association for Psychological Science 2013 127 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Meta-insight: do people really know how others see them? Erika N. Carlson, Simine Vazire, R. Furr Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2011 102 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Do people know how others view them? An empirical and theoretical account. D. Kenny, B. Depaulo Psychology, Medicine Psychological bulletin 1993 426 Highly Influential PDF View 6 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Judgments of a relationship partner: specific accuracy but global enhancement. L. Neff, B. Karney Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality 2002 77 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Self-Knowledge of Personality: Do People Know Themselves? Simine Vazire, Erika N. Carlson Psychology 2010 160 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract Tables and Topics Paper Mentions 24 Citations 75 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE
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work_noukkj5iu5hbjgodnv6ccl6t5a ---- Conservation Ecology: de Geus, M. 1999. Ecological Utopias: Envisioning the Sustainable Society. International Books, Utrecht, The Netherlands. Home | Archives | About | Login | Submissions | Notify | Contact | Search ES Home > Vol. 4, No. 1 > Art. 18 Copyright © 2000 by The Resilience Alliance The following is the established format for referencing this article: Thiele, L. P. 2000. Book Review: de Geus, M. 1999. Ecological Utopias: Envisioning the sustainable society. International Books, Utrecht, The Netherlands. Conservation Ecology 4(1): 18. [online] URL: http://www.consecol.org/vol4/iss1/art18/ Book Review de Geus, M. 1999. Ecological Utopias: Envisioning the Sustainable Society. International Books, Utrecht, The Netherlands. Leslie Paul Thiele University of Florida Book Information Responses to this Article Literature Cited Published: July 4, 2000 In an age characterized by pragmatism and postmodern skepticism, utopian thought is easily rejected as a useless form of daydreaming or a dangerous flirtation with totalistic social planning. Marius de Geus, a political theorist at the University of Leiden in The Netherlands, argues that this depreciation of utopian thought is unnecessary and unjust. For contemporary environmental scholars and practitioners, he maintains, utopian writing constitutes a unique and valued resource. In Ecological Utopias, de Geus offers a concise review, critical analysis, and synthetic appraisal of the works of nine authors whose utopian writings span the last five centuries. Each of these authors limned what de Geus calls a "utopia of sufficiency." Utopias of sufficiency posit ideal societies whose raison d’etre is the satisfaction of moderate human needs through harmonious social and ecological relations. These societies are characterized by simplicity and self-restraint rather than material abundance and overconsumption. They demonstrate how a high quality of life can be achieved through richness of community, sufficiency of goods, meaningful work coupled with significant leisure, and ecological integration. Utopias of sufficiency are contrasted to utopias of abundance. De Geus does not examine this latter genre of utopian thought, where technological prowess produces widespread luxury. Such "technotopias," as portrayed by Bacon, Owen, Saint-Simon, and Fourier among others, celebrate human power over nature rather than human interdependence with nature. Instead, de Geus investigates the ecologically attuned works of Thomas More, Henry David Thoreau, Peter Kropotkin, William Morris, Ebenezer Howard, B. F. Skinner, Aldous Huxley, Ernest Callenbach, and Murray Bookchin. While paying heed to the shortcomings and dangers exhibited in the utopian thought of these authors, de Geus highlights the insight and inspiration that a critical reading of their works may yield. Utopias of sufficiency are not all cut from the same green cloth. They vary dramatically on a number of scores, including the individual liberties they celebrate and the forms of social control they advocate. In 1516, Thomas More published the first depiction of an ideal, ecologically attuned state. More’s Utopia is characterized by egalitarian relations (notwithstanding its inherent patriarchy) and the absence of private property. Its inhabitants achieve happiness and spiritual fulfillment by way of harmony with nature, adherence to a strict work ethic, and puritanical ethical standards. Ecological values are pervasive, but so is a lack of personal freedom. As de Geus observes, More's utopia is largely modeled after the monastic community. While underlining its originality, de Geus rejects More's vision because of the stifling social control it promotes. With similar qualms, de Geus assesses B. F. Skinner’s modern depiction of utopian life in Walden Two (1945). Although the inhabitants of Skinner’s community are not subject to coercion and are much more open to technological progress than the citizens of More’s ideal state, they are made equally compliant to social and ecological norms. This control is achieved by way of “positive reinforcement” and other forms of behavioral engineering that are routinely exercised on the denizens of Walden Two from cradle to grave. Henry David Thoreau published Walden, or a Life in the Woods in 1854. In this paean to the simple life, personal freedom is the foremost concern. However, it is a particular sort of liberty that Thoreau advocates. For Thoreau, the freedom to live luxuriously generally leads to lives fettered to production, consumption, and accumulation. Thoreau’s remedy is an unadorned life that mimics natural rhythms and liberally imbibes the "tonic of wildness.” For Thoreau, the ideal is not the cloistered communitarian but the noble savage. De Geus rightly doubts whether the world could sustainably support six billion Thoreauvians marching off to the woods with axe in hand to find peace of mind. Most of the utopian works discussed in Ecological Utopias lean more toward anarchism than authoritarian control. When Peter Kropotkin wrote Mutual Aid (1902), he was setting himself against the (social) Darwinists who described nature red in tooth and claw and claimed that survival and success went to the fittest of rugged individuals. Kropotkin argued that in the animal world, no less than the human, welfare was gained by way of solidarity and cooperation as much if not more than individual struggle. It is the pervasiveness of mutual aid, Kropotkin believed, that makes anarchism a viable option for humankind. Kropotkin looked to the Middle Ages as a period of relative well-being whose virtues were trampled under by the rising bourgeois society and the centralized state. Kropotkin suggested that the ideal society of the future might go beyond the decentralized and federative structures of the Middle Ages to foster lives of liberty and harmony, such that cooperation would supplant coercion and the preservation of nature would replace efforts to master it. In William Morris's romantic novel, News from Nowhere (1891), we confront an ecological utopia grounded in small-scale human craftsmanship. Like his acquaintance Kropotkin, Morris lauds decentralization, cooperative community, social equality, and individual freedom. Yet, more than any other utopian writer, Morris grounds these virtues in an aesthetic view of the human condition. Inspired by medieval arts and crafts, Morris became one of Europe's foremost graphic designers and established a well-known firm of artisans. Morris was appalled by the array of shoddy products that large-scale industry belched out along with pollution. News from Nowhere depicts a society in which the preservation of nature goes hand in hand with the beautification of the world. Ebenezer Howard’s Garden Cities of To-morrow (1898) provides another account of sustainable communities defined by human artistry. Howard's blueprint of utopia, however, is grounded in architectural and horticultural arts that effectively wed town and country. Murray Bookchin combines and modernizes Kropotkin and Morris. In The Ecology of Freedom and his other writings on “social ecology,” Bookchin argues that the domination of nature first arises from human domination, including patriarchy. Achieving a healthy relation to nature, Bookchin insists, will only be possible if humans first achieve egalitarian social relations. Aldous Huxley suggests a similar dynamic. Huxley is best known for his distopic novel, Brave New World. However, he also wrote Island (1962), a utopian novella depicting a people that seeks ecological balance and the development of higher consciousness through meditation and the use of non-addictive psychedelic drugs. The basic premise is that environmental preservation and spiritual development go hand in hand. The inhabitants of Ernest Callenbach's Ecotopia (1975), a secessionist nation of the 21st-century northwestern United States, also live a decentralized, egalitarian life close to nature. Many cultivate marijuana and, like Huxley’s islanders, facilitate ecological attunement through higher states of consciousness. In Ecotopia, sustainability is the foremost concern. Consequently, production is small-scale and laws require that goods be durable and easily repairable. What cannot be repaired or reused simply gets recyled or composted, as almost everything is organically produced. In Ecotopia, the steady-state economy has been attained. De Geus makes the valid criticism that ecological thinkers, including modern ones such as Bookchin and Callenbach, generally propose relatively static models of society. In turn, most utopian thinkers portray their lands and peoples as isolated from the world around them. Yet, contemporary societies are highly complex, quickly changing, and increasingly interconnected on a global scale. The utopian writing most needed today, de Geus suggests, would provide a vision of a sustainable society that preserves individual freedom, complex social relations, and ongoing social and ecological transformation. De Geus might have been more specific in this regard. One could argue, for instance, that what is most needed is the utopian portrayal of a progressive, market society characterized by full-cost accounting, wherein the social and ecological costs of production, distribution, and waste management are figured into the price consumers pay for goods and services. Herein, ecological sustainability would be achieved without sacrificing economic freedom. In the end, de Geus makes the case that utopian thought provides insightful social critique and imaginative vision. Radical perspectives allow us to evaluate the habits of thought and practice that we so often assume to be necessary features of our world. A political theory of sustainable society is still lacking, de Geus notes, and the critical insight and visionary ideals of utopian thought are an indispensable component of such theorizing. BOOK INFORMATION de Geus, M. 1999. Ecological Utopias: Envisioning the Sustainable Society. International Book, Utrecht, The Netherlands. 319pp., paperback, US$ 24.95. ISBN 90-5727-019-6. RESPONSES TO THIS ARTICLE Responses to this article are invited. If accepted for publication, your response will be hyperlinked to the article. To submit a comment, follow this link. To read comments already accepted, follow this link. LITERATURE CITED Bookchin, M. 1991. The ecology of freedom. Black Rose Books, Montreal, Quebec, Canada. Callenbach, E. 1975. Ecotopia. Banyan Tree Books, Berkeley, California, USA. de Geus, M. 1999. Ecological utopias: envisioning the sustainable society. International Books, Utrecht, The Netherlands. Howard, E. 1898. Garden cities of to-morrow. Reprinted in 1985 by Attic Books, Eastbourne, UK. Huxley, A. Brave New World. Harper and Row, New York, New York, USA. Huxley, A. 1962. Island. Panther Books, London, UK. Kropotkin, P. 1902. Mutual Aid. Porter Sargent Publishers, Boston, Massachusetts, USA. More, Thomas. 1516. Utopia. Reprinted in 1982 by Penguin Books, Harmondsworth, UK. Morris, W. 1891. News from nowhere. Reprinted in 1983 by Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, UK. Skinner, B. F. 1945. Walden Two. Reprinted in 1976 by Collier Macmillan, London, UK. Thoreau, H. D. 1854. Walden, or a life in the woods. Reprinted in 1966 in O. Thomas, editor. Walden and civil disobedience. W. W. Norton, New York, New York, USA. Address of Correspondent: Leslie Paul Thiele Department of Political Science University of Florida Gainesville, Florida USA 32611-7325 Phone: 352-392-0262 thiele@polisci.ufl.edu Home | Archives | About | Login | Submissions | Notify | Contact | Search
work_nr7dolyexnannlxxsjdkcuxw7i ---- Working with Hindu Clients in a Spiritually Sensitive Manner David R. Hodge Although social work is witnessing growing interest in spiritual and religious issues, little guidance has appeared in the literature to assist practitioners in addressing the unique spirituality of rapidly increasing non-Western populations. This article discusses the significant cultural/spiritual beliefs, practices, and values of Hindus, the largest Asian religion in the United States. Possible conflicts emanating from the lack of congruence between the values of Hindu consumers, derived from the dharma—the sacred moral order—and the values of social workers, derived from a Western Enlightenment discourse, are highlighted. The author offers practice-oriented suggestions to facilitate cultural sensitivity and to further integrate the spiritual strengths of Hindus into the clinical dialogue. Key words: dharma; diversity; Hinduism; religion; spirituality W hen working with nonmainstream popula- tions, effective service provision is often contingent on the practitioner's level of cultural competence (Mizio, 1998; Poole, 1998). Cultural competence is predicated on developing an awareness of the two worldviews involved in the counseling dialogue, the consumer's and the practitioner's (McPhatter, 1997). Not only should workers strive to develop an empathetic under- standing of consumers' reality, but workers should also seek to acquire an awareness of their own culturally informed assumptions (Wambach 8c Van Soest, 1997). Based on the new awareness, social workers can implement interventions that are congruent with the consumer's beliefs, values, and practices. Lack of cultural competence can have serious ramifications, particularly when working with re- ligious traditions that practitioners may not be familiar with, such as Hinduism. Not only is effec- tive practice impeded, but harm may occur. Reddy and Hanna (1998) emphasized that practi- tioner application of typical Western secular val- ues and related interventions with Hindus in counseling settings my cause "confusion and fur- ther negative affect." Indeed, whereas Goodwin and Cramer (1998) found that 80 percent of the 70 Hindus in the study would use a counseling service, they also found that 76 percent of respon- dents "were insistent that the counselor should be someone who understood their culture inti- mately" (p. 422). Most social workers, however, have received no training on Hinduism during their graduate pro- grams (Canda 8c Furman, 1999), suggesting the need for practitioners to familiarize themselves with this population. This need may be particu- larly salient given that Hinduism is the largest Asian religion in the United States (Richards 8c Bergin, 1997) and is growing rapidly (Williams, 1997). Yet, only a few articles have appeared in the literature on Hinduism (Canda & Furman), and none has focused on orienting workers to in- teract with Hindu consumers. This article attempts to equip workers with a practice-oriented understanding of Hinduism. This articles highlights the centrality of commu- nity as a metaphor for understanding Hinduism CCC Code: 0037-8046/04 $3.00 O 2004 National Association of Social Workers, Inc. 27 and leads into a discussion of the dharma, the underlying sacred order that informs classical Hinduism. Hinduism Hinduism is a 12th-century Persian term used by Mushms to describe "the belief of the people of India" (Fenton et al, 1993, p. 21). Although there are more than 800 million Hindu adherents worldwide, 13 percent of the earth's population (Juthani, 1998), the overwhelming majority live in India, the cradle of Hinduism, where they are ap- proximately 85 percent of the population (Fenton et al.). Thus, Hinduism is closely tied to Indian history, geography, and culture. In the eyes of many Indians, and especially among the Hindu majority, Hindu culture and Indian culture are functionally equivalent (Fenton, 1988). Hindu self-awareness and self-identity affirms Hinduism as a single religious universe (Weightman, 1998). As Melton (1999) noted, there are a num- ber of commonly held beliefs, practices and val- ues, including a shared religious history in India. Conversely, it is important to note that there is an extraordinary degree of diversity within Hindu- ism. For example, even prevalent terminology, such as Brahman and dharma, can signify a wide range of divergent and discrete concepts among various spiritual traditions within the religiion (Reat, 1990). Consequently, it should be kept in mind that this article is intended to provide social workers with an "exploratory working hypothesis" with which to interact with Hindu clients, rather than a definitive framework. In other words, practition- ers should use the concepts developed in this ar- ticle as a starting point, while allowing consumers the freedom to adjust practitioners' understand- ing of their reality on the basis of their own inter- pretation of Hinduism. Centrality of Community For social workers raised and educated in a West- ern Enlightenment-derived worldview that em- phasizes personal autonomy, human rationality, and a positivist epistemology (Crocker, 1997; Jafari, 1993), the Hindu cosmology can represent a radically different model for understanding real- ity. Shweder and colleagues (1997) suggested that U.S. society stands in direct contrast with Hindu culture. The concepts of individualism, au- tonomy, materialism, and secularism that charac- terize Western, and especially U.S., culture are subordinate in Hindu society, where the concepts of community, interdependence, and divinity are primary, made salient, and implicitly institution- alized. Animated by the divine, Hindu culture tends to conceptualize the person as inherently part of a social body (Miller, 1994). Consequently, for most Hindus there is a great awareness of, and respect for, human interdependence and interconnectedness, which is understood to be the foundation of well-being. If an individual's ac- tions weaken the community to which the person belongs, they weaken the person. Instead of indi- viduals attempting to meet their own needs, people work together to care and provide for each other (Miller, 1994; Shweder et al., 1997). This interdependent social body is grounded in and is a manifestation of the Hindu dharma. Dharma—the Sacred Order The dharma has been suggested as the "funda- mental unifying principle of traditional Hindu- ism" (Fitzgerald, 1990, p. 112). Indeed, many In- dians use the term to signify their own religion (Corbett, 1994; Fenton et al., 1993; Weightman, 1998). In addition to religion, dharma also signi- fies eternal order, moral law, justice, righteous- ness, and personal duty (Fenton et al.; Juthani, 1998; Weightman). Dharma can be understood as an unseen, metaphysical moral order that perme- ates the universe. Because dharma represents the ultimate moral and sacred reality, ordering society and personal conduct to correspond with the de- sign of the universe is one's duty and brings integ- rity, harmony, and balance both societally and personally. Harmonizing beliefs, practices and values with the implicit sacred design, manifested as one's personal dharma, fosters corporate and individual well-being. Because the dharma is woven into the fabric of existence, Hinduism can be conceived of as all- encompassing, providing structure and coherence to all facets of life (MuUatti, 1995). The encom- passing nature of dharma represents a sharp con- trast with Western Enlightenment epistemology, which tends to dichotomize the secular and sacred into two different realms, public and private, and gives precedence to the former over the latter (Crocker, 1997). Therefore, for Westerners who construct reality from within an Enhghtenment framework, "Hinduism is more than a religion; it Social Wort/Volume 49, Number 1 /January 2004 28 is a way of life" (Siegel, Choldin & Orost, 1995, p. 131). Indeed, in addition to personal moral codes, values, ritual conduct, and other areas typically assigned to the private sphere, dharma forms the basis for family roles and the structure of tradi- tional Indian society. Family The dharma places a high priority on the family. For most Hindus, family is considered to be a critical stage on the path of action, discussed later in this article, which leads to ultimate spiritual liberation (Fenton et al., 1993). It is through the family that Hindus fulfill many religious obliga- tions. Consequently, a number of rituals and spiritual practices are connected with family life. Common life cycle rituals of Hindus in the United States, which typically involve the extended family whenever possible, include prenatal rituals, birth and childhood ceremonies such as naming the child, marriage, and cremation within 24 hours after death (Williams, 1988). As an expression of the path of devotion, families commonly have one or more family gods that are honored at home shrines (Mullatti, 1995). The individual dharma differs for women and men. Traditionally, wives are considered exten- sions of Hindu goddesses, responsible for trans- mitting cultural and religious knowledge— dharma—to their children and through them to the wider society (Reddy & Hanna, 1998). Con- versely, husbands have been responsible for pro- viding for the family and have final responsibility for family decisions (Mullatti, 1995). The marriage unites two family systems in a manner that approximates the Western bond be- tween blood relations. In keeping with the com- munity ethos of Hinduism, the individual is un- derstood to be embedded in a family that is embedded in an extended family, which in turn is embedded in an even wider kin network (Reddy & Hanna, 1998). The family, and often the kin net- work, may take an active role in guiding mate se- lection, up to and including arranged marriages. In essence, rather than marrying the one they love, Hindus love the one they marry. Western divorces based on the perception that one's emo- tional needs are no longer being satisfied by one's partner and the resulting suffering such divorces cause for the participants, particularly women (Smock, Manning, & Gupta, 1999) and children (Ross & Mirowsky, 1999; Wallerstein & Lewis, 1998), is comparatively rare among Hindus (Mullatti, 1995). Child rearing is typically child-centered, with children being seen as a gift from the divine. Having a son is often important to family mem- bers because only a male child can discharge the spiritual debt the husband owes his ancestors (Mullatti, 1995; Saraswathi & Pai, 1997). Little pressure is applied to children to become autono- mous and independent. Rather, children are so- cialized to see themselves as an integral part of a divinely ordered whole. For example, money may be held communally rather than individually in the form of personal allowances (Dhruvarajan, 1993). In keeping vnth the child-centered approach, it is generally held that the gratification of the child's desires in conjunction with an environ- ment that fosters minimum frustration is most conducive for development (Saraswathi & Pai, 1997). Disciplinary "time outs" are often per- ceived as too distancing and controlling of the child's behavior. Correction is commonly applied by holding the child and discussing the situation, and perhaps spanking (Almeida, 1996), a disci- plinary measure that has been shown to enhance reasoning and ameliorate disruptive behavior (Larzelere, Sather, Schneider, Larson, & Pike, 1998). The Four Varnas For more than 2000 years, the dharma has been understood to prescribe the structuring of society into four varnas, or castes. Although this arrange- ment has been criticized by many Hindus and its salience seems to be decreasing, it bas provided India with a remarkably peaceful and stable social order for more than two millennia. In addition to many sub-varnas, four major varnas are recog- nized: the brahmans, who perform religious and spiritual duties, the kshatriyas, who govern and administrate, the vaisya, comprising merchants and farmers, and the sudras, who carry out menial tasks considered to be spiritually unclean (Fenton et al., 1993; Hiltebeitel, 1987). Ideally, this matrix of relationships is understood to work to the re- ciprocal advantage of all parties, with each one having duties necessary for the proper functioning of the whole (Hiltebeitel). All parties are needed and important to the health of society and benefit from a stable social system (Saraswathi 8c Pai, 1997). Hodge / Working with Hindu Clients in a Spiritually Sensitive Manner 29 The assignment of social roles is hereditary, in a manner analogous to Western society, where individuals are born into a particular set of envi- ronmental and personal attributes (for example, wealth, access to education, class status, intellec- tual and emotional intelligence) that enable them to attain certain social positions. However, the individualistic competitive di- mension that enables Westerners to achieve or maintain their personal social position is largely absent in Hinduism, where individuals know their position in the social structure from birth. Thus, the stable group orientation in Hinduism may foster a greater sense of community, intercon- nectedness, esteem, and security than is found in individualistic, competitive Western settings (Saraswathi & Pai, 1997; Shweder et al., 1997). Further- ^ ^ ^ more, through the process of karma and satnsara, the indi- vidual has the assurance of ob- taining what are often deemed to be more prominent social positions. Karma can be understood as a law of moral cause and effect. The Law of Karma and the Cycle of Rebirth Following the ethical duties of one's personal dharma allows one to accumulate good karma, while living selfishly results in the accumulation of bad karma (Fenton et al., 1993; Weightman, 1998). Karma can be understood as a law of moral cause and effect and is closely allied with belief in samsara, the cycle of birth and rebirth, or trans- migration, to which the soul is subject (Melton, 1999). Karma, in conjunction with samsara, pro- vides universal justice in the sense that actors reap the consequences of their unjust or meritorious actions in this and the next life. Therefore, karma and samsara provide a meta- physical explanation for life's inequities that are otherwise unexplained and consequently can be a source of encouragement during trials. Con- versely, karma also may engender a sense of hu- man agency and hope for a better future, because it states that individuals possess free will and have the ability and potential to improve their standing in this life and the life to come (Juthani, 1998; Karnik & Suri, 1993). Furthermore, knowing that one has the opportunity to experience life again has been shown to decrease death anxiety (Parsuram & Sharma, 1992). Moksha—Liberation from the World Although the central precept of Hinduism is dharma, right living in this world, moksha, or lib- eration from this world, is also an important con- cept (Weightman, 1998). To escape samsara, with its possibility of a virtually endless cycle of death and rebirth, moksha is often sought. To achieve moksha, the individual must avoid the accumula- tion of any karma, good or bad, because it is karma that affects the transmigration of the soul. Although there are many, nonexclusive, roads to moksha, typically three major paths are cited: the paths of illumination, action, and devotion (Corbett, 1994; Fenton et al., 1993; Melton, 1999; Weightman). The path of illumination, jnana yoga, is based on meditation, which in turn leads to spiritual knowledge that results in lib- ^ ^ ^ 1 ^ eration. Particularly on this path, moksha is understood to occur when one's true, spiritual self, or atman, achieves unity with the all en- compassing, monistic Abso- lute—Brahman—sometimes referred to as the world-soul. Illumination occurs through meditative disciplines, which reveal how the illu- sion of this present empirical world has prevented one from seeing the ultimate unity of one's atman with the Brahman. The path of action, or karma yoga, suggests that selfiess action based on the requirements of personal dharma leads to moksha. However, these actions must be done without concern for per- sonal gain. Egocentricity results in the accumula- tion of karma and emphasizes separateness, which in turn inhibits union with the Brahman. Thus, in the way of action, moksha is achieved through performing actions based on the dharma in a spirit of detachment and selfiessness. As men- tioned earlier marriage and family, in which one has the opportunity to selfiessly serve others, are intimately tied into this path. Within the path of devotion, bhaktiyoga, lib- eration is obtained through devotion to a deity, or deities, with Shiva and Krishna being the most prominent in an extensive pantheon of deities. For instance, Krishna, an avatar, or incarnation of the Vedic deity, Vishnu, and the most popular deity of north India (WiUiams, 1988), is held by adher- ents to be the personal God who stands behind the impersonal Brahman. Krishna is worshipped Social Wor/c/ Volume 49, Number ] /January 2004 30 through various actions, including prayer and puja, or ritual offerings performed at household shrines or in a temple. Because Krishna is the creator of karma, he can be enjoined by the worship of his devotees to exempt followers from its effects and to grant liberation from samsara into an eternal life with Krishna (Fenton et al., 1993). As discussed earlier, most Hindu households have one room dedicated exclusively to puja and adopt one or more family gods (Fenton, 1988). Although the home shrine and temple are both considered residences of the gods, the family shrine is primarily responsible for transmitting religious beliefs and practices, particularly for Hindus in the United States (Williams, 1988). Although living in harmony with the dharma imposes a number of constraints on conduct, Hindus have considerable freedom in seeking moksha (Weightman, 1998). There are a number of sacred writings in Hinduism that serve to in- form the faith, including the Vedas, the Laws of Manu, the Upanishads, and the Bhagavad-Gita, the most popular text (Corbett, 1994; Williams, 1988). However, these scriptures play a relatively minor role in Hinduism, especially when com- pared with the Bible in Christianity or the Koran in Islam, although Hindu scriptures often assume increased prominence in U.S. settings as devo- tional texts (Williams, 1988). Transformative religious experience based on spiritual disciplines, rather than doctrinal con- cerns, is of central concern for most Hindus (Puhakka, 1995). Thus, in practice, Hindus tend to draw from all three paths, emphasizing various components on the basis of their caste, education, geographic location, personal tastes, stage of life, and so forth. However, for most Hindus, includ- ing those living in the United States, some combi- nation of the latter two paths is usually followed (Corbett, 1994; Miller, 1995). Hindus in the United States Hinduism has had a significant influence in U.S. history. Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, Tran- scendentalists such Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, and the New Age move- ment were all influenced in varying degrees by Hinduism (Tweed, 1997). Missionary efforts by Svami Vivekananda, prompted by his success at the 1893 World Parliament of Religions held in Chicago, led to the establishment of Vedanta Cen- ters throughout the United States. More recent missionary successes have been Swami Prabhupada and Maharishi Mahesh Yogi who, respectively, founded the International Society of Krishna Consciousness, or more popularly, the Hare Krishna movement, and transcendental meditation (TM). It is interesting and in contrast with Indian Hindus that the relatively less popular path of illumination, jnana yoga, has held the most attraction for U.S. converts, particularly in its TM form (Tweed; Williams, 1997). Although missionary activity by notable Hindu gurus or teachers has resulted in a number of con- verts and increased awareness of Hindu concepts among the general population, immigration has led to the rapid increase in the U.S. Hindu com- munity (Williams, 1997). Almost all Hindus in the United States are first or second generation immigrants. The repeal of the Asian Exclusion Act in 1965, which was introduced in 1917 because of heightened nationalist sentiment during World War I, has resulted in a dramatic population in- crease that shows few signs of abating (Melton, 1999). Ascertaining the exact number of Hindus in the United States is difficult because of a 1957 Congressional prohibition that prevents the United States government from collecting infor- mation on religious affiliation to safeguard reli- gious privacy (Williams, 1998). Figures ranging from just under half a miUion (Kosmin & Lachman, 1993) to about 5 million (Canda & Furman, 1999) have appeared in the literature. However, perhaps the best estimate is approxi- mately 1 million, a number that suggests that Hinduism is the largest Asian religion in the na- tion, with slightly more adherents than Buddhism (Richards & Bergin, 1997). The cohort of Hindu immigrants who entered during the post-1965 immigration are among the best educated and most professionally advanced and successful of any population, partly because of U.S. immigration regulations that favored professional and educational status (Williams, 1998). However, with the passage of the Family Reunification Act of 1990, immigration policy granted preference to relatives of earlier immi- grants. These latter arrivals are generally not as highly educated as their predecessors and conse- quently may face additional challenges adapting to their new home because of language barriers, employment problems, difficulty gaining access Hodge / Working with Hindu Clients in a Spihtuaiiy Sensitive Manner 31 to services, and other impediments. (Almeida, 1996). Hindu Social Supports Most Hindus have settled in urban areas (Corbett, 1994). New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, and Atlanta all have significant Hindu communities (Corbett; Fenton, 1988; Williams, 1988). New York State is home to just over one- third of U.S. Hindus, and California (10 percent). New Jersey (7 percent), and Illinois (7 percent) also have substantial populations (Kosmin & Lachman, 1993). The mushrooming growth has led to the estab- lishment of an extensive number of institutions to support Hindus in the United States. Currently, there are more than 412 Hindu centers in the United States, including an accredited university in Fairfield, Iowa, the Maharishi University of Management (Tweed, 1997). This total also in- cludes more than 50 major temples built since 1976 in cities throughout the United States, al- though full operation has been hindered to some extent by the lack of brahman priests (Williams, 1997). More than 500 Hindu organizations, number- ing in size from a few individuals to more than 15,000, have also been established (Williams, 1988), although a number of the 412 centers noted would also be included in this category. These organizations frequently offer a wide range of programs and provide social support for Hindu immigrants (Fenton, 1988; Miller, 1995). As with temples, Hindu organizations, 90 percent of which were begun by lay personnel, have been hampered by the lack of qualified gurus, or spiri- tual teachers (Williams, 1988). There are two particularly widely read periodi- cals that help support and inform the American Hindu community (Miller, 1995). India Abroad offers news and information on activities related to ethnically specialized organizations, whereas Hinduism Today provides a mainstream Hindu perspective on contemporary issues. Both publi- cations are available online. Demographics Although Kosmin and Lachman's (1993) national data on religious groups may have underrepre- sented the Hindu population, particularly its more disadvantaged segment, it clearly reveals the middle- to upper-income status of the U.S. Hindu community, a finding that has been widely repli- cated in regional studies (Dhruvarajan, 1993; Fenton, 1988; Miller, 1995; Williams, 1988). When 30 major U.S. religious groups were com- pared on annual household income, Hindus {N = 142) ranked 10th, ahead of Catholics, Lutherans, and Baptists. When ranked according to level of education, Hindus were second, behind Unitar- ians. Forty-seven percent of Hindus were college graduates, more than twice the national average. Similarly, in the area of employment, Hindus ranked first, with 64 percent reporting full-time employment (Kosmin & Lachman, 1993). Con- versely, they finished second-to-last in home own- ership, with only 47 percent of respondents indi- cating they owned their own home. Significantly, Hindus were the most likely to live in homoge- neous households. Roughly 95 percent of Hindus in multiple adult households lived in settings in which all adults were of the same religioun. Value Conflicts In general, the extant research suggests that first- generation Hindu immigrants successfully accul- turate; that is, they maintain their own value sys- tem while negotiating with the host culture to appropriate values and norms useful for adapting to the latter (Dhruvarajan, 1993; Fenton, 1988; Williams, 1988). For instance, Dhruvarajan found that first-generation Hindus generally retain their belief in interdependence, ritual worship, and complementary family roles, regardless of how long they had lived in North America. Similarly, Williams (1988) found that 85 percent of Hindus {N= 224) had a home shrine, 80 percent per- formed morning puja each day, and almost 60 percent visited a temple weekly. Fenton and Ralston (1998) also documented majority partici- pation in home religious practices, although at somewhat lower rates than Williams. High levels of education and English fluency usually enable Hindus to master the outward me- chanics of cultural adaptation quickly and effi- ciently (Joy & Dholakia, 1991). Concurrently, the same decentralized fiexibility, manifested in the centrality of family as the seat of spiritual devo- tion that enabled Hinduism to survive repeated attempts at subjugation, facilitates a relatively smooth transition to a new cultural setting (Will- iams, 1997). However, in addition to the problems encoun- tered by other Americans, Hindus may experience Social Work/Volume 49, Number 1 /January 2004 32 a number of value-related stress points in the United States, particularly with their children (Joy & Dholakia, 1991). Whereas Indian culture sup- ports following one's dharma, the Western En- lightenment-derived values that permeate U.S. culture frequently mitigate against fulfilling one's dharma (Fenton, 1988; Fitzgerald, 1990). The same flexibility and lack of doctrinal insti- tutionalization that eases acculturation may also lead to assimilation or the complete adoption of the host culture. Although many U.S.-born youths affirm classic Hindu norms, such as ar- ranged marriages, modesty, and respect for others (Miller, 1995), in aggregate they may be more in- clined to assimilate than youths from other spiri- tual traditions, such as Islam, which have firmly institutionalized norms (Ghuman, 1997). Con- cern within the Hindu community that youths are in danger of losing their heritage has led to the establishment of summer camps, temple "Sunday schools," and other instructional activities de- signed to institutionalize, preserve, and transmit Hindu values that were implicitly institutionalized in India (Fenton, 1988; Miller, 1995; Ralston, 1998; Williams, 1988). These value conflicts have ramifications for the majority of social workers who have been raised and professionally trained in the dominant cul- ture. Indeed, fewer than 1 percent of social work- ers (N= 1,616) self-identify as Hindus (Canda & Furman, 1999). As Jafari (1993) noted, the En- lightenment-based discourse that serves to inform the Western counseling project enculturates a specific set of values and norms. For example, this meta-narrative tends to give precedence to certain values over others: individualism over community, egalitarian roles over complementary roles, and a material concept of reality over a spiritual concept of reality. Workers may tend to impose values drawn from their own meta-narra- tive on clients simply because they seem "nor- mal," "universal," or "right" within the context of the discourse in which they have been raised and educated. For example, Fenton (1988) found that the value most Hindus {N= 225) desired to preserve is family, which was ranked most important by more than 60 percent of respondents, roughly three times more often than any other single cul- tural value. However, the values associated with the Hindu construction of family conflict with those upheld by the dominant culture. Conse- quently, some individuals operating under West- ern Enlightenment concepts call the desire to have a son to perform the sacred rites owed to ances- tors a "prejudice" (Almeida, 1996, p. 403), whereas the sacred dharma that prescribes differ- ent roles for women and men is referred to an "ideology" that serves to "camouflage injustice" while deceiving women into desiring a position of "bondage" (Siegel et al., 1995, pp. 132-134). From the perspective of the Enlightenment- based meta-narrative, the desires of Hindu women cannot be trusted, because only Western discourse perceives reality accurately and is uni- versally true. Such academic literature does little to equip social workers to further the goals of Hindu clients who desire to retain their construc- tion of family, and it does not demonstrate re- spect for personal autonomy. As Reddy and Hanna (1998) stated, "it cannot be overempha- sized that enforcing or applying Western cultural values on these clients or stressing the typical view of Western individuality may result in confusion and further negative affect... [and] is also likely to have a negative impact on the integrity of the family system" (p. 393). Therefore, Hindus may be reluctant to receive services from social work- ers because of concerns that they will attempt to impose their Western Enlightenment-derived val- ues (Goodwin & Cramer, 1998). As Cornett (1992) noted, effective therapy is predicated on respecting client autonomy. Social workers must be aware that Hindus may not share many of their value assumptions and closely monitor their own reactions to ensure that they avoid imposing their own values on Hindu cli- ents. Starting from a nexus of interdependent family and a sacred epistemology, Hindus com- monly affirm chastity outside of marriage, limited dating and arranged marriages, heterosexuality, role distinctions for women and men, and mod- esty (Almeida, 1996; Fenton, 1988; Juthani, 1998; Miller, 1995; Williams, 1988). So practitioners who affirm the "normality" of constructs such as sexual fulfillment at all life stages, dating, homo- sexuality, and egalitarianism must be especially vigilant to ensure that they respect the autonomy of Hindu clients. Practice Implications It is important to again note the diversity that oc- curs among self-identified Hindus. Although a general trend exists between time spent in the Hodge / Working witii Hindu Clients in a Spirituaiiy Sensitive Manner 33 United States and assimilation into the main- stream culture, first-generation Hindus may be as secularized and individualist as other Americans (Fenton, 1988). Conversely, second- and third- generation Hindus may strongly affirm classic Hindu values (Miller, 1995). Moksha, may be a motivating factor for some and not others. Thus, the following suggestions are meant to expand workers' consciousness regarding the possibilities that may have salience among Hindu consumers, rather than to provide practitioners with set pat- terns of interaction. School social workers and family practitioners in particular may wish to make note of the variation that can occur between generations. With this caution in mind, and as implied throughout this article, the psy- chological makeup of many ^ ^ ^ Hindus is modally different from westerners. Because of the Hindu emphasis on selfiessness, detachment, and a dharma-ori- ented epistemology, some Hin- dus may appear to have an "un- derdeveloped ego" from a psychodynamic perspective (Roland, 1997).Inotherwords, in certain cases they may lack ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ the independent, self-reliant, self-directing ego of Western individualism. Thus, as Roland noted, some Hin- dus can appear to exhibit vague boundaries be- tween self and others and demonstrate a weak conscience or superego, because Hindus often follow the highly contextualized emotional cues and values of others rather than the imperatives of Western individualism. Cultural sensitivity is demonstrated by recog- nizing that Western Enlightenment-derived theo- ries are not universally applicable, and corre- spondingly, adapting clinical strategies to comply with the psychological and value orientation of the Hindu cosmology (Roland, 1997). For ex- ample, Balodhi (1996) suggested that Hindu con- sumers may make extensive use of religious my- thology to communicate underlying problems. By using nondirect communication styles, consumers are able to share their own story while safeguard- ing the emotional space of the community's other members. Therefore, workers should incorporate a similar sensitivity regarding the direct commu- nication of emotions into their questions and re- Balodhi suggested that Hindu consumers may make extensive use of religious mythology to communicate underlying problems. sponses to conform to the implicit value of re- spect for the emotional well-being of others. Supportive direct questioning combined with empathetic listening skills are appropriate means for exploration of presenting problems and allevi- ating concerns Hindus may have over possible value confiicts (Juthani, 1998). As implied earlier, straightforward self-revelation of personal experi- ence and emotional trials may not occur, because such practices are often deemed to be too self- focused (Almeida, 1996). A carefully nuanced di- rect approach may be beneficial when combined with a sensitivity to the use of metaphor and story to communicate underlying problems. A direct approach can be effective in the sense that Hindus may perceive the structure of the counseling rela- tionship to be ordered so that ^ ^ ^ ^ workers are responsible for taking initiative, or demon- strating leadership, in ad- dressing pertinent issues (Juthani). In keeping with the cen- trality of the family unit, in- volving all family members in the therapeutic dialogue is usually advisable (Juthani, ^ ^ ^ ^ 1998). Individual goals are acceptable insofar as they do not subordinate the collective ethos (Joy & Dholakia, 1991). Thus, interventions that balance autonomy and interdependence are likely to be well received (Reddy & Hanna, 1998). The family unit can also be a significant source of social support. Extended family members may be aware of cultural resources, such as a local Hindu youth group, a childcare service, or a devo- tional worship group, that can be marshaled to ameUorate problems (Juthani, 1998). In light of the recent growth in Hindu organizations and programs, new immigrants and even those who are well-established may not be aware of the avail- able options. A genogram covering at least three generations can be especially helpful in identifying significant family members. Showing deference to the husband as the key decision maker by addressing him first, for ex- ample, communicates respect for the family unit as a whole as well as for the dharma (Reddy & Hanna, 1998). Similarly, direct eye contact with older family members may be perceived as being disrespectful (Almeida, 1996). Caste may be a Social Work / Volume 49, Number 1 /January 2004 34 significant factor in socialization, family func- tions, and the selection of marriage partners re- gardless of the degree of parental involvement (Fenton, 1988; Williams, 1988). The construct of adolescence, at least in the Western sense, does not exist in classical Hindu- ism. Therefore, it is advisable to inform the par- ents of the difficulties youths in the United States typically encounter while supporting the decisions of the family unit. Thus, for example, instead of taking a position in support of an adolescent's struggle for fi-eedom and independence, it is usu- ally more profitable to seek a solution v^dthin the context of the family's framework of autonomy and interconnectedness (Almeida, 1996). Group interventions would seem to harmo- nize well with a Hindu cosmology. However, it is important that group-based programs be congru- ent with Hindus' belief in other-centeredness. For example, 12-step programs are considered to be to self-centered, as well as lacking any avenue for family involvement (Almeida, 1996). In short, group dynamics should be adjusted to be compat- ible with Hindu norms. Tapping into spiritual strengths can help ame- liorate problems and sends the message that the consumer's culture has relevance in addressing life challenges. Using spiritual resources may be particularly efficacious because the religious devo- tion of Hindu immigrants may increase in the United States (WiUiams, 1998). Taking a spiritual history may be an appropri- ate means of understanding the spiritual capabili- ties and experiences that have been developed over time and inform the consumer's spiritual universe (Hodge, 2001). Alternatively, Hodge (2000) has developed a spiritual eco-map to iden- tify and operationalize spiritual strengths that ex- ist in consumers' environment. This diagram- matic instrument can be used to visually depict the salience of spiritual assets, including those dis- cussed in this article, all of which should generally be incorporated into any assessment procedure. Finally, because all spheres of Hindu life are con- sidered to be religious, it may be helpful to em- phasize the strategies of moksha. Hinduism is a religious tradition rich in ritual, the most prominent being daily puja. Rituals, such as puja, re-enact the individual's relationship with the Absolute, reinforcing the participant's connection with the Divine (Jacobs, 1992). In turn, these practices can serve to ease anxiety and dread, defeat loneliness, promote a sense of secu- rity, and establish a sense of being loved and ap- preciated (Levin, 1994). Rituals have been associ- ated with a wide array of positive outcomes (Levin; Worthington, Kurusu, McCuUough, 8c Sandage, 1996), including resilience and coping (Pargament, 1997). Workers can encourage cli- ents to further operationalize these strengths by, for example, replacing maladaptive behavior with ritualistic behavior, increasing the frequency of rituals perceived to engender positive outcomes, and reinforcing the salubrious messages rituals implicitly transmit (Hodge, 2000,2001). Although many rituals can be conducted by lay people, workers should be aware that many of the more personally significant rituals (for example, life cycle rituals) require brahmans (Hertel, 1998). Because brahman priests are not a preferred im- migration category in the eyes of immigration of- ficials, there is a substantial shortage of qualified individuals to perform certain rituals. Thus, there may be structural barriers to carrying out certain rituals. Another ritual that may be particularly impor- tant is Hindu meditation, which has been linked with salutary outcomes in diverse areas. Reviews indicate that meditation has been used to amelio- rate various problems, including depression, hy- pertension, type A coronary-prone behavior, stuttering, and substance abuse (Keefe, 1996; Singh, 1992). Thus, meditation techniques, drawn from the way of illumination, may be an effective intervention. Singh (1992) suggested that biofeedback techniques and auto-genic training may be inter- ventions that are congruent with both Hindu and Western worldviews. Similarly, Sheikh, Kunzendorf, and Sheikh (1996) reported that vi- sualization and imagery can be effective interven- tions. Therapeutically meaningful images can be drawn from the rich Hindu pantheon of religious imagery. Pilgrimages to festivals, events that bear some similarity to religious revivals, and prominent temples, both in the United States and in India, can be a significant intervention, fostering reflec- tion on the ultimate aims of life, a reordering of priorities, and social support. Many Hindus who participate in such endeavors refer to them as "once in a lifetime" experiences (Williams, 1988). Rangaswami (1994) suggested that facilitating Hindus' desire to seek moksha can have positive Hodge / Working with Hindu Clients in a Spiritually Sensitive Manner 35 benefits. The spiritual pursuit can foster motiva- tion and enhanced purpose in life while diminish- ing the scope of current problems. Workers should also be aware of Ayurvedic treatment, which has official status as an indig- enous health care system in India and Nepal (Jilek, 1994) and is widely used to overcome problems. Derived from the Vedas, Ayurvedic therapy aims at correcting imbalances and restor- ing equilibrium by replacing negative emotions with positive ones, for example (Crawford, 1989). Finally, demons, which are addressed in Ayurvedic treatment, are real beings in the Hindu cosmology and consequently, are not necessarily a sign of psychosis. Conclusion This article attempts to facilitate cultural sensi- tivity by acquainting social work practitioners with Hindu cosmology so that social work prac- tice can be harmonized with the dharma. Not only will valuable therapeutic resources lie dor- mant if workers are unfamiliar with the Hindu cosmology, but harm may occur because of a lack of knowledge. Effective practice with consumers from various religious traditions is dependent on achieving a measure of cultural competence re- garding their traditions. Finally, as a further step, workers who regularly encounter Hindu clients may wish to read Seplowin's (1992) article on karma therapy as well as Singh's (1992) article on integrating concepts from Eastern psychology and spirituality into treatment. • References Almeida, R. (1996). Hindu, Christian and Muslim families. In M. McGoldrick, ]. Giordano, 8c J. K. Pearce (Eds.), Ethnicity and family therapy (pp. 395- 423). New York: Guilford Press. Balodhi, J. P. (1996). 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New York: Cambridge Univer- sity Press. Williams, R. B. ( 1997). South Asian religions in the United States. In J. R. Hinnells (Ed.), A new hand- book of living religions (pp. 796-818). New York: Penguin Books. Williams, R. B. (1998). Asian Indian and Pakistani reli- gions in the United States. In A. W. Heston (Ed.), The annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Sciences {Vol. 558, pp. 178-195). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Worthington, E. J., Kurusu, T., McCuUough, M., 8c Sandage, S. (1996). Empirical research on religion and psychotherapeutic processes and outcomes: A 10-year review and research prospectus. Psychologi- cal Bulletin, i i 9 , 448-487. David R. Hodge, MSW, MCS, is a postdoctoral fel- low. Program for Research on Religion and Urban Civil Society, University of Pennsylvania, Leader- ship Hall, 3814 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, PA 19104; e-mail: dhodge@sas.upenn.edu. The author thanks Swapna Kommidi, Uma Murugan, and Pratima Pandeyfor their comments and encourage- ment regarding this article. Original manuscript received December 2, 1999 Final revision received May 1, 2000 Accepted June 22, 2000 THE CENTER FOR THE STUDY OF SOCIAL WORK PRACTICE announces the recipients of SOCIAL WORK RESEARCH FELLOWSHIPS, 2003-04 Jacqueline Corcoran Virginia Commonwealth University Richard Embry and Aron Shlonsky Columbia University David Zanis University of Maryland The Center for the Study of Social Work Practice is a joint program of the Columbia Uni- versity School of Social Work and the Jevnsh Board of Family and Children's Services. The Center's competitively-awarded Social Work Research Fellowships seek to strengthen so- cial work practice through significant advances in evidence-based research. Social Worlc/ Volume 49, Number ] /January 2004 38
work_ntayryv2ujejnh4q2elkeste4u ---- Palestra sobre o Tempo: John Cage e Henry David Thoreau Valdeira, Ana Luísa. “Palestra sobre o Tempo: John Cage e Henry David Thoreau”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 9, 2020, pp. 1–8. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.3 RESEARCH Palestra sobre o Tempo: John Cage e Henry David Thoreau Ana Luísa Valdeira Centro de Estudos Anglísticos da Universidade de Lisboa, PT alvieira@live.com.pt Este ensaio parte da peça Lecture on the Weather (1976), uma lecture performance de John Cage (1912–1992) elaborada a partir de textos de Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862). A poética de Cage ajuda a revelar as afinidades existentes entre os dois autores e ressalva a importância da experiência empírica para uma compreensão mais alargada do mundo, partindo do fluxo duracional do momento presente. Palavras-chave: John Cage; Henry David Thoreau; Performance; Experiência; Tempo This essay is based on Lecture on the Weather (1976), a lecture performance by John Cage (1912–1992) drawn from texts by Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862). Cage’s poetics helps to reveal the affinities between the two authors and underscores the importance of empirical experience to achieve a broader understanding of the world, cultivating present moment awareness. Keywords: John Cage; Henry David Thoreau; Performance; Experience; Time Mais de cem anos depois da morte de Thoreau, em 1975, a televisão e rádio pública do Canadá, a Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), encomendou uma obra ao compositor norte-americano John Cage para ser apresentada no ano seguinte, em 1976, nas comemorações do bicentenário dos Estados Unidos da América. O produtor musical da CBC sugeriu a Cage que este compusesse a partir de textos de Benjamin Franklin, já que a obra homenagearia o nascimento do seu país. No entanto, Cage não seguiu a sugestão e, em vez de escolher Franklin, escolheu Thoreau, um dos americanos que mais admirava e que mais inspirou a sua obra. Cage compõe então Lecture on the Weather (1976), uma lecture performance composta a partir de textos de Thoreau, nomeadamente a partir de excertos de Walden, Journal e Civil Disobedience. A obra está divida em quatro partes: um texto inicial que corresponde à leitura de um prefácio escrito por Cage e outras três partes que correspondem à leitura por doze intérpretes, em simultâneo, dos vários excertos dos textos de Thoreau. Cada uma destas três partes faz-se ainda acompanhar por diferentes sons gravados pela compositora Maryanne Amacher: na primeira parte pode ouvir-se o som de vento, na segunda, de chuva e na terceira, de tempestade. Nesta última parte, as luzes vão progressivamente diminuindo até à plena escuridão do espaço e pode ver-se a projecção de um conjunto de imagens organizado pelo artista visual Luis Frangella, imagens essas que mais não são do que vários negativos de desenhos de Thoreau publicados em Journal. Thoreau é claramente uma escolha deliberada de Cage, mas os vários excertos do escritor norte-americano a incluir em Lecture on the Weather não são, no entanto, uma escolha sua, são antes o resultado das suas usuais operações de acaso feitas a partir do método utilizado no livro I Ching. A colagem final é então uma teia de vários pedaços de três obras de Thoreau que não está sujeita a qualquer ordem ou organização específicas. Os doze intérpretes leem um conjunto de textos colados ao acaso, onde em cada um desses textos há desenhos de Thoreau que representam silêncios, sugerindo a cada intérprete que pause a sua leitura no momento em que encontra o desenho, seja ele no meio ou no final de uma frase (Figure 1). Cada conjunto de textos deve ainda ser lido dentro de uma moldura temporal entre 22’45’’ (vinte e dois minutos e quarenta https://doi.org/10.5334/as.3 mailto:alvieira@live.com.pt Valdeira: Palestra sobre o TempoArt. 9, page 2 of 8 e cinco segundos) e 36’24’’ (trinta e seis minutos e vinte e quatro segundos). Esse intervalo corresponde à multiplicação, entre cinco a oito vezes, da moldura temporal 4’33’’ (quatro minutos e trinta e três segundos), a duração da peça mais famosa de Cage, mais conhecida por peça silenciosa, mas cujo título é exactamente a sua duração, o seu tempo, ou seja, 4’33’’. Esta obra, composta e apresentada pela primeira vez em 1952, pressupõe que nenhum som intencional seja produzido. Na estreia, o pianista David Tudor apenas se sentou ao piano, abrindo e fechando o seu tampo entre os três andamentos em que está dividida a obra, não tocando, no entanto, qualquer nota Figure 1: Página de Lecture on the Weather (1976), de John Cage, correspondente a uma parte do texto de um só intérprete. Valdeira: Palestra sobre o Tempo Art. 9, page 3 of 8 musical. Cage não tinha prescrito qualquer som na sua notação porque queria chamar a atenção do público, partindo intencionalmente do vazio notacional, para todos os outros sons não intencionais que estavam a ser produzidos. Uns pelo próprio público e outros oriundos do exterior da sala de concertos. Na verdade, como Cage concluiu, o silêncio não existe, o som está sempre presente ainda que não lhe prestemos atenção.1 Para tal, não quis impor, nem escolher, e muito menos organizar determinados sons; aceitou-os simplesmente, tal como eles naturalmente acontecem. Cage tinha construído uma obra “vazia” para que tudo o resto a pudesse “preencher”. Por outras palavras, Cage queria que o público, tal como ele, aceitasse a música que já acontece, em vez de ouvir, ou ficar na expectativa de ouvir, algo imposto por um autor. 4’33’’ configura-se como uma moldura temporal enquanto forma de aceitação dos sons que nos rodeiam, como uma casa de vidro aberta ao exterior, uma enorme transparência acústica e visual para todo o tipo de acontecimentos exteriores não- intencionais. A peça silenciosa de Cage consagra a descoberta, a audição e a observação de acontecimentos que entram no domínio da experiência quotidiana, da experiência da percepção da natureza e do mundo. Cage quis que todas as suas obras compostas depois de 1952 fossem uma espécie de continuação da sua peça silenciosa, quer se tratassem de obras do domínio exclusivamente musical ou sonoro, quer se tratassem de obras de carácter multidisciplinar. Aliás, a duração da leitura de cada um dos intérpretes de Lecture on the Weather não é mais do que a soma de vários 4’33’’. Para além disso, a ideia de Cage de que os sons do ambiente são música e podem integrar uma obra de arte musical, sejam eles uma produção humana, sejam eles produzidos por toda a natureza, não é propriamente uma ideia original sua, mas uma ideia que também descobriu em Thoreau. Como o escritor norte-americano afirmou: “Music is continuous; only listening is intermittent” (Thoreau citado por Cage em Kostelanetz 121). Cage chegou a dizer que quando fazia longas caminhadas, muitas delas para apanhar cogumelos – em que ele era um especialista –, costumava dirigir a sua peça silenciosa, absorvendo todo o tipo de sons e imagens que o rodeavam ao longo do seu percurso na floresta. 4’33’’ é uma obra de Cage, claro, mas não é apenas interpretada em salas de concerto ou em espaços mais ou menos convencionais; está em todo o lado, bastando para isso que prestemos atenção, ouvindo e observando o que nos rodeia. Na verdade, existem em Walden e em Journal de Thoreau infinitas peças silenciosas. Muitas das passagens dos seus textos revelam-se como relatos de pequenas peças perceptivas, pequenas obras silenciosas da experiência imediata apreendidas a partir de um fluxo duracional do momento presente. Nas palavras de Thoreau, escritas em Walden: In any weather, at any hour of the day or night, I have been anxious to improve the nick of time, and notch it on my stick too; to stand on the meeting of two eternities, the past and future, which is precisely the present moment; to toe that line. (21) Mas como analisar este tempo presente da experiência? Como perceber que a experiência está de certa forma contida no momento que agora corre, se esse agora já não é mais agora porque já passou? Como compreender o presente se ele parece não ter duração? Estamos habituados a pensar sobre o tempo como uma linha contínua que liga passado, presente e futuro, onde o momento presente, no entanto, se apresenta como uma barreira divisória entre passado e futuro, um instante indivisível que existe, mas não dura, ao contrário de passado e futuro que são vistos como tendo duração. Como se o tempo fosse um carro que se cruza connosco em sentido contrário. Vem do futuro, passa ao nosso lado, no instante presente, e fica para trás, no passado. Antes de mais, Thoreau não compreendeu apenas a importância do momento presente – e já se prosseguirá a discussão sobre este presente – para a sua experiência perceptiva diária, como também experienciou a natureza cíclica do tempo. O tempo, longe de poder apenas ser considerado como uma infindável e progressiva linha contínua, tem também de ser entendido, na sua relação com a natureza e a experiência humana, como um ciclo. No dia 18 de Abril de 1852, Thoreau escreveu em Journal: “For the first time I perceive this spring that the year is a circle – I see distinctly the spring arc thus far. It is drawn with a firm line” (127). Visto como um ciclo, o tempo já não pode ser entendido simplesmente como um carro cuja trajectória é apenas uma linha recta, mas uma enorme roda, progressivamente em andamento sobre uma linha contínua, sim, mas em constante rotação sobre si própria, exactamente por ser roda. Compreendido 1 Cage recordou assim a estreia de 4’33’’: “There’s no such thing as silence. What they thought was silence, because they didn’t know how to listen, was full of accidental sounds. You could hear the wind stirring outside during the first movement. During the second, raindrops began patterning the roof, and during the third the people themselves made all kinds of interesting sounds as they talked and walked out” (Cage in Kostelanetz 69). Valdeira: Palestra sobre o TempoArt. 9, page 4 of 8 deste modo, o tempo, ainda que esteja sempre a fluir numa progressão contínua, é apreendido enquanto conjunto de durações preenchidas por certos fenómenos naturais que se vão repetindo. Thoreau não só apreende o tempo deste modo, como também estrutura o seu discurso da experiência a partir das estações do ano, como em Walden, ou de acordo com a passagem dos dias, como em Journal. A nossa percepção do fluxo temporal depende então de dois factores em simultâneo e, por paradoxal que possa parecer, depende ao mesmo tempo da natureza da sua irreversibilidade e da nossa consciência da repetição cíclica de certos fenómenos da natureza. Esta repetição cíclica está aliás expressa nos nossos calendários e nos nossos relógios, um tempo de grandeza mensurável, um tempo quantitativo. O ponteiro do relógio, porém, como comenta Henri Bergson, não faz mais do que dividir a duração do tempo como quem divide o espaço. Claro que também apreendemos o tempo deste modo, quantificando-o e atribuindo a cada nova posição do ponteiro do relógio um novo instante e à diferença entre posições dos ponteiros uma quantidade temporal, um espaço de tempo. No entanto, a explicação de Bergson sobre o modo como experienciamos o tempo presente contraria a sua quantificação, privilegiando, ao contrário, a sua natureza qualitativa, numa perspectiva em que o tempo presente se constitui como uma duração, uma continuação qualitativa de algo que já não é para algo que ainda é. A nossa apreensão do tempo então, segundo Bergson, é uma espécie de memória do próprio escoar do tempo, como algo que prolonga o antes no depois, unificando-os. Esse tempo como duração compreende assim um movimento progressivo que liga o que já passou ainda agora com o que ainda corre agora, impedindo que o prolongamento do antes no depois desapareça na fugacidade do momento presente. Um dos exemplos que Bergson refere na sua obra Durée et Simultanéité para a experiência desta duração é o seguinte: podemos fechar os olhos e passear o nosso dedo sobre uma superfície de papel; e só ao abrirmos os olhos é que conseguimos ver a linha traçada pelo percurso do nosso dedo, até lá percebemos interiormente a duração (45). Visto a partir desta perspectiva, o momento presente de que nos fala Thoreau não só tem duração, como deixa de ser uma linha divisória entre o que já passou e o que há-de vir para ser, ao invés, uma linha de união que liga progressivamente os momentos imediatamente anteriores aos momentos imediatamente posteriores. O momento presente é um agora duracional qualitativo, indistinto e inquantificável. Viver intensamente o presente, vivendo a partir da experiência de cada agora duracional, fez com que Thoreau se preocupasse mais com o que os seus sentidos iam captando a cada momento presente do que com qualquer abstracção, conceptualização ou relação com pensamentos passados. Trata-se da primazia da experiência sensorial do que está a acontecer face à intelectualização do que já aconteceu. Como se vivesse sempre tudo pela primeira vez. Quando escreve em Walden que lamenta não ser tão sábio como no dia em que nasceu, Thoreau está também a dizer que prefere a experiência pura, não-reflexiva, à experiência mediada pela inteligência. “My head is hands and feet” (106), escreve Thoreau. E as mãos e os pés não têm conceitos. Como nos diz Paul Valery: “seeing is forgetting the name of the thing one sees” (Valery citado por Weschler 207). Só quando não atribuímos um conceito a determinado objecto poderemos começar a percepcioná-lo atentamente e a partir daí apreender as suas propriedades, as suas cores, as suas linhas, o seu movimento, o som que produz, a sua transformação. É esta a contemplação pura e subjectiva que consegue capturar o natural num momento presente e sempre único. Nas palavras de Thoreau, escritas no seu diário, a 4 de Outubro de 1859: It is only when we forget all our learning that we begin to know. I do not get nearer by a hair’s breadth to any natural object so long as I presume that I have an introduction to it from some learned man. To conceive of it with a total apprehension I must for the thousandth time approach it as something totally strange. (…) You must get rid of what is commonly called knowledge of them. Not a single scientific term or distinction is the least to the purpose, for you would fain perceive something, and you must approach the object totally unprejudiced. You must be aware that no thing is what you have taken it to be. (Thoreau citado por Vitek e Jackson 327–328) Thoreau quis voltar-se para a descoberta da experiência actual, aceitando os fenómenos naturais antes de os distanciar e fixar nas determinações da inteligência. As construções que minam o nosso conhecimento apenas nos direccionam para o que há de universal e determinado nos fenómenos. Mas se esquecermos esse aspecto formal do que aprendemos talvez sejamos capazes de encontrar o que neles existe de particular e indeterminado. Foi ao reflectir sobre a natureza do particular e sobre a relação entre particulares e universais que Brian John Martine ficou interessado em discutir a noção de inteterminação. Em Indeterminacy and Intelligibility, o livro que escreveu a este propósito, Martine defende que não podemos continuar a supor que podemos limitar Valdeira: Palestra sobre o Tempo Art. 9, page 5 of 8 com sucesso os “muitos” dentro das fronteiras de “um” ao reduzirmos a diferença à semelhança. O que não significa que não possamos compreender o mundo, significa apenas que não nos é possível dar uma resposta totalmente determinada de algo que inclui aspectos e dimensões indeterminadas (Martine 42). Somos confrontados com um mundo repleto de variedade aparentemente infinita, mas lutamos constantemente por marcar fronteiras que irão de alguma maneira dar sentido às formas confusas das aparências evasivas da nossa experiência. Todos temos a tendência para limitar e definir. Na verdade, a determinação parece mesmo ser uma função natural e também necessária do modo como pensamos. Pensamos, logo determinamos. E quando determinamos traçamos linhas, carregamos nos contornos, circunscrevemos, categorizamos, classificamos e definimos sistematicamente. Acabamos por querer determinar tudo, mas nem tudo pode ser determinado. Como Martine explica: The lines that we draw as we form categories and classes, principles and laws, are drawn always against the background of direct experience. They are drawn by contrast with the indeterminate shapes and contours of a world that will continue to resist any effort to completely confine it within the determinately structured bounds of traditional reflective schemes. (xiii) Essas linhas que traçamos, diz ainda Martine, são como as linhas dos mapas que circunscrevem e dividem diferentes espaços no mundo. O que só nos traz dificuldades. Significa ficar tão ligado ao mapa que o origi- nal acaba por se perder por negligência ou, em tantos outros casos, porque o descartámos conscientemente em favor do mapa. Começamos a esquecermo-nos que o mapa foi elaborado apenas com o intuito de ofer- ecer um melhor e mais completo entendimento do mundo. O mapa é uma ferramenta extremamente útil, uma vez que pode de facto reformar as nossas noções de espaços mapeados. No entanto, como defende Martine, não podemos correr o risco de confundir o mapa com o mundo porque quando o fizermos cor- remos o risco de não só compreender mal o mundo, mas também de destruir o significado do mapa. As fronteiras determinadas que surgem no decorrer das nossas tentativas de tirar sentido da nossa experiência imediata podem levar-nos ao encontro de uma nova e melhor compreensão dessa experiência, mas apenas se nos lembrarmos que elas são fronteiras que nós próprios estabelecemos e que, por muito seguras que nos possam parecer, elas permanecem abertas à mudança ou mesmo à completa dissolução (Martine: 114). As linhas do mapa de que Martine nos fala são por isso como as ideias universais que nós próprios instituímos por convenção de modo a conseguirmos organizar o nosso conhecimento. Essas ideias são fruto de generalizações que resultam da eliminação das diferenças, para apenas ficarmos com as semelhanças, com os traços comuns, e por isso mesmo contrastantes com a realidade dos fenómenos existentes e com a nossa experiência imediata desses mesmos fenómenos. Mas Cage parece querer proporcionar-nos a experiência em bruto, sem estar filtrada por convenções e sem adaptar nenhum esquema conceptual capaz de a acomodar ou organizar. A obra de Cage, partindo das ideias de Thoreau, reaproxima o espectador da singularidade de cada momento da experiência que apenas se alcança no momento presente. Como Cage revela numa entrevista: If you become open to the world outside of your ideas about it – I mean really attentive to the world outside of you, which you can perceive through your eyes and ears primarily – then you become a Thoreau unto yourself. The pavement you’re standing on can become fascinating, or the way the light falls on two different Coca-cola bottles. So we come to a poetic awareness of the uniqueness of each experience, of the necessity to have the experience at the moment it presents itself because it’s constantly changing. There’s no other time to leave than each moment. (Cage in Dickinson: 206) É talvez neste sentido que Cage procura uma relação com o mundo numa espécie de inocência pré-racional. A escolha de Thoreau é neste aspecto bastante reveladora, reforçada ainda pelo modo como Cage reconfig- ura os seus textos num processo que vai ao encontro de uma recepção mais fiel da experiência. O resultado parece ser então uma poética que procura uma experiência não mediada pela razão ou, pelo menos, uma poética que ressalva a importância da experiência empírica para uma compreensão mais alargada do mundo. Na verdade, reduzimos a complexidade do nosso fluxo da experiência bruta a uma simplicidade conceptual. Como nos diz Quine, associamos uma sensação de redondo a uma sensação posterior de redondo tanto à mesma moeda como a duas moedas diferentes, obedecendo às exigências da simplicidade dos nossos esque- mas conceptuais e ao nosso quadro global do mundo (233). Mas não deveremos concluir que tudo o que existe depende dos nossos esquemas conceptuais. Tudo o que há no mundo não depende de palavras. Talvez Cage nos queira fazer compreender que a nossa capacidade racional nos pode afastar do conhecimento Valdeira: Palestra sobre o TempoArt. 9, page 6 of 8 sensível e das suas circunstâncias particulares e casuais. E talvez por isso nos queira possibilitar a descoberta, perturbando a nossa confiança convencional e as nossas estruturas conceptuais profundas que estão na base dos nossos diversos encontros com o mundo e, sobretudo, com as nossas representações desses encontros. O mesmo será dizer que Cage propõe a descoberta do lado complexo e indeterminado da experiência, ao desafiar e contrariar a construção de modelos coerentes que tentam descrever a ordem das coisas. Cage quer proporcionar-nos então um modo particular de falar sobre o mundo e de como a experiência pura é importante para o podermos conhecer. E fá-lo a partir de Thoreau, claro, mas também a partir da forma de Lecture on the Weather enquanto processo dinâmico. Nas palavras de Cage, fazendo a distinção entre estrutura e processo: A structure is like a piece of furniture, whereas a process is like the weather. In the case of a table, the beginning and end of the whole and each of its parts are known. In the case of weather, though we notice changes in it, we have no clear knowledge of its beginning or ending. At a given moment, we are when we are. The nowmoment. (178) Não é por acaso que Cage relaciona a obra de arte, enquanto processo dinâmico, ao tempo meteorológico, uma vez que as suas obras, e Lecture on the Weather por maioria de razão, expressa desde logo pelo título, se comportam como a dinâmica dos processos naturais. Esta peça de Cage comporta-se como um sistema meteorológico ele próprio, comportamento ainda enfatizado pelos sons de vento, chuva e trovoada. Lecture on the Weather é a imitação da natureza no seu modo de operar, expressa no seu modo de formar como um sistema aberto, dinâmico, imprevisível e indeterminado. Contrariamente à perspectiva de Cage, existe porém uma visão determinista do mundo, ou aquilo a que podemos chamar determinismo científico. Esta perspectiva assenta na ideia de que o mundo se comporta de tal forma que os fenómenos podem ser racionalmente previstos, se for fornecida uma descrição precisa dos estados passados desses mesmos fenómenos, em conjunto e em harmonia com as leis da natureza. O filósofo Karl Popper apresenta uma excelente imagem para este determinismo, proposta que o próprio rejeitará. E a imagem é a seguinte: o mundo determinista é como um filme onde a imagem que está a ser projectada é o presente, as imagens que já foram projectadas, o passado, e as imagens por projectar, o futuro, mas onde esse futuro, tendo uma relação causal com o passado, se apresenta como fixo porque determinado pelos fotogramas anteriores. Ou seja, esse futuro pode ser visto, diz Popper, como estando contido no passado, tal como um pintainho dentro de um ovo (91). O futuro tornar-se-ia então redundante, seria supérfluo e não necessário. Para contrariar a teoria determinista, Popper, para além de dar conta de alguns acontecimentos naturais imprevisíveis, tais como o comportamento das nuvens ou as variações meteorológicas, explica que os resultados que serão obtidos durante o crescimento do nosso conhecimento são também eles imprevisíveis; não poderemos antecipar hoje o que conheceremos amanhã (62). O argumento decisivo para o indeterminismo de Popper é então a existência do próprio conhecimento, acompanhado do nosso modo de experienciar a mudança e o fluxo de tempo, a nossa experiência consciente. Quando ouvimos doze discursos em simultâneo em Lecture on the Weather, e ainda que consigamos distinguir vozes diferentes, dificilmente conseguiremos seguir apenas uma e impossível será compreendê-las a todas. O discurso de cada uma dessas vozes deixa de se compreender no seu todo e muito provavelmente só conseguiremos detectar fragmentos entre outros tantos fragmentos que vão impossibilitando uma linearidade discursiva. Perdemos o sentido de uma possível unidade textual, mas ganhamos uma multiplicidade discursiva do pensamento de Thoreau. Lecture on the Weather é uma paisagem de discursos, tal como uma paisagem natural. A escrita tem a nossa concepção linear do tempo. Na verdade, a linguagem configura-se como um processo contínuo e inter-relacional que limita as nossas mentes a pensar de modo linear num processo passo-a-passo. É por essa mesma razão que quando não estamos a compreender alguém dizemos “não te estou a seguir”. O homem apenas consegue caminhar num único trilho, mas o que o rodeia vai para lá da simples linha do seu percurso, também ela parte integrante do seu mundo múltiplo e em constante mudança. Em resposta à ideia de Norman O. Brown de que a sintaxe é um arranjo de ordem militar e ao comentário de Thoreau de que quando ouvia uma frase, ouvia pés a marchar, Cage começou a dedicar-se àquilo a que apelidou de linguagem desmilitarizada.2 A multiplicidade discursiva disponibilizada por Cage, gerando um 2 Na introdução ao texto “Writing for the Second Time through Finnegans Wake”, publicado no seu livro Empty Words, Cage men- ciona esta ideia de linguagem desmilitarizada: “[d]ue to Norman O. Brown’s remark that syntax is the arrangement of the army, and Thoreau’s that when he heard a sentence he heard feet marching, I became devoted to nonsyntactical ‘demilitarized’ language” (133). Valdeira: Palestra sobre o Tempo Art. 9, page 7 of 8 texto quase incompreensível, funciona também como uma chamada de atenção para o discurso enquanto construção legislada; não uma correspondência directa com a realidade, mas uma possível verdade construída a partir de leis. Como um exército em marcha, como um governo. A primeira parte de Lecture on the Weather consiste na leitura de um prefácio escrito por John Cage, um texto político como enquadramento de toda a obra e em plena harmonia com a Desobediência Civil de Thoreau. Nesse prefácio, Cage conta que antes de decidir escolher os textos de Thoreau, tentou encontrar uma Antologia Americana que melhor se adequasse aos seus objectivos. Mas quando encontrou uma numa biblioteca infantil de Nova Iorque, uma antologia intitulada Documents of American History, escrita por adultos, numa abordagem que os adultos pensam ser a melhor para as crianças, Cage apenas se deparou com textos relacionados com as leis do seu país, entre eles discursos presidenciais ou vários juízos sobre diversas questões legais. Como se a história americana assentasse sobretudo nas leis que os sucessivos governos americanos implementam para desenvolver, ordenar e defender o seu país. De facto, uma das grandes preocupações do homem concentra-se nas leis: nas leis da natureza que incessantemente tem vindo a querer determinar; nas leis da gramática, onde tem medo de tropeçar; e nas leis governativas, construídas apenas por alguns, eleitos ou não democraticamente, para que nos rejam a todos. Ainda no prefácio, Cage explica a razão da escolha dos textos de Thoreau, sublinhando a importância da leitura do texto Desobediência Civil, dando conta da sua enorme influência em Gandhi, quando este se preparava para dedicar a sua vida à libertação da Índia, ou em Martin Luther King, na sua incessante luta contra a discriminação racial. Posto de forma mais resumida, Cage explica assim no prefácio o grande propósito de Lecture on the Weather: I have wanted in this work to give another opportunity for us, whether of one nation or another, to examine again, as Thoreau continually did, ourselves, both as individuals and as members of society, and the world in which we live: whether it be Concord in Massachusetts or Discord in the world. (5) Em plena sintonia com Thoreau, Cage pede ainda na partitura que os doze leitores de Lecture on the Weather sejam preferencialmente doze cidadãos canadianos expatriados, antes cidadãos americanos, numa clara homenagem a todos os americanos que abdicaram da sua nacionalidade e do seu país para não combaterem na guerra do Vietname. Lecture on the Weather é, desde o seu prefácio, enquanto conteúdo político, até à sua forma, enquanto metáfora epistemológica do mundo, e passando pela escolha dos seus intérpretes e pela escolha dos textos de Thoreau, uma obra que continua a questionar a nossa relação com a natureza e a convidar-nos a olharmos para nós próprios como seres dotados de uma consciência individual e ao mesmo tempo enquanto membros de uma sociedade, quer seja nos EUA, em Portugal, ou em qualquer outra parte do mundo, incentivando-nos a reflectir sobre os diferentes problemas que parecem ciclicamente repetir-se ao longo do tempo. Conflitos de interesse A autora não tem conflito de interesses a declarar. Referências Bergson, Henri. Durée et Simultanéité. Arvensa Editions, 2015. Cage, John. Empty Words: Writings ’73–’78. Wesleyan UP, 1981. Dickinson, Peter, ed. CageTalk: Dialogues with and about John Cage. U of Rochester P, 2006. Kostelanetz, Richard. John Cage (ex)plain(ed). Schirmer, 1996. Kostelanetz, Richard, ed. Conversing with Cage. 2ª ed., Routledge, 2003. Martine, Brian John. Indeterminacy and Intelligibility. State U of New York P, 1992. Popper, Karl R. The Open Universe. An Argument for Indeterminism. Psychology P, 1988. Quine, Willard Van Orman. De um ponto de vista lógico. Trad. Luis Henrique dos Santos, Marcelo Guimarães da Silva Lima e João Paulo Monteiro, Abril Cultural, 1985. Thoreau, Henry David. A Desobediência Civil/Defesa de John Brown. 4th ed., Trad. Manuel João Gomes, Antígona, 2015. Thoreau, Henry David. The Journal 1837–1861. Ed. Damion Searls, New York Review Books, 2009. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden or, Life in the Woods. CRW Publishing Limited, 2004. Vitek, Bill e Wes Jackson, eds. The Virtues of Ignorance. Complexity, Sustainability, and the Limits of Knowledge. The UP of Kentucky, 2008. Weschler, Lawrence. Seeing Is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees: Over Thirty Years of Conversations with Robert Irwin. U of California P, 2008. Valdeira: Palestra sobre o TempoArt. 9, page 8 of 8 How to cite this article: Valdeira, Ana Luísa. “Palestra sobre o Tempo: John Cage e Henry David Thoreau”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 9, 2020, pp. 1–8. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.3 Submitted: 26 September 2019 Accepted: 26 September 2019 Published: 29 January 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Anglo Saxonica is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. OPEN ACCESS https://doi.org/10.5334/as.3 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Conflitos de interesse Referências Figure 1
work_nvjcpi62jrcetn4ezfo3qmsf5a ---- Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 27 SHERWOOD ANDERSON’S "THE BOOK OF THE GROTESQUE"– REWRITING THE STORY IN THE MARGIN | Sherwood Anderson ANA PAULA MACHADO UNIVERSIDADE ABERTA Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 28 1 ld age. The physical body fails and man gets ready for the next stage. The heart flutters and he looks at Nature around him to see how it renews itself and how the cycles follow an eternal pattern. Outside, the trees stand in their majesty through the seasons. They are either thick and lush with leaves and birds’ nests or they look sad and desolate – reminders of a springtime once had. Dark and hard against the softness of the winter’s snow. They look dead and bring to mind human beings approaching the last phase of their lives. Yet, their life force has merely withdrawn underground, and it stays at the level of their roots, hidden, buried deep beneath the earth, and it keeps feeding the dead- looking trunk and branches inconspicuously, waiting for the next season to come, to flourish into green leaves and blossom once again. It all just lies secretly underground, seemingly dying or dead (to the senses), yet alive, full of vitality and vigour beneath the surface. Thus the old man, in the winter of his life, wanted to contemplate the eternal life cycles outside his window, because something inside him was altogether youngi - it was like a baby, a youth, or a young woman dressed as a knight. He carried something charged with life force buried deep within him, like a pregnant woman carries a child in the secrecy of her womb, or a tree holds the germ of spring in the 1 BIO NOTE: Ana Paula Machado é doutorada em Estudos Ingleses e Americanos pela Universidade Aberta; Mestre em Estudos Americanos pela Universidade Aberta; fez uma Pós-Graduação em Literatura Inglesa na Universidade de Adelaide, Austrália do Sul; Licenciada em Filologia Germânica – Ramo Anglístico, pela Faculdade de Letras da Universidade de Lisboa. As suas áreas de interesse e investigação situam-se no Ensino de Inglês como Língua Estrangeira, Ensino de Inglês para Fins Específicos, Estudos Europeus, Estudos Índios e Estudos Canadianos. Foi bolseira da FLAD e do International Council for Canadian Studies, em várias ocasiões, tendo efectuado pesquisa nas Universidades de: Denver, Arizona, Trent (Ontário), entre outras. Participou em múltiplos congressos internacionais e nacionais, na área de Estudos Índios/Estudos Canadianos. É autora de artigos nessas áreas em publicações universitárias nacionais e internacionais. Colaborou em projectos de investigação no Laboratório em Ensino a Distância da Universidade Aberta e no Centro de Estudos de Comunicação e Cultura da Universidade Católica Portuguesa. O Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 29 secrecy of its roots – it was the promise of renewal buried deep within the old man, as in the pregnant woman and the tree. Strange indeed that it was a young woman dressed as a knight that dwelt inside the old man... He seemed to carry within him someone of the opposite sex ... perhaps what he had spent half his life searching for, and that was within him all along! And this maiden was clad as a knight! She combined the image or archetype of the fair maiden, the virgin, with that of a knight ...Perhaps she had to undergo many fights, many battles, against the dragons of daily existence to defend her unmarred beauty. She had to protect herself from being wounded and devoured by the dragon of physical decrepitude and mental grotesqueness. In the twilight of his days and in the twilight of his consciousness, the old man starts reviewing his life in a way hitherto unknown to him, because in the twilight of rationality, another capacity lurks and takes over, just as in the twilight of life, death gives a different meaning to one’s existence and shows it in a hue that one has never – or hardly ever – been conscious of. One stands on the threshold between two dimensions and can see in either direction. It is into this misty zone that the old man wanders – the world of dreams, of visions, of myth – a realm so often sensed by us as being interwoven with our common daily living, but usually only encountered at night during sleep. So, the old writer, who thought he knew people so intimately, sees a procession of all those beings he had known unfold before his eyes under a new light, led by the young woman inside him. The promise of youth, life, and love within him, his elixir of eternal life makes him see how all the people he had known had become grotesque, distorted out of shape and ludicrous. The explanation of the grotesqueness of people takes us to a primeval time, the mythic times of the beginning of the world and to the state of consciousness permeating existence before the Fall. Everything then was beautiful, everything of value, and so were all the truths that were all about. Nothing was excluded in favour of anything else. There were no distinctions, no split, no separation and duality, no conflict between good and evil; everything encompassed everything else, even its seemingly opposites, holistically: "There was the truth of virginity and the truth of passion, the truth of wealth and of poverty, of thrift and of profligacy, of carelessness and of abandon.”ii It was the Garden of Eden, when all was a promise, all possible. When Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, they knew good as distinct from evil. Reason, the seat Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 30 of knowledge, took them to see things as separate, to grab the truths, taking them out of their context, breaking the whole pattern of life, creating a rupture in the woven fabric of reality. Suddenly seeing themselves as naked, they created the separation and the conflict between them and the environment, and between good and evil, "snatching" one or two of the truths, and losing their sense of oneness with all, their holistic communion with the universe and reality. They became grotesque, distant from their original Edenic state. The same thing happened to the people the writer had known. They became untrue, false, and grotesque, by following or identifying with one or a few truths, tearing them out of their woven fabric. Doing that is just as false as to affirm that only the night is real and not the day, or the other way around, or that only one aspect of life is real or valid, denying its opposite, and anything else... The young thing, or the woman within the old writer saved him from becoming grotesque, because youth and love take in, embrace all life and do not permit aging, fossilization, and stagnation. Youth has vigour and moves on, women are prone to feel and sense things intensely and, on the contrary, old age tends to stay, to become hardened, to keep to its truths, to stagnate. Learned people, in their turn, also tend to cling to their own little truths, and to develop contempt for the others. Common people are seen as less grotesque, as they tend to be less conceited and more tolerant and compassionate towards other people’s truths. The old man never published his Book of the Grotesque, because what is left unsaid is more powerful and less grotesque than what is said. Words tend to distort reality and render just one side of it. When we read a story, what lies hidden between the lines is as important as what is actually written – if not more – to the full understanding of it. The old man did not want to become a grotesque, so his book was left unpublished, his words unread... Reality can only be grasped through piercing the meshes of the rational mind. Silence, symbol, myth are the only ways of conveying existence in its whole, its totality. Ritual, contemplation, mysticism are the means to experience it. The hero of this saga will have to be like the young maiden-knight, to subdue the dragon of illusion. And as for me, I had better refrain from overindulging in words, lest I become a grotesque myself... Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 31 "My life has been the poem I would have writ, but I could not both live and utter it.” Henry David Thoreauiii BIBLIOGRAPHY: ANDERSON, Sherwood, Winesburg, Ohio-A Group of Tales of Ohio Small Town Life, New York, NY: B. W. Huebsch, 1919. JUNG, Carl G., Man and his Symbols, London: Aldus Books, 1964. - "Psychology and Literature", (11930), C W, Vol. 15. - The Spirit in Man, Art, and Literature, trad. R. F. C. Hull, Princeton: U P, 1972, (11966). KERÉNYI, C., Essays on a Science of Mythology: The Myth of the Divine Child and the Mysteries of Eleusis, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1993 (11941). ------ "The Role of the Unconscious", (11918), The Collected Works, Vol. 10. ------ "The Meaning of Psychology for Modern Man”, (11933), C W, Vol. 10. THOREAU, Henry David, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, N.Y.: Dover Thrift Editions, 2001 [‘1849]. WEBGRAPHY: Anderson, Sherwood, "The Book of the Grotesque": https://www.bartleby.com/156/1.html ABSTRACT This essay is an attempt at rewriting Sherwood Anderson’s somewhat enigmatic short story from a mythological and Jungian perspective. It is an expression of the thoughts inspired by the story, and a possible interpretation of the author’s original words. _______________________ i Sherwood Anderson, The Book of the Grotesque. 2. ii Id. Ibid.,4. iii Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, 223. https://www.bartleby.com/156/1.html Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 32
work_nxrbe6f4ufexld2kssgggnaide ---- [PDF] The Globalization of Ayahuasca Shamanism and the Erasure of Indigenous Shamanism | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1111/ANOC.12056 Corpus ID: 53580043The Globalization of Ayahuasca Shamanism and the Erasure of Indigenous Shamanism @article{Fotiou2016TheGO, title={The Globalization of Ayahuasca Shamanism and the Erasure of Indigenous Shamanism}, author={Evgenia Fotiou}, journal={Anthropology of Consciousness}, year={2016}, volume={27}, pages={151-179} } Evgenia Fotiou Published 2016 Sociology Anthropology of Consciousness Ayahuasca is a hallucinogenic plant mixture used in a ceremonial context throughout western Amazonia, and its use has expanded globally in recent decades. As part of this expansion, ayahuasca has become popular among westerners who travel to the Peruvian Amazon in increasing numbers to experience its reportedly healing and transformative effects. Drawing from ethnographic fieldwork in and around the area of Iquitos, Peru, the epicenter of ayahuasca tourism, this paper focuses on some of the… Expand View via Publisher sites.tufts.edu Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 13 CitationsBackground Citations 6 View All 13 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Purging and the body in the therapeutic use of ayahuasca. Evgenia Fotiou, A. Gearin Psychology, Medicine Social science & medicine 2019 5 Save Alert Research Feed It’s all you! Australian ayahuasca drinking, spiritual development, and immunitary individualism R. Rodd Sociology 2018 3 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Ayahuasca Ethno-tourism and its Impact on the Indigenous Shuar Community (Ecuador) and Western Participants Dima Salibová Geography 2020 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Traditionally transnational: Cultural continuity and change in Hmong shamanism across the diaspora S. Lee Sociology 2019 View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Exploring the Use of Amazonian Plant Diets in Europe Giorgia Tresca, M. Alexiades 2015 1 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Takiwasi: addiction treatment in the "Singing House" D. O’Shaughnessy 2017 4 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Therapeutic Potential Ascribed to Ayahuasca by Users in the Czech Republic M. Horák, Lea Hasíková, N. Verter Psychology, Medicine Journal of psychoactive drugs 2018 5 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Evaluating herbal medicine preparation from a traditional perspective: insights from an ethnopharmaceutical survey in the Peruvian Amazon Giorgia Tresca, O. Marcus, M. Politi Sociology, Medicine Anthropology & medicine 2020 2 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Psychedelic Communitas: Intersubjective Experience During Psychedelic Group Sessions Predicts Enduring Changes in Psychological Wellbeing and Social Connectedness H. Kettner, F. Rosas, C. Timmermann, L. Kaertner, R. L. Charhart‐Harris, L. Roseman Frontiers in Pharmacology 2021 View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed The role of Indigenous knowledges in psychedelic science Evgenia Fotiou Sociology 2019 1 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 85 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Singing to the Plants: A Guide to Mestizo Shamanism in the Upper Amazon S. Beyer Art 2009 59 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ( Neo ) Shamanic Dialogues Encounters between the Guarani and Ayahuasca E. J. Langdon, I. Rose 2012 5 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Neo)Shamanic Dialogues E. J. Langdon, I. Rose Sociology 2012 5 Save Alert Research Feed In Darkness and Secrecy N. Whitehead, R. Wright, J. Wilbert, S. Vidal Psychology 2004 31 Save Alert Research Feed Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy M. Eliade History 1951 843 Save Alert Research Feed Pilgrimage and healing Jill Dubisch, M. Winkelman Art 2005 40 Save Alert Research Feed Shamanism and Its Discontents Michael F. Brown Sociology 1988 39 Save Alert Research Feed Mysteries of the Jaguar Shamans of the Northwest Amazon R. Wright Geography 2013 28 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Towards an experiential analysis of shamanism L. Peters, D. Price-Williams Sociology 1980 105 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Shamanism and Violence: Power, Repression and Suffering in Indigenous Religious Conflicts D. Torri Sociology 2013 5 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract 13 Citations 85 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE
work_nytqmbkptfgs5mtft337luwdtm ---- Microsoft Word - Manogue, Anna- Livingstone Award Final .docx Protesting the Internment of Japanese Americans: Dissent as a Duty of Citizenship Anna Manogue History 0949: Honors Dissent in America Fall 2017 1 After the tragic attack at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the United States’ government convinced the public that the forced internment of Japanese Americans was imperative to American success in the Second World War. Between March of 1942 and December of 1944, more than 110,000 Americans of at least 1/16th Japanese descent were forcibly evacuated from their homes on the West Coast and relocated to internment camps across the nation.1As the war progressed, these interned residents and citizens endured horrific conditions as they struggled to protect their rights while also supporting the war effort. Minoru Yasui, a young Japanese American lawyer, was one of three individuals to challenge the constitutionality of evacuation and internment in court. Meanwhile, George Fujii and other interned young men earned the nickname the “no-no boys” after they protested internment by resisting the draft. Although these isolated efforts were only partially successful at the time, they had a lasting impact on the culture of American dissent; Yasui and the “no-no boys” normalized dissent as a duty of citizenship and forced the American government to publicly address the alarmingly relevant abrogation of constitutional rights in times of war. The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor personalized the violence of the Second World War and engendered an incredible patriotism that united most Americans behind the war effort. In fact, those who did not support the Second World War often functioned as individuals, rather than as a unified body of dissenters. This was no doubt due, in part, to the harsh consequences that dissenters faced if they chose to question the war effort. David Dellinger, for example, was a conscientious objector who eloquently defended his refusal of the October 1940 draft by citing political and religious objections. Despite his articulate defense of his decision, however, 1 “Report on the Work of the War Relocation Authority: An Anniversary Statement by Dillon S. Meyer, Director of the War Relocation Authority,” in Japanese-American Internment During World War II, Peggy Daniels Becker (Detroit: Omnigraphics, 2013) 181, accessed November 14, 2017, ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/templeuniv-ebooks/reader.action?docID=3384077. 2 Dellinger faced years of imprisonment and mistreatment for threatening the war effort.2 In an attempt to evade such consequences, many soldiers chose to accept the draft, instead voicing their dissent in the letters that they sent home. African American soldiers detailed the unequal treatment that they received in the army; one soldier poignantly described his attempts to reconcile his patriotism for the American cause with his concern that his efforts would only help to maintain an undemocratic society that systematically favored white Americans.3 At home, civilians echoed the soldiers’ worries about the ultimate impacts of the war. Henry Miller rejected the ideology of the “just war,” which the government often used to defend both the entrance into the war and the repression of dissenting voices during the war. Miller asserted that such a concept was nullified by the fact that each side in every war believes in the justness of their cause and in the evils of the opposing cause.4 Indeed, the idea of a “just war” could potentially allow the government to unconstitutionally expand its powers. Still, the majority of Americans were too invested in the war effort to worry about the later impacts of wartime policies. Even Charles Lindbergh, who had at first been a leading opponent of American entry into the Second World War, ultimately consulted on air attacks in the Pacific theater and flew in several missions.5 Such contradictory actions belied the defining feature of dissent during the Second World War: dissenters struggled to balance patriotism for the United States with concern over the impacts of the war at home. This conflict between individual beliefs and national 2 David Dellinger, “Why I Refused to Register in the October 1940 Draft and a Little of What it Led To,” in Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young (New York: Pearson Education, 2008), 296-301. 3 Charles F. Wilson, “Letter to President Roosevelt, 1944,” in Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young (New York: Pearson Education, 2008), 295-296. 4 Ralph Young, Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation (New York: Pearson Education, 2008), 249. 5 Carl Zebrowski, “America First,” America in WWII, April-May 2017, accessed November 16, 2017, http://go.galegroup.com.libproxy.temple.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE|A497797964&v=2.1&u=temple_main&i t=r&p=AONE&sw=w# 3 patriotism only grew as the government increasingly demanded that Americans forfeit individual liberties to ensure the success of the war effort. Within this broader context of limited dissent, Minoru Yasui and the “no-no boys” carefully negotiated the balance between wartime patriotism and individual rights. Unlike protests against the American entrance into the war, dissent against Japanese American internment was a much more personal attempt to force the government to acknowledge the unconstitutionality of its wartime domestic policies. The process of internment began very early in the war, on February 19, 1942, when President Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066. In this decree, Roosevelt not only instructed the Secretary of War to designate military areas within the United States, but also authorized him to exclude certain groups of people from those areas.6 Although the order did not mention Japanese Americans specifically, it was an obvious response to fears that Japanese spies had infiltrated the United States and were orchestrating attacks against Americans. Such anxieties were so widespread that, outside of the affected Japanese American communities on the West Coast, there was very little dissent against Executive Order 9066. At congressional hearings held to finalize the internment policy, hundreds of white Americans testified their support for the camps.7 In the face of so much national hostility, Japanese Americans were essentially left to conduct their own dissent movement. Even then, however, there were extreme difficulties in organizing such a diverse community of people who had been suddenly thrust together by a sweeping governmental decree. To begin with, Japanese Americans on the West Coast came from a variety of educational, religious, political, and social backgrounds. Perhaps the most divisive 6 Eugene V. Rostow, “The Japanese American Cases: A Disaster,” The Yale Law Journal, vol. 54, no. 3 (June, 1945) 498, http://www.jstor.org/stable/792783 7 Paul R. Spickard, “The Nisei Assume Power: The Japanese American Citizens League, 1941-1942,” Pacific Historical Review, vol. 52 (Jan. 1, 1983): 164, https://search-proquest- com.libproxy.temple.edu/docview/1290976599/fulltextPDF/8442FFD49AB14200PQ/1?accountid=14270 4 force within the Japanese American community was the division between Issei and Nisei. Before the war, the Issei—noncitizens who had been born in Japan and then immigrated to the United States—had controlled many elements of Japanese American culture. As internment camps threatened to destroy families and livelihoods, however, the Nisei—the children of the Issei, who had citizenship by their birth on American soil—assumed control of organizing a response to internment.8 This division was enormously important as the Nisei had access to more rights as citizens than did the Issei, whose lack of citizenship limited their ability to protect themselves from internment. Possibly as a result of this crucial difference in citizenship status, Japanese Americans failed to mount a unified dissent effort against internment. Rather, dissenters took individual actions that held potential ramifications for the entire Japanese American community. Minoru Yasui was a Nisei lawyer who immediately rejected the legitimacy of the government’s evacuation and internment orders. He noted his alarm at the military’s sudden ability to control the movements of citizens, and decided to deliberately violate the orders to force the courts to rule on their constitutionality. The principle issue, Yasui asserted, was “whether the military could single out a specific group of U.S. citizens on the basis of ancestry and require them to do something not required of other U.S. citizens.”9 On March 28, 1942, Yasui violated the terms of Public Proclamation Number Three, which mandated an 8:00 PM curfew for all Americans of 1/16th Japanese descent or more living on the West Coast. By the time that Yasui was arrested and imprisoned for his actions he had already been drafted into military service and ordered to report for evacuation.10 This form of nonviolent protest with an aim to force courts to 8 Ibid., 159. 9 Minoru Yasui, “Resistance,” in Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young (New York: Pearson Education, 2008), 305. 10 Ibid. 5 rule on potentially unconstitutional laws echoed the approaches used by earlier activists like Henry David Thoreau and anticipated the tactics later used in the Civil Rights Movement. In many ways, Yasui’s civil disobedience was an ironically American approach to dissent; he not only appropriated the language of the American Revolution to defend himself, but also utilized the very systems enshrined in the Constitution in order to protect his rights as an American citizen. In his address to the court after his 1942 sentencing, Yasui reminded all of those present of his status as an American citizen who was “confident that the American judiciary would zealously defend those rights, war or no war, in order to preserve the fundamental democratic doctrines of our nation and to perpetuate the eternal truths of America.”11 The patriotic wording that Yasui chose underscored not only his full intent to assert his rights as a citizen, but also his belief in the Constitution as a document that would successfully protect him. Yasui’s case forced the courts to consider the constitutional limits of the relationship between the military and the citizenry—an issue rarely addressed within the framework of an American legal system that involves little overlap between the military and the civilian.12 Unfortunately, in a 1943 ruling on Yasui v. United States of America, the Supreme Court rejected Yasui’s case, arguing instead that his status as a citizen was irrelevant because it was constitutional for the United States government to indefinitely detain citizens in a time of war.13 The ruling came in conjunction with a ruling in a similar case, Hirabayashi v. United States, in which the Supreme Court ruled that “the curfew as applied was a protective measure necessary to meet the threat of sabotage and espionage (…) and (…) did not unconstitutionally discriminate 11 Ibid., 307. 12 Eugene V. Rostow, “The Japanese American Cases: A Disaster,” The Yale Law Journal, vol. 54, no. 3 (June, 1945) 491, http://www.jstor.org/stable/792783. 13 Yasui v. United States, 320 U.S. 115 (1943). 6 against citizens of Japanese ancestry.”14This decision not only severely limited the protections of the writ of habeas corpus by allowing the government to constitutionally detain citizens without trial, but also set a precedent for the internment of citizens in times of war. Although Yasui’s dissenting action actually ended up affirming the constitutionality of the evacuation and internment orders, his successful utilization of the American court system was also an affirmation of his rights as a citizen. Even as the government essentially nullified the citizenship status of many Japanese Americans by targeting them for internment, the judiciary affirmed that status by allowing Japanese Americans access to one of the defining protections of American democracy. Remarkably, despite the failure of the case, Yasui did not advocate that Japanese Americans then fully reject the war effort. Indeed, governmental officials inside internment camps often brought Yasui to speak to “no-no boys” who had refused the draft. In a final attempt to discourage these draft resisters, Yasui warned of the lasting consequences that a federal conviction might have on their lives.15 Many “no-no boys,” however, argued that they could not call themselves Americans if they blindly followed a government that so harshly abridged their rights. After two years of internment, American success in the war effort and the repeated court cases brought by Japanese Americans against the government had begun to encourage certain governmental officials to end the internment programs. In order to ensure the loyalty of those released from the camps, however, the government forced each internee to complete a questionnaire. Questions twenty-seven and twenty-eight asked individuals if they would adhere to the draft and swear their allegiance to the United States, respectively. “No-no boys” thus earned 14 Hirabayashi v. United States, 320 U.S. 81 (1943). 15 Yasui, “Resistance,” in Dissent in America, 306. 7 their name by responding “No” to both questions, cementing their position as not only draft resisters, but also potential traitors.16 George Fujii, interned at the Poston Relocation Center, was an active member of the camp’s community and an avid draft resister. Fujii protested not only for himself as a U.S. citizen—he was the son of Issei parents—but also for those who did not have citizenship. After his 1944 arrest for draft resistance and attempting to incite further resistance among his fellow internees, Fujii wrote several letters to governmental officials from prison. In a letter to President Roosevelt, Fujii argued, “the Nisei should not be compelled to bear arms until such date as our status is definitely established as to what privileges and rights we are fighting for.”17 Fujii astutely recognized the crucial importance of receiving his full rights as a citizen. Indeed, Fujii believed, “in order for me to protest the government, or demand a right to the government, I would have to be a citizen. If you declare yourself a non-citizen, you have no right to protest. (…) So, I kept my position as a citizen intact so that I could protest the government.”18 Much like Yasui, Fujii viewed protest as a defining characteristic of citizenship; both men felt that it was not merely their right, but their duty as American citizens to protest unjust laws. Although this was not necessarily a new understanding of citizenship—earlier activists like Thoreau and Emerson had espoused similar views—the circumstances in which Yasui and Fujii asserted their rights were unique. Although the United States government never unilaterally 16 Frank H. Wu, “Difficult Decisions during Wartime: A Letter from a Non-Alien in an Internment Camp to a Friend Back Home,” Case Western Reserve, vol. 54 (2004): 1338, accessed November 12, 2017, http://heinonline.org/HOL/Page?handle=hein.journals/cwrlrv54&div=51&g_sent=1&casa_token=&collect ion=journals#. 17 Arthur A. Hansen, ed., “An Interview with George Fujii Conducted by Ronald C. Larson on August 31, 1976” in Japanese American World War II Evacuation Oral History Project: Part IV: Resisters (Fullerton: California State University): 92, accessed November 10, 2017, http://content.cdlib.org/view?docId=ft1f59n61r;NAAN=13030&doc.view=frames&chunk.id=George%20 Fujii&toc.depth=1&toc.id=0&brand=calisphere&query=Japanese%20American%20Oral%20History%20 Project. 18 Ibid. 8 rescinded the citizenship of Japanese Americans, it repeatedly minimized the citizenship rights of Japanese individuals. A district court that ruled on Yasui’s case, for example, declared that he had rescinded his citizenship and therefore his case should be thrown out.19 Although the Supreme Court later reversed the ruling that Yasui had forfeited his citizenship, the lower court’s decision reflected the widespread hostility that surrounded Japanese American citizens. Under these conditions, the assertion of citizenship by Yasui and Fujii almost became an act of dissent in itself. In repeatedly referencing their citizenship and utilizing the protections available for them as citizens, both men quite clearly threatened the legitimacy of the evacuation and internment orders. The idea that citizenship in itself could be used as a form of dissent epitomized the essential hypocrisies and contradictions that have marked the history of dissent in the United States. Yasui, Fujii, and other agitators wanted nothing more than to be afforded their full rights as citizens. This is evident in the fact that after the Supreme Court ruled against Yasui, he fully accepted their decision and even encouraged other Japanese Americans to adhere to the draft. Fujii, on the other hand, encouraged draft resisters to plead “Not guilty” in an attempt keep the issue of the constitutionality of drafting interned residents and citizens in the public eye.20 The dissent movement against the internment and evacuation of Japanese Americans ultimately normalized the idea that citizens should protest if they were not receiving the full protections of the law. It also served as a warning to citizens about the importance of honoring citizenship rights domestically, especially in times of war. 19 Taylor Natsu Saito, “Interning the ‘Non-Alien’ Other: The Illusory Protections of Citizenship,” Law and Contemporary Problems (Spring 2005) Academic OneFile, accessed November 12, 2017, http://go.galegroup.com.libproxy.temple.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE|A137876572&v=2.1&u=temple_main&i t=r&p=AONE&sw=w&authCount=1#. 20 Hansen, ed., “An Interview with George Fujii,” 93, accessed November 10, 2017, http://content.cdlib.org/view?docId=ft1f59n61r;NAAN=13030&doc.view=frames&chunk.id=George%20 Fujii&toc.depth=1&toc.id=0&brand=calisphere&query=Japanese%20American%20Oral%20History%20 Project. 9 Today, concerns over the abridgment of constitutional rights in wartime have remained incredibly relevant. The “War on Terror” saw comprehensive limitations of the privacy and legal rights of American citizens. In some cases, Americans who supported terrorist groups have been denied their right to a fair trial by jury. In 2001, while the United States was at war with Afghanistan, Esam Hamdi, an American citizen born in Louisiana, was captured at an Al Qaeda base. Rather than detain Hamdi in a federal prison, the government took him to Guantanamo, and then to a naval brig in Virginia. He remained imprisoned in Virginia without charges for three years while the government stripped him of his citizenship and began referring to him as an “enemy combatant.” Hamdi was ultimately released to Saudi Arabia after his lawyer filed for a writ of habeas corpus, which the government failed to produce.21 The parallels between this rather recent incident and the government’s treatment of Japanese Americans during the Second World War are remarkable. In both cases, Americans were denied their basic rights, their citizenship was minimized, and they were ultimately released only after an extended period of time in which American foreign policy evolved and adapted. It is because of the dissenting efforts of Yasui and Fujii that the government today must tread carefully in implementing policies that limit the rights of citizens. Both men successfully presented logical, constitutional objections that contradicted the actions of the government. Yasui proved his citizenship by utilizing the court system created in the Constitution as a check on executive and legislative powers. Similarly, Fujii specifically retained his citizenship in order to protest against the evacuation and internment orders. In this manner, both men quietly espoused an incredibly patriotic view of citizenship that was successful in part because it did not threaten 21 Saito, “Interning the ‘Non-Alien’ Other,” accessed November 12, 2017, http://go.galegroup.com.libproxy.temple.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE|A137876572&v=2.1&u=temple_main&i t=r&p=AONE&sw=w&authCount=1#. 10 an American public that was in a state of nationalistic anxiety about the outcome of the war. As the current administration in the United States continues to foment jingoism and xenophobia, Yasui, Fujii and other dissenters who fought the internment of Japanese Americans will serve as models of the proper response to the denial of citizenship rights on the basis of ethnicity. 11 Bibliography Dellinger, David. “Why I Refused to Register in the October 1940 Draft and a Little of What it Led To.” In Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young. New York: Pearson Education, 2008. 296-303. Hansen, Arthur A., ed. “An Interview with George Fujii Conducted by Ronald C. Larson on August 31, 1976” in Japanese American World War II Evacuation Oral History Project: Part IV: Resisters. Fullerton: California State University. 73-99. Accessed November 10, 2017, http://content.cdlib.org/view?docId=ft1f59n61r;NAAN=13030&doc.view=frames&chunk. id=George%20Fujii&toc.depth=1&toc.id=0&brand=calisphere&query=Japanese%20Ame rican%20Oral%20History%20Project. “Report on the Work of the War Relocation Authority: An Anniversary Statement by Dillon S. Meyer, Director of the War Relocation Authority,” in Japanese-American Internment During World War II, Peggy Daniels Becker. Detroit: Omnigraphics, 2013. 181-188. Accessed November 14, 2017. ProQuest Ebook Central. https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/templeuniv-ebooks/reader.action?docID=3384077 Rostow, Eugene V. “The Japanese American Cases: A Disaster.” The Yale Law Journal, vol. 54, no. 3 (June, 1945): 489-533. http://www.jstor.org/stable/792783 Saito, Natsu Taylor. “Interning the ‘Non-Alien’ Other: The Illusory Protections of Citizenship.” Law and Contemporary Problems. (Spring 2005) Academic OneFile. Accessed November 12, 2017. http://go.galegroup.com.libproxy.temple.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE|A137876572&v=2.1&u =temple_main&it=r&p=AONE&sw=w&authCount=1#. Spickard, Paul R. “The Nisei Assume Power: The Japanese American Citizens League, 1941- 1942.” Pacific Historical Review, vol. 52 (Jan. 1, 1983): 147-174. https://search-proquest- com.libproxy.temple.edu/docview/1290976599/fulltextPDF/8442FFD49AB14200PQ/1?ac countid=14270 Wilson, Charles F. “Letter to President Roosevelt, 1944.” In Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young. New York: Pearson Education, 2008. 294-296 Wu, Frank H. "Difficult Decisions during Wartime: A Letter from a Non-Alien in an Internment Camp to a Friend Back Home." Case Western Reserve, vol. 54 (2004): 1301-1346. Accessed November 12, 2017, http://heinonline.org/HOL/Page?handle=hein.journals/cwrlrv54&div=51&g_sent=1&casa _token=&collection=journals#. Yasui, Minoru. “Resistance.” In Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young. New York: Pearson Education, 2008. 304-310. 12 Young, Ralph. Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation. New York: Pearson Education, 2008. Zebrowski, Carl. “America First.” America in WWII, April-May 2017. Accessed November 16, 2017.http://go.galegroup.com.libproxy.temple.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE|A497797964&v=2 .1&u=temple_main&it=r&p=AONE&sw=w#.
work_nyzeg5mkfrbxha2gn2kn3vb6ly ---- Discovering Davies-Land: Arthur B. Davies in the West, 1905 Arthur B. Davies, Twin Lakes, Colorado, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/4 x 9 3/8 in. Private collection This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Vol. 31, No. 1 © 2017 Smithsonian Institution American Art | Spring 2017 25 Charles C. Eldredge Discovering Davies-Land Arthur B. Davies in the West, 1905 In June 1905 Arthur B. Davies left New York City on a trip that had great con- sequence for his career. The artist was riding high on the recent success of not one but two solo shows—an exhibition at the prominent Doll & Richards Gallery, in Boston, and subsequently one with his New York dealer, William Macbeth. The proceeds from sales of his popular paintings were sufficient to underwrite the summer excursion on which he was embarking. Escapes from the discomforts of summer in the city were not unusual; artists for generations had been trekking to scenic vistas and salubrious climes, seeking seasonal inspiration for their winter’s work back in the urban studio. Since establishing himself in New York in 1888, Davies had joined this exodus on several occasions. Although he married in 1892 and had children shortly there after, Davies continued to enjoy periodic sojourns away from home, with a particular prefer- ence for Europe, the favored destination for many artists of his era. In the summer of 1895 he visited Amsterdam, Paris, and London; in 1897, Ireland, Belgium, Germany, Italy, and Spain; in 1901, London again. But in the summer of 1905—a year headlined in one magazine as the dawn of “Another ‘Go West’ Period”—this dedicated Europhile turned in a different direction.1 This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 26 American Art | Spring 2017 It was as if Davies were heeding the advice of Henry David Thoreau, whose famous essay “Walking” was published in June 1862, a month after the author’s death and just three months before Davies’s birth. “When I go out of the house for a walk,” Thoreau wrote, “uncertain as yet whither I will bend my steps . . . I finally and inevitably settle southwest. . . . Eastward I go only by force; but westward I go free. . . . We go eastward to realize history and study the works of art and literature, retracing the steps of the race; we go westward as into the future.” The philosopher concluded that “I must walk toward Oregon, and not toward Europe.”2 When Davies left home late in the spring of 1905, there was no uncertainty about his direction or his destination. This trip was undertaken to visit the Lewis and Clark Centennial Exposition in Portland, one of the numerous celebrations of history, place, and modernity that punctuated the decades before World War I.3 Seven of Davies’s paintings were included in the Department of Fine Arts Exhibition at the Portland fair, six of them loaned by William Macbeth. These works, which ranged in date over nearly a decade, were imaginative compositions of the sort that had earned Davies early notice—subjects from ancient mythology and scenes from his far-flung foreign travels.4 In the West adventure also beckoned. For decades landscapists had sought scenic inspiration in the field. “Pleinairists received constant encouragement from the press,” according to the landscape scholar Eleanor Jones Harvey; one mid-nineteenth- century art journal declared that “the true artist . . . will risk body and brains in his pursuit of a good sketch.”5 So attractive became these pursuits away from home and studio that Henry Tuckerman, in his 1867 chronicle of American artists, praised painting from nature as “an element in American artist-life which gives it singular zest and interest.”6 As it had for many before Davies, the prospect of adventure— as well as an escape from the city and domestic routine—added to the West’s allure for him. Transcontinental rail travel in 1905, though vastly improved in speed and comfort from earlier generations, was still a long and arduous undertaking. From Chicago, where Davies and his family had lived when he was a teenager and to which he had likely journeyed by rail, the artist probably continued to Denver on the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe (AT&SF), the railroad for which, in 1881–82, he had worked as a draftsman in New Mexico Territory, planning new rail lines in the Southwest. On that occasion, which was his only previous experience in the American West, Davies was still early in his career, and he was limning the land with a practical purpose, not the personal expression of his later paintings. However, as he later admitted, “That training [as draftsman for AT&SF] made me see and feel not the surface only of those mountains, but their construction, as one feels the anatomical structure of the human figure when expressing its exterior forms.”7 Davies’s early experience in the Southwest inspired a lifelong fascination with mountainous landscapes. In 1898, after his first visit to the Great Smoky Mountains in western North Carolina, the artist wrote with excitement to Macbeth, describing one of the most enjoyable trips . . . to the top of Junaluska mountain . . . I have been much surprised at variety in these many peaks and I feel it is like a new language which I must become familiar with. I have been making innumerable notes . . . I have several good motifs . . . the mountains are an inspiration.8 This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 27 But not Junaluska, nor even the peaks of New Mexico or the Mexican highlands, could compare with the grandeur of the Colorado Rockies. Heading west from Denver on the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad, Davies encountered scenery and summits unrivaled in his earlier travels. The pace slowed as Davies took advan- tage of opportunities for art and recreation along the way. At Twin Lakes, near Leadville, in Colorado’s high country, he was distracted by the vista—and by trout. In mid-June he reported excitedly to Macbeth about “my week just finished at Twin Lakes fishing & sketching!!! I resemble a carcass left in the sun, fat and blistered. . . . I caught a few trout and had a good, new experience.” Lying between Mount Elbert and Mount Massive, two of Colorado’s highest peaks, Twin Lakes provided a welcome respite and artistic inspiration; “a most beautiful place,” Davies concluded. “I doubt if I shall find anything better.”9 In a quick oil sketch Davies recorded the view, framed by slender pines, across the water to the distant mountains (frontispiece). Painted on diminutive wooden panels, these easily transported souvenirs of his western travels were intended as inspiration for easel paintings to be made after his return to New York. From Seattle in late September, nearing the end of his journey, Davies dispatched a parcel of approximately seventy such sketches to Macbeth, along with a message urging care in their handling since some were so fresh that the paint was not yet fully dry.10 When exhibited in New York shortly after his return, Davies’s “superbly faithful and glowing sketches” won critical praise and the prediction that “some day collec- tors will compete for them.”11 Yet surprisingly, although the easel paintings they inspired have been admired and recognized as pivotal in the artist’s career, his oil sketches from the West have been largely neglected. Nevertheless, today a number of these quickly brushed notations of scenery glimpsed in passing remain, and the best of them are still “glowing.” Davies’s reputation today rests on his figurative works, particularly those featuring the female nude, as well as his participation in the 1908 exhibition of The Eight, painters who challenged the conservative standards of the National Academy of Design, many of them (but not Davies) with gritty urban subjects dashingly ren- dered. Even more so, contemporary scholars recognize Davies for his role as an advocate for modern art, most notably as president of the Association of American Painters and Sculptors, organizers of the famed Armory Show in 1913. At the time of his western sojourn, however, all that still lay ahead. Arresting alpine motifs abounded in the Rockies. As spring arrived in Colorado’s high country, so did the artist. He found during the ride from Twin Lakes to Leadville that “in the stimulating air was something to spiritualize in paint.”12 However, Leadville itself he found less inspiring, a bleak shanty town populated by “knots of miners and prospectors” who would not hold him long. From there Davies headed toward the San Juan country of southwestern Colorado. On June 18 he announced in a letter to Macbeth his intention to be in Ouray the next day and, rejuvenated by his Twin Lakes sojourn, reassured the dealer, “I am feeling tip-top.”13 Between Leadville and Ouray, however, there were plenty of scenic distractions, a number of them warranting stops for sketches, and Davies’s progress began to slow. At Emerald Lake, in the present-day San Juan National Forest, the artist paused to make several sketches of the lake and mountains. In one wide-angle view (fig. 1), dark mountain slopes frame a distant, purple peak and placid water in the foreground, its surface defined by a narrow, pale stroke of paint that snaps This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 28 American Art | Spring 2017 This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 29 the picture into focus. The slopes and peak in turn are mirrored in the lake’s surface, creating a sym- metrical design of four intersecting V-shaped planes. In another sketch of Emerald Lake (fig. 2) the moun- tain rises more abruptly, blocking the view, not framing it; its dark flank presses against the shoreline as it looms over several buildings that suggest the beginnings of settlement, or perhaps vacation- ers’ accommodations. While Davies’s intent was not narrowly topographic or documentary, the inclusion of buildings in the landscape was unusual for him; the painting is less moody, less mystical than other sketches and their successors from the easel. This effect apparently pleased the artist, whose signature on the front of the painting is unusually prominent. (More often he signed the panel in pencil on the verso.) Between Emerald Lake and Ouray, near Ironton, the artist’s attention was caught by the landscape tinted rust-red by iron oxides in the soil. Red Mountain, Ironton (ex-Spanierman Gallery) records the dramatic vista and suggests Davies’s facility with color. The foreground is dominated by earthen tones and dark greens, some nearly black, colors found in many of his early works. In the middle distance, a slope of warm iron-red strikes a colorful note. Red mountain, white clouds, and blue sky suggest a national palette suitable for an American landscape. The artist’s progress was slowed by scenic distractions, but eventually the rails crossed the Red Mountain Pass, cresting at 11,000 feet, and descended to Ouray. The old mining town is nestled at the head of a narrow valley, surrounded by the lofty San Juan Mountains, some of the highest and most rugged peaks in the Rockies. Davies recorded their steep rise and snowcapped summits in a quick sketch (fig. 3), repeating the asymmetrical composition of his earlier view at Emerald Lake, but he did not include any buildings. At the time of Davies’s visit the town was prospering, thanks to its gold and silver mines, and several hotels served a fledgling tourist trade. “Trains are terribly crowded,” Davies reported, presumably including vacationers.14 But it was natural scenery, not evidence of progress, that most often caught the artist’s attention. From Ouray the Denver & Rio Grande line ran northwestward, down Colorado’s Western Slope toward Utah. From Leadville, Davies anticipated arriving in Salt Lake City about July 1. Given the vagaries of travel and the distractions of scenery, however, he did not get to the city until July 17. He wrote the next day to Macbeth, explaining that the delay meant “I shall give up the Yellowstone trip which will consume seven days . . . & my Lake Tahoe would be cut out practically for sketching purposes.” He reported that “Salt Lake is a great little city; you must not miss it.” Nonetheless, Davies’s stay there was brief, only long enough to dispatch a shipment of “spoiled” panels back to New York and to retrieve a batch of replacements that Macbeth had sent. “These new ones I shall save for lucky hits in the Northwest.” In Colorado he had “seen enough already to satisfy any ordinary man,” and now “[T]he great Pacific calls.” So, “It’s off to Lake Tahoe tomorrow.”15 Davies left Salt Lake City on July 19 and the next morning arrived at Truckee, California, the entry to scenic Tahoe country. He planned to spend a week there before 1 Arthur B. Davies, Emerald Lake, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/4 x 9 1/2 in. Private collection 2 Arthur B. Davies, Emerald Lake, Colorado, 1905. Oil on panel, 6 3/8 x 10 1/2 in. Denver Art Museum Collection, D.A.M. Yankees and funds from the Acquisition Challenge Grant, 1987.16. Photo courtesy of the Denver Art Museum 3 Arthur B. Davies, Ouray, Colorado, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/4 x 9 1/2 in. Private collection This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 30 American Art | Spring 2017 moving on to San Francisco; judging from the multiple panels that survive, it was time well spent. At Emerald Bay, on the lake’s southwest margin, he sketched the view across the water to the far shoreline and the mountain beyond (Oakland Museum of California), a composition similar to that he had employed at Emerald Lake in Colorado (see fig. 2). A second view of the Tahoe motif (ex-Garzoli Gallery) included a pine bough at the left margin, a bit of foreground greenery contrasting with the vaporous landforms in the distance. The composition apparently satisfied him, for he repeated it with an entire tree, not just a bough, punctuating the left side of another view (fig. 4). Sketches like these served later as the inspiration for easel paintings of the site, such as Lake and Island, Sierra Nevada (1905, ex-coll. Art Institute of Chicago), depicting Tahoe’s only island, Fannette, in the middle of Emerald Bay. The asymmetrical design of Davies’s views of the area is most effective in another sketch, Lake Tahoe (fig. 5). In it a foreground tree arrests attention, placed before simplified, smoothly brushed bands of blue and mauve that depict a watery middle plane and the far shore. The effect here is akin to woodblock prints by Hokusai and other Japanese masters, no surprise, for Davies shared enthusiasm for Japanese prints with numerous others of his generation. Bennard Perlman, one of Davies’s biographers, noted additionally that some of the artist’s later and larger easel paintings of California scenes demonstrate the mathematical principle of the Golden Section—the ratio of small part to larger as larger is to whole (3:5::5:8)—a compositional approach that accounts for the off-center place- ment of a prominent tree or peak approximately fifteen inches from one side of several landscapes.16 Whether from nineteenth-century Japanese prints, the ancients’ principle of the Golden Section, or simply from the serendipitous discovery of tree and vantage, the designs had their initial impetus on the shores of Lake Tahoe. Venturing south, Davies continued to the Tuolumne region. His travels might have been inspired by a contemporary account that appeared in the popular press on the eve of his departure from New York. “[T]o see California understandingly,” the author advised, “one must visit the mountains as well as the valleys. Probably no other section is richer in scenes noted for their beauty and grandeur, places made famous in literature than is Tuolumne county in the Sierra Nevada foothills of California.”17 Davies’s destination was Yosemite National Park, which had been established by an act of Congress on October 1, 1890. In August and September of that year, John Muir, the great champion of Yosemite whose advocacy led to the federal designation, described to distant readers of the popular 4 Arthur B. Davies, Lake Tahoe, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/2 x 9 3/8 in. Courtesy of Joel B. Garzoli Fine Art, San Francisco, Calif. 5 Arthur B. Davies, Lake Tahoe, ca. 1905. Oil on wood, 5 3/8 x 9 3/8 in. Collection of the Oakland Museum of California, Gift of Concours d’Antiques, Art Guild This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 31 Century Magazine the treasures of the region and the features of the proposed national park.18 Muir’s celebration of this beauty spot was accompanied by black-and-white illustra- tions by artists ranging from the notable, like Thomas Moran, to the anonymous. Several of them were initialed “ABD,” an indication that they were early examples from Davies’s hand. His early illustrations of Cathedral Peak, the Merced River, and the entrance to the Hetch Hetchy Valley were drawn from photographs or verbal accounts by others, or from his imagination, for the Sierra were as yet unvisited by him. Now, fifteen years later, Davies had his first opportunity to experience the wonders that Muir extolled. The mountains’ precipitous rise from the valley floor added drama to the numerous depictions of the park that appeared in the late nineteenth century. Thomas Hill, the most frequent and prolific painter of the Yosemite region, repeatedly depicted such attractions as Half Dome, Bridal Veil Falls, and the grand, long view of the valley. At the time of Davies’s visit, the elderly Hill (1829–1908), who had been working with the Sierra landscape for nearly half a century, was residing in the park at the Wawona Hotel and continuing to portray Yosemite’s glories. His canvases were eagerly sought by well- heeled visitors, as by his brush Hill helped make the park’s chief sites familiar. Like many other tourists—including President Theodore Roosevelt, whose 1903 visit with his friend Muir was well documented and added to the park’s allure—Davies was drawn to such familiar views. He sketched, for instance, Cathedral Peak, Tuolumne Meadows (Joel B. Garzoli Fine Art, San Francisco) as well as Half Dome from Glacier Point (fig. 6), one of the most popular views in the park (and a site where the president and Muir had been photographed). In each case Davies composed the painting with the highest point off center, just as he had asymmetrically arranged pines before views of Lake Tahoe. The trees of Yosemite, however, inspired a different composition. Instead of his customary horizontal views, Davies, surrounded by lofty sequoias, turned his panel 90 degrees to produce a vertical composition, its elongation echoing the rise of the ancient evergreens, as in Trees, Mariposa Grove (ex-Spanierman Gallery). Such sketches became sources for Davies’s later studio paintings, in which compositions often featured similar tree trunks—arboreal monuments that, as later described by Marsden Hartley, “become columns of Doric eloquence and simplicity.”19 From Yosemite the artist made his way westward to the mid-California coast, where he received a warm welcome from the congenial community of artists, writers, and 6 Arthur B. Davies, Half Dome from Glacier Point, 1905. Oil on wood panel, 5 1/4 x 9 1/2 in. Private collection of Michael P. and Patricia A. Smith. Photo courtesy of James D. Julia Auctioneers, Fairfield, Maine, U.S.A., www.jamesdjulia.com This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 32 American Art | Spring 2017 freethinkers gathering in scenic Carmel and Monterey. Many years later the widow of one Bay Area artist recalled spirited times in that creative enclave: “We’d get a telegram from [the Monterey painter Charles] Rollo Peters, ‘So and so from New York’s going to be here, bring your wife and two or three pictures.’ So we would stay with them for two or three days while he gave a big party and sold pictures.”20 In addition to the pleasant company, Davies discovered landscape attractions of the sort described by the local author Mary Hunter Austin. About the same time as Davies, she had been drawn to the region by “the Mission buildings, the strange wild beach at Carmel, the matted plots of cedar, the dunes all white and silvery, the glittering chaparral.”21 Davies made obligatory visits to such historic missions as San Juan Bautista, whose facade provided the inspiration for several pencil sketches.22 More often, however, he painted the landscape without evi- dence of human settlement. In Monterey arboreal subjects again attracted Davies’s attention—not the venerable giants of Yosemite but the oaks and cypresses that punctuated the rolling landscape. In Live Oaks, Monterey (1905, ex-Garzoli Gallery), the trees mass together, as they often do in the sheltered valleys beyond the coast; in other sketches, such as Landscape, Monterey, California (fig. 7), a single cypress, or several, are bent by sea winds. The coast also cap- tured the artist’s attention. In some sketches the Pacific crashes against rocky Monterey headlands, while in others it washes ashore in a foamy arc, as in California Bay (fig. 8), perhaps a view of Carmel’s Monastery Beach. Farther north, in San Francisco, William Macbeth had provided Davies with introduc- tions to the gallerist’s West Coast counterparts. Prominent among them was the firm Vickery, Atkins & Torrey, purveyors of fine furniture (European and Japanese) and decorative objects to embellish the new homes and gardens of Bay Area barons. In their downtown showrooms the dealers also exhibited and sold works of art, including Japanese prints, watercolors, and oil paintings, the last chiefly landscapes of a tonalist sort (e.g., Barbizon School, late George Inness, William Keith).23 According to one source, it was Frederick C. Torrey, a partner in the firm, who hosted Davies in the city.24 While in San Francisco Davies sketched the view looking north from Twin Peaks across the city and its Golden Gate Park (fig. 9). The painting is unusual for its urban subject, one seldom encountered in Davies’s western scenes. It is exceptional as well for its provenance, being a gift from Davies to a fellow artist, Xavier Martinez.25 The gift suggests the friend- ship that developed between the visitor and Martinez, one of the young leaders in the 7 Arthur B. Davies, Landscape, Monterey, California, ca. 1905. Oil on panel, 5 5/16 x 9 13/16 in. Image courtesy of Los Angeles County Museum of Art 8 Arthur B. Davies, California Bay, n.d. Oil on panel, 5 x 9 in. Brigham Young University Museum of Art, Purchase/gift from the Mahonri M. Young Estate, 1959 This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 33 resident art community who had welcomed Davies to San Francisco. That the two should meet was no coincidence. San Francisco’s Sequoia Club held an exhibition of Martinez’s work in the summer of 1905, coincident with Davies’s visit to the city; he also showed that year with the California Society of Artists, the group of young Turks that Martinez helped found in 1902 in a revolt against the conservative standards that prevailed in California. At the time of Davies’s visit, Martinez was preparing for a fall exhibition at the Vickery, Atkins & Torrey gallery, featuring a group of works produced on a recent trip to his native Mexico, as well as local landscapes and scenes of Paris. That exhibition was restaged the following year in New York by Macbeth, suggesting commercial as well as artistic ties between the two artists.26 The gregarious and affable Martinez provided a center for San Francisco’s bohemian cultural life. He hosted open-house receptions every Sunday, with guests drawn from the area’s creative avant-garde, among them the novelist Jack London. Davies commissioned Martinez to paint London’s portrait, part of a suite of six likenesses of prominent western- ers intended for an exhibition in the East.27 Martinez was a member of San Francisco’s Bohemian Club, a gathering of the city’s corporate leaders and creative select. At least one Davies sketch, Bohemian Grove (private collection), depicts the Northern California forest retreat where members of the Bohemian Club still come together in fraternal gatherings; Davies was doubtless a guest of Martinez at the grove, perhaps even at such an assembly, and the sketch is a further memento of their friendship. Following the calamitous San Francisco earthquake in April 1906, which destroyed his studio, Martinez relocated to the East Bay. His new home-studio in Piedmont was built largely by the artist himself, with some materials supplied by friends—and with a generous contribution of $300 from Davies (approximately $8,000 today). Many years later Martinez’s widow recalled in simple yet moving terms the gift that was made “to help a fellow artist.”28 9 Arthur B. Davies, View of San Francisco, 1905. Oil on wood, 5 1/8 x 9 3/8 in. Collection of the Oakland Museum of California, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Leefeldt This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 34 American Art | Spring 2017 10 Arthur B. Davies, North from Mt. Tamalpais, ca. 1905. Oil on wood, 5 1/4 x 9 3/8 in. Collection of the Oakland Museum of California, Gift of Concours d’Antiques, Art Guild 11 Arthur B. Davies, Pacific Parnassus, Mount Tamalpais, ca. 1905. Oil on canvas, 26 1/4 x 40 1/4 in. Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, Museum pur- chase, Gift of The Museum Society Auxiliary This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 35 While the San Francisco view inscribed and donated to Martinez is unique among Davies’s sketches, the Bay Area provided other scenic inspiration. Especially prominent in the region’s hilly terrain is Mount Tamalpais, in Marin County, across the Golden Gate from the city. Like many artists of his day and later, Davies was drawn to the peak and the expansive view enjoyed from its heights. His sketch, North from Mt. Tamalpais (fig. 10), surveys the expansive Marin landscape. More than topography, however, in this work Davies’s chief interest was the landscape’s chromatic variety—russet hills, dark green foliage, lavender mist—producing “quirkily observed color notes,” as one curator wrote, “freely brushed and boldly composed.”29 Davies produced similar effects in a sketch from the summit of Mount Diablo, the highest peak in the East Bay region (Oakland Museum of California). Long a landmark for explor- ers in California, the Mount Diablo summit was established in 1851 as the official base point for California land surveys, and its base line and meridian lines continue to be used in many California real estate descriptions. Davies, however, was not interested in meridians or in real estate; instead, as he did at Tamalpais, he turned his attention to a chromatic study, registering the transition here from inky blue-blacks at the top of the com- position to warm tans below. The view from such lofty perches continued to stir Davies’s imagination even after his return to New York. Using the sketches and his keen memory, the artist reimagined the view of Stinson Beach, on the Marin County coastline, as the easel painting Pacific Parnassus, Mount Tamalpais (fig. 11), an early example of the continu- ing hold that California and the western landscape had on him. Davies had arrived in San Francisco in late July and was still tarrying in the area in late August, enjoying its scenery and congenial company. But the artist was well into his four- month itinerary and had not yet reached Portland and the Lewis and Clark Centennial Exposition, the ostensible purpose of this long journey. By early September he left the Bay Area and headed northward and inland. In correspondence with his dealer, he noted stops in the Sacramento Valley country and another at Mount Shasta.30 However, feeling the pressures of time, he apparently had scant opportunity to paint at either site, and conse- quently there were only a few sketches made en route to Portland.31 Mount Shasta was an exception, its distinctive double-humped profile providing inspiration for at least two images. Enjoying the chromatic liberty that he had discovered in his Bay Area vignettes, Davies twice sketched Shasta—once with its pink slopes rising above greenery at the base, another time in deep blues, the mountain hovering like some monochrome mirage above a few treetops in the foreground (fig. 12). In Portland he finally had the opportunity to view his paintings in the exposition’s Fine Arts Museum, although finding his seven among the more than seven hundred works installed in multiple galleries must have been a challenge.32 Alas, his letters to his dealer include no references to the hunt or to his reaction on finding his work on view; neither did he discuss any of the other fine arts exhibits, nor other attractions at the exposi- tion, which ranged from the Temple of Mirth to a Haunted Castle, numerous state and national buildings, and performers such as the One-legged Bicyclist or Trixie, the Educated Horse. What he did record were visits to private collectors in Portland and descriptions of their holdings. Opportunities for socializing were recounted in a name-dropping missive to 12 Arthur B. Davies, Mount Shasta, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/4 x 9 3/8 in. Private collection This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 36 American Art | Spring 2017 Macbeth: “At Portland I saw Mr. Ladd, visited the house where I met Mrs. Ladd, who took me over to Mother Ladd’s house, there I met Mrs. F. B. Pratt & Mrs. Corbett (another Ladd).” After such a recitation of names and family ties, Davies graciously con- cluded, “All were extremely cordial as these westerners know how to be.”33 The highlight of Davies’s Portland visit—even more than the Ladd clan and other cordial hosts—was a side trip to Mount Hood. He wrote with excitement to Macbeth, describing his “Three days on Mt. Hood with an unsuccessful expedition to the top, bad weather, soaked through by rain one day, and heavy snow Sunday with the opening of big crevasses above the 10,000 ft. snow fields. However a most exhilarating experience[,] one of my choicest.”34 Davies stayed there at the Cloud Cap Inn, the nation’s oldest alpine lodge (built 1889), a tourist destination at that time reached only by stagecoach. Years later Davies still reveled in the memory of this adventure: “a thrilling experience. When I went by horse stageing [sic] from Hood River it was an unforgettable one.”35 The weather at Mount Hood was unfavorable for sketching, and soon Davies was headed farther north, to Seattle. From there in late September he began “making the turn homeward. With all too short a time left.” He was headed toward Glacier Park, then to several more stops along the way (“two or three [days] at Emerald [Lake] & the remaining time at Lake Louise”) before taking the train to Montreal, then “home by night of Oct. 4th. My time limit.”36 The pace was rapid, and as a consequence, the northern leg of his trip was not frequently illustrated. His sketches made along the railway route were few but fresh, such as a view of the glacier on Mount Sir Donald in the Selkirk Range, one of the rare souvenirs of the trans-Canada passage (fig. 13). Before leaving Seattle, the artist dispatched to Macbeth most of the oil sketches that would be used to create new easel paintings in the East. By early October, on his schedule, Davies was back in New York and reunited with his sketches—but not with his wife and sons. Rather, he returned to a new domestic arrangement, living in the city pseudonymously with his mistress, Edna Potter, as Mr. and Mrs. David Owen. The story of their relationship, which was unknown to nearly all of Davies’s contemporaries, has now been made familiar by the artist’s several biographers.37 Potter, a tall, lithe dancer, had begun modeling for Davies in 1902, and her graceful figure was the inspiration for many of the artist’s nudes, largely dating from after the western trip, works by which he was best known to his contemporaries and to history. The easel paintings that Davies produced in the immediate wake of his western sojourn were, however, different from those that had preceded his journey. The figures, generally female and usually nude, seemed more sensual than his earlier depictions of prim Victorian children, or young Madonnas, or subjects drawn from ancient mythol- ogy, like Psyche, exhibited at the Portland Exposition. Moreover, in Colorado and especially in California, landscape became newly important to the artist. The sketches were, with few exceptions, devoid of figures or evidence of human habitation, and so, too, were many of the most notable easel paintings they inspired. Even though the western trip changed Davies’s approach to landscape painting, his distinctive treatment of the genre had been noted earlier. For instance, reviews of his Boston show in February 1905 lauded “[h]is pictures [that] are of a visionary caste, and are memories rather than direct representations of nature.”38 Though “visionary,” Davies’s landscapes were based on his “conscientious interrogation of nature”—as in the oil sketches—a focus that the critic Royal Cortissoz would later assert “was at the bottom of his art.”39 Memories of the West percolated in Davies’s imagination and prompted a new emphasis on landscape, with results that were sometimes even more visionary than his earlier work. In Canyon Undertones (fig. 14), a large canvas inspired This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 37 13 Arthur B. Davies, Mount Sir Donald Glacier, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/4 x 9 1/2 in. Private collection 14 Arthur B. Davies, Canyon Undertones, ca. 1905–6. Oil on canvas, 25 x 39 in. Private collection This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 38 American Art | Spring 2017 by the Sierra Nevada country, the foreground canyon floor is ringed by steep cliffs down which multiple cascades plummet. The cliffs-and-waterfalls motif appeared as well in Many Waters (ca. 1905, Phillips Collection), one of Davies’s best-known landscapes, with the cascades further multiplied, as if he was seeking to include all of Yosemite’s famous falls in one hydraulic fantasy. The view, with the Merced River flowing in the foreground, is purely imaginary, for the dozen cascades depicted are nowhere visible from a single vantage point in the park. The jagged profile of the Sierra figures prominently in the backgrounds of numerous landscape paintings executed following Davies’s return to New York. In Before Sunrise (1905, ex-Corcoran Gallery of Art), the warm glow of a new day rises above the dark plane of jagged peaks; in this work, as in another Sierra subject, Horizons (ca. 1906, Washington County Museum of Fine Arts), the view is punctuated by the verticals of tall pines, a compositional device familiar from some of his Lake Tahoe sketches. The elongated horizontal format (18 by 40 inches) of these pictures was used in a number of western views and suggests the panoramic landscape that Davies enjoyed in California. In Leda and the Dioscuri (fig. 15), lofty mountains provide a backdrop for a diminutive Castor and Pollux and their mother, the trio improbably relocated from the ancient Greco-Roman world to a Sierran lakeside, giving new meaning to notions of the “mythic West.” Davies also introduced tiny figures into his large canvas The Lure of the Chase (fig. 16). In its lower margin, dogs chase, deer flee, and figures gambol among the pines. While their purpose may only have been to provide a sense of scale for the landscape’s vastness, their size and placement tempt comparison to Washington Allston’s romantic Diana on a Chase (1805, Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum), with its small mythological figures similarly transplanted to the corner of an expansive mountain view. Davies likely painted his view of Stinson Beach from sketches made nearby. He titled the work Pacific Parnassus, Mount Tamalpais (see fig. 11), a reference to the 15 Arthur B. Davies, Leda and the Dioscuri, ca. 1905. Oil on canvas, 26 x 40 in. Spencer Museum of Art, University of Kansas, Museum purchase, Peter T. Bohan Art Acquisition Fund, 2014.0138 This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 39 mountain sacred to Apollo and home to the Muses, the locus of creativity now relocated from Greek mythology to the California coast. Unlike Raphael’s famed Vatican fresco of Parnassus, in which the artist looked up to Apollo and his Muses, Davies assumes the lofty position of the god and looks outward, surveying the arc of blue Pacific and sandy shoreline beneath the moist clouds passing overhead. In the lower right corner of the composition Davies quickly and lightly sketched three small nudes playing on the grassy slope. Easily overlooked in a casual glance, their presence signals California as the new Arcadia, its muses beckoning from a golden shore. In addition to mountains and Pacific shorelines, forests left their impression on the artist, particularly the giant California redwoods. The shafts of their trunks recur in numerous studio paintings, occasionally singly, more often in groups suggestive of the famous groves. In the woods, human figures, especially female nudes, assume larger proportions and more prominent roles. Posed before a distant view in Hills of the Sierras (ca. 1909–10, Frye Art Museum), five nudes seem at home in nature; the upstretched pose of one standing figure rhymes with the trunk of the tree beside her, an alignment similar to contemporaneous images by the California photog- rapher Anne Brigman. In Davies’s On the Cliffs (ca. 1905, Smithsonian American Art Museum), another group contemplates a redwood; the seated pair at left seems transfixed by its height, while the trio at the right embraces the trunk as if to take in its girth. More often, in sketches and in subsequent easel paintings, multiple tree trunks suggest the density of the ancient redwood groves that Davies enjoyed in California. Later paintings of such subjects were often populated with creatures, real or imaginary. In The Nearer Forest (fig. 17), beauty and beast are linked as female nudes escort a pale horse into the grove’s interior—perhaps a precursor to the fantastic white creatures that appeared the next year in Davies’s most famous work, Unicorns (Legend—Sea Calm) (ca. 1906, Metropolitan Museum of Art). In Redwoods (ca. 1905, Santa Barbara Museum of Art), a group of female nudes and scantily clad men crowd the grove. Several muscular males wield axes, as if threatening the giant 16 Arthur B. Davies, The Lure of the Chase, 1905. Oil on canvas, 18 x 40 in. Huntington Art Collections, San Marino, Calif., Purchased with funds from the Art Collectors’ Council, Margery and Maurice Katz, and the Virginia Steele Scott Foundation © Courtesy of the Huntington Art Collections, San Marino, Calif. This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 40 American Art | Spring 2017 trees; a heap of bodies lies on the forest floor, seemingly mourned by a kneeling figure, while a female nude floats gracefully above. A celebration of nature and sensuality? A lament over death or deforestation? Or some more personal narra- tive? Davies’s intent here, as in so many of his works, is left ambiguous. A Mighty Forest—Maenads (fig. 18) seems clearer in its mood and meaning. In a redwood grove, a reddened troupe of female nudes dances athletically, their slender figures and graceful poses suggesting the inspiration of Davies’s model and mistress, the modern dancer Edna Potter. Visions of Potter appear in many of the artist’s post-California works, with A Mighty Forest being one of the most striking. Also reappearing is his interest in classical mythology, suggested by the maenads, the female followers of Dionysus who were often excited by their leader into a state of ecstatic frenzy. The single figure who bursts forward to center stage, her arms upraised, is the embodiment of sensual energy—Edna among the redwoods, a truly bohemian grove. She animates her companions at left and right and charges the picture—and the artist’s life—with sensual, indeed erotic, power. Visions of mountains and redwoods and of Potter continued to stir Davies’s creativity years after his return from the West. In Crescendo (1910, Whitney Museum of American Art), seven nudes strike poses before a profile of high and craggy peaks; nine figures do the same in Rhythms (ca. 1910, Milwaukee Art Museum), as does a troupe of twelve in Moral Law—Line of Mountains (ca. 1911, Virginia Museum of Fine Arts). In Silence, Waterfall and Forest (fig. 19), Davies returns in his imagination to Yosemite, positioning his figure against a stand of redwoods, listening to the falls. The feminine subject, the mysterious stillness of 17 Arthur B. Davies, The Nearer Forest, 1905. Oil on canvas, 18 x 30 in. Myron Kunin Collection of American Art, Minneapolis, Minn. This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 41 the scene, and its auditory theme all suggest the legacy of Odilon Redon and late nineteenth-century symbolist iconography, now relo- cated to the American West. By the time he painted Silence, Davies was already a veteran of the legendary exhibition of The Eight presented at Macbeth’s gallery in February 1908. The show was a landmark in the development of urban realism in American art, a gathering in whose company Davies’s six imaginative works, including at least two paintings inspired by California, might have seemed out of place.40 Davies’s seniority, however, and his sympa- thy for the moderns were accepted by his fellow exhibitors. By 1912 those same attributes led to his crucial role, as president of the Association of American Painters and Sculptors, in organizing the monumental Armory Show that debuted the following year. In his foundational chronicle of the Armory Show, Milton Brown asserted, “Without [Davies] it never would have happened.”41 18 Arthur B. Davies, A Mighty Forest—Maenads, ca. 1905. Oil on canvas, 18 x 40 in. Image courtesy of Doyle New York 19 Arthur B. Davies, Silence, Waterfall and Forest, n.d. Oil on canvas, 29 3/4 x 17 1/2 in. The Dayton Art Institute, Gift of Mr. C. N. Bliss, 1943.2. Photo courtesy of The Dayton Art Institute This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 42 American Art | Spring 2017 That exhibition is often credited with introducing a broad American audience to advanced European modernism; it also transformed Davies’s art, at least momentarily, into abstract designs of cubist fracture, before he reverted to figurative subjects in his later years. Yet even while briefly in the cubist thrall, Davies’s western adventure of a decade earlier was still on his mind. About 1915 he painted an abstract design with the curious title Listening to the Water Ousel (fig. 20). The ouzel is a western bird found along mountain streams in Pacific ranges from Alaska to Mexico and east to the Rocky Mountains. In the Sierra John Muir was particularly fond of the little bird, which he called “the mountain streams’ own darling, the hummingbird of blooming waters. . . . Among all the mountain birds, none has cheered me so much in my lonely wanderings.” Muir delighted in “the spontaneous, irrepressible 20 Arthur B. Davies, Listening to the Water Ousel, ca. 1915. Oil on canvas, mounted on panel, 13 x 11 in. Collection of the McNay Art Museum, Bequest of Mrs. Jerry Lawson This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 43 gladness of the Ouzel,” which he watched along the Merced River, an area where Davies enjoyed sketching.42 Like Muir and many others, naturalists and tourists alike, Davies was drawn to the brave little waterbird. While in California or, more likely, shortly after his return, he painted a small canvas depicting a seated woman, Listening to the Ouzel (fig. 21). But more than simply the song and the antics of a western waterbird, the design of about 1915 suggests the lingering hold of an enchanted time and place on the artist’s imagination. It is notable that in Virgil Barker’s introduction to a 1924 catalogue of Davies’s works in diverse media, many of them figurative in design, the author located Davies’s special inspiration in nature and the landscape. Indeed, without specifically naming it, Barker suggested its source in the artist’s long-ago, singular trip to the American West. “In Davies-Land are to be found long coast lines and majestic mountain ranges, valleys of dew-pure charm, trees rising tall and solemn into serene heights of sky, legendary beasts and noble beings. . . . These pictures,” Barker advised, “ask, not an optical recognition of familiar details, but an emotional comprehension of mood. The appreciation of them is . . . an activity of the mind which has the keen pulsa- tion of temperateness.” He concluded, “The paintings of Arthur B. Davies constitute this time’s most explicit appeal to the imagination. Therein lies their measure of greatness.”43 It was an imagination, and a greatness, fueled by the discoveries of his western sojourn during the summer of 1905. 21 Arthur B. Davies, Listening to the Ouzel, 1905. Oil on canvas, 14 1/4 x 18 1/2 in. Courtesy of Joel B. Garzoli Fine Art, San Francisco, Calif. This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 44 American Art | Spring 2017 Notes Numerous collectors, dealers, and museum colleagues made works available to me over the long gestation of this project, and their kindnesses are much appreciated. I am indebted as well to my research assistants Clair Robertson, Mindy Besaw, Samantha Lyons, and Meaghan Walsh for their expert help at multiple stages in the essay’s prepa- ration, and to my colleague Mark Olson for his assistance with images. My research has been generously supported by the Hall Family Foundation through the Kansas University Endowment Association, for which I am extremely grateful. 1 Arthur I. Street, “Another ‘Go West’ Period,” Sunset 14, no. 3 (January 1905): 205–17. 2 Henry David Thoreau, “Walking,” Atlan tic Monthly 9, no. 56 (June 1862): 662. 3 The attraction to the Lewis and Clark Exposition may have been further enhanced by family ties. The artist’s wife, Dr. Virginia Meriwether Davies, was related to the explorer Meriwether Lewis, whose feat was being celebrated at Portland. Dr. Davies, however, did not accompany the artist on his trip to the West. 4 As Davies rarely dated his works, determining their historical sequence has always been a challenge, reliant on exhibition dates, sales records, reproductions, and similar extrin- sic information. In the catalogue for the memorial exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, in 1930, Davies’s widow provided an extensive listing of paint- ings, some with owner and (her) dates included. Over time, however, this inventory has proven incomplete and in many instances inaccurate. Nonetheless, it is the basis for the dates provided in this paragraph, each of which might prudently be consid- ered circa. For all, the terminus ante quem would be the year of the Portland exhibition: 1905. 5 Eleanor Jones Harvey, The Painted Sketch: American Impressions from Nature, 1830–1880 (Dallas: Dallas Museum of Art in association with Harry N. Abrams, 1998), 20; and “Our Artists and Their Whereabouts,” Cosmopolitan Art Journal 2 (September 1858): 209. 6 Henry T. Tuckerman, Book of the Artists: American Artist Life. . . . (New York: G. P. Putnam and Son, 1867), 389. 7 Quoted in Frederic Newlin Price, “The Etchings and Lithographs of Arthur B. Davies,” Prints 1, no. 1 (November 1930): 8, quoted in Bennard B. Perlman, The Lives, Loves, and Art of Arthur B. Davies (Albany: State Univ. of New York Press, 1999), 146. 8 Davies to William Macbeth, August 1898, Macbeth Gallery Records, 1838– 1968, bulk, 1892–1953, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution (hereafter A A A), reel NMc6, frames 305, 251, quoted in Perlman, Lives, Loves, and Art, 105, 106. 9 Davies to William Macbeth, June 18, 1905, Macbeth Records, A A A, reel NMc6, frames 315–16. 10 Davies to William Macbeth, September 21, 1905, Macbeth Records, AAA, reel NMc6, frame 320. 11 Unidentified clipping (“American Art: A Partial Glimpse”), ca. 1905, Ferargil Galleries Records, circa 1900–1963, A A A, reel 1028, frame 766. 12 Davies to Macbeth, June 18, 1905, frame 316. 13 Ibid., frames 315, 316. 14 Davies to William Macbeth, July 18, 1905, Macbeth Records, A A A, reel NMc6, frames 317–18, at 318. 15 Ibid., frames 317–18. 16 Perlman, Lives, Loves, and Art, 149. 17 S. H. Smith, “In Bret Harte’s Country,” Sunset 15, no. 1 (May 1905): 33. 18 John Muir, “The Treasures of the Yosemite,” Century Magazine 40, no. 4 (August 1890): 483–500; and “Features of the Proposed Yosemite National Park,” Century Magazine 40, no. 5 (September 1890): 656–67. 19 Marsden Hartley, “The Poetry of Arthur B. Davies’ Art,” Touchstone and the American Art Student Magazine 6, no. 5 (February 1920): 278. Reprinted as “Arthur B. Davies,” in Hartley, Adventures in the Arts: Informal Chapters on Painters, Vaudeville and Poets (New York: Boni and Liveright, 1921), 82. 20 Elsie Whitaker Martinez, interview by Franklin D. Walker and Willa Klug Baum, in “San Francisco Bay Area Writers and Artists,” Univ. of California Regional Oral History Office, type- script, 106, Bancroft Library, Univ. of California, Berkeley. 21 Mary Austin, Earth Horizon: Auto biography (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1932), 297. 22 One drawing, mistitled and misdated as Mission Dolores, San Francisco, 1913, is in the collection of the National Gallery of Art (acc. no. 1984.7.32); another is in a Davies sketchbook at the Oakland Museum of California (acc. no. 68.66). 23 Numerous other objets d’art are pic- tured or listed in inventories in the Vickery, Atkins & Torrey Records, ranging from Della Robbia religious sculpture to Frederick MacMonnies’s Pan of Rohaillon. Vickery, Atkins & Torrey Records, [undated] and 1901– 1930, owned by California Historical Society, microfilmed by A A A, reel 1080. 24 John Davis Hatch to Paul Mills, February 1966, letter, Oakland Museum curatorial files. Hatch owned two drawings by Davies, including one reportedly of Mission San Luis Obispo. He also owned a small sketch- book containing five more California drawings. Davies had given the sketch- book to Frederick Torrey in 1905; in 1939 Torrey’s daughter gave it to Hatch, who in turn donated it to the Oakland Museum. Information from curatorial files, Oakland Museum of California. 25 On its verso the panel bears a ded- ication in the artist’s hand, “To Martinez—from A B Davies Aug 21, 1905.” 26 There were parallels in their career trajectories as well. Both (like many of their era) had begun as illus- trators. In August 1905 Sunset magazine (Nonette V. McGlashan, “The Legend of Tahoe,” Sunset 14, no. 4 [August 1905]: 375–78) pub- lished Martinez’s illustrations for “The Legend of Tahoe,” an area that Davies had illustrated in 1890 and that more recently had inspired him while en route to San Francisco. In their subsequent works as well, there were stylistic affini- ties between the soft focus and tonal qualities of many of Davies’s paintings, especially from his early period, and Martinez’s landscapes and figurative compositions. This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 45 27 Other subjects commissioned by Davies included the poet and playwright George Sterling, the humorist and illustrator Gelett Burgess, the social- ist author Anna Strunsky, and the Tasmanian-born watercolorist Francis McComas. Janet B. Dominik, “Xavier Martinez,” in Plein Air Painters of California: The North, ed. Ruth Lily Westphal (Irvine, Calif.: Westphal Publishing, 1986), 101, 196n10. 28 Elsie Whitaker Martinez interview, typescript, 88. 29 Nancy Boas and Marc Simpson, “Pastoral Visions at Continent’s End: Paintings of the Bay Area 1890 to 1930,” in Steven A. Nash, Facing Eden: 100 Years of Landscape Art in the Bay Area (San Francisco: Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, 1995), 43. In one pencil sketch, describing a coastal land- scape, Davies similarly made note of colors, but verbally, not in paint; he inscribed the page with “spring green,” “olive green,” “grey indigo blue,” and “violet” (Sketchbook, Oakland Museum, acc. no. 68.66). 30 Davies to William Macbeth, September 21, 1905, Macbeth Records, A A A, reel NMc6, frames 319–21. 31 According to one source, Davies “in at least one instance, around 1908 [sic] . . . painted an unusual view of just Shastina and the meadows below (this view, quite ordinary, was perhaps a conscious attempt, in keeping with his views on the philosophy of art, to not paint a more traditional view of the mountain).” The same source men- tions other paintings by Davies of Mount Shasta, but without illustration or identification. “East Coast Artists: 1870s–1920s,” in The Significance of Mount Shasta as a Visual Resource in 19th and Early 20th Century California Art, accessed May 28, 2010, http:// www.siskiyous.edu/shasta/art/eas.htm. 32 Davies was represented by Dryad Hill, Forest Chorus, Autumn Flame and Passion, The Wish, The Source, and Newfoundland Coast (all loaned by William Macbeth), plus Psyche (loaned by Mr. F. B. Pratt, Brooklyn). Catalogue of the Fine Arts Exhibit of the Lewis and Clark Centennial Exposition (Portland, Oreg.: Albert Hess & Co., 1905), 16, 40, 45, 65. 33 Davies to Macbeth, September 21, 1905, frames 319–20. 34 Ibid., frame 320. 35 Davies to Sally Lewis, March 27, 1923, Arthur B. Davies Letters to Sally Lewis, 1919–1923, A A A, reel 2803, frame 252. 36 Davies to Macbeth, September 21, 1905, frame 319. 37 See, for instance, Brooks Wright, The Artist and the Unicorn: The Lives of Arthur B. Davies (1862–1928) (New City, N.Y.: Historical Society of Rockland County, 1978); and Perlman, Lives, Loves, and Art, each notable for the plural nouns in its title. 38 “Art and Artists: Exhibition of Oil Paintings by Arthur B. Davies,” Boston Sunday Globe, February 26, 1905, 35. 39 Royal Cortissoz quoted in “Davies the Mystic,” Literary Digest, January 19, 1929, 20. 40 Davies included Many Waters and A Mighty Forest—Maenads in The Eight exhibition, the former inspired by Yosemite’s cascades, the latter by the redwood groves. Perlman, Lives, Loves, and Art, 163. 41 Milton W. Brown, The Story of the Armory Show (New York: Abbeville, 1988), 82. 42 John Muir, The Mountains of California (1894; New York: Modern Library, 2001), 201, 204. Muir was so enchanted by the bird that he devoted an entire chapter of his book to the subject (chap. 13, “The Water-Ouzel”). 43 Virgil Barker, introduction to An Exhibition of Paintings, Drawings and Water Colors by Arthur B. Davies (Pittsburgh: Carnegie Institute, 1924), n.p. This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c).
work_o3odubwfsndibbzpqzaqo3khny ---- The Essence That Is Belonging Together: Identity, Embodiment, and Skillful Coping During the 2015 Greek Referendum Title: The essence that is belonging together : identity, embodiment, and skillful coping during the 2015 Greek referendum Author: Justin Michael Battin Citation style: Battin Justin Michael. (2017). The essence that is belonging together : identity, embodiment, and skillful coping during the 2015 Greek referendum." SAGE Open" (2017, Iss. 3), doi 10.1177/2158244017717300 https://doi.org/10.1177%2F2158244017717300 https://doi.org/10.1177/2158244017717300 SAGE Open July-September 2017: 1 –8 © The Author(s) 2017 DOI: 10.1177/2158244017717300 journals.sagepub.com/home/sgo Creative Commons CC BY: This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 License (http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/) which permits any use, reproduction and distribution of the work without further permission provided the original work is attributed as specified on the SAGE and Open Access pages (https://us.sagepub.com/en-us/nam/open-access-at-sage). Special Collection - Locative Media to every being as such there belongs identity, the unity within itself. —Heidegger (1957/1969, p. 26) Some time ago, a colleague and I engaged in an inspired exchange over how to best situate the concept of identity in the era of widespread mobile social media use. Our criti- cisms centered on how identity was too often discussed in terms of its position within a system of exchanges, how it is affixed with various properties, or as something abstracted from day to day living (this is especially true of social media identities, which have too often been viewed as disembod- ied; see Moores, 2012). For my colleague and me, these approaches seemed stagnant and lacked something funda- mental. It was not until I stumbled upon Heidegger’s (1957/1969) The Principle of Identity that a solution to our concerns presented itself. In this published lecture, Heidegger proclaims that identity is belonging together. When uttering this phrase, emphasis ought to be placed on the word belonging rather than together. Heidegger proposes that by stressing the former rather than the latter, one is better able to jettison thinking that positions identity as a fundamental trait of Being, the traditional view of identity held by metaphysics (Stambaugh, 1969, pp. 12-13). Heidegger suggested for us to revisit the pre-Socratic philoso- phers, namely, Parmenides, to demonstrate that our attempt to understand identity with a metaphysically laden approach was an erroneous path to embark upon. Rather than consider iden- tity as a facet of one’s existence—something a person, upon reflection, declares allegiance to or lays claim over as one uni- fies the self with socially defined traits through performative actions (I have the identity of a student because I attend uni- versity)—Heidegger’s statement encourages us to realize identity as a claim speaking from the Being of beings. Heidegger’s entire philosophical project advocates that a human being’s essentiality lies in his or her ability to remain open to being’s claim and respond to it; “man is essentially this relationship of responding to being, and he is only this . . . a belonging to Being prevails within man, a belonging which 717300 SGOXXX10.1177/2158244017717300SAGE OpenBattin research-article20172017 1University of Silesia in Katowice, Poland Corresponding Author: Justin Michael Battin, University of Silesia in Katowice, Bankowa 12, Katowice, Silesia 40-007, Poland. Email: Justin.michael.battin@gmail.com The Essence That Is Belonging Together: Identity, Embodiment, and Skillful Coping During the 2015 Greek Referendum Justin Michael Battin1 Abstract In the forward of Heidegger’s Identity and Difference, Joan Stambaugh proposes that in his statement “identity is belonging together,” the emphasis ought to be placed on the word belonging. By emphasizing belonging rather than together, one is better able to jettison thinking that centers identity as a fundamental trait of Being, the traditional view of identity held by metaphysics. This article will explicate this idea by drawing from a series of unstructured interviews conducted with young people in Athens during the 2015 July 5th Greek Referendum. This article argues that with attention devoted to the practice of skillful coping, the essence of identity, rather than a reflective cognitive undertaking, correlates to what Heidegger refers to as the event of appropriation. When finding the self affected by the world, what becomes revealed is an intimate identification with the world and things within it as it unfolds. With mobile media technologies, we are privileged to witness a particular way of being affected by the world, one where material and immaterial locations (such as social media arenas) converge together and whose perceptual distinctions become inseparable. Subsequently, we can also witness how the act of skillful coping, the motivated relationship between the body and the object, stands as the principal site where engulfment and investment become unconcealed. Keywords skillful coping, embodiment, identity, mobile media technologies, Greek referendum (2015) https://journals.sagepub.com/home/sgo mailto:Justin.michael.battin@gmail.com http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1177%2F2158244017717300&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2017-07-07 2 SAGE Open listens to being because it is appropriated to being” (Heidegger, 1957/1969, p. 31). Drawing from Heideggerian scholar Hubert Dreyfus, it is my assertion that our appropriation to being manifests itself with the most clarity when we find ourselves invested in and involved with the things that populate our immediate sur- roundings, when we find ourselves engulfed in our daily doings. Thus, to make sense of identity, as belonging together with being, we must remain attentive to skillful coping, defined by Heidegger (1927/1962) as that “kind of concern which manipulates things and puts them to use” (p. 95). Skillful coping is indicative of both engulfment into and investment with the world, as evidenced by how objects become revealed as both available and ready-to-hand-for- the-sake-of-which. This distinction is meant “to indicate the mostly smooth and unobtrusive responsiveness to circum- stances that enable human beings to get around in the world” (Rouse, 2000, p. 8; see also Dreyfus, 2015). Upon reflection, when taking objects and putting them to use, one finds the self temporarily taken and affected by the unveiling world in that the person, the object, and the world seemed to have temporarily fostered a harmonious unity. This piece will show that with attention devoted to the practice of skillful coping, the essence of identity, rather than a reflective cognitive undertaking, belongs to what Heidegger (1957/1969) refers to as the event of appropriation (p. 39). When finding the self affected by the world, what becomes revealed is an intimate identification with the world itself and the things within it as it unfolds through interaction. With our use of mobile media technologies, we are privi- leged to witness a particular way of being affected by the world, one where our being-in-place involves our material situatedness intertwining with immaterial locations (such as social media arenas). As these locations converge within our phenomenological horizon via the engagement with one’s mobile, their perceptual distinctions become nearly insepa- rable. Through this event (Ereignis), we can thus witness how the act of skillful coping, the motivated relationship between the body and the object, stands as the principal site where our engulfment and investment become apparent. This idea will be explicated by drawing from a series of unstruc- tured interviews conducted with young people in Athens dur- ing the 2015 July 5th Greek Referendum. In the summer of 2015, I took an impromptu trip to Greece to spend some time with a close friend. While there, Tsipras called for a referendum on the conditions of the European Union’s proposed financial package. Throughout the city, people could be heard debating about which avenue presented the best path forward. Although this trip was intended as a holiday, I felt that speaking with individuals during such a tumultuous period would allow me to gain some insight into the crisis. While walking with a friend through an assortment of Athenian boroughs, I asked people at random to discuss their experience of the crisis, how they acquired information about it, and finally their personal ways of coping with it. Because these interviews were improvisationally conducted, they tended to adopt a semistructured approach (van Manen, 2016) and, at times, exhibited traits more fitting of a conver- sation. To draw from Merleau-Ponty (1962/2002, p. vii), I encouraged the participants to abandon abstract generaliza- tions and causality, and instead offer direct descriptions of their experience, both as it happened in real time and via per- sonal reflection. They were asked to consider themselves in the context of the there, of themselves as individuals being- in-place. By situating these individuals as Daseins,1 we could better emphasize the immediacy of how they were experienc- ing that brief period, specifically to showcase how they found themselves uniquely involved in the crisis as they lived it. Specifically, my objective was to find commonalities between the individuals as it pertained to their mobile social media engagement as a prereflective response to the crisis. The fol- lowing paragraph consists of general information gleaned from these conversations. Because Tsipras’s referendum sprung up so quickly, those spoken with explained that they were detrimentally unaware about what exactly was at stake. People immediately took to their mobile to find and discuss information concerning the country’s economic instability and its possible Grexit. Although negotiations had been tense for months, until now never did any of the interviewees feel that Greece was in dan- ger of being removed from the Eurozone. The potential for such an immediate shift in stability encouraged the utilization of the mobile as a tool to access a plethora of news outlets from both Greece (Athens Voice) and abroad (Le Monde in France, CNN or VICE in the United States, and the BBC or The Guardian in the United Kingdom). Social networks were another principal source to mine information. Facebook, in particular, was described as a dependable source because the discussions taking place were all from people known to the viewer. People were curious to know the opinions of those within their social circle, both close friends and distant acquaintances. One interviewee, named Eirini K. (personal communication, June-July, 2015), suggested that Facebook was an insightful avenue for information acquisition because of the diversity of shared articles and because it permitted the gauging of what people thought in the form of comments. Depending on the diversity of one’s friend group, one could see which side tended to accumulate the most support. After speaking to a number of people, it appeared that each would recursively turn to the mobile as the primary means to combat any confusion. This tiny instrument had gradually become their device of choice due to how their skillful engagement with it, the everyday tapping and swiping that accompanies this technology, fostered a portal-like opening that subse- quently seemed to produce sense of community and a harmo- nious unity between the self and the world. The tapping and swiping one does on mobile media tech- nologies, similar to hammering a nail or stirring with a spoon, can be considered a form of skillful coping. We usually over- look such actions because they seem mundane, simple, and Battin 3 routine to us. Moreover, they tend to be performed without cognitive contemplation. When questioned how we execute particular undertakings such as using an array of cooking utensils in a kitchen to prepare a dish, we often cannot ade- quately describe how we move with such confidence. As someone who cooks quite frequently, even I have difficultly explaining how I know the precise amount of a particular ingredient to add, the duration necessary to let something sit, or which of my utensils is best suited to stir sauce. As we confidently perform our tasks, we seem to know what is required. If the user is skilled enough in the sense that the user has experience with such matters, cognitive thought is rarely relied upon; rather, the user simply takes the object, molds with it, and puts it to use in ways that are specifically relevant. The individual is suddenly caught up in a flow of invested activity. What we are privileged to see with this phenomenon is that when inhabiting an world and encountering things with a phenomenal body, “they become the preliminary theme for a preview of a ‘knowing’ which, phenomenologically, looks towards Being . . . [they] are simply what gets used, what gets produced, and so forth” (Heidegger, 1927/1962, p. 95). Skillfully interacting with objects equally affords us the opportunity to engage with their thingly qualities. The term thing holds much significance for Heidegger; he proclaims that the word’s original meaning best translates to what we call gathering (see Heidegger, 1971, pp. 163-180). Today, however, the word thing is too easily substituted with scien- tifically infused words like entity or object. When thinking of the term exclusively with a scientific mind-set, Heidegger frets that we lose sight of a thing’s fundamental thingy nature. It is imperative to recognize that thingly qualities have noth- ing to do with distinguishable properties, such as weight or color; instead, thingly qualities are meant to indicate the way that our interactions with a series of interrelated things per- mit the unobtrusive unfolding of a world suitable for us to inhabit. A formal dinner party, a concert, a sporting event, or a political rally are examples by which one can witness this unfolding. To reference the Greeks specifically, when my interviewees were inspired to take their mobile media tech- nologies and interact with others, their investment in the cri- sis, their allegiance to being Greek, and their desire to participate with peers all seemed to intertwine through the mobile itself. A participant named Again Lydia K. (personal communication, June-July, 2015) remarked that although residing in Bulgaria, before coming home for the summer, she found herself feeling incredibly near to Greece and its troubles, a sentiment made possible in part because of her recursive, skillful utilization of the mobile. Following the instrument’s activation and unlocking, within a few short clicks, Greece, and the hectic commotions taking place there, ushered into her phenomenological horizon. She not only found herself virtually transported to Greece, à la John Urry’s mobilities paradigm (Urry, 2000, 2007), but equally experi- enced a seamless intermeshing of the digital with her mate- rial location, a fushion that provided the foundation for her felt closeness to Greece. We ought to be aware that Lydia cultivates and thus nurtures this smooth intertwining by using her iPhone to explore media publications, social media sites, or even to speak with her friends and family via appli- cations such as iMessage and Facebook Messenger. This happening is best exemplified with the term poiēsis. Although translated nowadays as poetry, poiēsis should be equated with its original ancient Greek meaning, to make, albeit not in the sense of production, but rather as poetic cultivation. When Heidegger revisited the pre-Socratics, he discov- ered that this rendition of poiēsis was always correlated with phusis, a word the ancient Greeks used in place of the word being; “it was the name for the way the most real things in the world present themselves to us” (Dreyfus & Kelly, 2011, p. 200). Instrumental to the pre-Socratic use of phusis is that the word names the sense of Being as such and not merely one specific mode of being, or a part of the whole as it was for Plato and Aristotle. This Pre-Socratic notion of phusis moreover contains an intrinsic absencing dimension which, therefore, is not reducible to pure presence. (DiPippo, 2000, p. 17) This understanding of phusis is best demonstrated with the Heraclitus phrase, Φύσις κρύπτεσθαι φιλεί (nature loves to hide itself). As explained in Tao Ruspoli’s (2010) Being in the World, for the Homeric Greeks, to be (as phusis) was to manifest out into the open via a temporal emergence or blos- soming. This coming into presence would, inevitably, wither way and fade from one’s phenomenological horizon. The presence of phusis in our lives today can be viewed, for example, via one’s emotional expressions or a triumphant athletic performance. Hubert Dreyfus often refers to these phenomena as a whooshing up, moments where an individ- ual person becomes so attuned to the particular mood or aura of their surroundings that they become compelled to respond in a specific way. In plain speak, following such a response, one might proclaim that they seemed to have temporarily lost control or were taken by an indescribable force. To associate poiēsis and phusis with identity, consider how instrumental a truly engaged person’s methodical pro- gressions are for permitting the world to continuously pres- ence itself not only as inhabitable but also as the site for an array of possible pathways to embark upon. Consider, for instance, the way the American transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau describes his mission to confront what he designates as the essential facts of life by secluding himself in the woods outside of Concord, Massachusetts (see Thoreau, 1964). Thoreau sought to adopt a very specific atti- tude during his time there, one where he could acquire an acute awareness of and attentiveness to the various manifes- tations that emerged because of his being-there with Walden Pond. Thoreau, to use Heidegger’s terms, attempted to become a master of his mood, to account for and contemplate the unique way that the world manifested itself to him (see 4 SAGE Open Heidegger, 1927/1962, p. 175). Mood, or Stimmung, is Heidegger’s method to illustrate Dasein’s specific ways of finding itself attuned to the world—“ways of finding things that matter” (Dreyfus, 1991, p. 169). Each day when ventur- ing out into the territory surrounding Walden Pond, Thoreau found himself not just noticing various alterations with more lucidity, but increasingly being captivated by them. Thoreau often described with remarkable clarity moments where he was taken or seized by specific unfoldings, thus demonstrat- ing a temporal attunement to the tiny developments that accompanied spring’s arrival. Instead of being isolated enti- ties abstracted from one another, the melting snow, flourish- ing vegetation, and animals emerging from hibernation clearly took on newfound value. As Thoreau found himself meaningfully engaging with the things that surrounded him, he experienced taking part in a cocreative phenomenon where he felt a unique identifica- tion with the world’s offerings. He noticed the subtle differ- ences each day and came to further appreciate how they collectively contributed not only to the emergence of spring but also to how he identified with them and with the rejuvi- nating power of spring as a whole. In essence, he accepted Periander’s advice, μελέτη τό πãν (take into care beings as a whole; see Heidegger, 1981/1993, p. 3). Take note of how he keenly elaborated on how his attitude and general disposition underwent a sweeping alteration at the first sight of spring’s arrival, and how he found himself attuned with the world in a perfect congruent unity: At length the sun’s rays have attained the right angle, and warm winds blow up mist and rain and melt the snow banks, and the sun dispersing the mist smiles on a checkered landscape of russet and white smoking with incense, though the traveler picks his way from islet to islet, cheered by the music of a thousand tinkling rills and rivulets whose veins are filled with the blood of winter which they are bearing off. Few phenomena gave me more delight than to observe the forms which thawing sand and clay assuming in flowing down the sides of a deep cut on the railroad through which I passed on my way to the village. (Thoreau, 1964, p. 544) It is important to remember that Thoreau was not simply observing the unfolding world, but because of his specific investment with it and responses to it, was actively working to draw it out. In speaking on Thoreau’s experience, Richard Gray (2011) writes, The annual resurrection of nature figures the possible resurrection of human nature, his and ours. It is not just a figure, however: the rhythms of seasonal renewal ground the rhythms of spiritual renewal, they supply a resource and correspondence for the soul. (p. 65) As the vegetation returned from its dormant state, it became an integral component for the emergence of spring and the transformation of Thoreau’s mood, one significantly different from what showed itself in winter. Thoreau’s reflections indi- cate his world seemed to take on a particularly distinct quality as the things around him began to look and feel different. As the ushering in of spring coincided with winter’s withdrawal, Thoreau’s fading doldrums speak to how self-hiding belongs to the predilection of Being. And the essence of Being is to conceal itself, to emerge, to come out of the unhidden. Only what in its essence unconceals and must unconceal itself can love to conceal itself. Only what is unconcealing can be concealing. (Heidegger, 1998, pp. 229-230) In this instance, what occurred was the materialization of meaning independent of Thoreau, meaning that he as a per- ceiving entity was not a sole provider of, à la the Cartesian tradition. Rather Thoreau sensed and cultivated meaning through his active engagement with a collection of interre- lated things situated in place, in the nature that surrounded his modest cabin. In cultivating and nurturing his identifica- tion with the unfolding world, Thoreau is, to use Heidegger’s own phrase, delivered over to being—his being appropriated by it. Amid these experiences, we must remember that Thoreau’s evident conviviality is not explicitly governed by his own subjectivity in that he did not directly assign mean- ing to it as it occurred. In hindsight, however? Yes. Reflectively, Thoreau did categorize and proclaim things to be, typically in ontic terms. When reflecting on the walk and the collectivity experienced, Thoreau could and often did categorize it in its parts. By now, one should know that this is not how he experienced things! Rather, the felt understand- ings emerged because of his innate receptivity to meaning that he was capable of sensing and thus cultivating through involved interaction. Should we nonchalantly belittle Thoreau’s heightened sense of awareness of the objects around his walking path as the by-product of habit, we will do him a disservice. We should rather be aware that his ability to detect changes is an indication of a willingness to be affected and drawn into action alongside things. As Dreyfus and Kelly (2011) sug- gest, “the achievement of skill involves more than the mere acquisition of a physical ability. Learning a skill is learning to see the world differently” (p. 207). For Heidegger, this is the work poets perform: The artist or poet cannot do his work in any normal human way, in any way that already presupposes the world that he is to set up. He must be something like the vehicle of an impersonal force—art or truth or being itself. The artist must be “resolute,” entschlossen, ecstatically “opened up” to this force. (Inwood, 1997, p. 127) While Thoreau is not a poet in a strictly traditional sense, it is evident that he is absorbed in the practice of poetic activ- ity in that he possesses the capacity to remain open to mani- festations and, by consequence, being’s embrace; Battin 5 the idea that there is something there independently of me is something you have to cultivate and develop a sensitivity to, and . . . that is what a poet does. The poet is sort of the paradigmatic instance of the person who’s learned a receptivity to things independent of us. (Thompson, 2010) Instead of progressing along the path toward town with indif- ference, Thoreau’s willingness to remain open to being affected allowed him to respond quite specifically to mean- ing independent of him and, moreover, actively cultivate being (phusis) through poetic engagement (poiēsis). In our modern age, one vastly more complex than Thoreau’s, we are tasked with allowing skillful coping to deliver us over, to experience being’s claim on us, and thus respond accord- ingly. Heidegger’s own advice is that “we must experience simply this owning in which man and being are delivered over to each other, that is, we must enter into what we call the event of appropriation” (Heidegger, 1957/1969, p. 36). By this point, it is fair to question how this philosophical chatter relates to locative mobile media use and the Greek Referendum. Before proceeding, it would be fruitful to pro- vide a hypothesis about the relationship between technology and human beings in the modern technological epoch. As Ling (2012) insightfully shows us, mobile media technolo- gies are now deeply embedded into the social fabric of most societies. Whether a person is an active participant is inconse- quential because all people must deal with a world that has invited these technologies into the everyday social ecology. Because of such prevalence and omnipresent use, many peo- ple have come to take these technologies for granted. Their presence goes practically unnoticed unless one is faced with an inoperable instrument. One reason we fail to notice their presence is because, gradually, we have incorporated them into what Kalaga (2010) refers to as the third of the body, the portion of the body which “occupies a place both overlapping and bracketing binaries” (p. 4). When a person encounters an instrument that they feel comfortable handling, the object undergoes a process of internalization and steadily loses the distinction of being an object all together, eventually molding with the body, a phenomenon made evident through Merleau- Ponty’s example of the blind man’s cane; the stick “has ceased to be an object for him, and is no longer perceived for itself; its point has become an area of sensitivity, extending the scope and active radius of touch, and providing a parallel to sight” (Merleau-Ponty, 1962/2002, p. 165). Consider the different ways that these technologies are utilized in relation to the body: We willingly implant earbuds into our audial cavities, we take the mobile and strap it onto our arm to monitor various body-related measurements while exercising, and we employ applications to replace tangible objects like airline boarding passes, credit cards, and tradi- tional cameras. When these technologies are viewed from a positive prospective, we phenomenologically project our future with them as though they were additional limbs. In fact, in previous work, I have associated a missing or broken mobile with the phantom limb phenomenon (Battin, 2016). When observing the phenomena of projection, people exhibit qualities of what David Seamon (1979) refers to as a feeling- subject, an experiential stratum associated with attachment that is “a matrix of emotional intentionalities within the per- son which extend outward in varying intensities to the cen- ters, places, and spaces of a person’s everyday geographical world” (p. 76). A feeling-subject is driven by attraction and closeness to specific things encountered in the world. These examples, however, only speak to the mobile’s material dimensions. The most fascinating aspect about the mobile concerns the concept of interface; “when cyberspace becomes an extension of mental space, when one beings to think cyberspace, the tool changes into an interface” (Kalaga, 2010, p. 17). In this specific era, we should be mindful of how multilayered our existence has become. Any consider- ation of our lifeworld (Lebenswelt) ought to account for how mobile social media, as locations to be traversed, always in some way exist as possibilities within our experiential horizon. Location is a concept that is markedly different from world, both spatially and temporally. Whereas world is defined by its encompassing and enduring character, location instead speaks to Dasein’s immediate reading of and respond- ing to what populates that world. Conceiving location as an experientially derived point draws further emphasis to the unfolding of Dasein’s horizon, made evident with the use of the words here and yonder. Foundational to Dasein’s exis- tence is that its understanding is derived from being appro- priated by the immediacy of the there (the Da of Sein) and how that there allows Dasein to progress free from existen- tial obstructions from its here toward the yonder (or towards- which). Heidegger writes, The “here” of an “I-here” is always understood in relation to a “yonder” ready-to-hand, in the sense of Being towards this “yonder”—a Being which is de-severant, directional, and concernful. Dasein’s existential spatiality, which thus determines its “location,” is itself grounded in Being-in-the-world. The “yonder” belongs definitely to something encountered within- the-world. “Here” and “yonder” are possibly only in a “there.” (Heidegger, 1927/1962, p. 171) This very Heideggerian quote invites a particularly insightful reading, being that because Dasein is not closed off, in the sense that the world is open and made available to Dasein via forthcoming disclosures, Dasein is always driving forward, typically toward something that develops into a location through our invested activity. Reflect upon a ques- tion raised in Building Dwelling Thinking (Heidegger, 1954/1977). After asking what it is to dwell, Heidegger’s (1954/1977) second question becomes, “in what way does building belong to dwelling?” (p. 329). The answer, Heidegger proclaims, is that the act of building generates locations. The constructed Heidelberg Bridge creates 6 SAGE Open conjoined riverbanks that, now united by the bridge, come to take on new significance once traversed by inhabitants. The bridge and the riverbanks create implications for the worlds of the conjoined towns, their populaces, and their surround- ing regions. Please note, also, that my use of location is not akin to place, a concept which tends to be associated with the nebulous and ambiguous characteristics that provide human inhabitants with a range of emotions and feelings like attach- ment or repulsion (see also Cresswell, 2004; Malpas, 1999; Tuan, 1977). In my view, mobile social media applications are also locations available for our traversing. Like the bridge in Heidelberg, they are built things that gather seemingly unre- lated areas together. Whereas the riverbanks come to take on a new meaning due to the presence of the built bridge, the unknown whereabouts of others (friends, family members, etc.) come to take on increased relevance in how the applica- tion draws them nearer. Moreover, like inhabitants departing Heidelberg who find themselves guided toward the bridge, mobile phone users may find themselves steered toward an application to engage with those on the other side. Each of these, mobile users and travelers from Heidelberg, move along with a state of mind that guides them toward their des- tination. Because mobile media technologies allow us to draw immaterial locations nearer (social media arenas, news outlets, etc.), we are privileged to see how “the subject’s cor- poreal experience and awareness reaches beyond the limits defined by physical boundaries” (Kalaga, 2010, p. 5). In other words, in the modern world, we now think in terms of interface; we are always already thinking beyond our own corporeality (see also Farman, 2012; de Souza e Silva, 2006). For instance, Lydia, the Greek residing in Bulgaria, ada- mantly stated that Greece never felt far away because of an embodied awareness of her ability to access others within immaterial locations. By simply possessing a mobile, know- ing its capacities and feeling its penetrating presence in her life, Lydia world now gathers in a very specific way, one that seems to provide confidence through the embodied under- standing of her place within a communal world; she never felt isolated or alone. Some individuals were, unsurprisingly, inspired enough to attend the rallies in Syntagma Square. To include those not permitted to attend (some parents felt that the event could be dangerous), individuals maintained an open line with others by uploading posts to Facebook and Twitter, predominantly in video and photo format. One interviewee named Nikolas P. (personal communication, June-July, 2015) proclaimed that the reason for sending out messages to absent others is because he found himself compelled to include them, to allow them a purview into the actions taking place on the ground. Nikolas’s description indicates how his identifica- tion with the specific world at this particular junction fosters a welling up; he found himself overcome with an irresistible urge to provide an avenue for others to join in the emerging collective. The important aspect to remember is that people attending the rallies in the city center were not disinterest- edly retrieving their mobiles and broadcasting for the mere sake of it. A combination of the unfolding scenario, their relationship to others, and an embodied allegiance to Greekness motivated their actions. Moreover, when Nikolas prereflectively retrieves his mobile to invite others into the mêlée, he reveals an intertwining of Heidegger’s here and yonder unique to this age. The mobile, as a modern artifact incorporated into the body’s third, acts as a locational portal bridging the here (material) and the yonder (immaterial). Influenced by those populating his immediate copresence, in addition to his present mood, Syntagma Square, as a geo- graphical, spatial, and temporal scene, had come to take on greater significance for Nikolas and his world, thus encour- aging him to respond accordingly.2 Somewhat like the Heidelberg Bridge, albeit with an immaterial dimension, his mobile media applications prove to be a distinct junction containing their own uses and values that contribute to the evolving character of that world. Finally, his experiences lend support to the notion that we still exist in an intimately and affectually bound mobile society, aptly exemplified with Weber’s reformulation of Tönnies’s notion of Gemeinschaft. In perpetually feeling others and being drawn to them, each stands opposite gesellschaft, a society defined by its imper- sonal, obligatory ties. This awareness demonstrates the sort of conditioning by the world that we should remain attentive to, not simply for the sake of doing so, but because we are better capable of seeing how we identify with a world that existentially matters to us and how, in this era, we are always situated among others, regardless of physical proximity. Somewhat similar to how Thoreau found himself caring and identifying with a world he himself helped cultivate, the Greek interviewees declared that they suddenly found them- selves identifying with their nation, with Athens, with the country’s rich history, and most importantly with its ensured continuation. The general consensus from the interviewees is that Greece was under attack, as a nation, as a culture, and as a tradition. People even began to question whether Greece ought to be considered a European nation. The interviewees agreed that the future seemed decidedly murky. The mood permeating throughout the region, particularly within the Athens city center, is one that could be felt by each person. Its unavoidable presence lingered through crowded squares, quiet alleys, and half-empty cafes. Anywhere one traveled, one was faced with an intermixture of glaring uncertainty, outright frustration, and, in some instances, utter contempt for the European Union. According to Iris K. (personal com- munication, June-July, 2015), one of the interviewees, each person was faced with the undeniable reality of needing the other. To successfully move beyond this crisis, the realiza- tion of a rich community was necessary. Iris suggested that this understanding is the primary reason each individual recursively took to their mobiles. Although not necessarily clarified with dense terminology, the interviewees disclosed that their persistent retrieval of the mobile followed by the Battin 7 tapping of buttons and icons were in fact skillful actions that encouraged the cultivation of social cohesion. By using the mobile and keeping it readily available, they all concurred that they suddenly felt more Greek. Their persistent retrieval of the mobile helped to temporarily establish a closer rela- tionship to other Greeks and, consequently, a revival of their shared sense of Greekness. Actions like the typing of a com- ment within an ongoing thread or scrolling down the screen to read an article seemed to bring the individual, the immate- rial locale, and those that populate it closer together, particu- larly when sharing the articles on social media to stimulate dialogue. Their prereflectively grabbing of the mobile to open a portal to others would not have been performed had they not become attuned to the world in a specific way.3 Like Thoreau in Walden Pond, the participants too found them- selves affected by, responding to, and drawn into a world, albeit one uniquely Greek at this moment in time. Being attentive to such marginal practices, while seem- ingly insignificant if understood superficially, is important because, as Dreyfus and Kelly state, The fact is, whether you know it or not, you already care about a whole range of goods. Just as the world is pregnant with meanings waiting to be revealed, human beings are filled with modes of caring that they have hidden from themselves. This may seem surprising. The idea that our cares exceed our understanding of them seems to be an affront to the fundamental principles of knowledge. Surely, if I can care about something than I am in a position to know I do. The Enlightenment tradition suggests such a principle, and contemporary philosophy takes it virtually as an article of faith. But to be an embodied being as we are, open to moods as meaningful, just is to be a being who extends beyond what we can know about ourselves. The project, then, is not to decide what to care about, but to discover what it is about which one already cares. (2011, pp. 215-216) This last statement is one I find pertinent in the modern world, particularly for understanding identity in its essence. By finding one’s self delivered over to being, one is able to see two forms of belonging together. As discussed, one is ontological. In taking these technologies for granted, we often forget about how unique our relationship to others has become, in addition to how we initiate, maintain, and nourish our bonds with others through them (see Licoppe, 2004, for an overview of connected presence; see also Ling, 2008, for an insightful analysis of mobile rituals and how they relate to social cohesion). These inspired actions are indicative of an identity unique for today’s skilled mobile user, one where the self is generally understood by its ability to weave material and immaterial domains together, each populated with the presence of others. In being compelled to reach out to like- minded others, particularly through electronic means that have, through recursive use, seemingly molded with the cor- poreal body, one demonstrates the observable manifestation of being delivered over to being’s embrace, of belonging together with being in this particular epoch. The second form of belonging together concerns, of course, being together in the embrace of the digital Gemeinschaft (see Ling, 2012, p. 191). Being together in the communal sense is something we, as Dasein, inherently care about. If we are to understand identity, particularly in an era of widespread mobile social media, we must give consideration to how our fundamental mode of existence is not one where we stand over the self, examine it, and then assign it with properties. Before labeling one’s identity with ontic proper- ties, one first must recognize how they are delivered over into a world where such claims can be made and make sense— where they arise out of being-there. Through this sort of phe- nomenological disclosure, we are better equipped to recognize how poiēsis, the term Aristotle used to describe creative pro- duction/cultivation, is a constitutive feature of Dasein; it is the means by which we become absorbed into worlds that we ourselves nurture due to our identification with and invest- ment in them. For the Greeks enduring confusion brought about by the referendum, this is yet another instance where we should carefully take note of the invitation we have received, an invitation to recognize how our purposive move- ments simultaneously allow and reveal how we become involved with and invested in worlds, particularly those pop- ulated with like-minded others. For such investment to shine most brightly, we must, in some fashion, remain attentive to the way our everyday taken-for-granted skillful practices per- mit a poetic opening where our temporal identification with the world manifests with clarity. Such being delivered over unveils the way we, as Daseins, possess a unique ability to respond to manifestations in ways that matter to us, to sync ourselves with the world in a congruent unity, and to thus remember that we belong together with being. Declaration of Conflicting Interests The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article. Funding The author(s) received no financial support for the research, author- ship, and/or publication of this article. Notes 1. As a refresher, in Being and Time (Heidegger, 1927/1962), Heidegger’s entire reconfiguration of human being as Dasein makes it explicit that the world matters to us by way of our absorption into the world. 2. See also Saker and Evans (2016), who propose that the loca- tion-based app Foursquare functions as a form of technologi- cal memory and digital preservation. In his article, Saker and Evans draw on interviews with app users to suggest that, in a rather Bergsonian way, the locative past has a tendency to per- meate the present. More pertinent to this study, however, con- cerns the users’ ability to share their previous check-ins with others and revisit them at a later date. The locative-inspired media sent via Syntagma Square can also be revisited by users 8 SAGE Open at a later date, as social media functions as a digital database or dossier. Despite the recent calls to abandon Heidegger (see Fuchs, 2015), Evans (2015) further validates Heidegger’s place in media studies by drawing upon the notion of affectedness, or mood (Stimmung), to position mobile media technologies as “things.” Such a combination allows us to better understand mobile media technologies as instruments that contribute to the gathering of existential locales. 3. While this piece does advocate for positioning identity as perfor- mative, it takes a Heideggerian, phenomenological approach and, thus, sees performative identity as Dasein being appropriated by and with a world manifesting itself within Dasein’s own temporal horizon. In my view, this particular positioning of identity pro- vides a unique way to further understand Goffman’s front stage/ back stage theatrical metaphor (see Goffman, 1959), in addition to how we pre-reflectively read and engage with environments. References Battin, J. (2016). Mobile media technologies and the phenomenon of unconcealment (Doctoral thesis). Center for Research in Media and Cultural Studies, University of Sunderland, UK. Cresswell, T. (2004). Place: A short introduction. Malden, MA: Blackwell. de Souza e Silva, A. (2006). From cyber to hybrid: Mobile tech- nologies as interfaces of hybrid spaces. Space and Culture, 9, 261-278. DiPippo, A. 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Retrieved from http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/arti- cle/view/6006/5200#p6 Seamon, D. (1979). A geography of the lifeworld: Movement, rest, and encounter. New York, NY: St. Martin’s. Stambaugh, J. (1969). Introduction. In J. Stambaugh (Ed.), Identity and difference (pp. 7-18). Chicago, IL: The Chicago University Press. Thompson, I. (2010). Interviewed by Tao Ruspoli. In Being in the World. New York, NY: Mangusta Productions. Thoreau, H. D. (1964). Thoreau. New York, NY: The Viking Press. Tuan, Y. (1977). Space and place: The perspective of experience. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Urry, J. (2000). Sociology beyond societies. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Urry, J. (2007). Mobilities. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. van Manen, M. (2016). Researching lived experience. New York, NY: Routledge. Author Biography Justin Michael Battin, PhD, is an assistant professor in English Cultures and Literatures at the University of Silesia in Katowice. His research interests include media anthropology, the philosophy of technology, and Heidegger’s phenomenology. http://www.iwm.at/wp-content/uploads/jc-09-03.pdf http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/6006/5200#p6 http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/6006/5200#p6
work_o6tt5xlz6jgxrduex7ekcfpfai ---- polis43_16.p65 357 Desobediencia Civil Indígena: El pueblo Nasa y el incidente del Cerro Berlín Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Asesora gubernamental, docente e investigadora. Universidad de Bogotá Jorge Tadeo Lozano Email: gilmabp@hotmail.com Resumen: El artículo tiene el objetivo de revelar formas espontáneas de desobediencia civil, en la que los indígenas se manifiestan en contra de una postura institucional, como la guerra, a través de acciones noviolentas. Sus manifestaciones no solo señalan las injusticias que trae consigo el ejercicio de la violencia, sino que su postura invita a reflexionar sobre la actitud de los ciudadanos frente a la organización para la transformación positiva, la defensa de los derechos y el rechazo a la guerra. Palabras clave: Noviolencia, Desobediencia Civil, Indígenas Nasa, Resis- tencia Civil, Conflicto Armado. Indigenous civil disobedience: the Nasa people and the Berlin mountain Abstract: The article aims to reveal spontaneous forms of civil disobedience, in which the Indians demonstrate against an institutional position, as is the war, through nonviolent actions. Its manifestations do not only point out the injustices brought up by the exercise of violence , but invites reflection on the attitude of citizens in regards the organization for positive transformation, the defense of rights and the rejection of war. Key words: Nonviolence, civil disobedience, Indigenous Nasa , Civil Resistance Armed Conflict. Desobediência Civil Indígena: O povo Nasae o incidente do Morro Berlím Resumo:O artigo tem como objetivo revelar as formas espontâneas de desobediência civil, na qualos indígenas se manifestamem contra de uma postura institucional, como a guerra, através de ações não violentas. Suas manifestações não somente assinalamasinjustiças que traz consigo o exercício daviolência, mas que sua posição convida a refletir sobre aatitude doscidadãos frente à organização para atransformação positiva, a defensa dosdireitose a rejeição à guerra. Palavras chaves: Não-violência,Desobediência Civil, Indígenas Nasa, Re- sistencia Civil, Conflito Armado. * * * Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016, p. 357-374 Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 358 Los indígenas del Norte del Cauca se cansaron de la guerra. Durante el mes de julio del año 2012 toda Colombia se enteró por los medios de comunicación de su postura frente al conflicto: no tolerar ningún enfrenta- miento armado en sus territorios. Esto significa, en la práctica, expulsar tanto a militares como a guerrilleros, valiéndose de la autoridad representa- da en el bastón de mando —una pequeña vara de madera con cintas de colores— en las manos de la guardia indígena, así como de una serie de acciones que incluyen marchas, concentraciones y diferentes tipos de pre- sión social en los medios de comunicación. En palabras de Feliciano Valen- cia, líder del Concejo Regional del Cauca —CRIC—: “nos cansamos de la guerra aunque respetamos al Gobierno y a la Constitución (…) tenemos derecho a la paz” (Arias 2012). La serie de enfrentamientos entre la guardia indígena y el ejército colombiano alcanzó su cenit el 17 de julio de 2012, cuando la primera se tomó el Cerro Berlín, posición estratégica sobre el municipio de Toribio, custodiada por el ejército colombiano. Los indígenas marcharon al Cerro, rodearon la base militar y se encontraron con los militares que se resistieron a marcharse. Lo que ocurrió luego fue materia de intenso debate por algu- nos días en todo el país: los indígenas, a empujones, sacaron a los soldados y suboficiales, quienes aferrados a su fusil tuvieron que dejar sus posicio- nes. Como lo narra un periodista de la Revista Semana: Con el careo entre militares e indígenas se armó la de troya en el cerro. Primero, porque los indígenas le exigían a los soldados que se fueran del lugar, mientras que los militares respondían con timidez que de ese sitio los tenían que sacar cargados. Y así fue; por la fuerza varios indígenas cogieron de pies y manos a los militares para reti- rarlos, pero en algunos casos esa acción se mezcló con empujones y el llanto de uno de los soldados que impotente reclamaba respeto. “Debo reconocer que allí nos equivocamos”, dijo Feliciano Valencia, líder de la guardia indígena. El momento más tenso se vivió cuando la guardia rodeó al oficial que estaba a cargo de esa unidad militar; de inmediato sus hombres respondieron con disparos al aire para dispersar a los indígenas, pero la acción solo sirvió para causar más confusión. (Murcia 2012) Las imágenes se repetían sin cesar en los televisores y redes socia- les virtuales. Los militares, levantados de manos y pies, siendo arrastrados cerro abajo. Un suboficial llora de impotencia, mientras otros relatarán lue- go cómo los indígenas les gritaban arengas, les escupían y les insultaban. En la madrugada del día siguiente, el Presidente colombiano, Juan Manuel Santos envió el siguiente tuit, condenando lo sucedido: “No quiero ver un solo indígena en bases militares” (Sierra 2012). Luego declaró: Gobierno respeta a las comunidades indígenas y su deseo por dialo- gar, pero que no (sic) permitirá ataques contra los soldados, son hechos inaceptables que constituyen conductas penales y deber ser investigadas por las autoridades y agregó que como presidente 359 de todos los colombianos rechaza categóricamente dicha actitud y hace un vehemente llamado para que cesen las hostilidades. (ElPlaneta.co 2012) El mismo 17 de julio, el ex presidente Álvaro Uribe, en un tono más beligerante, escribió el siguiente tuit: “Cómo se permite la masacre de nues- tros soldados! Cómo se pretende seguridad si se permite humillar a nues- tros soldados” (León 2012). Esta expresión se sumaba a una serie de críticas que el ex mandatario venía realizando al gobierno Santos por el tema de seguridad. El ex vicepresidente Francisco Santos opinó de manera similar: “Nunca, nunca pensé ver a mi Ejército humillado, como lo veo humillado hoy. Colombia Despierta (…) Jacobo Arenas, Tirofijo, Reyes, Jojoy y Cano deben reír a carcajadas con el mayor triunfo en la historia de las FARC” (León 2012). Así, una parte de la opinión nacional clasificó las acciones indígenas como subversivas, llegando, de forma extrema, a identificarlas con el mismo accionar de la guerrilla. Muestra de ello son las declaraciones del General Alejandro Navas, comandante de las fuerzas armadas, quién sentencio: “los que agredieron a los soldados están infiltrados por las FARC” (Noguera 2012), Sin embargo, no todas las reacciones de la opinión pública se dieron en ese sentido. Escritores colombianos como Héctor Abad Faciolince prefi- rieron felicitar a los militares, “que el Ejército se haya portado civilizadamente no es una humillación, es un triunfo” (León 2012), y el periodista Daniel Coronell expresó, refiriéndose a las declaraciones del ex presidente Uribe: “Lo de hoy en el Cauca fue grave, pero no fue una masacre de militares. Hay gente tratando de sacarle provecho político a la situación” (León 2012). En la ola de los acontecimientos, el concepto de los representantes de la justicia se tornó importante. El Fiscal General de la Nación, Eduardo Montealegre, afirmó, como se lee en la siguiente nota periodística: Los indígenas del Cauca podrían pagar cárcel si se les llega a com- probar el delito de asonada, por haber atacado a la fuerza pública (…) [el Fiscal General] dijo textualmente que: Lo que quiero significar es que en Colombia no se puede penalizar la protesta social; que la libertad de reunión, las expresiones en la vía pública, son un derecho constitucional (…) pero ya cuando se acude a la violencia, pues lo ha expresado la Corte Constitucional y el Sistema de Interamericano de Derechos Humanos -en esos casos- se puede presentar el delito de asonada. (El País 2012) En las redes sociales la discusión estaba al orden del día. Entre de- tractores y defensores, páginas como Facebook y Twitter se llenaron de comentarios que variaban desde la defensa a la autonomía del pueblo Nasa y su decisión de no permitir actores armados en sus territorios, hasta la condena radical de las acciones indígenas. UAIRA ATY?@UairaAty, por ejemplo publicó:“Los indígenas delCAUCA- Colombia, han demostrado su grandeza al decir NO a la guerra, y fuera los actores de la guerra; Legales e Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 360 ilegales”. Otros han defendido la posición indígena basados en la Constitu- ción: “Kiwe Nasa?@KiweNasa: Que las justas exigencias de los hermanos indígenas Nasa del Norte delCauca, gozan de plena disposición legal y constitucional. ONIC”. Algunos más elogiaron la posición de los Indíge- nas: “Los indígenas del Cauca pusieron en su lugar al Ejército y a las Farc: The Economist”. Las expresiones de simpatía incluyeron muchas del ciuda- dano de a pie. Por ejemplo, el siguiente mensaje intentó reflexionar sobre las consecuencias de la vecindad con una base militar: “Don Julián?@The_Tripman: yo si entiendo a los indígenas del cauca. Yo tampo- co quisiera ser vecino de una base militar”. En las mismas redes sociales no faltaron los señalamientos de infil- tración de las FARC en el movimiento indígena. Durante dos semanas, fra- ses como“Los del Cauca deben respetar a nuestras FF.MM1 igual que lo hacen los otros indígenas que representan nuestro pasado” (Duque 2012), se leyeron abundantemente en los diarios y en la web. En Twitter hubo incluso acusaciones como la siguiente: “Verdad para Colombia@miletrina: Los indígenas del Cauca son guiados por líderes que le juegan al plan de masas de las Farc” o “sebastianmorales?@sebasm9417: muchos indígenas del cauca terminan siendo indirectamente cómplices del terrorismo, que los indígenas acepten dialogar con el gobierno”. Colombianos indignados por la reivindicación de los Nasa afirmaron cosas como: “@PalomaValenciaL Los indígenas se están apropiando de toda la tierra del Cauca, y no la trabajan”. Algunos hasta le escribieron al Presidente, advirtiéndole: “Elizabeth Gonzalez@lizzy0714@santos, retire la tropa en el cauca de paso del territorio colombiano y déjele el país y todos nuevos sus amigos (FARC INDIGENAS Y ETC)2 ”. De esta manera creció la polémica sobre los hechos sucedidos en el Cerro Berlín. Sin embargo, ninguna de las reacciones se aproximó a una explicación sobre la situación, ni mucho menos, vislumbró una salida que no generara controversia. Fueron los mismos indígenas los que, mediante comunicado público el 18 de julio de la Asociación de Cabildos Indígenas, mostraron una ruta para dar fin a la controversia: “Ante el reclamo de que la Guardia Indígena se extralimitó en sus funciones y violó derechos humanos de los soldados, la justicia indígena procederá a la investigación corres- pondiente; esperamos que el ejército nos formalice la denuncia” (Prensa Indígena 2012). De forma notable, el comunicado abre la posibilidad de un diálogo con el ejército colombiano sin renunciar a la autonomía indígena amparada en la Constitución. A pesar del impacto mediático tras la toma del Cerro Berlín por los indígenas Nasa, lo que los noticieros de televisión colombianos no explicitaron es que la resistencia indígena a la guerra en esta zona del país no es nueva. De hecho, la toma del Cerro Berlín es un capítulo más de las acciones de todo tipo que los indígenas han emprendido al verse en medio de la guerra, que en sus territorios adquiere una desproporcionada crudeza, como quiera que la guerrilla históricamente ha utilizado el norte del Cauca como posición estratégica en su accionar en el sur-occidente colombiano. 361 A su vez, a esta violencia se suman otras violencias aún más antiguas, que también involucran a los indígenas, especialmente en cuanto a la lucha que estos han tenido que emprender para defender sus territorios de los deseos de terratenientes caucanos, desde el mismo inicio de Colombia como pro- yecto de nación. No se trata de una reacción inmediata, la resistencia civil indígena ha sido sistemática e histórica, implica una posición política, que las narracio- nes sobre el Cerro Berlín pasa por alto. “En medio del fragor de las batallas y del orden bélico cerrado, propios de los dispositivos de dominación y de guerra perpetua que se imponen en las poblaciones, han surgido nuevos modos de vida, al calor de la solidaridad y de la capacidad creativa de la gente sencilla que (…) enunciaremos como resistencias sociales. Por su carácter de rupturas con la lógica de la guerra, que les permite desarrollar, su propia capacidad de producción de mundos nuevos, los denominare- mos también como modos de resistir noviolentos” (Useche, 2014, 11). Es importante insistir en que, el Cerro Berlín es apenas un episodio de los muchos que componen la resistencia histórica de los indígenas y de los Nasa en particular. Una resistencia consciente y sistemática, que les ha permitido no solo sobrevivir y reivindicarse como pueblo, sino sobrevivir a la violencia. De estos episodios, debemos aprender sus ejemplos de resis- tencia civil, desobediencia civil y dignidad, de la lucha por la justicia. Comprender la resistencia civil implica comprender su trasfondo so- cial y política y su objetivo de transformar pacífica y positivamente situa- ciones que se consideran injustas, recurriendo a formas alternativas de posturas políticas que rompen con los paradigmas clásicos de la concep- ción de poder y de política, situándose en lo micro y macro político. “La resistencia civil es un método de lucha política basada en la idea básica de que los gobiernos dependen en último término de la cola- boración, o por lo menos de la obediencia de la mayoría de la pobla- ción, y de la lealtad de los militares, la policía y de los servicios de seguridad civil (…) sus métodos abarcan desde la protesta y la per- suasión hasta la no cooperación social, económica y política, y por último hasta la intervención noviolenta” (Randle 1998, 25). Ahora bien, es preciso recordar el largo debate teórico del derecho de resistencia en la construcción democrática de los Estados o las organiza- ciones políticas, colocando de manifiesto que ningún régimen político ga- rantiza ante la dinámica compleja de la humanidad los principios fundamen- tales, ni una ética infalible, ante lo cual, el derecho de resistencia cuestiona- rá las formas y hará perfectible la organización. “La aceptación, reconoci- miento y ejercicio de esos principios éticos absolutos universales, entre los cuales se encuentra el derecho de resistencia, depende, de un modo diría- mos connatural, la existencia misma de la democracia. Una de las posibles manifestaciones de esta ética universal tiene su formulación teórica concre- ta en la teoría de los derechos humanos” (Carvajal, 1992, p.67). Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 362 Estas posturas alternativas al poder y especialmente a la guerra, revalúa el concepto de revolución, y sugiere prácticas que conservan la humanidad misma, sin recurrir a la violencia, pero con una vehemente posi- ción frente a las injusticias y desacuerdos. Deconstruyen y construyen colectivamente. Forman nuevos paradigmas e invitan a reflexionar. (Balles- teros, 2014). La resistencia civil tiene una cualidad ético –política, es una forma de lucha noviolenta: “De esta manera, las tácticas y los métodos de resistencia activa, dinámica, creativa y participativa; así como las formas de no cooperación, desobediencia civil, etc., quedan salvaguardadas no sólo por su renuncia al uso de la violencia sino también por su fundamentación ética y su coherencia axiológica (López Martínez 2001, 208). Los medios de comunicación tampoco entendieron a cabalidad las palabras de Feliciano Valencia. La consigna del pueblo Nasa frente al con- flicto armado es decidida y fundamentada en lo que ellos mismos conside- ran como bueno, deseable y justo para su propia comunidad. Y es que, como ellos mismos lo han dicho, la posición en la que se encuentran en medio de las balas de uno y otro lado amenaza seriamente su continuidad como pueblo y como cultura. No nos vamos a quedar de brazos cruzados mirando cómo nos ma- tan y destruyen nuestros territorios, comunidades, planes de vida y nuestro proceso organizativo. Por esto, enraizados en la palabra, la razón, el respeto y la dignidad, iniciamos caminar en grupos hasta donde están atrincherados los grupos y ejércitos armados, para de- cirles frente a frente, que en el marco de la autonomía que nos asiste, les exigimos que se vayan, que no los queremos, que nos cansamos de la muerte, que están equivocados y que nos dejen vivir en paz. (verdadabierta.com 2012) Posición decidida que no riñe ni con el régimen político ni con las leyes. Volviendo a las palabras del líder del CRIC, “respetamos al gobierno y a la constitución”. En esta declaración, Valencia reconoce que la decisión de expulsar a los soldados tanto del Cerro Berlín como de sus territorios obedece no a una oposición al Estado como tal, sino se trata de la desobe- diencia a una política particular y a la manera en cómo el Estado colombiano enfrenta el conflicto armado. Es preciso retomar en este momento el concepto de desobediencia civil: “negarse a cumplir con una disposición legislativa, normativa o de política pública3 , con el objetivo de transformarla, porque se considera que genera algún tipo de injusticia y se encuentra evidentemente en contra de la conciencia moral del desobediente” (Ballesteros, 2014, p.286); y se debe agregar que la desobediencia civil es un instrumento de la lucha noviolenta, para corregir alguna cuestión del sistema político que gene- ra injusticia. Convivir en medio del fragor de la guerra es en sí mismo es una situación que genera injusticia, rechazar con vehemencia la violen- cia armada venga de donde venga es una postura ética cuyo objetivo es la vida misma. 363 El fenómeno de la desobediencia civil es seguramente una expresión del malestar de la democracia, y surge claramente en el momento en que las reglas del juego democrático se desnaturalizan sin que por ello se vea alterada completamente la confianza en su funcionamien- to (Ugartemendia 1999, 77). Los indígenas Nasa son reiterativos en afirmar que no están en con- tra del gobierno ni del Estado. Disienten de las formas como se ha querido enfrentar los problemas de seguridad. La definición que se ha ofrecido de desobediencia civil nos conlleva a anotar que implica que los desobedien- tes, en este caso los indígenas, cuestionan asuntos de interés público e invitan a la deliberación, a la confrontación política, específicamente en el campo ético. Nos retan a pensar en formas alternativas de hacerle frente a la violencia sin violencia. De allí la importancia de pensar y actuar en térmi- nos de noviolencia. La desobediencia civil se caracteriza por ser consciente, pacífica, pública, responsable y democrática. Es decir, producto de nuestra capaci- dad de discernimiento y por lo tanto de decisión autónoma de obedecer o desobedecer. Es un acto que no debe producir más daño, ni violentar a otros, cuyas razones de justificación se someten a la deliberación pública, reflejo de la responsabilidad que se asume en ejercicio de la ciudadanía. La desobediencia civil debe ser un instrumento de las democracias actuales. Sus principios son la libertad, los derechos fundamentales y la noviolencia como agente protector de los dos primeros anteriores. (Ballesteros, 2014) Los hechos del Cerro Berlín deben a su vez contemplarse, al menos, en el marco de las diferentes acciones emprendidas en todo el mes de julio por los indígenas Nasa. Entre estos pueden contarse, por ejemplo, la des- trucción de tres trincheras de la Policía Nacional en Toribio, el rodeo al puesto militar en monte Redondo (Miranda-Cauca) el 10 de julio de 2012, y la marcha al caserío de Huasanó exigiendo el retiro del Ejército, en el cual hubo tiroteos con resultado de un campesino muerto y tres heridos (Sierra 2012). De igual forma los indígenas han emprendido temerarias acciones frente a la guerrilla. Así, quitaron dos retenes de las FARC en la carretera hacia Santander de Quilichao, detuvieron a cuatro guerrilleros en las afue- ras de Toribio, procediendo luego a enjuiciarlos públicamente. Estas acciones como se ha dicho se suman a una multiplicidad de acciones históricas del pueblo Nasa en el marco de su proyecto de resisten- cia, cuyo origen surge por iniciativa del sacerdote indígena jesuita Álvaro Ulcue Chocue, en 1980 y cubre los resguardos indígenas de Toribío, San Francisco y Tacueyó. Los grupos del proyecto Nasa declaran que “la resis- tencia comunitaria indígena, es entendida como un proceso, como un reto de 84 pueblos indígenas de Colombia y los demás pueblos indígenas de América Latina, no sólo frente a un mundo globalizado, sino armar una propuesta alternativa, Latinoamericana, una resistencia que tiene que ser desde distintos ángulos, una resistencia también a los grupos armados” (Hernández, 2004, p.126). Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 364 Los indígenas del norte del Cauca se han levantado en resistencia contra el colonialismo, el servilismo, el terraje, la defensa por la tierra que es la misma madre, por la dignidad, por la autonomía y la libertad. Comprendie- ron hace mucho tiempo que la guerra no es funcional, ni logrará la conser- vación de la vida. Por eso desde hace décadas se han declarado en resisten- cia civil. “La cosmovisión de este pueblo resistente concibe al mundo y a la vida como una dinámica perpetua, una metamorfosis ejemplificada en el cambio de formas de las mariposas o en el cambio de piel de las serpientes (des- escamar); este es para ellos, el mayor regalo de los ancianos sabios, que crearon el mundo. La resistencia es entonces un mandato de vida que fluye, es tan natural y decisiva como el tremor de la tierra, ante los embates de las fuerzas que intentan cambiar su curso e impedir que se afiance en su naturaleza de ser” (Useche, 2014, 507). Esta resistencia tiene su anclaje no solo en el descredito de la violen- cia, sino en la fuerza creadora alternativa que ofrece las luchas noviolentas, en armonía con la conservación y la paz, en línea con la cosmogonía propia; de esta manera se entrelazan el mundo espiritual nasa y los principios éticos del hinduismo, para coincidir en la noviolencia, como lucha válida en la reivindicación de la justicia. (…) La noviolencia, en su versión política, es un gobierno sobre la base de que ninguno usará la fuerza violenta sino la de las convicciones y las razones, porque no basta con ser simplemente demó- crata, liberal o socialista, sino un desobediente e insatisfecho ante las injus- ticias del mundo (Capitini citado por López Martínez 2012, 15). Esto implica por parte del pueblo Nasa, disciplina, constancia, inno- vación, creatividad, fuerza, coherencia y defensa. Por siglos han tenido que hacerle frente a la violencia. Han elegido una forma de lucha diferente a la lógica tradicional, rompen los esquemas de la violencia tradicional. Se han cansado de la guerra. Pero no dejaran de luchar por su dignidad: “La noviolencia requiere de personas (…) emprendedoras, inquietas, que se hagan interrogantes para crecer mental y espiritualmente. Personas que obedezcan la voz de su conciencia, gentes que ejerzan su capacidad de poder para cambiar las injusticias del mundo, que sean desobedientes fren- te a la abyección, objetores de conciencia respecto del mal… (López Martínez 2001, 210). Gandhi desarrolló el concepto de la noviolencia como aquella ac- ción política activa cuyo principio básico moral es ahimsa (no hacer daño), que busca la verdad con la fuerza de la persistencia y la perseve- rancia (satyagraha). Nunca está de más insistir en que la noviolencia no es sinónimo de debilidad, pasividad, utopía imposible, impotencia, indi- ferencia, ni de aceptación a las determinaciones del poder (López Martínez, 2009, 8-14). De ahí que podamos ver cómo la desobediencia y la resistencia participa, asimismo, de muchas de esas características que atribuimos a la noviolencia y que, en consecuencia, podríamos usar para ambos conceptos. 365 Para los Nasa entonces, “resistir es cuidar, clamar por la defensa de la gran casa (la tierra) y afianzar el plan de vida y dignidad de los pueblos indígenas” (Useche, 2014, 507). Las acciones que emprenden se encuen- tran en el marco de los principios de vida, territorio, autonomía y dignidad, con lo cual las resistencias y desobediencias civiles indígenas son formas que guardan coherencia con sus principios rectores. Lo que aquí se configura es una lucha histórica, que hace frente a la violencia sin violencia, con métodos alternativos y creativos, con métodos de lucha noviolenta como la resistencia y la desobediencia civil. Por otro lado, con respecto a los hechos del Cerro Berlín, la reacción de la academia colombiana fue prácticamente nula. Salvo algunos artículos y editoriales de prensa, especialmente en medios alternativos de difusión, no hubo una discusión sobre lo que significan las acciones indígenas de cara al largo conflicto armado colombiano. El debate giró en torno a la preocupación por armonizar el derecho de autonomía de los territorios indí- genas –reconocido por la Constitución de 1991— y el deber constitucional del Estado de preservar el orden público en todo el territorio nacional. La cuestión se presentó en forma de dilema, como si la presencia del Estado y la defensa del orden público sólo pudiesen hacerse a través de las armas, reduciendo el Estado a las Fuerzas Armadas. De esta manera, muy en con- sonancia con la tradición legalista colombiana, la discusión del problema fue prácticamente monopolizada por los más expertos abogados constitucionalistas, quienes tendrían que evaluar si prevalece el derecho de la autonomía de los territorios indígenas, el respeto y el reconocimiento de una nación pluriétnica, o el deber del Estado de preservar la seguridad para garantizar los derechos y libertades, bajo el único instrumento que conocen, el monopolio de la fuerza. En entrevista con Lasillavacia.com— un medio de comunicación interactivo, ampliamente consultado en Colombia— el ex magistrado de la Corte Constitucional, Alfredo Beltrán, afirmó que “la autonomía (indígena) que tienen sobre esos territorios está limitada a la observancia de la Cons- titución y de la ley” (Maya 2012). Con esta afirmación coincidió el ex direc- tor del Programa Presidencial de Derechos Humanos durante el gobierno de Álvaro Uribe, Carlos Franco: “En todas partes se le atribuye al Presidente el manejo del orden público. Por eso la autonomía de las comunidades no es absoluta y está limitada en este tema” (Maya 2012). Mientras, el doctor en Ciencia Política y profesor de la Universidad de los Andes, Iván Orozco, abogó por la necesidad de una mediación: “Me parece razonable que en un modelo presidencialista como el colombiano los actos últimos de afirma- ción de soberanía sobre el territorio correspondan, en buena medida, a actos presidenciales, pero insisto en que para el caso de las comunidades indígenas es importante la figura del mediador” (Maya 2012). Afirmación a la que se sumó el ex magistrado de la Corte Constitucional José Gregorio Hernández: “(…) es necesario que se llegue a un acuerdo entre ambas partes, más aún si en un caso como éste se trata de la protección y defensa de las comunidades y debería interesarles llegar a un acuerdo. Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 366 El Gobierno debe garantizar su seguridad pero para ello debe antes con- sultarlos” (Maya 2012). En este contexto, es pertinente recordar que estas formas de lucha de una u otra forma cuestionan el régimen político y social, por lo tanto, termina siendo prueba de constitucionalidad. Arendt resuelve esta discu- sión también con una propuesta audaz, incluir la figura de la desobediencia civil como norma constitucional (Arendt 1999, 61), lo cual giraría la discu- sión sobre lo realmente trascendente: cambiar las formas en las que el Esta- do pretende resolver el tema de orden público. Al fin de cuentas, lo que los indígenas controvierten en este punto es su vulnerabilidad por encontrarse en medio del fuego cruzado. Estos acontecimientos se convierten en una oportunidad única de explicar la resistencia civil y de ofrecer un concepto de desobediencia civil, que permitiera romper con el dilema en la discusión pública y pudiera com- prender que la postura Nasa frente a la guerra es compatible con la demo- cracia, los derechos de las comunidades indígenas y el deber del Estado. Precisamente, ante la incesante presión mediática y el abordaje de los acon- tecimientos como una disyuntiva entre el respeto por la autonomía indíge- na y la presencia de las fuerzas armadas, el Presidente de la República declaró: Éste es un Gobierno que le abre las puertas al diálogo. Queremos concertar las soluciones. Pero hay asuntos donde quiero reiterar que nosotros no podemos ceder un solo milímetro; nosotros no podemos ceder un centímetro de nuestro territorio. La presencia de la Fuerza Pública no es negociable, en ninguna parte del territorio, y que cualquier diálogo no puede depender que ese tema esté sobre la mesa, porque ese tema no es negociable (Santos 2012). Para el analista, la pregunta que surge ante la declaración del presi- dente es: ¿cómo dialogan sobre una situación que de entrada califican de innegociable? Las partes declaran que se respetan y se reconocen, pero dicho respeto y reconocimiento no se traduce en la posibilidad de dialogar sobre las disidencias. De esta manera, no sólo se estableció una mesa de diálogo en el que el asunto principal que los convoca no se abordaría, sino que además se creó de manera paralela un delegado presidencial para coor- dinar con los ministerios la ejecución de proyectos sociales y un general a cargo de un recién creado Comando Conjunto del Suroccidente para que continuara con la estrategia militar que se venía desarrollando. En conclu- sión, no sólo no se atendía el asunto de controversia sino que se insistía en la continuidad de lo que se venía desarrollando, precisamente aquello a lo que estaban desobedeciendo los indígenas. El punto es que, precisamente, los hechos del Cerro Berlín, se convierten en un acto de desobediencia civil de los indígenas, que hace evidente una situación que genera injusticia y que, guardando fidelidad con la democracia constitucional, busca generar un debate público que permita ajustar o reformar la situación que denuncia. De esa manera, las acciones indígenas podrían contemplarse como un ele- 367 mento de transformación política positiva, si se entiende que la compleja dinámica de las democracias exige permanentes adaptaciones sin perjuicio de los derechos fundamentales ni de las normas constitucionales. Además de coherencia entre fines y medios lo cual ofrece las luchas noviolentas. La incomprensión sobre figuras como la protesta social, la resisten- cia y la desobediencia civil no permitió abordar una discusión serena, rigu- rosa, participativa y juiciosa sobre la postura de los indígenas Nasa, como tampoco permitió explorar alternativas de complementariedad entre su au- tonomía y la garantía de seguridad en el territorio, la incorporación de la guardia civil indígena en una estrategia conjunta de rechazo a la guerrilla de las FARC, la visibilización de los programas sociales en el departamento del Cauca y la estrategia en materia de garantía de derechos y libertades. Aun- que se reiteraba el respeto entre unos y otros, el Presidente anunció que en la incautación del computador de un cabecilla de las FARC, alias Pacho Chino, se encontró el siguiente mensaje: “Repartir propaganda en los mu- nicipios del norte del Cauca para que la población le exija a la Fuerza Pública el retiro de las áreas pobladas”, para luego agregar: “Yo creo que esto habla por sí solo, sin acusar ni mucho menos a los indígenas de estar confabula- dos con las Farc” (Santos 2012). Por su parte, la Asociación de Cabildos Indígenas del CxhabWalaKiwe –ACIN—, lamentó las declaraciones que se hacen sobre infiltraciones de las FARC en el movimiento indígena, denunciando que después de la decisión presidencial de retomar el Cerro Berlín, hubo heridos y muertos que los medios de comunicación no registraron: No hubo prensa que mostrara las agresiones de que fuimos víctimas. Hasta el momento hay 26 heridos indígenas, cuatro con papa-bomba y otro con disparo de arma de fuego, así como 1 detenido y cerca de 10 con paradero desconocido (…) (Prensa Indígena 2012) Si se pudiera comprender la protesta, la resistencia o la desobedien- cia civil, como un elemento que puede abordar debates neurálgicos, colo- cando en el debate público cuestiones éticas y posiciones políticas en las que los ciudadanos participan activamente y deciden sobre las formas como deberían resolverse las situaciones complejas, haciéndose responsables de sus exigencias y decisiones, entonces podría identificarse en la posición de los indígenas una oportunidad para hacer del Estado una representación de la decisión política de los ciudadanos. En esencia las practicas noviolentas, en este caso las resistencias y desobediencias, siguen la lógica de la lucha contra la injusticia, no prestan colaboración a lo que consideran injusto, hacen pública su posición e invi- tan a debatir sobre estas prácticas que rechazan, sin que implique un cuestionamiento a todo el entramado del Estado. Es indudable que dichas prácticas se encuentran en una sinfín de complejidades contextuales, pero la dificultad más evidente son las contradicciones argumentativas para abor- dar el incidente: dialogamos, pero no sobre los acontecimientos, respeta- Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 368 mos la autonomía, pero no dejaremos que la ejerzan, vamos a concertar sobre los principios que las partes no han cuestionado. A lo que se suma la falta de conocimiento de su lucha milenaria y de estas formas como meca- nismos de participación que fortalecen una democracia inacabada por la dinámica misma de la humanidad. Ahora bien, se puede identificar con cierta claridad que el mayor temor del Estado es que la guardia indígena no pueda repeler una toma de las FARC, y termine incrementándose el ya caótico orden público que se presenta en la zona. Por su parte, algunos indígenas Nasa manifiestan te- mor ante la posibilidad que se incremente la criminalidad o la perpetración de las FARC ante la ausencia de fuerza pública. (…) El portavoz de ACIN reconoció que sí existe división entre algu- nos indígenas que no están de acuerdo con que la fuerza pública abandone la zona porque varias personas tienen miedo de que los bancos también abandonen los municipios y con ellos las iniciativas de diferentes proyectos productivos (Semana.com 2012). Sin embargo, la mayoría de ellos considera que su acción de retirar a todos los actores armados redundará en la protección de sus vidas y en evitar estar en medio de los enfrentamientos armados, lo cual ha cobrado cientos de vida en las casi cinco décadas que ha durado el conflicto armado en la zona. Al temor del Estado, se le suma asimilar una figura como la desobe- diencia o la resistencia civil a subversión, insurgencia o asonada. El Fiscal General de la Nación, Eduardo Montealegre, dijo que“los indígenas del Cauca podrían pagar cárcel si se les llega comprobar el delito de asonada, por haber atacado a la Fuerza Pública” (Elpais.com 2012). Poco tiempo des- pués de la toma, el Presidente de la República dio órdenes a la fuerza pública de retomar el Cerro donde los indígenas habían corrido a los militares y al ministro del interior de establecer una mesa de diálogo: Anoche con el señor Ministro (de Defensa, Juan Carlos Pinzón) dimos unas instrucciones muy precisas; las instrucciones eran que hay que retomarse la base militar del cerro de La Estrella, donde sucedieron los hechos que el país conoció el día de ayer. Al mismo tiempo dimos la instrucción y autoricé al Ministro del Interior a que tuviera toda la disposición para el diálogo como lo hemos venido haciendo desde un principio (…) (Santos 2012) Dos instrucciones evidentemente contradictorias, continuando con la tónica que aquí se ha intentado delinear. Por ello, no debe sorprender que mientras parte del Gobierno habla de respeto y diálogo, el Ministerio de Defensa intentó argumentar que las acciones indígenas se trataron de una acción de las FARC: Lo que quieren es que la Fuerza Pública salga para ellos quedar 369 soberanos ahí. Todo eso está sucediendo porque las Farc quieren ‘caguanizar’4 el Cauca con el argumento de la autonomía indígena, sostuvo Navas, quien dice que no tiene dudas de que en la revuelta de ayer estuvo infiltrada por las Farc: Ahí hay milicianos, están ahí confundidos con esa población civil que la utilizan como escudos. (Eltiempo.com 2012) Por su parte las FARC anunciaron que se retirarían si también lo hacía el ejército y la policía, en una clara provocación a un Estado compun- gido por la situación: “(…) el Gobierno notificó que no retirará las fuerzas de seguridad de ningún lugar y ordenó la retoma de sus posiciones, mien- tras que los insurgentes condicionaron su salida a la de sus contendien- tes”. (EFE 2012). Entre asociar la postura indígena frente al conflicto armado con la asonada y la insurgencia, y el temor de que las FARC logrará sacar algún provecho de la situación, se anuló cualquier posibilidad de comprender los hechos mediante figuras como la desobediencia o la resistencia civil, que podrían explicar mucho mejor los acontecimientos aquí referidos. Desde una postura dispuesta al diálogo, lo allí sucedido significa de hecho una oportunidad para, a partir del debate, afrontar de otra manera el conflicto armado en territorios indígenas, en primera instancia, y en el país en gene- ral. El punto crucial y que no es en ningún caso así identificado, es que la desobediencia civil, por ejemplo, está acorde no sólo con los principios de libertades y derechos sino con el desarrollo democrático de lo que conoce- mos como Estado. En primer lugar, la desobediencia civil permite corregir cuestiones que generan algún tipo de injusticia, sin tener que derogar el sistema políti- co en cuestión o sin la pretensión de subvertir el orden establecido. El desobediente civil hace evidentes varios temas éticos y políticos sustan- ciales en la construcción de la democracia, tales como: la conservación de los principios, la participación, la autonomía y la moralidad. Con sus actos, los indígenas Nasa fundamentalmente están expresando que en la forma de abordar el conflicto armado en Colombia se vulneran sus derechos. Su actitud es participativa y autónoma, en el marco de la constitución y las leyes que los amparan, sugieren debatir lo que les afecta en todos los as- pectos de su cotidianidad. La imagen no puede ser más evidente: si es preciso, la comunidad indígena sacará a rastras a los actores del conflicto que hacen presencia en su territorio. Cuando Feliciano Valencia dice que los indígenas están “cansados de la guerra”, no hace sino dar palabras a lo que luego la guardia llevaría a los hechos. Es indispensable entender no sólo los hechos del Cerro Berlín, sino especialmente el marco de acciones y declaraciones de los líderes y comu- neros indígenas en el que se insertan, como actos de desobediencia. Como ya lo hemos dicho, los indígenas no están oponiéndose ni al Estado ni al Gobierno, pero sí desobedecen activamente una política específica, aquella que determina la forma en que se enfrenta el conflicto en sus territorios. Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 370 Insistir que sus manifestaciones son contra unas formas de acción del Es- tado, no contra todo el estamento o la organización. Es clarísimo, están contra cualquier forma de violencia, están contra la guerra y sus conse- cuencias, y rechazan enfrentar la guerra con más violencia. Por otra parte, el desobediente civil evidencia que se está fallando en algún principio, particularmente en materia de justicia. En un ejercicio de autonomía y moralidad, actúa desobedeciendo una ley o política que debe ser una representación de su propia moralidad y de la ética colectiva. De esta manera, hace evidente la imperiosa necesidad de discutir sobre el asunto y de realizar los ajustes correspondientes. Lo cual es una forma no sólo de participación sino también de ciudadanía activa. Se trata de un hecho que ilustra la desobediencia civil. El célebre autor clásico Henry David Thoreau, quien conceptualizó el término en su ensayo Del deber de la Desobediencia Civil en 1848 señala sencillamente que: ante una ley injusta, el deber ciudadano es desobedecerla e instar al gobierno a su reforma (Thoreau (1848) 2008). Llamando a la coherencia entre la vida práctica con los principios éticos y las ideas liberales. El ensa- yo de Thoreau nace precisamente de su negativa a pagar impuestos dirigi- dos a financiar la guerra contra México. Para Thoreau era incoherente for- mar una república con base en el sometimiento de otra nación. Estudiar y conocer la desobediencia civil permite adicionalmente recordar que la construcción del Estado tiene un objetivo: el de preservar los derechos y las libertades de los ciudadanos. El régimen político sólo es posible en la medida que los ciudadanos consientan la forma de gobierno y que las leyes sean una representación de los acuerdos morales y éticos. Thoreau es enfático en reconocer el derecho de resistencia, señala como injusto y contradictorio considerar la resistencia como un derecho para la recién constituida república de los Estados Unidos, pero negar este derecho a los pueblos que son conquistados y sometidos. (…) cuando una sexta parte de la población de un país que se ha comprometido a ser refugio de la libertad, está esclavizada, y toda una nación es agredida y conquistada injustamente por un ejército extranjero y sometida a la ley marcial, creo que ha llegado el momento de que los hombres honrados se rebelen y se subleven. Y este deber es tanto más urgente, por cuanto que el país así ultrajado no es el nuestro, sino que el nuestro es el invasor (Thoreau [1848] 2008, 34). El discurso de Thoreau nos sirve para reflexionar sobre los derechos que proclamamos como nación y los derechos que reconocemos para los pueblos indígenas. Este episodio del Cerro Berlín nos sirve como excusa para señalar que la autonomía de los pueblos indígenas sigue siendo res- tringida y que algunas de sus posturas son cuestionadas, como la que han tomado frente a la guerra. 371 Si el Estado colombiano se diera la oportunidad de comprender en este sentido la serie de acontecimientos que alcanzaron su cenit de confrontación en el Cerro Berlín, tal vez se podrían encontrar nuevas vías para construir alternativas que respondan a una realidad compleja y diversa. La dinámica de los acontecimientos podría así utilizarse para consolidar la propuesta democrática que, al menos en teoría, supone el Estado colombiano. En ese sentido, es preciso que el lector comprenda la figura de la desobediencia civil como un elemento eminentemente político, que expresa la relación moral del ciudadano con la ley, con lo público, con la política, con el poder y con el Estado. En ese abordaje es necesario recordar que la obligación política de la obediencia a las leyes tiene una fundamentación moral y ética, una cohe- rencia lógica para la garantía de los derechos y el desarrollo de las liberta- des, y esos mismos argumentos que se tienen para la obediencia son los mismos que deben motivar la desobediencia en los casos en que la ley permita alguna injusticia o se presente alguna incoherencia con los princi- pios pactados en las constituciones políticas. Desobedecer es una forma de relacionarse con el poder, que además abre a lo público cuestiones pertinentes como la coherencia entre la moral y la obediencia. La desobediencia indígena reclama cambios necesarios que permitan coherencia entre lo que se busca: convivencia, respeto, libertad y los medios para hacerlo: noviolencia. Para el desobediente, es importante establecer una detallada relación entre medios y fines. Así lo hace el pueblo Nasa, cuestiona la violencia con la que se enfrenta la violencia misma. El desobediente civil no puede seguir nunca la máxima maquiavélica de “el fin justifica los medios”, pues para el desobediente civil los medios son fines en sí mismos (la expresión de la inconformidad y a través de ella el empoderamiento por la desobediencia), y el fin es a su vez un medio para alcanzar fines aún mayores, enmarcados en la confrontación con la injusticia. Finalmente, lo que debe comprenderse es que los hechos del Cerro Berlín, deben interpretarse desde las luchas contra la injusticia, que recoge los estudios de la noviolencia (Cappetini 1992, Gandhi (1948) 2004, López 2009, 2011, Muller 2004, 201, Useche 2014,) y sus formas de expresión como la protesta, la insumisión, la objeción de conciencia, la resistencia, la des- obediencia, etc. (Ballesteros 2014,López 2009, 2011, Martínez 2011, Useche 2014) Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 372 Notas 1 FFMM: siglas para referirse a Fuerzas Militares. 2 Mayúsculas en el original. 3 Una política pública es una disposición estatal o gubernamental que responde a una demanda de la sociedad y determina una serie de disposiciones normativas, administra- tivas y de servicios. El profesor Alejo Vargas (1999) explica que es una iniciativa, decisión o acción del Estado frente a una situación problemática. Por tratarse de disposiciones que responden generalmente a la racionalidad técnica, tiene el riesgo de desestimar la deliberación pública y la participación, ocasionando algunas veces injus- ticias. 4 Durante el Gobierno de Andrés Pastrana (1998 – 2002), se desmilitarizo la zona del Caguán – Caquetá, Colombia) por parte de las Fuerzas Armadas de Colombia, con el objetivo de desarrollar una mesa de diálogo con las FARC. Al tiempo que en el resto del territorio Colombiano continuaban las hostilidades del conflicto armado colombiano. El “despeje” como se le conoció a este hecho, le sirvió a la guerrilla de las FARC para cometer actos como tráfico de drogas, retención de secuestrados, reclutamiento y planeación del desarrollo de sus estrategias militares, políticas y diplomáticas. Mantu- vieron secuestrados en la región a más de 450 militares y policías secuestrados. La sensación que este hecho dejo en la opinión pública, es que la posición flexible del gobierno sirvió para que las FARC recrudecieran la guerra y cometieran cientos de secuestros. Los diálogos de paz finalizaron el 20 de febrero de 2002 y el conflicto armado colombiano recrudeció sus acciones militares. “Caguanizar” significa entonces entregar una zona desmilitarizada a las FARC, para que ésta lo utilice en pro del recrudecimiento de su acción armada. 373 Bibliografía Arendt, Hannah (1999), Crisis de la República. Taurus, Madrid. Arias, Diego (2012), “Conflicto en el Cauca: ¿Santos aprendió la lección?”, Semana.com, 26 de julio. Ballesteros, Gilma Liliana (2014), Desobediencia civil: un análisis político. Ed. Universidad de Granada, Granada. Capitini, Aldo (1992), Scrittisullanonviolenza. Protagon, Perugia. Duque Naranjo, Lisandro (2012), “Colombia resultó blanca”, Elespectador.com, 22 de julio. EFE (2012), “Indígenas del Cauca y Gobierno retomarán diálogo este miér- coles”. Eltiempo.com, 7 de agosto. http://www.eltiempo.com/politica/ indigenas-del-cauca-y-gobierno-retomaran-dialogo-este-miercoles- _12106641-4 ElPais.com (2012), “Indígenas del Cauca podrían ir a la cárcel si se com- prueba delito de asonada: Fiscalía”, 18 de julio. http://www.elpais.com.co/ elpais/judicial/noticias/indigenas-del-cauca-podrian-ir-carcel-si-comprueba- delito-asonada-fiscalia ElPlaneta.com (2012), “Desalojo en el cerro Berlín genera reacción nacio- nal”, 18 de julio. Eltiempo.com (2012), “Las Farc quieren Caguanizar el Cauca”, 17 de julio. Gandhi [1948] (2004), Escritos esenciales, Sal Terrae, Bilbao. Hernández Delgado, Esperanza (2004), Resistencia Civil Artesana de Paz, Ed. Pontificia Universidad Javeriana, Bogotá. León, Juanita (2012), “¿Valdrá esta imagen la reelección de Santos?”. lasillavacia.com, 18 de agosto. López Martínez, Mario (2009), Política sin violencia. La noviolencia como humanización de la política, Corporación Universitaria Minuto de Dios, Bogotá. Ídem (2013), “Política sin matar: los métodos de la acción no-violenta”. Revista Vectores de Investigación. 7: 33-84. Martínez, Carlos E. (2011), Los nuevos movimientos sociales y cambio de paradigmas en el último siglo a través de la lógica de la Noviolencia, Universidad Granada, Granada, España. Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 374 Maya, Martha (2012), “Cuáles son los límites de la autonomía indígena según los expertos”, lasillavacia.com, 19 de julio. . Muller, Jean-Marie (2004), El coraje de la noviolencia: nuevo itinerario filosófico, Sal Terrae, Maliaño. Ídem (2011), L’impératif de la désobéissance. Fondementsphilosophiques et stratégiques de la désobéissancecivile. Le PrésaintGervais: Le passagerclandestin. Murcia, Luis Ángel (2012), “Cauca: Un día de furia y vergüenza en Berlín, el cerro de Toribío”, Semana.com, 18 de julio.http://www.semana.com/ nacion/cauca-dia-furia-verguenza-berlin-cerro-toribio/180985-3.aspx Noguera, Luisa (2005), Mahatma Gandhi, la fuerza del alma, Panamerica- na, Bogotá. Prensa Indígena (blog) (2012), “Colombia: Comunicado sobre los hechos del Cerro el Berlín”. Randle Michael (1998), Resistencia Civil, Paidós, Barcelona. Santos, Juan Manuel (2012) “Comunicado Oficial de 18 de Julio”, Presidencia.com. Thoreau, Henry David [1848] (2008a), Desobediencia Civil y otros escri- tos. Juan José Coy (comp.), Tecnos, Madrid. Ugartemendia, Juan Ignacio (1999), La desobediencia civil en el Estado constitucional democrático, Marcial Pons, Madrid. Useche, Óscar (2014), El acontecimiento de las resistencias sociales: Micro política de las revoluciones noviolentas como apertura de nuevos territo- rios existenciales. Ed. Universidad de Granada, http://digibug.ugr.es/ bitstream/10481/34191/1/24049955.pdf * * * Recibido: 30.01.2016 Aceptado: 05.04.2016
work_oagm4an2qjgzpedxjnklboceum ---- geosciences Review Geoheritage, Geotourism and the Cultural Landscape: Enhancing the Visitor Experience and Promoting Geoconservation John E. Gordon School of Geography and Sustainable Development, University of St Andrews, St Andrews KY16 9AL Scotland, UK; jeg4@st-andrews.ac.uk Received: 5 March 2018; Accepted: 3 April 2018; Published: 16 April 2018 ���������� ������� Abstract: Geotourism spans a range of visitor interests, from the specialist geotourist to the more general visitor. As well as supporting geoconservation outcomes, it provides economic, cultural, relational and social benefits for both visitors and host communities. The interconnections between geoheritage and the cultural components of the landscape have antecedents in concepts of landscape aesthetics in different cultures. These interconnections provide a range of opportunities for enhancing the geotourist experience and promoting geoconservation and geoeducation by means of activities that involve aesthetic and emotional experiences and interpretation through different cultural filters that encourage the rediscovery of a sense of wonder both about the geological stories in the landscape and the human interactions. A cultural ecosystem services framework provides a holistic approach for informing conservation policy, management and planning for geotourism, enabling assessment of multiple benefits and trade-offs for visitors and communities based on the values of the geoheritage assets. Geotourism studies could also benefit from integration of existing theory, conceptual analysis and practice from broader heritage and nature-based tourism and closer collaboration with relevant social sciences. Adhering to sound geoethical practice is an essential part of geotourism, which can also play a role in the promotion of geoethics among the public and professionals. Keywords: cultural ecosystem services; landscape aesthetics; geoheritage interpretation; geoparks; geoethics “....landscape is the work of the mind. Its scenery is built up as much from strata of memory as from layers of rock”. (Simon Schama, 1995, p. 7) [1] 1. Introduction Much of the focus in geoconservation over the last few decades, particularly in Europe, has centered on the protection of geosites primarily for scientific and educational reasons [2]. At the same time there has been growing recognition of the cultural and aesthetic values of geoheritage especially in relation to the development of geotourism [3–8] and UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) Global Geoparks which are required to deliver a range of educational, economic, cultural and social benefits as well as geoconservation [9,10]. Geotourism emerged in the 1990s [11,12] to promote wider awareness of geoheritage and its values beyond the geoscience community as a means to gain support for geoconservation at a time when sustainable development and eco- or nature-based tourism were attracting increasing attention. As a precursor to modern geotourism, tourism based on the aesthetic appreciation of the physical landscape and natural geological “wonders” is not a recent phenomenon. In various forms, it extends back over more than two centuries in Western Europe [13] and much longer in Asia [7]. Geosciences 2018, 8, 136; doi:10.3390/geosciences8040136 www.mdpi.com/journal/geosciences http://www.mdpi.com/journal/geosciences http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/2076-3263/8/4/136?type=check_update&version=1 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/geosciences http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/geosciences8040136 Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 2 of 25 Geotourism today is essentially a cultural response to the physical landscape. More specifically, it combines geologically based tourism in suitable locations with interpretation, education and awareness raising to foster geoconservation and sustainable economic benefits for local communities based on their geoheritage. Notwithstanding the different definitions proposed [12–20], geotourism may be considered to span a spectrum of interests and opportunities appealing to a range of visitors from “dedicated” geotourists to “casual” visitors [11,12,14,21,22]. The former are actively seeking to learn about geology and geomorphology as their prime motive for visiting an area; the latter, to appreciate scenery, enhance their experience of natural wonders in the landscape through cultural and aesthetic interests, and enjoy outdoor recreation, or simply to “be there”. Although, like ecotourism [23], geotourism may be viewed as originally a Western concept, it is now global in its reach [7,11,24,25]. As a cultural phenomenon, geotourism is part of a spectrum of activities embraced by natural area tourism and a microniche within niche tourism but with a distinctive focus on geoheritage [26,27]. The scope of geotourism includes a wide range and scale of geological and geomorphological features, from mountains and coasts to small rock exposures and the built environment [24]. These may occur in a variety of locations from natural areas to urban environments and include both geoparks and geosites, as well as buildings and monuments with geological associations. As a contribution to progressing geotourism discourse beyond much of the current, and necessary, focus on the inventory of potential sites and case studies of geotourism activities, this paper reviews how the links between geoheritage and cultural heritage can be developed to enhance the visitor experience and advance geoeducation and geoconservation. The paper first outlines the range of connections between geoheritage and cultural heritage within an ecosystem services framework which is now widely adopted within the environmental science and policy communities; second, considers the changing cultural values, both historical and modern, placed on the physical landscape and geological features, and the lessons they provide for geotourism; and third, evaluates how the interpretation of cultural links can enhance the visitor experience and at the same time promote sound geoethical values. The full range of the visitor interest spectrum is addressed since geotourism in a broad sense has a vital role to play in raising awareness of geoheritage and the need for its conservation among a wider public. The term “nature” is used to include both the biotic and abiotic aspects of the natural world. 2. Geoheritage and the Cultural Landscape Throughout history, people have placed different cultural values on nature, including its abiotic components. In modern times in Western thinking, these range from a Romantic view of the physical landscape in the 18th and 19th centuries as an aesthetic experience, to a scientific view of nature in the latter half of the 20th century as a focus for study and conservation in protected areas; and more recently, to a recognition of the need for sustainable use of natural resources that combines both the aesthetic and the scientific viewpoints and provides benefits for people, and embodied now in geoconservation and geotourism activities [28]. In contrast, Eastern and indigenous cultures have placed a much stronger emphasis on harmony with nature and landscape appreciation through different cultural filters [29]. Consequently, a landscape can be understood and appreciated as a cultural image [30], involving all its natural and cultural components existing in a symbiotic, rather than a dichotomous relationship [3,31–36]. For both the dedicated geotourist and particularly the general visitor who has less specialized interest in geology, the nature-culture symbiosis provides a means to enhance the visitor experience of engaging with geoheritage through different aspects of landscape appreciation. Cultural heritage comprises tangible and intangible components. The former include movable (e.g., paintings, sculptures, manuscripts and fossils) and immovable (e.g., buildings, townscapes, monuments, archaeological sites and rural landscapes) constituents; the latter, oral traditions, performing arts, rituals, cuisine, traditional skills and technologies, religious ceremonies and storytelling. As noted by Panizza and Piacente [31,37], aspects of geoheritage may in themselves be Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 3 of 25 cultural elements of the landscape (e.g., as features celebrated in art, sculpture, music, poetry and literature or that are revered as sacred places), or may provide the essential context in which cultural features (e.g., settlements, castles and archaeological sites) are located. Geology and geomorphology are also a fundamental part of the distinctive character of many rural landscapes and the built environment and contribute to the aesthetic qualities of these landscapes. As described below, there are many connections between geoheritage and cultural heritage that provide a basis for geotourism activities. The value of these connections is now acknowledged within the UNESCO Global Geoparks framework [9]. Likewise, many cultural World Heritage Sites benefit from strong supporting geoheritage interests [38], while many existing natural properties are also cultural landscapes that have potential for re-inscription as mixed properties, recognizing their cultural and spiritual associations as well as their outstanding geoheritage features, as happened in the case of Tongariro National Park (New Zealand) (1992) and Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park (Australia) (1994) [39]. The World Heritage Committee of UNESCO defined cultural landscapes as representing the “combined works of nature and of man” and “illustrative of the evolution of human society and settlement over time, under the influence of the physical constraints and/or opportunities presented by their natural environment and of successive social, economic and cultural forces, both external and internal” [40] (p. 14). Cultural landscapes fall into three main categories, all of which provide possibilities for geotourism: designed and created landscapes (parks and gardens, often with historic and/or religious monuments or buildings); organically evolved landscapes (that have developed their present form through human activities or occupancy interacting with natural environments); and associative cultural landscapes that have religious, artistic or cultural associations arising from the natural elements [40]. Cultural landscapes are at the interface between nature and culture and include both tangible and intangible components that are place-specific [41–43], but the traditional separation of the natural and cultural worlds in Western thinking makes little sense [44]. Apart from some parts of the polar regions, deserts and higher parts of mountain areas, most landscapes, including many so-called “wild” or “wilderness” areas, have been modified by people, and even the former all have strong cultural resonance (e.g., [45–50]). Landscape can therefore be perceived as a meeting ground between nature and people, past and present, and tangible and intangible values [44], and where there is a continuous interaction between natural processes and human activities that both shape and are shaped by each other [51,52]. This is reflected in the European Landscape Convention, which recognizes landscapes as the composite result of the action and interaction of both natural processes and/or human activities [53]; in effect, the landscape is a palimpsest recording, albeit incompletely, the geological and geomorphological history of the Earth and the interactions with human activities and cultural practices. 3. Geoheritage, Geotourism and Cultural Ecosystem Services Cultural ecosystem services, a subset of ecosystem services, “has emerged as a concept around which researchers and decision makers can understand ecosystems in terms of their life-enriching and life-affirming contributions to human well-being” [54] (p. 208). Culture is not intrinsically an attribute of ecosystems, but is created through interactions between people, their values and the environment [55]. The Millennium Ecosystem Assessment (MEA) [56] defined cultural ecosystem services as “nonmaterial benefits people obtain from ecosystems through spiritual enrichment, cognitive development, reflection, recreation, and aesthetic experiences” (p. 40). It identified ten categories: cultural diversity, spiritual and religious values, knowledge systems, educational values, inspiration, aesthetic values, social relations, sense of place, cultural heritage values, recreation and ecotourism (Table 1). Although recreation and nature-based tourism were considered to be a service in the MEA, they are more appropriately regarded as benefits or cultural goods [55]. Notwithstanding the difficulties in classifying and measuring cultural ecosystem services, the overlaps in the categories and the conflation of values, services and benefits in the MEA [55], the concept is nevertheless useful in exploring the interconnections between geoheritage, geotourism and the cultural landscape. These Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 4 of 25 interconnections involve complex interactions of cultural practices and values within environmental spaces (in this case geosites and geoparks). As well as providing economic benefits from tourism activities, they also give rise to a range of relational benefits: shaping people’s identities (belonging, sense of place, spirituality); experiences (tranquility, inspiration) that enhance well-being, mental and physical health; and knowledge skills and capabilities [55]. Cultural ecosystem services can therefore be set in a relational framework, in which people interact with nature, rather than a deterministic one [54,57]. “Places, localities, landscapes and seascapes enable cultural practices to occur, but are also created through them” [54] (p. 213). Cultural ecosystem services also have value in themselves and can play an important part in generating support for ecosystem conservation [58], while appreciation of aesthetic and spiritual values can encourage people to develop moral responsibilities towards nature [59]. An ecosystem services approach can therefore provide a holistic framework for analysis and evaluation that incorporates the multiple economic, cultural and social values of geotourism and thereby help to inform policy, management planning and practice. Geodiversity and geoheritage contribute significantly to cultural ecosystem services and benefits (Table 1). Geodiversity links the Earth, people and culture [60]. It has intrinsic, instrumental and relational values that underpin geoheritage and provide or contribute to a range of benefits for society and people [61–66]. The varied connections between geoheritage and cultural heritage are reviewed elsewhere (e.g., [6,37,64,67–69]). As outlined below, these have the potential, or are already being deployed, to enhance geotourist experiences, both through new and engaging avenues for interpretation and through embracing the aesthetic appeal of geosites and geoparks as visitor destinations. First, the diversity of the physical environment is one factor influencing the diversity of cultures, cultural identity and people’s sense of place. For example, glaciers, volcanism and glacial outburst floods have been powerful forces in shaping Icelandic society and culture [70,71] (Figure 1a,b), celebrated for instance in the poetry of Jónas Hallgrímsson (1807–1845) [72]. Natural rock formations, mountains, glaciers, volcanoes, caves, lakes, rivers, waterfalls, erratic blocks and other landforms often have religious or spiritual values and cultural meanings (Figure 1c), expressed through geomythology, local folklore and legends [73–76]. Such features are also modern geotourism attractions where visitors can learn not only about the shaping of the planet and associative cultural interests, but also enjoy more adventurous activities such as glacier hiking and visiting active volcanoes, show caves, mines and lava tubes [75,77–81]. Second, natural features play an integral part in determining landscape character. Many geosites have become iconic places (e.g., the Grand Canyon, Uluru, the Matterhorn and the Giant’s Causeway), globally recognized with cultural, religious, symbolic and economic values [82,83]. Many are appreciated for their aesthetic value [67], which refers to sensory, usually visual (but also nonvisual), appeal both in a passive receiving (e.g., appreciating a view) and an actively sensing (e.g., through hiking in the mountains) context based on aspects of harmony, variation/contrast, scenery/viewing, genuineness and art/architecture [84]. All of these aspects are inherent in geoheritage features and experienced by the visitor through an interplay of the senses. Hence many people are attracted to visit geoheritage sites through their aesthetic appeal or visual attractiveness as remarkable landforms or landscapes [69,85] (Figure 1c–f). This appeal may be enhanced through connections with art, sculpture, photography, music, poetry, literature, history and archaeology. The physical and cultural elements in most landscapes are closely interlinked and reflected in landscape character, land use and human activities. This includes the built environment, urban landscapes and designed landscapes (e.g., through influences on the physical setting or the use of local building stones and vernacular architecture), as well as localities representing industrial archaeology and mining heritage. These all offer opportunities for increasingly city dwelling populations to engage with, and benefit from, geoheritage (e.g., [86–88]). Third, geotourism can help to foster understanding of geology and geomorphological processes in relation to current environmental issues, including climate change, sea-level rise, flooding and Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 5 of 25 other natural hazards, as well as developing sustainable environmental management that integrates geodiversity, biodiversity and socioeconomic awareness, together with better public understanding of the issues and more informed public debate and engagement about difficult adaptation decisions that will need to be made [65,89–92]. For example, mountain geosites have scientific and educational value in conveying clearly the impacts of climate change and the role of dynamic processes in shaping the landscape [81,93,94] (Figure 1e). Recent glacier recession is strikingly demonstrated through comparisons of historical photographs and paintings (e.g., [95–97]), as well as in conspicuous environmental changes [98–100] that are already having an impact on tourism [77,81,101–103]. The ways in which different societies perceive glaciers and their changes [104–107] can also enhance interpretation for geotourists. Similarly at coastal sites, art can be a useful tool in informing understanding of coastal changes [108], while educative interpretation can raise awareness of the significance and implications of sea-level rise [109]. Often geosites also have ecological educative value [4]. Most species and plant communities depend on specific geological, geomorphological and soil conditions [110], which can be used to highlight the ecological significance of geodiversity. Similar connections are demonstrated in particular types of land use, such as viticulture [111]. Table 1. Cultural ecosystem services and benefits arising from geodiversity and geoheritage (adapted from [56,61–64]). Cultural Ecosystem Service Category/Benefits Description Cultural diversity The diversity of the physical environment is one factor influencing the diversity of cultures and cultural identity. Spiritual and religious values and cultural meanings Natural rock formations and landforms often have associated religious or spiritual values. They also feature in local folklore and legends. Knowledge systems Society benefits from knowledge of the Earth’s physical properties, materials, processes and history in many ways (e.g., through applied, engineering and environmental geology, medical geology and geoforensics). Records of past climate and environmental changes preserved in a variety of archives (e.g., ice cores, ocean sediments, landforms and lake sediments) enable a longer-term perspective on Earth system processes and ecosystem dynamics, trends and human interactions. They provide baselines for environmental monitoring and forecasting, and can indicate possible ecosystem responses to future changes in climate and other factors. Education Geodiversity provides the basis for both formal and non-formal education for people of all ages, through desk-based learning and outdoor learning opportunities. Artistic inspiration Geodiversity provides a rich source of inspiration for art, literature, poetry, music, sculpture, national symbols, architecture and built heritage and gardens. Aesthetics Many people find natural beauty and aesthetic value in various aspects of the natural environment, scenery and scenic views, interesting/beautiful/dramatic landscapes and silence/tranquillity/peacefulness. Social relations Changes in ecosystem services (e.g., availability of fresh water, flood regulation or erosion regulation) can affect social relations, particularly in cultures that have retained strong connections to their local environments. Volunteering through Local Geoconservation Groups can also provide opportunities for social interaction. Sense of place Many people value the sense of place that is associated with recognized features of their environment, such as natural rock formations and landscapes, and the perceived “feeling of security” and character created by those features. Cultural heritage and geoheritage Geosites associated with major developments in geoscience are part of the cultural value of geoheritage. Other geosites are significant for their historical, literary or artistic associations or other cultural meanings. Geodiversity underpins landscape and seascape character and different types of cultural landscape. The use of local or traditional stone and other geological materials within the built environment and the conservation of cultural landscapes contribute to the cultural heritage of an area and its landscape character. Cultural memories are often expressed through natural features such as mountains, waterfalls and rock formations. Environmental quality Geodiversity and geoheritage contribute to environmental quality which supports people’s health and well-being. Recreation and nature-based tourism People often choose where to spend their leisure time based on the characteristics of the natural or cultural features in a particular area. Physical features (geodiversity) underpin landscape character, valued habitats and ecosystems, and the aesthetic and other cultural qualities of an area. They provide opportunities for outdoor recreation (e.g., walking, rock climbing, caving, skiing and outdoor adventure) and leisure, or a peaceful haven in which to relax and reflect, and contribute to people’s health and well-being. They also support geotourism, which in turn provides a source of employment (e.g., in geoparks) and a range of relational and other benefits described above that contribute to people’s health and well-being and educational and life-long personal development. Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 6 of 25 Figure 1. (a) Interpretation board at Eyafjallajökull Visitor Centre, Iceland, explains that “life goes on” after the volcanic eruption of April 2011. (b) Interpretation board at Múlakvísl, Iceland, explains the effects of the jökulhlaup in 2011, which destroyed a major bridge on the island’s main ring road. (c) The Bungle Bungle Range in Purnulu National Park and World Heritage Site, Australia, is becoming an increasingly popular tourist destination. It is an outstanding example of cone karst in Devonian sandstone, supports a diverse range of habitats, from deep, sheltered gorges to semi-arid plains, and has special spiritual and cultural significance for local Aboriginal clan groups. (d) The Palaeogene volcanic features at Fingal’s Cave, Staffa, Scotland, have been a tourist destination since the late 18th century and a source of inspiration for poetry music and art. (e) The retreat of the Pasterze Glacier, the largest glacier in Austria and the Eastern Alps, in the Hohe Tauern National Park, has increased in response to warmer summer temperatures and lower snowfall. A major tourist attraction, the Kaiser-Franz-Josefs-Höhe Visitor Centre offers panoramic views over the glacier and the Grossglockner massif, Austria’s highest mountain. Information boards and an educational glacier trail explain the glacial processes and history of retreat. (f) The spectacular karst landscape of Guilin and the River Li, China, is a World Heritage Site celebrated in poetry and painting for many centuries. Photos: John Gordon. Fourth, in addition to tangible benefits in the form of economic returns to local communities, geotourism confers relational benefits through opportunities for recreation, outdoor activities and physical challenges, as well as aesthetic, inspirational and spiritual experiences that directly contribute to people’s health and well-being and to educational and lifelong personal development (Table 1) [112,113]. Geotourism also enables people to reconnect with nature. This is important because people’s experiences of nature have increasingly become diminished, with consequent damaging effects on health and well-being and adoption of negative attitudes to the environment [114,115]. Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 7 of 25 4. Geoheritage, Landscape Aesthetics and Geotourism 4.1. Western Cultural Values and the Roots of Modern Geotourism In Western Europe, the cultural values of geodiversity and geoheritage have changed over time and are linked with parallel developments in landscape aesthetics, geoscience and, latterly, geoconservation. In particular, literature and art played an important part in transforming perceptions of the landscape from a physical to a cultural construct with aesthetic value [1,116]. The roots of modern geotourism lay in the European Romantic movement of the mid-18th to the mid-19th centuries and the development of landscape aesthetics [117,118], although in many other cultures the appreciation of landscape and geological features is much older [7,48,50]. The Romantic movement saw a change in perception of “wild” landscapes, particularly mountains and spectacular natural phenomena such as caves, volcanoes and waterfalls (e.g., [14,75,119,120]), from places to be feared and avoided to landscapes to be appreciated through a “romantic gaze” [121]. The aesthetics of the sublime [122] and picturesque [123], respectively, inspired feelings of awe and admiration (Burke’s “delightful terror”) in the presence of geological “wonders”, or contemplation of the compositional qualities of “natural” landscapes [124]. The representation of the physical landscape in travel journals, literature and art [14,117,125–131] inspired writers, artists, poets and members of the wealthy classes and social elites in Britain and elsewhere in Europe to seek out and experience beautiful, sublime and picturesque scenery as part of a shift from the “classical” to a more “romantic” Grand Tour in the mid-17th to early 19th centuries and before the development of mass tourism in the mid-19th century [13,132,133]. This is well illustrated in the case of mountain aesthetics. Although nature poetry featured in Western classical civilizations (e.g., [134]), during the Middle Ages, wild nature and notably mountains were perceived as dangerous and fearsome places [48,135,136]. Particularly influential in transforming the perception of mountains were the accounts of sublime landscapes of the Alps celebrated in the influential works of Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778), Thomas Gray (1716–1771) and William Wordsworth (1770–1850), and later Lord Byron (1788–1824), Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822), John Ruskin (1819–1900) and their continental counterparts, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832), Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller (1759–1805) and Alexandre Dumas (1802–1870). By the mid-18th century, as documented for example in the journals of those crossing the Alps on the Grand Tour [132], travelers were appreciating the beauty and grandeur of the mountains, while writers, artists, poets and members of the aristocracy visited in increasing numbers specifically for recreation, scientific or health reasons, rather than simply passing through [137]. Romanticized by writers, poets and artists, mountains gained a strong aesthetic appeal for their sublime and unspoiled beauty, and by the end of the century tourists were regularly making excursions to the Mer de Glace and Glacier des Bossons [132]. Mountaineering also became an increasing attraction from the late 18th century [138]. Mass tourism in the Alps and elsewhere was facilitated in the second half of the 19th century by improvements in transport, through railways and steamships, and the development of package tours following Thomas Cook’s first venture to the Alps in 1863 [139]. Also influential were Goethe’s travels in Italy [140] and to the “rock cities” in central Europe [130], as were the sublime attractions of active volcanoes [74,119]. At the same time, tourist guidebooks and popular geology books [14] written for a mass market of visitors underpinned a huge growth of the travel industry focused on natural wonders. In North America, railways opened up the Rockies to tourists and climbers inspired by the publications of Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862) and John Muir (1838–1914), both influenced by the vision of Alexander von Humboldt (1769–1859) of the unity and wonder of nature [141], and by the sublime paintings of the Hudson River School and the work of contemporary photographers [142]. This historical perspective highlights the contribution of physical features in the development of Western landscape aesthetics and the role of the latter in early tourism. These developments took place at a time when geology was perceived as an exciting subject among the reading public, presented in a romantic, literary way that appealed to the imagination. Popular books related stories Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 8 of 25 of past worlds beyond a human timescale, blending geology together with folklore, legends and local scenery [143–145]. For poets, writers and artists, geology was a powerful source of inspiration that offered new ways of seeing the landscape, while in the popular imagination writers and artists inspired a sense of wonder and curiosity about the physical landscape and its aesthetic qualities. The rediscovery of such a sense of wonder can make key contribution to the wider development of modern geotourism [127,129,146,147]. 4.2. Eastern and Indigenous Cultural Values The Romantic movement was a product of European culture at a particular time. Elsewhere, people have responded differently to the natural world, reflecting the contention that there is no single nature, but rather multiple natures constructed by different societies [23,29,148–151]. In Eastern cultures, there is a long tradition of respect, harmony and synergy between humans and nature, embodied in the concept of the cultural landscape (e.g., [152]). Geological characteristics are fundamental to perceptions of the scenic quality and natural beauty of this cultural landscape [7]. For example, mountains, rivers, waterfalls and other natural features have all been recurring motifs in Chinese painting, poetry and travelers’ journals for over two millennia, celebrating the sacred character of nature and the connectedness of humans and nature (e.g., [7,153–155]). In contrast to the Western tradition of regarding nature and culture as separate elements of the same landscape, and which idealizes nature and wilderness protection free from human intervention, the traditional view of nature deeply rooted in Chinese philosophies is that nature and culture are indivisible and form a cosmological whole [7,43,156]. As people and nature are perceived to be in harmony in Chinese traditions, human intervention and manipulation of nature can enhance landscape appeal. Hence the installation of temples, carvings, inscriptions of poetry in stone, and artificial lakes and gardens in natural environments enhances rather than detracts from appreciation of the natural landscape, compared to Western preferences for the preservation of wild nature [157]. Chinese perceptions of landscape are strongly influenced by idealized images portrayed in paintings and poetry [158], so that Chinese tourists tend to view natural places in terms of their cultural meanings and significance. Consequently, their experiences of landscapes differ from those of Western tourists [159–161] and their motivation is often in the form of a pilgrimage to places that feature in poetry and paintings (e.g., the Guilin karst—Figure 1f) or have other cultural associations [158,162]. They are there to view the beauty of the physical features but gaze at them through cultural filters involving landscape memories and intangible cultural heritage [162,163]. Li [160] termed this distinctive Chinese gaze, the “harmony gaze”. In contrast in Western cultures, the aesthetics of nature and art have diverged [164]. In Western societies, spiritual attachment to nature declined during the scientific flourishing of the European Enlightenment. For many indigenous peoples, however, natural features remain an integral part of their culture and beliefs (e.g., [165]). Indigenous peoples have a strong kinship with nature, based on long connections with place, and take their identities and systems of beliefs from their natural surroundings. This is expressed, for example, in the traditions and philosophy of “Pachamama” (“Mother Earth”) in Andean indigenous communities in Latin America. Similarly, for Indigenous Australians, landscape features form part of their spirituality expressed through dreamtime stories and ceremonies, and embodying deep connections with the physical landscape which they experience in different ways and respect through the concept of “caring for country”. Hence geoheritage features such as Uluru, Kata Tjuta and the Bungle Bungle Range (Figure 1c) have special spiritual significance. In contrast in Western cultures, Ellison [166] described how the “suffocating embrace of romantically-infused notions of landscape has cut humans off from nature and from the world” (p. 87) and advocated that landscape artists, ecologists and environmentalists need to re-engage with the concept of humans as part of the natural world—that nature is not something “out there”. Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 9 of 25 5. Discussion 5.1. Enhancing the Visitor Experience The success of geotourism in delivering its goals of geoheritage education, sustainable development and geoconservation is ultimately dependent on the quality of the visitor experience [27]. If visitors have a deeper awareness and connection with geoheritage through meaningful and memorable experiences, they are more likely to value it and help to manage it sustainably [113,167,168]. Interpretation planning is therefore crucial [169]. Although some evidence is inconsistent [170], well-planned and well-designed interpretation delivered to high standards by committed guides [24,171] is most likely to achieve satisfaction for the majority of general visitors and influence environmentally sensitive behavior and attitudes [168,172,173] and to help to manage the negative impacts of geotourism and recreation such as on-site damage [24,174]. Visitors have diverse motives and interests. Interpretation therefore needs to meet the requirements of a broad spectrum of audiences from the specific site-related geological and educational information for the dedicated geotourist and those actively seeking to learn about the geology of an area, to the broader interpretation that will engage and enthuse the casual geotourist and those simply wishing to “be there”, not only so that their experience is enhanced but also that their awareness of geoheritage and the need for its conservation is increased [11,21,175]. From a commercial perspective, the focus will tend to be on the general visitor, but the interests of the dedicated geotourist must also be met. Different approaches and messages are needed for different audiences [22], and the challenge is to interpret geoheritage in meaningful ways that involve active engagement and follow best practice principles [167,168,176,177]. As noted above, appreciation of the physical landscape is not a new phenomenon, but the goals are different and modern methods and approaches are available to enhance the visitor experience and their awareness of geoheritage [130]. While the geoheritage features themselves must have a strong story to tell, their cultural connections have a vital part to play, particularly in engaging the interest of the non-specialist visitor. Whereas in the 18th and 19th centuries, people experienced geoheritage through landscape aesthetics, literature and romantic tourism and through the spectacular appeal of past worlds, the modern didactic approach to geological interpretation has frequently provided information overload through on-site panels, leaflets, and other media. The focus on reading the landscape [178] has involved geologists telling their stories and presenting their way of understanding the landscape [179]. This is fine for the dedicated geotourist already interested in geology and geomorphology. However, the purpose of interpretation should be to inform and entertain as well as to educate, as recognized by one of the founders of modern geology, James Hutton [180], who remarked that study of the Earth “may afford the human mind both information and entertainment” (p. 30). But it must also provide more meaningful experiences. This was appreciated by Friedrich Nietzsche who began the foreword to his essay (published in 1874), On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life, with a quotation from Goethe emphasizing the value of knowledge for enriching life: “In any case, I hate everything that merely instructs me without augmenting or directly invigorating my activity” [181] (unpaged). Emotions play an important part in augmenting or invigorating visitors’ memorable experiences [89,113,182,183], involving other senses than just “gaze” [133]. Emotional experience is a strong influence on subsequent behavior, particularly personal experiences that are unique and unexpected [184]. Ham [168] stressed the importance of provoking deep personal thought and making personal connections as a basis for subsequent positive actions by visitors. For the great majority of visitors, therefore, the challenge is to enhance their experiences beyond the presentation of “information medicine” [185] by providing interactive engagement on an emotional and imaginative level that enables the rediscovery of sense of wonder, inspiration and enchantment about the landscape and its natural features [127,129,146,186–188]. This includes embracing the cultural landscape and engaging with the artistic in a way that connects with the imagination [185]. Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 10 of 25 The Irish poet, Seamus Heaney [189], explored the concept that poets and geologists transform geological landscapes into cultural landscapes, so that rocks and landscapes can take on new meanings for people when viewed from a cultural perspective. The stories in the rocks and their cultural associations provide opportunities for people to reconnect with geoheritage, and experience a renewed sense of wonder. This is particularly the case for those who might otherwise have little interest in the geological detail. Such an approach can also help to link people with their cultural roots and enhance their sense of place and connections with the natural world [190,191]. It should be recognized, too, that traditional indigenous knowledge is an integral component of site management and interpretation [23,41]. This cultural element can introduce new stories that engage visitors, enrich their experiences and enhance understanding of contemporary environmental issues [192]. For example, indigenous people attribute different cultural values and animate meanings to glaciers compared with Western values that emphasize landscape aesthetics, wilderness, natural hazards, sublime scenery, mountaineering and tourism [104–107]. This means shifting the emphasis from appreciating landscape stories through geologists’ eyes to alternative storylines about the landscape [41,127,147,193–196]. Interpretation of cultural links can enhance the geological stories and offer alternative ways of attracting and engaging visitors and adding to their experiences [197]. Artists, musicians, poets, writers, geoscientists and local people interpret the landscape in different ways. Exploring the landscape through these different cultural filters [117] can provide memorable personal experiences for visitors and enable a more holistic view of the landscape. Such an approach to interpretation can bring together Western and Eastern cultural traditions. For example, studies of interpretation in some Chinese geoparks reveal that the traditional Western-style didactic approach, involving presentation of overly technical information, is ineffective and ignored by a majority of visitors [162,198]. On the other hand, for many visitors, geoheritage is more likely to be appreciated through guided tours and involving stories, art and poetry. Such media can make cultural and aesthetic connections and emotionally engage visitors with the landscape and its geoheritage, reflecting the principle that interpretation should relate to the audience and be culturally relevant [161,162,198–200]. Providing it is done well, such engagement with the cultural landscape is not “dumbing down” the geology, but involves the enrichment of knowledge. Rather than simply present information, many geoparks already promote links between geoheritage and other aspects of the area’s natural and cultural heritage through innovative interpretation that integrates geological and cultural history based around trails and on-site panels, digital tools and novel exhibits and installations of rock sculptures and land art designed to stimulate people’s interest, along with creative experiential engagement with local schools (e.g., [201–203]). This parallels the growing interest in art-based science education [204,205] and, more widely, a cultural turn towards geology as a source of artistic and literary creativity to contextualize life in the modern world and the role of humans in changing the planet [206]. As in the past, and recognized in the UNESCO Global Geoparks Network [9], the aesthetic appeal of the landscape is a highly valued asset, particularly for the general visitor, but the challenge is to introduce awareness of geoheritage and geoconservation as an element of the aesthetic appreciation of the landscape [22] and in a manner that does not compromise the aesthetic qualities of the landscape [207]. The aesthetic should complement and enhance the science, providing a pathway to introduce and educate visitors about the physical environment [208], while knowledge should enhance the appreciative sensory experience through “participatory engagement” with the environment [164]. Appreciating the landscape and engaging the emotions are more powerful than simply learning about the science alone. As noted earlier, the range of benefits from geotourism is not only instrumental or utilitarian, but includes relational benefits that should be fully addressed in management planning and practice. In order to achieve its objectives, geotourism should not be an exclusive experience for dedicated geotourists but should cater for a spectrum of visitor interests and activities depending on the nature of the site. This will require judgements about different uses—what are the activities and experiences Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 11 of 25 most likely to foster geoconservation? It will require development of mapping, spatial inventories and indicators at regional and local scales to assess the potential for different activities and the sensitivities of particular geosites (e.g., [5,209,210]) and implementation of good-practice guidance for visitor management [211]. As recognized for tourism [212] and ecotourism [213,214], the Tourism Opportunity Spectrum is a tool that may be useful for managing geotourist activities and to guide management decisions and planning to accommodate different interests sustainably. It incorporates attributes of site access, compatibility with other activities, attractions and types of experience offered, existing infrastructure, social interaction of visitors and host population, level of skill and knowledge, acceptability of visitor impacts, and acceptability of a management regime. 5.2. Geotourism: Bridging the Nature–Culture Divide The connections with the cultural landscape provide opportunities to promote the values of geoheritage to a wider public constituency. This aligns with the “new paradigm” in nature conservation that emphasizes “people and nature” and recognizes community needs and the value of joint management approaches [215–218]. It also connects with the UN Sustainable Development Goals, where geotourism can both help to promote the role of the geosciences [92] and contribute directly to the delivery of specific goals (e.g., Goal 8: Promote inclusive and sustainable economic growth, employment and decent work for all). The concept of “biocultural diversity” has been suggested as a way of overcoming the nature-culture divide [219]. It requires finding a balance between Western scientific approaches to nature conservation and stewardship with approaches grounded in alternative concepts of “being part of the natural world” [165,219] and that nature in all its aspects should be part of everyday experience, connected with human lives and with humans as part of nature [115,220]. One could equally suggest a parallel concept of “geocultural diversity”, but compartmentalizing in this way is unhelpful as it negates the interweaving of geodiversity, biodiversity and people and the recognition that nature is the unity of the biotic and abiotic. Indeed, Harmon [221] emphasized this unity and advocated the inclusion of abiotic diversity within the concept of “biocultural diversity”. Similarly, Kellert [222] argued that we need to develop a synthesis of Eastern, Western and indigenous cultural traditions, bringing together appreciation of the wholeness of nature and existence in harmony with the natural world, with Western concepts of environmental stewardship and sustainable management based on empirical understanding. In practice, however, the complexities of managing landscapes in the face of widely differing cultural interests and philosophies should not be underestimated, as demonstrated in the case of Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park [223]. Recognizing that there is an opportunity spectrum for geotourism that embraces both the dedicated geotourist and the more casual visitor should enable geoheritage values be promoted to a much wider and nonscientific audience and in ways that promote a more holistic awareness and appreciation of the links between geoheritage, biodiversity, landscape history and the cultural characteristics and heritage of an area [175,224]. Consequently, geotourism may be viewed as a form of sustainable tourism that incorporates themes from various sectors such as integrated rural tourism, cultural and heritage tourism and community-based tourism [225]). This approach, advocated in the Arouca Declaration [20], integrates geology, environment, culture, aesthetics and heritage, but as noted by Martini et al. [226], it has geology as a central focus (cf. [227]) and embraces geological tourism for dedicated geotourists as one of its essential components. In this respect, it differs from the broad National Geographic definition of geotourism [228]. Martini [229] also argued that we must think in terms of whole areas that are coherent in terms of geography and society and not isolate geoheritage from other types of heritage within any given territory. He advocated that to make the most of geosites and protect them, it is necessary to understand and integrate the cultural context and the values of the territories in which they are situated. In a similar vein, Stoffelen and Vanneste [19] proposed a reinterpretation of geotourism in order to provide a holistic analysis of landscape to incorporate various society–nature interactions Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 12 of 25 and meanings. Integrating nature (including geodiversity) with people through cultural filters also implicates an ethical responsibility to protect it and pass it on to future generations with the options to apply their own values (see below). This approach requires specialist knowledge in assessing and identifying appropriate sites for geotourism, managing these sites to enhance geoconservation and contributing to engaging interpretation and education (e.g., through museums, visitor centers, exhibitions, guided tours, interpretative panels and websites) and activities that facilitate the comprehension of geoheritage by the visitors [24,34]. 5.3. Geotourism and Geoethics Geotourism has a cultural role in the developing field of geoethics. According to Peppoloni and Di Capua [230], geoethics through the development of geotourism and UNESCO Global Geoparks promotes geoeducation, aiming to develop awareness, values and responsibility for geoheritage, especially among young people. By creating awareness of the value of a region’s geological heritage, “geological culture and geoethics can strengthen the links between people and their land, between the places of their origins and their own memories” [231] (p. 339). Education can also highlight messages about environmental issues and sustainable use of natural resources, including the consequences of ignoring the loss of geoheritage [232]. Importantly, an ethical approach is not restricted to the economic sustainability of natural resources, but must include the life-enhancing value of nature as a subject of sensual, contemplative, spiritual, religious and aesthetic experience to be passed on to future generations [57,233,234]. The contention that nature has intrinsic value that should be protected for its own sake is often based on spiritual or metaphysical beliefs, but it also arises from moral considerations and the responsibilities of human beings towards the natural world and to maintain the diversity of the world’s natural and culture heritage [221,235,236]. Adhering to good geoethical practice is an essential part of geotourism both among providers and participants. In addition, geotourism should help to promote and enhance awareness of geoethics among the public [237]. There are several aspects to this. First, geotourism activities and infrastructure must be sustainable and incorporated, where appropriate, into the aesthetics of the site, and they should enable geoconservation without damaging the features of interest or causing other environmental impacts [24,27]. Second, they should be sensitive to the values and cultures of local communities, recognizing that the latter may hold different norms, values and interpretations of the landscape, as well as incorporating local knowledge fundamental to sustainable management of the geotourism assets. Commodification of geoheritage as a resource for geotourism may not align with local cultural values [23], but sensitive community participation should help to encourage a wider sense of ownership [238–240]. This may include management zoning or employment of local guides in sensitive areas to present indigenous interpretations of the landscape [41]. Such cross-cultural collaboration involving local and indigenous people can help to maintain traditional knowledge and culture, while delivering geoconservation [239,241]. Third, geotourism should be guided by ethical principles to ensure that commercialisation does not destroy harmony with nature [242] and that the geotourism experience combines enjoyment of the aesthetic features of geoheritage with gaining knowledge about their interest and value, while minimizing management or infrastructure footprints that impact on the aesthetic experience. Part of this includes reconciling contrasting expectations and demands of tourists from different cultures and with different backgrounds [242]. Fourth, risk assessment of hazards must be fully taken into account in evaluating the potential use of geosites for tourism and in their subsequent management. Large numbers of visitors to inherently dynamic sites may expose visitors to hazards with risk of injuries or death [75,243,244], but geotourism also has an important role in educating visitors about natural hazards [245]. Fifth, geotourism can help to promote sustainable use of natural resources that recognizes the value of local knowledge and the spiritual connections between people and the land [246,247]. Sixth, geotourism interpretation and education also provide opportunities to raise awareness and discuss broader geoethical issues. This includes encouraging a positive attitude to the values of geoconservation and promoting sustainable environmental management based on better Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 13 of 25 appreciation of geology and geomorphological processes and the implementation of geoconservation principles such as “working with natural processes” [66,248]. In turn, this should enable better public understanding and more informed debate about natural hazards and global changes in the geosphere. Finally, geotourism has a part to play in educating geoscientists about geoconservation and good practice such as responsible rock coring [249,250]. 6. Conclusions Progressing geoconservation depends on better public awareness, understanding and support. Geotourism has a vital contribution to make in achieving these goals. Strong geological stories that appeal to the imagination are essential, but the visitor experience for both dedicated and casual geotourists can be enhanced through explorations of the connections between geoheritage and the cultural landscape. Interpretation that involves aesthetic and emotional experiences and encourages the rediscovery of a sense of wonder and a more holistic appreciation of nature, people and landscape is likely to have wide appeal and be most effective. To be sustainable, geotourism must promote and strengthen geoconservation [251], not conflict with it for commercial gain, and geoconservation must work for both people and the land in a harmonious relationship [252]. Geotourism needs to be integrated with best practice management to preserve and enhance the visitor experience and protect the resource [253]. For many, aesthetics are a significant part of the destination experience, if not a primary factor [162,254], so that a challenge for the management of geotourism is to provide access to places of scenic beauty and natural wonders in a way that not only avoids development which detracts from the aesthetic experience [120,207,252], but also accommodates divergent cultural perspectives and ensures the well-being of local communities and visitors, as well as maintaining the full range of ecosystem goods and services upon which they, and geotourism, depend. While the cultural landscape offers rich potential to engage a wider audience, there remains a need to evaluate the cross-cultural expectations of visitors [200,255] and the kinds of desired activities and meaningful and memorable experiences that will best connect people to geoheritage in a way that will influence their attitudes and increase support for geoconservation [113,198,254]. Visitor demand for, and success of different approaches to interpretation merit further investigation linked with the broader heritage and nature-based tourism research agenda and detailed analysis of: (1) what geotourists actually want [161,162,256]; (2) destination image and reality [257]; and (3) management options and the effectiveness of geotourism in raising visitors’ awareness of geoheritage and changing their behavior [258]. There are important historical lessons about rediscovering a sense of wonder through aesthetic and emotional experiences, although the role of emotional content in destination experiences for geotourists remains to be evaluated [183]. However, rather than re-engagement in a romantic way, there should be a focus on people as part of nature. Linked to this is a need for a stronger academic foundation for geotourism which could benefit from existing theory, conceptual analysis and best practice from other forms of heritage and nature-based tourism [259]. This will require closer collaboration with relevant social sciences to develop multidisciplinary approaches with a range of stakeholders. A cultural ecosystem services framework should be valuable in this respect, and particularly relevant in the case of UNESCO Global Geoparks, which are required to deliver both geoconservation and a range of benefits for people. Specifically, a cultural ecosystem services framework can highlight multiple benefits, as well as trade-offs, and support integrated resource and environmental management that includes links to human well-being and delivery of different services [260,261]. Further analysis is also required to develop new insights into how cultural ecosystem services and benefits influence visitor motivations, expectations, behaviors and levels of satisfaction and how these might be carried through into planning and management practice [260]. The assessment of geoheritage assets, values and benefits within a cultural ecosystem services framework can enable a more holistic approach to geotourism, recognizing the connections between people, geoheritage and the landscape. In addition to geoconservation outcomes and economic Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 14 of 25 returns for communities, wider relational benefits for participants include improved health and well-being through aesthetic and spiritual enrichment, possibilities for recreation, physical activity, inspiration, reflection, acquiring scientific knowledge and reaffirming cultural identity. In view of the growing importance of the ecosystem approach in environmental policy, management and decision making, active engagement by the geoscience community is required to ensure that geotourism is fully factored into wider assessments of ecosystem services and nature’s contributions to people (e.g., [262]). 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Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09669582.2017.1291649 http://dx.doi.org/10.1126/science.aap8826 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/29348221 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction Geoheritage and the Cultural Landscape Geoheritage, Geotourism and Cultural Ecosystem Services Geoheritage, Landscape Aesthetics and Geotourism Western Cultural Values and the Roots of Modern Geotourism Eastern and Indigenous Cultural Values Discussion Enhancing the Visitor Experience Geotourism: Bridging the Nature–Culture Divide Geotourism and Geoethics Conclusions References
work_obghdcjdkzgwbibx2qdhmdw5w4 ---- errgo_13_n_kopia.p65 99 Lawrence Buell Literackie początki Ameryki jako zjawisko postkolonialne 1. Historia Ameryki, pierwszej kolonii, która uzyska³a niepodleg³oœæ, czêsto uznawana jest przez Amerykanów za wzór dla innych m³odych narodów, tym- czasem wielce po¿yteczna nauka p³ynie ze studiowania historii Ameryki w œwietle doœwiadczeñ skolonizowanych narodów, które zdoby³y niepodleg³oœæ znacznie póŸniej. Jednak niewielu specjalistów od historii literatury pokusi³o siê dotych- czas o retrospektywn¹ interpretacjê uwzglêdniaj¹c¹ ten punkt widzenia. W ni- niejszym eseju postaram siê odpowiedzieæ na pytanie, w jakim stopniu wykry- stalizowanie siê bogatej literatury narodowej w okresie tak zwanego Amerykañskiego Renesansu, przypadaj¹cego na po³owê dziewiêtnastego wieku, wpisuje siê w teoretyczn¹ formu³ê, opisuj¹c¹ nowe literatury postkolonialne. Piszê te s³owa jako amerykanista z wykszta³cenia, który zainteresowa³ siê litera- tur¹ anglojêzyczn¹ tworzon¹ na ca³ym œwiecie. Ta literatura i jej krytyczna systematyzacja – frapuj¹ce same w sobie – sk³oni³y mnie do przemyœlenia sze- regu pogl¹dów typowo amerykanistycznych. Je¿eli moje stanowisko kogoœ zaskakuje – a przypuszczam, ¿e tak jest – nie mam wiêkszych w¹tpliwoœci, dlaczego tak siê dzieje. Niewiedza i Ÿle pojmowa- ne zasady zniechêcaj¹ amerykanistów do szukania analogii miêdzy literackimi pocz¹tkami Ameryki oraz, powiedzmy, Kanady albo Australii, nie wspominaj¹c o Indiach Zachodnich i zachodniej Afryce. Wiêkszoœæ amerykanistów wie bar- dzo niewiele o tych literaturach, ja sam posiadam o nich wiedzê najwy¿ej pod- stawow¹. Co do b³êdnych zasad, to nawet uczeni bêd¹cy na bakier z liberali- zmem musz¹ nabraæ podejrzeñ, ¿e jest jakaœ hipokryzja w ukazywaniu Ameryki w dobie ekspansjonizmu raczej jako potêgi postkolonialnej ani¿eli proto-impe- rialnej; takie jej przedstawienie wydaje siê bowiem tuszowaæ amerykañski inter- wencjonizm w sprawach miêdzynarodowych. Mój artyku³ tym bardziej mo¿e wzbudziæ zastrze¿enia, zwa¿ywszy, jak ³atwo przejœæ od myœlenia o Ameryce jako o pierwszym nowym narodzie do pochwa³y tego¿ narodu jako wzoru dla innych nowych nacji. Przyznajê, ¿e taki projekt komparatystyczny niesie ryzyko zamazania ró¿nicy miêdzy dwiema kategoriami podmiotu kolonialnego: osadni- kiem europejskim i rdzennym mieszkañcem. Badania historii literatury amerykañskiej skupiaj¹ siê na tekstach amerykañ- skich, skutkiem czego obecnoœæ elementów miêdzynarodowych (przede wszyst- 100 kim europejskich) poœród tematów godnych rozwa¿enia zosta³a ograniczona do minimum. Zarówno kosmopolityczni erudyci, jak i amerykaniœci, których wie- dza niezmiernie rzadko wykracza poza historiê literatury amerykañskiej, zawê- ¿aj¹ pole widzenia. Na przyk³ad w opisie rozwoju poezji amerykañskiej wed³ug Harolda Blooma, wp³ywy zewnêtrzne zanikaj¹ wraz z pojawieniem siê Emerso- na; otó¿ Bloom wyraŸnie rozgranicza historiê literatury brytyjskiej i amerykañ- skiej, mimo ¿e powinien zdawaæ sobie sprawê, i¿ jeszcze w dwudziestym wie- ku, nie wspominaj¹c o okresie wczeœniejszym, „sztandarowi” poeci amerykañscy czytali angielskich mistrzów chêtniej i uwa¿niej ani¿eli siebie nawzajem. Wpraw- dzie od dawna ukazywa³y siê porównawcze monografie na przyk³ad Emersona i Carlyle’a, Fuller i Goethego itp., lecz badanie wp³ywów pozwala odkryæ tylko niewielk¹ niszê w rozbudowanej strukturze i pokazaæ ducha epoki lub pomniej- sze wp³ywy – taki materia³ pasowa³by raczej na wstêp do monumentalnego, wielow¹tkowego opracowania. Z pozoru nie ma nic dziwnego ani niew³aœciwego w tym, ¿e studia nad literatur¹ amerykañsk¹ koncentruj¹ siê na Ameryce, przecie¿ wszystkie historie literatur narodowych zawê¿aj¹ horyzont w podobny sposób. Jednak historyczny opis literatury amerykañskiej posiada pewn¹ szczególn¹ cechê, mianowicie ograni- czenie zainteresowañ do problematyki narodowej wynika tu z przekonania o wyj¹tkowoœci kultury amerykañskiej. Innymi s³owy, wyznacznikiem statusu pisarza jest kryterium œwiadomoœci narodowej, z jednej strony obojêtne wobec przenikania siê elementów „rdzennych” i „obcych”, a z drugiej umacniaj¹ce arbi- tralne regu³y selekcji autorów do kanonu (np. Hawthorne – tak, Longfellow – nie). Taki kierunek istnieje w badaniach nad literatur¹ amerykañsk¹, odk¹d zosta³y uznane za dyscyplinê naukow¹ w latach 1920; ton historiografii literackiej nada- wa³y prace z naczeln¹ tez¹ o jednolitej tradycji literatury amerykañskiej, pióra D. H. Lawrence’a, Williama Carlosa Williamsa, Lewisa Mumforda i Vernona L. Parringtona. American Renaissance F. O. Matthiessena nadal uchodzi za dzie³o prze³omowe miêdzy innymi z tego wzglêdu, ¿e by³a to ostatnia wa¿na ksi¹¿ka w epoce krytycznoliterackiej, w której tak silnie zaznaczy³o siê uznanie dla inter- tekstów anglo-amerykañskich – wszak w twórczoœci piêciu autorów omówio- nych przez Matthiessena pobrzmiewa retoryka Szekspira, Miltona, poezji i pro- zy metafizycznej, neoklasycyzmu i romantyzmu. Po teorii Matthiessena nast¹pi³ czas opisów genezy literatury amerykañskiej, które zak³ada³y, ¿e jednorodnoœæ kanonu wynika z mitów wyj¹tkowoœci Ameryki, takich jak dziedzictwo pury- tañskie i niewinnoœæ Adama, odwo³ywa³y siê do gatunków uznanych za artefak- ty narodowe – jeremiady, relacji z porwania, romansu – i akcentowa³y ci¹g³oœæ tradycji: po Edwardsie by³ Emerson, po Emersonie Whitman, po Whitmanie Stevens itd. Za spraw¹ tak nakreœlonej wizji rozwoju literackiego ros³a naukowa ranga historii literatury. Uboczn¹, aczkolwiek brzemienn¹, konsekwencj¹ uprzy- wilejowania jednych tekstów i motywów kosztem innych by³o narzucanie litera- turze coraz bardziej sztywnych ram. 101 Stworzyliœmy w Ameryce hermetyczn¹ krytykê literack¹. Wszystko zaczyna siê, gdy jako studenci literatury snadnie zapominamy o tym, ¿e ¿aden autor Amerykañskiego Renesansu, z wyj¹tkiem Thoreau, który jako pisarz tak wiele zawdziêcza³ Emersonowi, nie stworzy³ oryginalnego stylu wy³¹cznie pod wp³y- wem literatury narodowej, albo ¿e jedynym œladem uznania któregokolwiek kanonicznego pisarza Renesansu za literata œwiatowego formatu przez jemu wspó³czesnych jest esej Melville’a o Hawthornie. Z nawyku kojarzymy Haw- thorne’a z Melville’em, ale nigdy na przyk³ad z George Eliot, chocia¿ ¿adne kanoniczne dzie³o Melville’a nie realizuje artystycznego planu Hawthorne’a wierniej ani¿eli Adam Bede wobec Szkar³atnej litery. Ze studentów stajemy siê nauczycielami, zachowuj¹c ów porz¹dek estetyczny na kursach z Amerykañ- skiego Renesansu. Dzisiaj jesteœmy ju¿ przygotowani do rewizji doœæ zaœciankowych pogl¹dów o literaturze. Feministyczna i afroamerykañska krytyka kanonu ustalonego w latach 1920-1960 wywo³a³a powa¿n¹ dyskusjê o instrumentach klasyfikacji literackiej i o genealogii tekstów. Pojawi³y siê ujêcia transatlantyckie, takie jak analiza permutacji Eshu w The Signifying Monkey Henry’ego Louisa Gatesa, albo omówienie obrazu spo³ecznoœci euroamerykañskiej w utworach pisarek dzie- wiêtnastowiecznych w ksi¹¿ce The Madwoman in the Attic Sandry Gilbert i Susan Gubar, która to publikacja da³a impuls feministycznej krytyce poezji Emily Dickinson. Kilku amerykanistów – ich œladem pod¹¿aj¹ ju¿ kolejni – zajê³o siê tematem zwi¹zków angielsko-amerykañskich albo europejsko-ame- rykañskich: Jonathan Arac (Commissioned Spirits), Leon Chai (The Romantic Foundations of the American Renaissance), Nicolaus Mills (American and En- glish Fiction in the Nineteenth Century), Larry Reynolds (European Revolutions and the American Literary Renaissance), Robert Weisbuch (Atlantic Double- Cross) i William Spengemann (A Mirror for Americanists). Powsta³y nowator- skie monografie – James Fenimore Cooper: The American Scott George’a Dek- kera oraz Adrift in the World Jeffreya Rubin-Dorsky’ego o Washingtonie Irvingu. Wymienione opracowania nie zaowocowa³y jednak zmian¹ kierunku badañ amerykanistycznych. W dydaktyce oraz krytyce, nie wspominaj¹c o osobistych pogl¹dach amerykanistów, dominuje przekonanie, ¿e – cytuj¹c Spengemanna – „w³aœciwa ocena literatury amerykañskiej zak³ada oddzielenie jej od literatury reszty œwiata”1. Spengemann widocznie wierzy, ¿e rzecz ma siê podobnie we wszystkich epokach historiografii literatury amerykañskiej. Niewykluczone, ¿e ma racjê; ja wszak¿e ograniczam siê w tym artykule do pocz¹tkowego okresu literatury narodowej nie tylko dlatego, ¿e pozna³em go dog³êbniej ni¿ inne, ale równie¿ z tego wzglêdu, ¿e szufladkowanie zjawisk z tej epoki zdarza siê o wiele czêœciej ni¿ ma to miejsce w przypadku modernizmu albo wczesnego okresu kolonialnego. Nadal zastanawiamy siê nad tym, jak Hawthorne interpre- towa³ spuœciznê purytañsk¹, a nie nad tym, jakie wnioski wyci¹ga³ z powieœci Scotta, podkreœlamy wp³yw Emersona i Poego na prozodyczne eksperymenty Whitmana, zapominaj¹c o znaczeniu poetyckich dokonañ Keatsa i Tennysona 102 w tej mierze. Sporo wiemy o stosunkach miêdzy autorami powieœci dla kobiet w Ameryce, zdecydowanie mniej o ich opiniach na temat Dickensa oraz innych brytyjskich pisarzach i pisarkach tworz¹cych literaturê sentymentaln¹. Wizja nakreœlona w typowym artykule albo monografii o literaturze amerykañskiej dziewiêtnastego wieku bywa do tego stopnia autoteliczna, ¿e nie znajduje uza- sadnienia w tekstach, poza utworami, w których nacjonalizm kulturalny jest najsilniej zaznaczony. Przyczyn¹ takiego stanu rzeczy nie jest przywi¹zanie lite- raturoznawców do koncepcji wyj¹tkowego charakteru Ameryki, lecz istnienie ró¿nych zastrze¿eñ dotycz¹cych klasyfikowania pisarzy. Efektem zaœ jest utopij- ne przeœwiadczenie krytyków o autonomii wczesnej literatury narodowej i o wyj¹tkowoœci Ameryki. Taka wiara wydaje siê o tyle groŸna, ¿e narzuca nam – lub naszym s³uchaczom –– zawê¿on¹ i fa³szyw¹ perspektywê. Znamienne, i¿ pomimo wyrafinowanej metodologii Nowy Historycyzm, naœwietlaj¹cy ideolo- giczn¹ dwulicowoœæ klasycznych tekstów Amerykañskiego Renesansu (godze- nie ostentacyjnego radykalizmu z rzeczywistym centryzmem), w istocie nie pod- wa¿y³ przekonania, ¿e uk³adaj¹ siê one w cykl o duchu narodu. Przyznajê, ¿e ja te¿ przyczyni³em siê do scentralizowania badañ ameryka- nistycznych, ale przynajmniej teraz staram siê na nowo przemyœleæ pocz¹tki literatury narodowej. Nie twierdzê, i¿ Amerykañski Renesans nie mia³ miej- sca; chcê natomiast wykazaæ, ¿e w celu lepszego zrozumienia osi¹gniêæ lite- rackich tego okresu i bardziej gruntownego poznania narodowej tradycji lite- rackiej, warto postawiæ pytanie, w jakim stopniu ta tradycja wyros³a z „kultury ludzi podbitych, d¹¿¹cych do pokonania swoich w³adców w granicach psycho- logicznych ustanowionych przez tych¿e w³adców”, jak ujmuje to Ashis Nandy mówi¹c o klimacie intelektualnym w kolonialnych Indiach2 . Jeœli chce siê zmieniæ perspektywê postrzegania pierwszej po³owy dziewiêtnastego wieku z kolonialnej na postkolonialn¹, nale¿y przenieœæ uwagê z w³adzy politycznej/ /militarnej na w³adzê kulturow¹, która staje siê celem oporu. O ile doœwiad- czeñ trzynastu kolonii amerykañskich nie da siê porównaæ z polityczn¹/mili- tarn¹ dominacj¹ w kolonialnych Indiach, o tyle kolonizacja kulturowa – efekt rzekomo przyjaznego re¿imu imperialnego – mia³a w tej epoce niebagatelne znaczenie i objawi³a siê w ró¿nych dziedzinach ¿ycia, pocz¹wszy od episte- mologii i estetyki, a na dietetyce skoñczywszy. 2. W mniemaniu badaczy Amerykañskiego Renesansu zagadnienie kulturo- wej zale¿noœci pisarzy odgrywa³o rolê najwy¿ej drugorzêdn¹. Naukowe eks- plikacje dziedzictwa purytañskiego pokazywa³y, i¿ korzenie w³asnej kultury by³y na tyle wczesne i g³êbokie, ¿e jej rozkwit pozostawa³ kwesti¹ czasu, a zatem problem kulturowego przenikania siê Ameryki ze Starym Œwiatem schodzi³ na dalszy plan. Dlatego te¿ zale¿noœæ postkolonialna jawi³a siê jako wirus obecny w juweniliach wielkich pisarzy sprzed wojny secesyjnej. Przy- 103 puszczam, ¿e my, nauczyciele literatury amerykañskiej dziewiêtnastego wie- ku, uk³adaliœmy listy lektur, traktuj¹c pob³a¿liwie s³owa niegdysiejszego bry- tyjskiego recenzenta Sydneya Smitha („Na obydwu pó³kulach œwiata – kto czyta amerykañskie ksi¹¿ki?”) i nie zastanawiaj¹c siê nad nieprzyjemnym wy- dŸwiêkiem tego komentarza o stanie literatury amerykañskiej. Henry T. Tuckerman, autor America and Her Commentators (1864), monu- mentalnej i gruntownej rozprawy poœwiêconej kszta³towaniu siê transatlantyc- kich pogl¹dów o Ameryce, uwa¿a opiniê Smitha za „bezczeln¹ i pozbawion¹ sensu”: „W historii, poezji, nauce, krytyce literackiej, biografistyce, debatach politycznych i etycznych, relacjach podró¿niczych, opisach obyczajów, roman- sach, amerykañskie modele s¹ œwiadectwem geniuszu i kultury narodu”3 . Przy wszystkich swoich nieugiêtych przekonaniach, Tuckerman podwa¿a w³asny pro- jekt. O ile Tuckerman wyra¿a swój patriotyzm, snuj¹c wizjê rodz¹cej siê kultury Ameryki, o tyle przyznaje siê do obawy, ¿e „nie istnieje drugi równie ludny kraj, którego mieszkañcy tak czêsto oceniani byliby en masse”4 . Jego teza, jakoby Amerykanie przestali byæ zwyczajnymi konsumentami kultury, jest ry- zykowna i nieprzekonuj¹ca. „Statystyki sprzeda¿y ksi¹¿ek oraz kultura indywi- dualna Amerykanów pokazuj¹, ¿e dzie³a najwiêkszych mistrzów literatury bry- tyjskiej z lepszym skutkiem karmi¹ umys³y Amerykanów ani¿eli Anglików” – pisze. Tuckerman dowolnie traktuje statystykê (do roku 1876 na dziesiêæ ksi¹¿ek importowanych przypada³a jedna eksportowana) i b³êdnie ocenia men- talnoœæ konsumenta: otó¿ „dystans nieodzowny dla zachwytu” oraz ogólne wy- kszta³cenie Amerykanów rzekomo sprawi³y, i¿ „Szekspir i Milton, Bacon i Wordsworth, Byron i Scott, byli i nadal s¹ szerzej znani, i bardziej doceniani po tej stronie Atlantyku, i tutaj lepiej zadomowili siê w ¿yciu intelektualnym”5 . Innymi s³owy, o kulturowej autonomii Ameryki ma œwiadczyæ fakt, ¿e wiêcej egzemplarzy klasyki literatury angielskiej trafia do r¹k czytelników w Ameryce ani¿eli w Anglii. Ksi¹¿ka Tuckermana jawi siê sk¹din¹d jako vademecum dla wykszta³conego importera ksi¹¿ek. Tuckerman nie dostrzega zwi¹zku miêdzy „zachwytem” amerykañskich czy- telników nad ksi¹¿kami angielskimi a w³asnym przeœwiadczeniem, ¿e nie po- winno siê ulegaæ urokowi Ameryki, o jakiej opowiadaj¹ zagraniczni podró¿nicy. Jednak sam fakt powstania jego ksi¹¿ki œwiadczy o potêdze autorytetu literatury europejskiej, która w istocie stworzy³a nowy dyskurs Ameryki. Z tym dyskur- sem pisarze amerykañscy musieli siê zmierzyæ. Wprawdzie w ostatnim pó³wie- czu pisarstwo podró¿nicze by³o tematem licznych rozpraw naukowych, a niektó- re teksty reprezentuj¹ce tê odmianê piœmiennictwa s¹ powszechnie znane (mam na myœli rzecz jasna O demokracji w Ameryce Alexisa de Tocqueville’a), lecz rolê tej formy „okcydentalnego” pisarstwa widaæ w pe³niejszym œwietle dopiero uwzglêdniwszy najnowsze badania dyskursu kolonialnego. W okresie, który nazywamy naszym literackim renesansem, zagraniczni (przede wszystkim an- gielscy) obserwatorzy kojarzyli Amerykê – pomimo dostrzegalnych sympto- mów zmiany tej percepcji – z „innym”, czymœ niewyra¿alnym, egzotycznym, 104 barbarzyñskim i pozbawionym klarownej struktury; zupe³nie ignorowali fakt, ¿e Amerykanie zbudowali nowoczesne prawo i siln¹ gospodarkê, ¿e nie istnia³a ¿adna bariera rasowa miêdzy Anglikami i elitami amerykañskimi, i ¿e oni sami – pod- ró¿nicy europejscy – mieli œwiadomoœæ, i¿ ci rdzenni mieszkañcy chcieli i mogli na wszystkie w¹tpliwoœci odpowiedzieæ w jêzyku europejskim. Wra¿li- woœæ Amerykanów na opinie Europejczyków by³a wrêcz przys³owiowa; niektórzy podró¿nicy przyznawali nawet, ¿e z tego powodu powœci¹gali swoj¹ szczeroœæ. Dziewiêtnastowieczni Amerykanie czêsto odnosili wra¿enie, i¿ w oczach przy- byszów ich kraj, pomimo osi¹gniêæ, jawi³ siê jako potêga o drugorzêdnym zna- czeniu. Pewien polityk skar¿y³ siê brytyjskiemu geologowi Charlesowi Lyello- wi: „stawiacie nas na równi z republikami po³udniowoamerykañskimi; wasi ambasadorowie przyje¿d¿aj¹ do Waszyngtonu z Meksyku albo Brazylii, a urz¹d sprawowany w Ameryce jest szczeblem w karierze, któr¹ najlepiej zakoñczyæ na jakimœ prowincjonalnym dworze niemieckim”6 . Amerykanie przy ka¿dej okazji wypatrywali oznak, ¿e Europejczycy patrzyli na nich z pob³a¿aniem. Przybysze widzieli powa¿ne braki w og³adzie Ameryka- nów (w Domestic Manners of the Americans Frances Trollope uzna³a uparte poprawianie obyczajów za najwiêksz¹ ich przywarê). Uwagi dziewiêtnastowiecz- nych podró¿ników o amerykañskim nawyku ¿ucia tytoniu i spluwania przypo- minaj¹ opis praktyki defekacji w Indiach z ksi¹¿ki V. S. Naipaula An Area of Darkness. Podró¿nicy europejscy pisali, ¿e Amerykanie dobrze kalkuluj¹ (ten przejaw amerykañskiego materializmu traktowano z lekk¹ pogard¹), zarazem uznawali ich za istoty nieracjonalne, które wprawdzie posiada³y pewne osi¹gniê- cia w dziedzinie prawa, ale mia³y kulturê wyzut¹ z filozoficznej g³êbi, a pañstwo zbudowane po partacku. Wzorem Sydneya Smitha, nie liczyli siê z g³osem Ameryki w debatach o kulturze („Jeœli oceniaæ umys³ narodu amerykañskiego w oparciu o legislacjê, trzeba powiedzieæ, ¿e jest zaiste wielki. … Jeœli nato- miast o narodzie ma œwiadczyæ literatura, to w ogóle brak mu umys³u”7 ). Za- przeczali nawet istnieniu jêzyka amerykañskiego; Rudyard Kipling pisa³, ¿e „Amerykanin nie posiada jêzyka”, tylko „dialekt, slang, akcent, odmiany pro- wincjonalne itd”8. Europejscy podró¿nicy czêsto czuli siê rozczarowani Ameryk¹; wspomina- li, i¿ na pocz¹tku podró¿y mieli nieomal utopijn¹ nadziejê, ¿e poznaj¹ prawa rz¹dz¹ce powstaniem nowego narodu, ale docieraj¹c do ró¿nych miejsc wi- dzieli tylko kulturowe pop³uczyny. Charles Dickens w Notatkach z podró¿y do Ameryki nie mówi otwarcie o swoim rozczarowaniu Ameryk¹, tylko od czasu do czasu sugeruje, ¿e coœ mu siê tam nie podoba³o, osi¹gaj¹c efekt nawarstwienia w¹tpliwoœci. Zrazu Dickens wiele sobie obiecuje po Ameryce, odbywszy bardzo udan¹ wizytê w Bostonie, jednak póŸniej traci dobry humor, gdy obserwuje slumsy Nowego Jorku albo ha³aœliwych mieszkañców Waszyng- tonu, i gdy jedzie na wyczerpuj¹c¹ wyprawê do interioru. Jego opis podró¿y rzek¹ Ohio na pok³adzie parowca poniek¹d zapowiada Conrada. Dickens mówi o przygnêbiaj¹cych pustkowiach („Ca³ymi milami nie zak³óca tych pustkowi 105 ¿aden œlad ludzkiego ¿ycia, ¿aden odcisk ludzkiej stopy”), czuje odrazê na widok polany, któr¹ ktoœ wyr¹ba³ w lesie, ¿eby postawiæ prymitywn¹ chatê i zdobyæ ziemiê pod uprawê („Stoi w rogu ubo¿uchnego poletka pszenicy, gdzie pe³no wielkich, brzydkich kikutów pni, przypominaj¹cych wkopane w ziemiê kloce rzeŸnickie”), odwraca wzrok od z³owieszczych konarów drzew, wyzieraj¹cych z nurtu rzeki („ich zbiela³e ramiona stercz¹ ze œrodka pr¹du i jak gdyby usi³uj¹ pochwyciæ statek i wci¹gn¹æ go pod wodê”)9 . Trudno nie zauwa¿yæ analogii miêdzy tym fragmentem zapisów Dickensa a dziennikiem Conrada z wyprawy do Konga. Fantasmagoria staje siê bardziej intensywna w powieœci Martin Chuzzlewit, bêd¹cej swoistym odpowiednikiem J¹dra ciem- noœci: Posuwali siê naprzód wœród rozleg³ych pustkowi. Drzewa ros³y bujnym g¹szczem na brzegach, p³ynê³y z pr¹dem i wyci¹ga³y powykrêcane ramiona z g³êbi rzeki, zeœlizgiwa³y siê z obrze¿a pó³ rosn¹c, pó³ gnij¹c w b³otnistej wodzie. Posuwali siê naprzód nu¿¹cym dniem i melancholijn¹ noc¹, pod pra¿¹cym s³oñcem, we mgle i oparach wieczoru. Posuwali siê naprzód, a¿ powrót zacz¹³ im siê wyda- waæ niepodobieñstwem, a ponowne znalezienie siê w domu beznadziejnym snem10 . Dickens i Tocqueville – ka¿dy na swój sposób – uwa¿ali Amerykê za kraj przysz³oœci, ale pogl¹d Tocqueville’a, i¿ Ameryka zainicjowa³a demo- kratyzacjê nowoczesnego spo³eczeñstwa, zachodz¹c¹ równie¿ w Europie, by³ mniej typowy ani¿eli ocena, jak¹ Ameryce wystawi³ Dickens, widz¹c w niej m³ody, rozgor¹czkowany naród, wci¹¿ wielce niedojrza³y. Zatem nic dziw- nego, ¿e Tuckerman z uznaniem mówi o Tocqueville’u, krytykuje zaœ Dic- kensa za „powierzchownoœæ i drobne z³oœliwoœci”. Jednak nawet Tocquevil- le zdradza³ okcydentalne poczucie wy¿szoœci, gdy swobodnie uogólnia³ wnioski. „Niezale¿nie od wieku, pozycji i poziomu umys³owego Ameryka- nie nieustannie siê stowarzyszaj¹”; „Amerykanie pos³uguj¹ siê ideami ogól- nymi znacznie czêœciej ni¿ Anglicy i robi¹ to z wiêkszym upodobaniem”; „Jednym z podstawowych motywów postêpowania wszystkich Amerykanów okazuje siê wiêc zwykle mi³oœæ do pieniêdzy, co upodabnia do siebie ich namiêtnoœci i rych³o nu¿y obserwatora”11 . Celne obserwacje Tocqueville’a nie powinny przyæmiæ aroganckiej retoryki znaczonej imperialnymi uogól- nieniami. Michel Foucault móg³by nabraæ podejrzeñ, czy aby Tocqueville’a nie stawia siê w pozycji autorytetu tytu³em rekompensaty za indywidualn¹ bezsilnoœæ na p³aszczyŸnie wizji spo³eczno-historycznej. Tak czy inaczej, imperialne generalizacje od zarania s³u¿¹ „wyra¿aniu” rdzennych mieszkañ- ców, jak wykaza³ miêdzy innymi Albert Memmi12 . 3. Portrety Amerykanów w dziewiêtnastowiecznych relacjach Europejczyków z podró¿y do Ameryki w niczym nie przypomina³y literackich wizerunków Afry- kanów albo Azjatów – taka miara po prostu nie pasowa³a do osób najczêœciej 106 o pochodzeniu anglosaskim, energicznych i przedsiêbiorczych, buduj¹cych gospo- darcz¹ i militarn¹ potêgê, zapalonych do nauki pomimo wad w obyciu. Wszak¿e cywilizacja Ameryki mia³a znamiona barbarzyñskie, albowiem rzeczywistoœæ kszta³- towa³a siê tam na pograniczu, a arystokracja (jak napisa³ Francis Grund w Aristo- cracy in America) sk³ada³a siê z ¿a³osnych eurofilów. Kultura bazowa³a na przeka- zach ustnych; poza nielicznymi wyj¹tkami, które podró¿nicy mogli policzyæ na palcach, przedstawiciele kultury literackiej w zasadzie nie istnieli, a do rangi literatów najbli¿ej by³o dziennikarzom, maj¹cym zreszt¹ bardzo niskie notowania. O ile amerykañski przedsiêbiorca nie przejmowa³ siê tym niepochlebnym zbioro- wym portretem, o tyle ambitny pisarz czu³ siê wobec autora zza Atlantyku jak Kaliban przed Prosperem. W takich warunkach Walt Whitman poszukiwa³ nowego g³osu poezji amery- kañskiej w Zdzb³ach trawy. W przedmowie do wydania z roku 1855 poeta kreœli wizjê Ameryki bêd¹cej spokojnym œwiadkiem „powolnych narodzin” trupa eu- ropejskiej tradycji „w komnatach s³u¿¹cych za jadalnie i sypialnie”13 . Poniewa¿ z jednej strony Whitman przyjmuje tu pozê biernoœci, a z drugiej jego tekst uchodzi powszechnie za kluczowy dla narracji o sukcesie amerykañskiej niepod- leg³oœci literackiej, potrzeba pewnego wysi³ku woli, by dostrzec, ¿e poeta w istocie nada³ groteskowy wymiar eurocentrycznemu tropowi translatio studii, wedle którego sztuka i nauka przywêdrowa³y do Nowego Œwiata ze Starego, tropowi uwypuklaj¹cemu, gdy pojawi³a siê taka koniecznoœæ, wysi³ki koloniza- cji, a w póŸnym okresie kolonialnym tak¿e hegemoniê arystokracji. Podobne figury przewijaj¹ siê w poezji Whitmana: w „Song of the Exposition” z 1871 r. poeta donoœnym g³osem ¿¹da od Muzy, aby „porzuci³a Grecjê i Joniê”, „wysta- wi³a tablice »Przeniesiono« i »Do wynajêcia« na zaœnie¿onych ska³ach Parna- su”, i wyobra¿a sobie, jak Muza kroczy w rytm „stukotu maszyn i przenikliwe- go dŸwiêku gwizdka parowego”, „Nie zniechêc¹ jej … rynny, gazometry, sztuczne nawozy. / Zadowolona, uœmiecha siê, chce tu zostaæ. / … umieszczona poœród kuchennych sprzêtów!”14 Wyrachowanie i pretensjonalnoœæ, bêd¹ce jednocze- œnie oznak¹ i skaz¹ obyczajów Starego Œwiata, staj¹ siê wyrazistsze w œwietle odwróconego tropu Prospero-Kaliban, obecnego we wspó³czesnej literaturze In- dii Zachodnich. Wystêpuje on miêdzy innymi w autobiograficznym eseju Geo- rge’a Lamminga The Pleasures of Exile i adaptacji Burzy autorstwa Aimé Cesa- ire’a. Podobny charakter ma inwersja tropu Cruzoe-Piêtaszek w sztuce Dereka Walcotta Pantomime. Przytoczone fragmenty poezji Whitmana ilustruj¹ „kaliba- nizacjê” tropu translatio studii. Poeta popiera nieustann¹ walkê Ameryki o nie- zale¿noœæ od punktu widzenia Starego Œwiata, nie tylko w sferze figur retorycz- nych, ale tak¿e w obszarze figuracji spo³ecznych, takich jak „barbarzyñski” stereotyp Amerykanów. Warto zastanowiæ siê nad umotywowaniem tej walki. My, amerykaniœci, rzadko wnikamy w historiê motywu translatio studii, zak³a- daj¹c, ¿e w Ameryce zupe³nie straci³ on na znaczeniu na pocz¹tku dziewiêtna- stego wieku. Zwykliœmy s¹dziæ, ¿e Kaliban zawdziêcza status bohatera intelek- tualistom z Trzeciego Œwiata, zw³aszcza z Karaibów, którzy „promuj¹c” tê ` ` 107 szekspirowsk¹ postaæ wyra¿ali sprzeciw wobec eurocentryzmu, charakteryzuj¹- cego zarówno Amerykê, jak i wczeœniejsze potêgi imperialne. Wszak¿e wp³y- wowy zachodnioindyjski pisarz, lansuj¹cy Kalibana jako „nasz symbol”, nie- œmia³o przyzna³, i¿ Kaliban kojarzony by³ z Jankesami nim zadomowi³ siê w kanonie za spraw¹ twórców z Ameryki £aciñskiej15. Dodajmy, ¿e w pewnej angielskiej recenzji Whitman zosta³ przyrównany do „Kalibana, który zrzuca z pleców ciê¿ki pieñ i zasiada do pisania wiersza”16. Odniesienia do postaci Kalibana pozwalaj¹ dostrzec pokrewieñstwa miêdzy nowym Whitmanowskim konceptem translatio studii a strategiami wspó³cze- snego pisarstwa postkolonialnego. Zdzb³a trawy to projekt o ogromnej skali, który nagina i ³amie tradycjê epick¹17. Przepisywanie translatio studii znamio- nuje syndrom sprzeciwu-uleg³oœci, wywo³uj¹cy u artystów i uczonych reakcje zabarwione nut¹ hipokryzji. Whitman chcia³ albo wymazaæ mit Starego Œwiata, albo ujrzeæ jego odrodzenie („Jam jest Brahmin, jam Saturnus”18 ). Krytyk, który uprzywilejowuje narracjê o narodowej odrêbnoœci, si³¹ rzeczy uznaje pierwsz¹ postawê za bardziej „autentyczn¹” lub „postêpow¹”; tymczasem te dwa wektory da³y unikaln¹ wypadkow¹ – oto bowiem „imperialny” model epicki zarazem decydowa³ o sile tekstu i stanowi³ cel oporu. Skojarzenia poniek¹d analogiczne wywo³uje postaæ Skórzanej Poñczochy z cyklu powieœci Jamesa Fenimore Coopera. Spoœród wszystkich amerykañskich bohaterów literackich mówi¹cych dialektem tylko Huckleberry Finn mo¿e siê równaæ z Nattym Bumppo. Ten drugi nie jest bohaterem rdzennym sensu stricte, ale posiada rysy „rzeczywistych” postaci z pogranicza; Cooper przypisuje Nat- ty’emu cechy obecne w motywie wêdrówki, jak¹ g³ówny bohater odbywa z towa- rzyszem, zazwyczaj przeœmiesznym i u¿ywaj¹cym dialektu. Ten motyw istnieje od zarania „nowoczesnej” powieœci (Don Kichot), a spoœród utworów póŸniej- szych wystêpuje na przyk³ad w powieœciach Waltera Scotta z cyklu „Waverley” (Henry Morton i Cuddie Headrigg w Old Mortality). Cooper przeprowadza inwer- sjê, w wyniku której cz³owiek prosty i niewykszta³cony okazuje siê wzorcem bohatera literackiego. Cooper musia³ dojrzeæ do prze³omu, jakiego dokona³; nie- wykluczone, ¿e wpad³ na pomys³ odwrócenia hierarchii obecnej u Scotta, kiedy pisa³ Pionierów. Powieœæ tê rozpocz¹³ bowiem w tonacji melodramatu z Oliverem Edwardsem i sêdzi¹ Templem na pierwszym planie, na który potem wchodzi Bumppo, byæ mo¿e uznany przez Coopera za postaæ o wiele ciekawsz¹. Niemniej Cooper potrzebuje postaci waverleyowskiej, gwarantuj¹cej efekt mimetyczny, który to efekt Bumppo nieco podwa¿a, poniewa¿ gdy mówi „przerzuca siê z rejestru na rejestr”, z soczystego slangu na wznios³e, pretensjonalne klisze19 , jak zauwa¿a Richard Bridgman. Niejako powœci¹gaj¹c w³asny populizm, Cooper obsadza Bump- po w roli wasala w pierwszych czterech czêœciach cyklu; dopiero gdy pisarz czyni zeñ bohatera ze wszech miar kompletnego w Tropicielu zwierz¹t, Bumppo prze- staje byæ czyimœ s³ug¹. Niemo¿noœæ wyjœcia spod wp³ywu Scotta jest symptomem „kolonizacji umy- s³u”. Literacka kreacja arystokratycznych podopiecznych Natty’ego, takich jak ` ` 108 Oliver Edwards i Duncan Uncas Middleton w Prerii, wyra¿a ¿enuj¹ce aspiracje klasowe Coopera, aspiracje czytelne tak¿e w znamionach dzikoœci u Chingach- gooka, indiañskiego towarzysza Bumppo. Ale dlaczego porzucaæ hierarchiczny paradygmat bohatera-arystokraty i jego prostolinijnego kompana, skoro okaza³ siê Ÿród³em tylu interesuj¹cych innowacji? Teksty Coopera zyskuj¹ na wartoœci jako przemyœlane, lokalne adaptacje transkontynentalnego intertekstu, a trac¹ jako nacechowane manieryzmem, cha³upnicze historyjki albo ma³o oryginalne opowieœci o podboju. Do utworów Whitmana i Coopera wypada dodaæ Amerykañskiego uczonego Ralpha Waldo Emersona, „intelektualn¹ deklaracjê niepodleg³oœci”, jak zwykli okreœlaæ ów tekst dwudziestowieczni badacze (za Oliverem Wendellem Holme- sem). Na pocz¹tku Emerson formu³uje credo nacjonalizmu literackiego: „Okres naszej zale¿noœci, d³ugiego pobierania nauk u innych narodów dobiega koñ- ca”20 . Jednak dopiero z zakoñczenia eseju dowiadujemy siê, ¿e oznakami nieza- le¿noœci s¹ wartoœci docenione w Europie i kie³kuj¹ce w Nowym Œwiecie: poko- ra i prostota („Ta w³aœnie idea jest inspiracj¹ geniuszu Goldsmitha, Burnsa, Coopera, a w czasach bardziej nam wspó³czesnych – Goethego, Wordswortha i Carlyle’a”21 ) oraz szacunek dla indywidualnych upodobañ, którego w zasadzie nie ma jeszcze w Ameryce („Zbyt d³ugo ws³uchiwaliœmy siê w dworskie muzy Europy. Duszê amerykañskiego obywatela ju¿ teraz podejrzewa siê o nieœmia- ³oœæ, poczciwoœæ i niesamodzielnoœæ”22 ). Paradoksalnie, Emerson zawstydza rodaków, nakazuj¹c im szacunek dla samowystarczalnoœci i ¿yciowej prostoty oraz przypominaj¹c, ¿e ¿yj¹ w „epoce rewolucji”23 . W przeciwieñstwie do To- cqueville’a, nie uwa¿a Ameryki za œwiatow¹ awangardê; historia narodu, tak jak wyobra¿a j¹ sobie Emerson, odzwierciedla jego w³asny rozwój intelektualny, w którym pewne idee pojawi³y siê z opóŸnieniem i w którym Coleridge odcisn¹³ wyraŸniejszy œlad ani¿eli którykolwiek myœliciel amerykañski. Tote¿ temat lite- rackiego nacjonalizmu wypada w Uczonym amerykañskim nader nieprzekonuj¹- co i nie trafia w swój czas. Emerson najwiêcej mówi o œrodkach uczonego – naturze, ksi¹¿kach i dzia³aniu, które poniek¹d oddaj¹ charakter Nowego Œwiata (Emerson odrzuca edukacjê klasyczn¹ oraz dyscypliny nadmiernie sformalizo- wane, kieruje siê natomiast pragmatyzmem i empiryzmem, przy czym nie s¹ to idee kosmopolityczne), ale nie ustalaj¹ ¿adnych ram kultury narodowej. Pisarz nie k³adzie akcentu na odrêbnoœæ kulturow¹ przeciwstawn¹ internacjonalizmowi w swoim ogólnym dorobku ani te¿ w ¿adnym pojedynczym utworze nie czyni tego tematu wiod¹cym. Pamiêtajmy, i¿ Emerson przemawia³ do bodaj najwiêk- szych anglofilów w Ameryce; zreszt¹ on sam by³ zbyt kosmopolityczny (i zbyt uczciwy), by twierdziæ, ¿e wp³ywy, jakim podlega uczony, s¹ zagadnieniem szczególnym wy³¹cznie dla Ameryki. Dlatego te¿ retoryka kulturowego nacjo- nalizmu pojawia siê w minimalistycznej postaci kilku obowi¹zkowych zdañ na pocz¹tku i na koñcu. Uzasadniony jest wiêc pogl¹d, ¿e poleganie na sobie by³o dla Emersona czymœ bli¿szym ni¿ narodowa samowystarczalnoœæ. 109 Amerykañski uczony i Przedmowa do Zdzbe³ trawy z 1855 roku stanowi¹ dwa bieguny literackiego nacjonalizmu w kulturze wysokiej Amerykañskiego Renesan- su: otó¿ Emerson tworzy wizjê rodz¹cej siê kultury amerykañskiej, której katalizato- rami s¹ tendencje ogólnoœwiatowe, znajduj¹ce w Ameryce ¿yzny grunt, z kolei Whitman, odsuwaj¹c na bok dokonania poprzedników, kreuje nowy, rady- kalny g³os Ameryki, g³os posiadaj¹cy du¿e mo¿liwoœci i równie du¿y potencja³ dramatyczny. W obydwu przypadkach rola kluczowa przypada „Europie”, jawi¹cej siê jako Ÿród³o konfliktów, których miar¹ jest to, co zapisano lub pominiêto w tekœcie. 4. Sposób budowania modeli literackich i strategii pisarskich zale¿y od oczeki- wañ publicznoœci. To zagadnienie jest bardzo istotne w obecnej debacie na temat tak zwanych nowych literatur w jêzyku angielskim, które musz¹ sobie odpowiedzieæ na pytanie o potrzebê dostosowania zasad przedstawiania kultury narodowej do horyzontów myœlowych miêdzynarodowej publicznoœci. Oto krót- ki fragment z pocz¹tku ksi¹¿ki Chinuy Achebe Things Fall Apart (1958), pierw- szej powieœci z Trzeciego Œwiata, jaka trafi³a do anglojêzycznego kanonu: „Okoye wypowiedzia³ kilka zdañ, u¿ywaj¹c tylko przys³ów. Plemiê Ibo wysoko ceni sztukê konwersacji, a przys³owia s¹ oliw¹, z któr¹ po³yka siê s³owa”24 . Retoryka wyjaœniaj¹ca, powszechna w anglojêzycznej literaturze afrykañskiej, nasuwa szereg pytañ: Kto jest adresatem tego fragmentu? Czy Ibo nie wiedz¹ o opisanych tu rzeczach? A czytelnicy z plemienia Joruba i Hausa? Czy Achebe zwraca siê zatem do publicznoœci euroamerykañskiej? (Nawiasem mówi¹c, pisarz zaprze- cza, ale jednoczeœnie przyznaje: „moi czytelnicy nie pochodz¹ wy³¹cznie z Ni- gerii. Ka¿da osoba zainteresowana sprawami, o których piszê, nale¿y do mojej publicznoœci”25 ). Achebe wyznacza przestrzeñ negocjacji w obrêbie dualizmu cz³o- wiek st¹d – cz³owiek sk¹din¹d, dlatego precyzyjnym, wrêcz antropologicznym, objaœnieniom obyczajów nadaje formê przys³ów, charakterystyczn¹ dla Ibo. W klasycznej literaturze amerykañskiej przyk³adem poniek¹d analogicznym móg³by byæ nastêpuj¹cy fragment Bia³ego Kubraka Hermana Melville’a: „Po- woduj¹c siê jakimiœ bli¿ej nie okreœlonymi republikañskimi skrupu³ami w spra- wie utworzenia w marynarce wojennej wysokich stopni oficerskich, Ameryka, jak dot¹d, nie ma admira³ów, chocia¿ w miarê jak liczba jej okrêtów wojennych bêdzie wzrastaæ, mog¹ oni staæ siê niezbêdni. Stanie siê tak z pewnoœci¹, gdy zajdzie potrzeba u¿ycia licznych flot. Wówczas trzeba bêdzie przyj¹æ schemat organizacyjny w rodzaju angielskiego”26 . Badacze Amerykañskiego Renesansu przyjmuj¹, ¿e implikowany czytelnik utworów z tego okresu jest Amerykaninem, które to za³o¿enie jest o tyle nie- prawdziwe, ¿e pisarze amerykañscy bardzo chcieli byæ czytani za granic¹. Melville pojecha³ do Anglii przy okazji tamtejszego wydania Bia³ego Kubraka, wprowadza³ zmiany do swoich powieœci (lub pozwala³ to zrobiæ komuœ innemu) ` ` 110 z myœl¹ o czytelnikach angielskich. Z myœl¹ o nich w istocie umieœci³ w swojej pierwszej ksi¹¿ce pt. Typee przedmowê, zawieraj¹c¹ strategiczne odniesienia do pewnych miejsc w Anglii (Chettenham, Stonehenge, Opactwo Westminsterskie). W przytoczonym powy¿ej fragmencie Bia³ego Kubraka stylistyczny kunszt nie- co traci polor w œwietle opozycyjnej wobec autorytaryzmu postawy narratora; daje tu o sobie znaæ swoista pisarska przebieg³oœæ Melville’a, który chce zafra- powaæ czytelników bêd¹cych zarówno amerykañskimi patriotami, jak i toryski- mi outsiderami, to znaczy Europejczykami albo jankeskimi anglofilami. Listy i pisma krytyczne Melville’a œwiadcz¹ o tym, i¿ dostrzega³ on potrzebê stworze- nia wspólnej p³aszczyzny intelektualnej dla czytelników o ró¿nych, nawet prze- ciwstawnych, postawach ideologicznych. To w³aœnie postkolonialna pozycja Melville’a zdecydowa³a o treœci jego doktryny, jakoby wielki pisarz budowa³ przes³anie dla idealnego czytelnika z ambiwalentnych znaczeñ, nieczytelnych dla filistrów. Tekstowe konsekwencje pisania dla publicznoœci transkontynentalnej s¹ trudniejsze do wypunktowania ani¿eli obce wp³ywy literackie. Rzadko zda- rzaj¹ siê jednoznaczne przypadki, takie jak dyplomatycznie skomponowany szkic o opowieœciach europejskich podró¿ników o Ameryce w The Sketch Book Washingtona Irvinga. Zazwyczaj mamy do czynienia z wariantami tek- stowymi, stawiaj¹cymi pod znakiem zapytania kwestiê odpowiedzialnoœci (czy autor wymyœli³? doradzi³? zgodzi³ siê? niechêtnie przysta³ na coœ?), albo – przeciwnie – z autorytatywnymi opiniami (Cooper poinformowa³ angielskie- go wydawcê, ¿e Preria „nie zawiera niczego obraŸliwego dla angielskiego czytelnika”27 ), które w ¿aden sposób nie uzasadniaj¹ tezy, ¿e tekst napisany wy³¹cznie dla amerykañskich czytelników wygl¹da³by inaczej. Jednak powy¿- sze okolicznoœci podsuwaj¹ pewne wnioski. Po pierwsze, nawet te utwory Amerykañskiego Renesansu, które wyrastaj¹ z doœwiadczenia prowincji, maj¹ fragmenty potwierdzaj¹ce, i¿ autor bra³ pod uwagê czytelnika nie-amerykañ- skiego. Wprawdzie na pocz¹tku Waldena Henry David Thoreau zwraca siê do mieszkañców miasteczka Concord, gdzie w sali wyk³adowej po raz pierwszy odczyta³ swoje zapiski, ale ju¿ na koñcu snuje refleksje o tym, „czy John, czy Jonathan pojm¹ to wszystko”28. Po drugie, jeœli przyj¹æ, ¿e pisarzom zale¿a³o na czytelnikach tak amerykañskich, jak zagranicznych – jakiekolwiek by³y rzeczywiste ¿yczenia autorów w tym wzglêdzie – to widaæ w lepszym œwietle pewne k³opotliwe sytuacje literackie, takie jak krytyka Whitmanowskiej kon- strukcji podmiotu lirycznego w Zdzb³ach trawy, podmiotu wypowiadaj¹cego siê nie tylko w imieniu Ameryki, ale i ca³ego œwiata („Salut au Monde!”), albo kulturowe implikacje d³ugiego, ambiwalentnego opisu spotkania za³óg „Pequoda” i „Samuela Enderby” w Moby Dicku (rozdzia³y 100-101)29 . James Snead pisze o powieœciach Achebe, ¿e stanowi¹ „ryzykown¹ lekturê dla zachodniej publicznoœci z uwagi na przewrotn¹ narracjê, która burzy narodo- we i rasowe iluzje”. Achebe „przedstawia normy afrykañskie [czytelnikom miê- dzynarodowym] w sposób bezpretensjonalny”: z jednej strony z premedytacj¹ ` ` 111 umieszcza w powieœciowym dyskursie luki, które czytelnik wype³nia wykorzy- stuj¹c w³asn¹ wiedzê, z drugiej zaœ przypomina zachodniemu odbiorcy o jego statusie outsidera, który da³ siê zwieœæ znajomej formie narracyjnej, odwo³uj¹cej siê do europejskiej powieœci realistycznej30. Cytowany wczeœniej fragment Things Fall Apart, sk¹din¹d wygl¹daj¹cy na wyimek z przewodnika turystycznego, zwodzi czytelnika pozorn¹ klarownoœci¹. Jednak formu³a „mamy takie powie- dzenie” pojawia siê w tradycji Ibo jako typowy wstêp do przys³owia, ale tej informacji odbiorca nie uzyskuje; innymi s³owy, fragment ukrywa istotn¹ treœæ pomimo – i za spraw¹ – swojej bezpoœrednioœci. Melville stosuje podobne za- biegi narracyjne, gdy w Moby Dicku pisze o przenikaniu siê kultur; chwali now¹ Amerykê, pozbawion¹ obci¹¿eñ w obliczu Starego Œwiata, lecz powstrzymuje siê od szczerej krytyki Europy. W opisie spotkania za³ogi „Pequoda” z marynarzami z „Samuela Ender- by” Melville nawi¹zuje do podszytej uprzedzeniami obserwacji, jak¹ czêsto czynili angielscy podró¿nicy, mianowicie, ¿e Amerykanie byli posêpnymi pracoholikami i ¿a³owali czasu na przyjemne rozmowy o niczym. Kompozy- cja ca³ego rozdzia³u zasadza siê na grze narodowymi stereotypami. Rozmo- wê Ahaba z kapitanem Boomerem poprzedza z pozoru bagatelna konwersa- cja tego drugiego z chirurgiem „Pequoda”. Têpy i protekcjonalny Anglik zostaje w niej zdemaskowany. A jednak to Ahab zachowuje siê impertynenc- ko i agresywnie do tego stopnia, ¿e angielska jowialnoœæ (tym razem stereo- typ amerykañski) wydaje siê dla jego postawy odpowiedni¹ przeciwwag¹. Anglika staæ nawet na szczere zaskoczenie, dyktowane dobrym humorem. W nastêpnym rozdziale („Karafka”) Izmael staje siê przeœmiewc¹ (to wa¿na cecha bohatera) i z udawanym uznaniem wyra¿a siê o ca³ej firmie „Ender- by”. Warto wspomnieæ, i¿ owa firma jako pierwsza wys³a³a wielorybników na ten obszar Pacyfiku, gdzie bieg³a trasa „Pequoda”. Na koniec, jak gdyby w formie dygresji, Izmael napomyka o zakrapianej biesiadzie obu za³óg w rejonie „ko³o Patagonii”31 . Komitywa Izmaela z angielskimi kolegami po fachu równowa¿y ex post facto szorstkoœæ Ahaba, zarazem t³umaczy, dlaczego dobroduszny kapitan by³ zdumiony nag³ym odejœciem naburmuszonego Ahaba. Melville wywraca na nice stereotyp angielskiej g³upoty, uporu i krótkowzrocznoœci dwukrotnie – gdy pi- sze o tragedii Ahaba i gdy pisze o zabawie marynarzy – w efekcie popiera amerykañski nacjonalizm kulturowy, nie powoduj¹c urazy czytelników angiel- skich. Melville respektowa³ zatem cenzuralne rygory wydawnicze w Anglii. Pokornie przyj¹³ decyzjê wydawcy o usuniêciu rozdzia³u 25 o przebiegu korona- cji. Wszak¿e rozdzia³y 100-101 pozosta³y nietkniête. 5. Obecnoœæ w¹tków postkolonialnych w literaturze Amerykañskiego Renesan- su jest zjawiskiem wielowymiarowym i wykracza poza tematyczne ramy tego 112 artyku³u, dlatego tylko zasygnalizujê najistotniejsze zagadnienia, które warto by³oby rozwa¿yæ. 1. Czêœciowa amerykanizacja jêzyka angielskiego. Jakim jêzykiem bêdziemy mówiæ? OdpowiedŸ amerykañskich osadników na to pytanie nie musi przybie- raæ tak radykalnego tonu jak wywód Ngugi’ego wa Thiong’o w Decolonizing the Mind, gdzie wystêpuje postulat pisania literatury afrykañskiej w rdzennych jêzykach32. Jednak gdyby taki postulat bardziej wywa¿yæ (kreolizacja i neologi- zacja amerykañskiej angielszczyzny umo¿liwiaj¹ tak¹ artykulacjê kultury, która wy³amuje siê z jêzykowych standardów), poparliby go z jednej strony Cooper, Emerson, Whitman i Twain, a z drugiej Amos Tutuola, Gabriel Okara i Raja Rao. Utwory tych ostatnich rzucaj¹ zupe³nie nowe œwiat³o na takie kwestie, jak nieroz³¹cznoœæ „naturalnoœci” i „sztucznoœci” w poezji Whitmana albo po³¹cze- nie idealizacji i karykatury w portretach Cooperowskich bohaterów mówi¹cych dialektem. Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths i Helen Tiffin pisz¹, ¿e u Ÿróde³ lite- ratur postkolonialnych le¿y „napiêcie miêdzy oporem wobec narzuconej, wzor- cowej formy jêzyka angielskiego, a koniecznoœci¹ zaw³aszczenia tego¿ jêzyka i poddania go wp³ywom miejscowym”33. Taki dualizm to klucz do literackich pocz¹tków Ameryki. We wczesnym okresie narodowym mo¿na go dostrzec w tekstach, w których bohaterowie mówi¹cy dialektem (zawsze komiczni) kon- trastuj¹ z postaciami pos³uguj¹cymi siê standardow¹ angielszczyzn¹; przyk³ado- we pary to pu³kownik Manly i jego s³u¿¹cy Jonathan w powieœci Royalla Tylera The Contrast oraz kapitan Ferrago i Teague O’Reagan, kolejny s³u¿¹cy, w Mo- dern Chivalry Hugha Henry’ego Brackenridge’a. Dialekt wywo³uje narodowe za¿enowanie, dlatego pojawia siê w kontekstach satyrycznych. Jak stwierdza Bridgeman, „wulgarnoœæ nale¿a³o wzi¹æ w cudzys³ów”34. Istniej¹ analogie miê- dzy takim dyskursem prozy amerykañskiej a dyskursem kolokwialnych monolo- gów dramatycznych indo-angielskiego poety Nissima Ezekiela: Pragnê pokoju i wyrzekam siê przemocy Dlaczego œwiat nadal walczy i walczy Dlaczego nikt na œwiecie Nie bierze przyk³adu z Mahatmy Gandhiego Nie rozumiem35. Jêzykowa inwencja Amerykanów, przejawiaj¹ca siê w neologizacji i regio- nalizacji – notabene uznanych przez Tocqueville’a za op³akane skutki demokra- tyzacji – stworzy³a pozytywn¹ wartoœæ estetyczn¹ jeszcze przed Whitmanem i Thoreau. Tote¿ nie ma cienia parodii we wznios³ym obrazie w pi¹tej czêœci Pieœni o sobie, gdzie podmiot poddaje siê w³adzy w³asnej duszy i spoczywa na „omsza³ych strupach wij¹cego siê p³otu”36. Mowa tu o doœæ szczególnej ozdob- nej konstrukcji spotykanej na farmach amerykañskich, a uwa¿anej przez Euro- pejczyków za brzydk¹ i marnotrawn¹37 . Metafora „omsza³ych strupów” jedno- znacznie wskazuje, ¿e Whitman pragn¹³ wydobyæ wznios³e cechy z rzeczy 113 zwyczajnych (w sensie pozytywnym). Rzecz jasna poeta nie wyrzek³ siê literac- kiej angielszczyzny. Przyj¹³ pogl¹d, typowo postkolonialny, ¿e nale¿y ameryka- nizowaæ jêzyk angielski, aby wykuæ poetyck¹ formê na przysz³oœæ; zreszt¹ Whitman twierdzi³, ¿e angielszczyzna szybko przyswaja³a sobie obce wp³ywy38 . 2. Hybrydyzacja kulturowa. W utworach Amerykañskiego Renesansu prze- wija siê motyw miêdzykulturowego kola¿u: Whitman kreuj¹cy podmiot zainte- resowany wszystkim, Thoreau zag³êbiaj¹cy siê w mitografiê purytañsk¹, grec- ko-rzymsk¹, indiañsk¹ i orientaln¹, Melville wykorzystuj¹cy ró¿ne mitologie w symbolice wieloryba oraz „Pequoda” jako globalnej wioski, Cooper eksponu- j¹cy wielog³osowoœæ, najwyraŸniej w Pionierach, gdzie znajdujemy przedstawi- cieli bodaj szeœciu albo siedmiu narodowoœci. David Simpson stwierdza, ¿e wielojêzycznoœæ Cooperowskiego Templetonu, gdzie ka¿dy mieszkaniec lub przybysz mówi w³asnym, charakterystycznym dialektem (oczywiœcie wyj¹wszy rodzinê Temple’ów), pokazuje pêkniêcia w narodzie, który nie wyszed³ jeszcze z fazy eksperymentalnej39 . Inne ciekawe obserwacje mog³yby dotyczyæ kreowa- nia wielowymiarowych, symbolicznych bohaterów – p³aszczyzn¹ odniesieñ by- ³aby tu na przyk³ad twórczoœæ Salmana Rushdiego (Saleem Sinai z Dzieci Pó³- nocy) albo G. V. Desani’ego (pan Hatterr) – czy te¿ strategii synkretyzmu – tu z kolei warto by³oby siê odnieœæ do pisarstwa Wolego Soyinki, który miesza mitologiê jorubañsk¹ z greck¹. Uwaga Lewisa Nkosi’ego na temat wyzwañ wspó³czesnej anglojêzycznej poezji afrykañskiej trafnie opisuje projekt Pionie- rów Coopera: „podstawowe zadanie… polega³o na oddaniu warunków spo³ecz- no-kulturowych, w jakich ¿y³ pisarz afrykañski, tudzie¿ heterogenicznoœci do- œwiadczeñ kulturowych, poœród których wytycza³ w³asny szlak”40 . 3. Oczekiwanie, ¿e artyœci zaanga¿uj¹ siê w walkê o wyzwolenie narodu. Podobne zaanga¿owanie dowodzi, ¿e koncepcja sztuki nie jest do koñca wykry- stalizowana, a postawy estetyczne s¹ dwuznaczne. Z takiego stanu rzeczy mo¿e wynikn¹æ swoista schizofrenia. Soyinka pisze, ¿e postkolonialny pisarz afrykañ- ski staje wobec presji, i¿ powinien „odsun¹æ na daleki plan doœwiadczenia, które go uformowa³y, i staæ siê trybem w maszynerii wydarzeñ”41 . W Amerykañskim uczonym Emerson ma podobny dylemat, zwi¹zany z funkcjonowaniem pisarza na styku obszaru publicznego i prywatnego. Z czasem uzna³ prymat polityki, zabieraj¹c g³os w kwestii prawa, które dotyczy³o zbieg³ych niewolników. Stwier- dzenie Sunday Anozie, ¿e „istnieje genetyczny konflikt miêdzy romantycznym idea³em czystej sztuki a przemo¿n¹ œwiadomoœci¹ jej spo³ecznego znaczenia”, dobrze oddaje dylematy zarówno Soyinki, jak i Emersona, tymczasem odnosi siê do nigeryjskiego poety Christophera Okigbo42 – reprezentuj¹cego s³ynn¹ pierwsz¹ generacjê nigeryjskich pisarzy jêzyka angielskiego i w tej grupie naj- bli¿szego idea³owi „estety” – który walczy³ i zgin¹³ w wojnie biafrañskiej. 4. Konfrontacja z neokolonializmem. Bankructwo rewolucyjnych idei grozi- ³o tym, ¿e artysta przeciwstawi siê publicznoœci, która z celebr¹ odbiera³a jego twórczoœæ jako zapowiedŸ nowej kultury. Nieprzypadkowo w postkolonialnej Afryce wy³oni³a siê literatura opozycyjna. Proces powstawania takiej literatury 114 w kontekœcie postkolonialnym rzuca œwiat³o na opozycyjny podtekst pisarstwa Amerykañskiego Renesansu, sk¹din¹d symptom porewolucyjny, i pomaga wy- tyczyæ granice literackiej opozycyjnoœci. Bowiem stanowisko Thoreau, indywi- dualisty i niepos³usznego obywatela, jest i zarazem nie jest odpowiednikiem rewolucyjnego socjalizmu Ngugi’ego. 5. „Obce gatunki”. Istniej¹ gatunki eurocentryczne, które emanuj¹ autoryte- tem i których naœladownictwo oznacza rezygnacjê z kulturowej autentycznoœci. Doprawdy zaskakuje zbie¿noœæ krytyki powieœci realistycznej za jej podporz¹d- kowanie pojedynczym bohaterom, jak¹ wyrazili intelektualiœci z Trzeciego Œwiata, i skarg dziewiêtnastowiecznych pisarzy amerykañskich – pocz¹wszy od Coope- ra i Hawthorne’a, a skoñczywszy na Jamesie – jakoby powieœæ nie dawa³a siê przeszczepiæ na grunt amerykañski. Z drugiej strony, pewne gatunki wydawa³y siê wrêcz stworzone dla Ameryki i nowych œwiatów w ogóle. Najlepszy przy- k³ad stanowi¹ gatunki pastoralne. 6. Gatunki pastoralne w Nowym Œwiecie. Szeroko definiowany „pastora- lizm”, czyli fascynacja natur¹ fizyczn¹, bêd¹c¹ podmiotem, symbolem, tako¿ teatrem rytua³ów dojrzewania i oczyszczenia, jawi³ siê jako domena amerykañ- ska, dlatego p³yn¹ce st¹d wnioski nie podlega³y zbyt du¿ym uogólnieniom. Jed- nak podobny stan rzeczy mo¿na dostrzec z jednej strony w literaturze kanadyj- skiej i australijskiej, mimo ¿e przedstawiaj¹ wizerunki natury (nie tylko z powodu ró¿nic geograficznych) mniej ³agodne ni¿ amerykañskie, a z drugiej w literatu- rze Trzeciego Œwiata z jej drastycznie odmiennymi wersjami pastoralizmu, stwo- rzonymi przez bia³ych osadników i rdzennych mieszkañców. Nacjonalizm kul- turowy, na przyk³ad w postaci negritude, ewokuje prekolonialny, idealny porz¹dek. Retrospektywna pastoralizacja staro¿ytnych struktur plemiennych znajduje od- zwierciedlenie tak¿e w pisarstwie Amerykañskiego Renesansu, choæby w senty- mentalnych opowieœciach o czasach purytañskich i o dziedzictwie plantacji, nie wspominaj¹c o nostalgicznych fantazjach w rodzaju Song of Hiawatha Longfel- lowa. Czy nie warto zastanowiæ siê w tym duchu nad jednoczesnym przywi¹za- niem Thoreau do natury i do zamierzch³ej przesz³oœci Nowej Anglii? Wspólnym mianownikiem Waldena i Szkar³atnej litery jest poszukiwanie Ÿróde³ kultury Ameryki. Amerykaniœci, którzy stawiaj¹ znak równoœci miêdzy pastoralizmem i uwiel- bieniem natury fizycznej, trac¹ z pola widzenia znacz¹cy problem, uwypuklony we wspó³czesnych teoriach postkolonialnych, mianowicie nie odró¿niaj¹ pasto- ralizmu jako oznaki niezale¿noœci kulturowej od pastoralizmu jako elementu neokolonializmu. W Notes on the State of Virginia Thomas Jefferson zawar³ klasyczn¹ dewizê amerykañskiego idea³u pastoralnego, stwierdzaj¹c, i¿ przy- sz³oœci¹ narodu jest agraryzm, przy czym – Amerykanie winni to wiedzieæ – agrarna Ameryka godzi siê na uzale¿nienie od fabryk europejskich. Wszak¿e cnota narodowa, któr¹ Jefferson kojarzy z sielskoœci¹, z nawi¹zk¹ rekompensuje przewidywane koszty. W dzisiejszej dobie Jefferson tak¿e mia³by zwolenników. W jego wczesnej myœli pojawia siê pewna niekonsekwencja: otó¿ wiara w mo- 115 raln¹ niezale¿noœæ narodu nie wyklucza akceptacji zale¿noœci ekonomicznej. Leo Marx pisze w The Machine in the Garden, ¿e z up³ywem czasu Jefferson zmieni³ zdanie w kwestii uprzemys³owienia Ameryki43 . Marx niestety nie od- czytuje sprzecznoœci pogl¹dów Jeffersona jako artefaktu przynale¿nego póŸno- kolonialnemu intelektualiœcie. Wprawdzie naœwietla europejskie Ÿród³a amery- kañskiej utopii pastoralnej, lecz uznaje, ¿e wk³ad Europy ca³kowicie straci³ na znaczeniu, gdy myœl pastoralna ugruntowa³a siê w Ameryce w po³owie osiem- nastego wieku. Dlatego te¿ Marx nie zauwa¿a, ¿e Jefferson i Thoreau postêpo- wali na przekór w³asnym intencjom, dopasowuj¹c siê do ideologicznego mecha- nizmu, który wi¹za³ Nowy Œwiat z interesami Starego. Ich wizje i propozycje przeczy³y porz¹dkowi, za którym rzekomo orêdowali. Romantycy amerykañscy rzecz jasna uczynili z fizycznej natury przewodni temat literacki (w utworach transcendentalistów by³a ³agodna, w Moby Dicku i w Szkar³atnej literze, zw³aszcza w scenie w lesie – z³owroga) i nadali wartoœæ czemuœ, co jawi³o siê jako kulturowa s³aboœæ. Jednak korzyœci, wynikaj¹ce z estetyki miêdzynarodowego romantyzmu oraz wizerunku Nowego Œwiata wy- kreowanego w Starym, nios³y ryzyko. Oto s³ynny sonet po¿egnalny pióra Wil- liama Cullena Bryanta, dedykowany Thomasowi Cole’owi, który wyrusza³ w podró¿ do Europy: Ujrzysz œwiat³o odleg³ego nieba: Atoli, Cole’u!, twoje serce w Europie Bêdzie ¿ywym obrazem rodzinnej ziemi, Zapamiêtanym widokiem z twych przes³awnych p³ócien; Samotne jeziora – stepy karmi¹ce bizona – Ska³y utkane girlandami – to wynios³e strumienie – Niebo z pustynnym or³em, co szybuje i gwi¿d¿e – Bezkresne gaje, w wiosennym rozkwicie, w jesiennym z³oceniu. Gdziekolwiek zawitasz, zwiedzisz miejsca piêkne, Ale inne – znaczone œladami ludzi, Drogami, domami, grobami, ruinami, w najg³êbszych dolinach I na szczytach Alp, gdzie mroŸne powietrze odbiera dech. Patrz na to wszystko, póki ³zy nie przes³oni¹ widoku, Lecz nie pozwól, by dzikie obrazy wyblak³y w pamiêci44. Bryant przyjmuje nacjonalistyczn¹ wizjê Ameryki jako narodu natury (jezio- ra, stepy, ska³y, niebo) i akcentuje przewagê Ameryki nad Europ¹, gdzie wszyst- ko jest „znaczone œladami ludzi”. Wypada zgodziæ siê z poet¹, ¿e pejza¿owe malarstwo Cole’a oddaje innoœæ Ameryki. Podobnie jak Whitman, Bryant kry- tycznie patrzy na translatio studii, tote¿ nakazuje Cole’owi, by ten g³osi³ w Europie amerykañsk¹ ewangeliê estetyczn¹, chocia¿ w zakoñczeniu wiersza zdradza postkolonialn¹ obawê co do silnej wiary przyjaciela. Ta usprawiedli- wiona obawa pokazuje, i¿ Bryant i Cole, œwiadomie lub nie, zawsze tkwili 116 w orbicie wp³ywów europejskich. Cole i inni malarze amerykañscy znajdowali inspiracjê w europejskim romantycznym malarstwie krajobrazowym (sam Cole tak¿e w historycznym)45 . Wiersz Bryanta, wrêcz naszpikowany amerykañskimi emblematami (bizon, orze³, nasycone, zmienne kolory, które zachwyca³y euro- pejskich podró¿ników) posiada retorykê wypreparowan¹ z jêzyka i form Starego Œwiata: wszak „stepy” to kosmopolityczny synonim „prerii”, orze³ ma za sym- boliczne t³o „pustyniê”, piêkno Alp zastêpuje urok wynios³ych gór amerykañ- skich. Ponadto, chyba nieœwiadomy ironicznych implikacji takiej decyzji, Bry- ant wybiera sonet, czyli „cywilizowany” gatunek poetycki, aby oddaæ przes³anie „dzikich obrazów”. Innymi s³owy, wyobra¿enie Ameryki, jakie Bryant/Cole, ewangeliœci kultury Nowego Œwiata, daj¹ Europie, to urozmaicony niuansami obraz widziany oczyma euroamerykañskich osadników. W œwietnej ksi¹¿ce o przedstawianiu krajobrazu w malarstwie okresu rewolucyjnego Robert Lawson-Peebles nazywa podobny efekt „halucynacj¹ wywo³an¹ przez przesuniê- cie geograficzne”. Pisze, i¿ nacjonalistyczne wizje pastoralnej Ameryki grawitowa³y „ku Europie, oddalaj¹c siê od realiów amerykañskich. Nawet pisarze, którzy posiadali wyj¹t- kowy dar obserwacji, opisywali rzeczywistoœæ amerykañsk¹ w taki sposób, by odeprzeæ ewentualne zarzuty Europejczyków, i w rezultacie stworzyli jakiœ alternatywny, wyma- rzony œwiat”46 . Bryant, nazywany wszak „amerykañskim Wordsworthem”, pokaza³ Amerykê tylko w znikomym stopniu „dziksz¹” od tej nakreœlonej trzydzieœci lat wcze- œniej przez Coleridge’a w sonecie o „w³adzy wszystkich nad wszystkimi”, w którym pojawia siê i sielska dolina, bez ¿adnych koszmarów i neuroz, i „Cnota” tañcz¹ca w „ksiê¿ycowym œwietle”, i „wschodz¹ce s³oñce” z „nowymi promieniami docieraj¹cy- mi do g³êbi serca”47. Wskazuj¹c postkolonialne pod³o¿e amerykañskich wizji pastoralnych, by- najmniej ich nie kwestionujê; wrêcz przeciwnie – uwa¿am, ¿e jako konstrukcje mimetyczne i ideologiczne nadal posiadaj¹ spory potencja³. Niew¹tpliwie pasto- ralna tradycja mo¿e byæ kluczem do wspó³czesnej œwiadomoœci ekologicznej, bardzo rozwiniêtej w Ameryce pomimo rozbie¿noœci pomiêdzy doktryn¹ i prak- tyk¹, prawem i jego realizacj¹. Jednak jako konstrukcja kulturowa pastoralizm niesie zagro¿enie zwi¹zane z mimetycznym pragnieniem, które da³o mu impuls. W autobiograficznej ksi¹¿ce The Enigma of Arrival V.S. Naipaul wspomina: kiedy by³em dzieckiem, wszystkie ksi¹¿ki, jakie przeczyta³em, zostawia³y œlad w krajobrazie Trynidadu, na trynidadzkiej wsi, na ulicach Port of Spain. (Uda³o mi siê nawet dopasowaæ Dickensa i jego Londyn do ulicznych realiów Port of Spain. Czy jego bohaterowie byli bia³ymi Anglikami, czy te¿ ludŸmi, których zna³em? Takie pytanie jest jak dywagacja, czy œni siê w kolorze, czy w barwach czarno-bia³ych. Niemniej myœlê, ¿e kaza³em postaciom z Dickensa przeistoczyæ siê w znane mi osoby. Wprawdzie gdzieœ w umyœle œwita³a œwiadomoœæ, ¿e Dickens by³ czystej krwi Anglikiem, lecz to nie przeszkadza³o mi rozpoznawaæ w jego prozie bohaterów wielorasowych.)48 Analogiczn¹ projekcjê znajdujemy w Waldenie. Otó¿ Thoreau sugeruje, i¿ podczas pierwszego lata nad stawem nie straci³ entuzjazmu dlatego, ¿e w swoich 117 doœwiadczeniach widzia³ wymiar epicki i pastoralny. Wzorem innych romanty- ków, Thoreau uznawa³ staro¿ytn¹ Grecjê za kolebkê kultury zachodniej, a co za tym idzie za Ÿród³o tradycji pastoralnej. Ten tok rozumowania widaæ w rozdzia- ³ach „Goœcie” i „Lektura”. Oto napotkawszy drwala, Thoreau odgrywa tê sam¹ grê, o jakiej mówi Naipaul. W rozdziale „Stawy” nazywa okolice Waldenu swoj¹ krain¹ jezior. Ju¿ w pierwszym opisie tego miejsca czytamy: „Przez pierwszy tydzieñ za ka¿dym razem, gdy spogl¹da³em na staw, robi³ na mnie wra¿enie górskiego oczka, hen wysoko na zboczu”49 ; zatem Walden jawi siê jako jezioro alpejskie. Aby dusza Thoreau mog³a wraz z cia³em wêdrowaæ do fizycznego miej- sca, czy raczej aby staw móg³ staæ siê tematem powa¿nego amerykañskiego dzie- ³a, pisarz musi odkryæ w tym skrawku prawdziwej jankeskiej ziemi cechy jakiegoœ bardziej romantycznego „gdzie indziej”. Naipaul i Thoreau o¿ywiaj¹ prowincjonaln¹ codziennoœæ, stosuj¹c œrodki obrazowania z repertuaru kultury metropolitalnej, co jest konsekwencj¹ ich przynale¿noœci do okreœlonej klasy spo³ecznej (wykszta³cony pisarz, uznaj¹cy kulturê europejsk¹ za miarê lokalnej wiedzy, powinien trzymaæ siê pewnych standardów gustu). O ile w przypadku obydwóch autorów œwiadomoœæ spo- ³eczna mo¿e skutkowaæ zawê¿eniem pola widzenia, o tyle jednoczeœnie powo- duje ona podwojenie pewnej wizji (na któr¹ sk³adaj¹ siê przedmiot, nabieraj¹- cy wyraŸniejszych kszta³tów, oraz autor, to znaczy potrzeby i strategie wyobraŸni). Nie nale¿y wiêc wytykaæ Thoreau i Naipaulowi fa³szywej œwiado- moœci – aczkolwiek taki pogl¹d interpretacyjny mo¿e wydawaæ siê uzasadnio- ny – skoro czytaj¹c na przyk³ad Waldena, zak³adamy, ¿e obecne tam motywy pastoralne wyra¿aj¹ amerykañsk¹ postawê Adama, opozycyjn¹ wobec kultury europejskiej, ale nie s¹ uznawane za czynnik rozwoju tej¿e kultury. 6. Proza Thoreau, maj¹ca o wiele wyraŸniejszy charakter lokalny ani¿eli poezja Bryanta, zachêca do zastanowienia siê nad tym, kiedy – o ile w ogóle – zakoñczy³ siê okres postkolonialny w historii literatury amerykañskiej albo kiedy nast¹pi³a cezura, gdy „postkolonializm” przesta³ wnosiæ istotne treœci do analizy tekstu. Zwa¿ywszy, ¿e literatura amerykañska to pierwsza literatura postkolonialna, od- powiedŸ na to pytanie pomog³aby wyznaczyæ kierunki dyskusji na temat póŸniej- szych literatur postkolonialnych, tako¿ na temat samej literatury amerykañskiej. Zaznaczmy od razu, ¿e jednoznacznej odpowiedzi nie ma. Z jednej strony sam termin „postkolonialny” narzuca ograniczenia koncepcyjne, ka¿¹c widzieæ ca³¹ rdzenn¹ kulturê jako wytwór Starego Œwiata. Z drugiej zaœ kultura amerykañska dopóty bêdzie przynajmniej „szcz¹tkowo” postkolonialna, dopóki Amerykanie bêd¹ pod wra¿eniem akcentu wykszta³conych Brytyjczyków albo dopóki (to przyk³ad nieco bardziej à propos) ksi¹¿ka D. H. Lawrence’a Studies in Classic American Literature bêdzie figurowaæ wœród obowi¹zkowych opracowañ literatury amery- kañskiej. Jak na ironiê, amerykaniœci zaakceptowali Lawrence’owski paradygmat 118 romansu rozgrywaj¹cego siê na tle dzikiej puszczy i odpornego na cywilizowane struktury, natomiast w ogóle nie zwrócili uwagi na fundamentalne za³o¿enie Law- rence’a, i¿ Ameryka jest spo³eczeñstwem postkolonialnym z niedojrza³¹ kultur¹, nêkanym przez impulsy eskapistyczne, które zrodzi³y siê z pragnienia ucieczki z kraju rodzinnego. Oczywiœcie taka diagnoza Ameryki wynika ze stanu umys³u Lawrence’a, który by³ marzycielem w duchu Coleridge’a i wykorzysta³ Amerykê, by w³asne marzenia zrealizowaæ50. Mo¿na za³o¿yæ, ¿e w chwili, gdy wyobraŸnia dojrzewa do ulokowania „cywiliza- cji” w Ameryce, a nie po drugiej stronie Atlantyku (vide sonet Bryanta), nastêpuje ca³kowita amerykanizacja tonu pastoralnego; jednak ró¿ni pisarze ró¿nie definiowali ten prze³omowy czas, a zdarzali siê i tacy jak Henry James, który mniema³, ¿e podob- ny prze³om nigdy nie mia³ miejsca. Innym godnym rozwa¿enia kryterium jest dzie- wiêtnastowieczny tzw. imperializm amerykañski. Niektórzy krytycy utrzymuj¹, i¿ okres postkolonialny dobieg³ koñca, a przynajmniej wszed³ w fazê schy³kow¹, gdy Mark Twain w Jankesie na dworze króla Artura pokaza³ Amerykê góruj¹c¹ pod wzglêdem militarnym i politycznym nad archaiczn¹ Angli¹ (wywracaj¹c przekonania podró¿ni- ków brytyjskich z poprzedniej generacji), albo gdy Melville skontrastowa³ przedsiê- biorczoœæ Amerykanów z dekadenckim imperializmem Hiszpanów w noweli Benito Cereno. Tu powstaje kluczowe pytanie o zwi¹zek miêdzy amerykañskim postkolonia- lizmem i imperializmem. W rzeczy samej taki zwi¹zek istnieje. Kapitan Frederick Marryat, który jako oficer marynarki i autor powieœci dla m³odzie¿y zapisa³ siê w historii ekspansjonizmu brytyjskiego, dowiedzia³ siê w Ameryce, ¿e Anglia nie powinna siê tak bardzo szczyciæ swoj¹ potêg¹ imperialn¹, bo Ameryka te¿ wkrótce zajmie jakieœ kolonie (A Diary in America). Na zakoñczenie jeszcze kilka s³ów o Cooperze i Whitmanie. Dumny i gor¹czkowy patriotyzm Whitmanowskiego podmiotu wynika³ z determinacji, by przebyæ ca³¹ kulê ziemsk¹ i osi¹gn¹æ swoist¹ rekompensatê. Cooper by³ podmiotem postkolonialnym pod wra¿eniem fabularnych konstrukcji Scotta, by³ zarazem imperialist¹ i autorem romansów o ekspansjonizmie amerykañ- skim. Tropy literackie ze Starego Œwiata, których przejêcie oznacza³o kultu- row¹ zale¿noœæ, mog³y siê odrodziæ w Ameryce albo gdzie indziej (Hemin- gway w Afryce Wschodniej) i stworzyæ nowe warianty kulturowego podporz¹dkowania. Ta nieunikniona konsekwencja postkolonializmu nie jest jedyna, ale w³aœnie ona najbardziej doskwiera, albowiem uzmys³awia nam bezcelowoœæ szukania sztywnej granicy miêdzy okresem postkolonialnym a er¹, jaka nast¹pi³a póŸniej. prze³o¿y³ Marek Pary¿ Przypisy: 1 Spengemann William C., A Mirror for Americanists: Reflections on the Idea of Ameri- can Literature, Hanover, NH, University Press of New England 1989, s. 141. 119 2 Nandy Ashis, The Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self Under Colonialism, Delhi, Oxford University Press 1983, s. 3. 3 Tuckerman Henry T., America and Her Commentators, New York 1864, ss. 285-286. 4 Tuckerman, America..., s. 444. 5 Tuckerman, America..., s. 287-288. 6 Lyell Charles, A Second Visit to the United States of North America, vol. 1, New York 1849, s. 226. 7 Martineau Harriet, Society in America, vol. 2, New York, 1837, ss. 200-201. 8 Kipling Rudyard, American Notes, New York, Arcadia 1950, s. 24. 9 Dickens Karol, Notatki z podró¿y do Ameryki, prze³. Barbara Czerwijowska, Warszawa, PIW 1978, ss. 181-182. 10 Dickens Karol, Marcin Chuzzlewit, tom 1, prze³. Krystyna Czerwijowska, Warszawa: Ksi¹¿ka i Wiedza 1951, s. 417. 11 de Tocqueville Alexis, O Demokracji w Ameryce, prze³. Barbara Janicka i Marcin Król, Warszawa, Fundacja Aletheia 2005, s. 406, 488, 592. 12 Memmi Albert, The Colonizer and the Colonized, prze³. Howard Greenfield, Boston, Beacon 1965. 13 Whitman Walt, Leaves of Grass, red. Harold W. Blodgett i Sculley Bradley, New York, New York University Press 1965, s. 709. 14 Whitman, Leaves…, s. 196, 198. 15 Retamar Roberto Fernández, Caliban and Other Essays, prze³. Edward Baker, Minne- apolis, University of Minnesota Press 1989, s. 10. 16 Cytowane w: Walt Whitman: A Critical Anthology, red. Francis Murphy, Baltimore, Penguin 1970, s. 60. 17 McWilliams John P., Jr., The American Epic: Transforming a Genre: 1770-1860, Cam- bridge, Cambridge University Press, 1989, s. 218-237. 18 Whitman, Leaves…, s. 443. 19 Bridgeman Richard, The Colloquial Style in America, New York, Oxford University Press 1966, s. 67. 20 Emerson Ralph Waldo, Natura. Amerykañski uczony, prze³. Micha³ Filipczuk, Kraków, Wydawnictwo Zielona Sowa 2005, s. 51. 21 Emerson, Natura..., s. 65. 22 Emerson, Natura..., s. 66. 23 Emerson, Natura…, s. 64. 24 Achebe Chinua, Things Fall Apart, Greenwich, CT, Fawcett 1959, s. 10. 25 Egejuru Phanuel, Towards African Literary Independence: A Dialogue with Contempo- rary African Writers, Westport, Greenwood 1980, s. 17. 26 Melville Herman, Bia³y Kubrak, czyli œwiat okrêtu wojennego, prze³. Marian L. Pisarek, Gdañsk, Wydawnictwo Morskie 1974, s. 28. 27 Cooper James Fenimore, Letters and Journals, vol. 1, red. James Franklin Beard, Cam- bridge, Belknap-Harvard University Press 1960-1968, s. 166. 28 Thoreau Henry D., Walden, czyli ¿ycie w lesie, prze³. Hanna Ciepliñska, Warszawa, Pañstwowy Instytut Wydawniczy 1991, s. 391. 29 Melville Herman, Moby Dick, czyli Bia³y wieloryb, tom 2, prze³. Bronis³aw Zieliñski, Wroc³aw, Wydawnictwo Dolnoœl¹skie 1999, s. 288-307. 120 30 Snead James, European Pedigrees/African Contagions: Nationality, Narrative, and Com- monality in Tutuola, Achebe, and Reed, W: Nation and Narration, red. Homi K. Bhabha, London, Routledge 1990, s. 241. 31 Melville, Moby Dick, tom 2, s. 303. 32 wa Thiong’o Ngugi, Decolonizing the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Lite- rature, London, Currey 1986. 33 Ashcroft Bill, Griffiths Gareth i Tiffin Helen, The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures, London, Routledge 1989, s. 39. 34 Bridgman, The Colloquial Style…, s. 7. 35 Ezekiel Nissim, Latter-Day Poems, Delhi, Oxford University Press 1982, s. 22. 36 Whitman Walt, Pieœñ o sobie, wybra³, prze³o¿y³ i pos³owiem opatrzy³ Andrzej Szuba, Kraków, Wydawnictwo Literackie 1992, s. 51. 37 Mesick Jane Louise, The English Traveler in America, 1836-1860, New York, Columbia University Press 1922, s. 161-162. 38 Warren James Perrin, Walt Whitman’s Language Experiment, University Park, Pennsy- lvania State University Press 1990, s. 5-69. 39 Simpson David, The Politics of American English, 1776-1850, New York, Oxford Uni- versity Press 1986, s. 149-201. 40 Nkosi Lewis, Tasks and Masks: Themes and Styles of African Literature, Essex, Longman 1981, s. 151. 41 Soyinka Wole, Art, Dialogue and Outrage: Essays on Literature and Culture, red. Biodun Jcyifo, Ibadan, New Horn 1988, s. 16. 42 Anozie Sunday, Christopher Okigbo: Creative Rhetoric, London, Evans 1972, s. 175. 43 Marx Leo, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America, New York, Oxford University Press 1964, s. 139. 44 Bryant William Cullen, Sonnet—to an American Painter Departing for Europe, W: The Norton Anthology of American Literature, red. Nina Baym i in., wyd. 3, tom 1, New York, Norton 1989, s. 893-894. 45 Novak Barbara, Nature and Culture: American Landscape and Painting, 1825-1875, New York, Oxford University Press 1980, s. 226-273. 46 Lawson-Peebles Robert, Landscape and Written Expression in Revolutionary America: The World Turned Upside Down, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press 1988, s. 57. 47 Coleridge Samuel Taylor, The Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, red. Ernest Hartley Coleridge, London, Oxford University Press 1931, s. 68-69. 48 Naipaul V. S., The Enigma of Arrival: A Novel in Five Sections, New York, Viking 1987, s. 169-170. 49 Thoreau, Walden, s. 117. 50 Cowan James C., D. H. Lawrence’s American Journey, Cleveland, Case Western Rese- rve University 1970, s. 1-12, 124-128.
work_ocjksodaerhnrmopql463va2py ---- [PDF] Anisakidosis: Perils of the deep. | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1086/656238 Corpus ID: 15203312Anisakidosis: Perils of the deep. @article{Hochberg2010AnisakidosisPO, title={Anisakidosis: Perils of the deep.}, author={N. Hochberg and D. Hamer}, journal={Clinical infectious diseases : an official publication of the Infectious Diseases Society of America}, year={2010}, volume={51 7}, pages={ 806-12 } } N. Hochberg, D. Hamer Published 2010 Medicine Clinical infectious diseases : an official publication of the Infectious Diseases Society of America Anisakidosis, human infection with nematodes of the family Anisakidae, is caused most commonly by Anisakis simplex and Pseudoterranova decipiens. Acquired by the consumption of raw or undercooked marine fish or squid, anisakidosis occurs where such dietary customs are practiced, including Japan, coastal regions of Europe, and the United States. Severe epigastric pain, resulting from larval invasion of the gastric mucosa, characterizes gastric anisakidosis; other syndromes are intestinal and… Expand View on PubMed academic.oup.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 200 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 19 Background Citations 89 Methods Citations 2 View All Figures, Tables, and Topics from this paper figure 1 table 1 figure 2 figure 3 figure 4 View All 5 Figures & Tables Albendazole gastric infection Stomach Diseases Sodium Chloride Syndrome Drug Allergy Gastric mucosa Freezing Juncus decipiens Occupational Diseases Anisakidae Paper Mentions News Article Media Goes Wild After One Guy Gets Sick From Sushi Gizmodo Australia 12 May 2017 News Article Media Goes Apeshit After One Guy Gets Sick Off of Sushi Gizmodo 12 May 2017 200 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Intestinal anisakidosis: histopathological findings and differential diagnosis. L. Baron, G. Branca, +4 authors V. Barresi Medicine Pathology, research and practice 2014 12 Save Alert Research Feed Gastro-allergic anisakiasis: The first case reported in Colombia and a literature review John Patino, M. Olivera Medicine 2019 3 Save Alert Research Feed Anisakis simplex: current knowledge. V. Pravettoni, L. Primavesi, M. Piantanida Biology, Medicine European annals of allergy and clinical immunology 2012 68 Highly Influenced PDF View 3 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Anisakiasis Involving the Oral Mucosa Sang Kyu Choi, C. Kim, S. Kim, Dong In Jo Medicine Archives of craniofacial surgery 2017 3 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Chronic anisakidosis presenting with intestinal intussusception. A. Piscaglia, M. Ventura, +6 authors M. L. Stefanelli Medicine European review for medical and pharmacological sciences 2014 8 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Anectodal report of acute gastric anisakiasis and severe chest discomfort E. Mariano, M. Fioranelli, M. Roccia, M. Onorato, V. Nardo, M. Bianchi Medicine 2016 3 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Human Infections with Pseudoterranova cattani Nematodes, Chile T. Weitzel, H. Sugiyama, H. Yamasaki, Cristián Ramírez, Reinaldo Rosas, R. Mercado Biology, Medicine Emerging infectious diseases 2015 22 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Accidental endoscopic finding of Anisakis simplex in human colon A. Aloia, Pasquale Carlomagno, M. Gambardella, M. Schiavo, V. Pasquale Biology 2011 2 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Geohelmintiasis y nematodosis tisulares I. C. Timón, C. Sáez, E. Tejero, A. N. Martínez Medicine 2014 5 Save Alert Research Feed Foodborne anisakiasis and allergy. F. Baird, R. Gasser, A. Jabbar, A. Lopata Biology, Medicine Molecular and cellular probes 2014 68 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 62 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Anisakidae and anisakidosis. H. Ishikura, K. Kikuchi, +4 authors K. Sugane Biology, Medicine Progress in clinical parasitology 1993 173 Save Alert Research Feed Human anisakiasis: an update. M. Kliks Medicine JAMA 1986 27 Save Alert Research Feed Intestinal anisakidosis (anisakiosis). H. Takei, S. Powell Medicine Annals of diagnostic pathology 2007 32 Save Alert Research Feed Anisakiasis of the colon presenting as bowel obstruction. R. Schuster, J. Petrini, R. Choi Medicine The American surgeon 2003 17 Save Alert Research Feed [Anisakiasis in the Nantes area. From fishmongers' stalls to medical offices]. S. Chord-Auger, M. Miégeville, P. Le Pape Biology, Medicine Parasite 1995 13 Highly Influential View 3 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Gingivostomatitis after eating fish parasitized by Anisakis simplex: a case report. A. Eguía, J. Aguirre, M. A. Echevarria, R. Martínez-Conde, J. Pontón Biology, Medicine Oral surgery, oral medicine, oral pathology, oral radiology, and endodontics 2003 15 Save Alert Research Feed Acute allergic reactions to Anisakis simplex after ingestion of anchovies. C. Foti, E. Nettis, N. Cassano, Iris Di Mundo, G. Vena Medicine Acta dermato-venereologica 2002 29 Save Alert Research Feed Anisakis simplex: from Obscure Infectious Worm to Inducer of Immune Hypersensitivity M. Audícana, M. Kennedy Biology, Medicine Clinical Microbiology Reviews 2008 440 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Chronic gastric anisakiasis presenting as pneumoperitoneum. Y. Ito, Y. Ikematsu, +7 authors T. Kanematsu Medicine Asian journal of surgery 2007 22 Save Alert Research Feed Albendazole for the treatment of anisakiasis ileus. E. Pacios, J. Arias-Díaz, J. Zuloaga, J. González-Armengol, P. Villarroel, J. Balibrea Medicine Clinical infectious diseases : an official publication of the Infectious Diseases Society of America 2005 35 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract Figures, Tables, and Topics Paper Mentions 200 Citations 62 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE
work_od5oswii5bdtdgs33345elbbu4 ---- [PDF] Stepping Forward Together: Could Walking Facilitate Interpersonal Conflict Resolution? | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1037/a0040431 Corpus ID: 23656198Stepping Forward Together: Could Walking Facilitate Interpersonal Conflict Resolution? @article{Webb2017SteppingFT, title={Stepping Forward Together: Could Walking Facilitate Interpersonal Conflict Resolution?}, author={C. Webb and Maya Rossignac-Milon and E. Higgins}, journal={American Psychologist}, year={2017}, volume={72}, pages={374–385} } C. Webb, Maya Rossignac-Milon, E. Higgins Published 2017 Psychology, Medicine American Psychologist Walking has myriad benefits for the mind, most of which have traditionally been explored and explained at the individual level of analysis. Much less empirical work has examined how walking with a partner might benefit social processes. One such process is conflict resolution—a field of psychology in which movement is inherent not only in recent theory and research, but also in colloquial language (e.g., “moving on”). In this article, we unify work from various fields pointing to the idea that… Expand View on Wolters Kluwer higginsweb.psych.columbia.edu Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 13 CitationsBackground Citations 2 Results Citations 1 View All Tables and Topics from this paper table 1 Psychology, Social Gait Disorders, Neurologic Empathy Paper Mentions News Article 25 Amazing Health Benefits of Walking BestLife 30 April 2020 Blog Post Fitting in Family Fitness at the Holidays Well - New York Times 23 November 2019 News Article Fitting in Family Fitness at the Holidays New York Times 23 November 2019 News Article How Emotionally Intelligent People Run Meetings Inc. 7 March 2018 13 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Moving on or Digging Deeper: Regulatory Mode and Interpersonal Conflict Resolution C. Webb, P. Coleman, Maya Rossignac-Milon, Stephen J Tomasulo, E. Higgins Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2017 15 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Flexibility in Treatment: A Trial of Walking Psychotherapy. Cathy R. Schen Psychology, Medicine Psychodynamic psychiatry 2020 Save Alert Research Feed Walking in My Shoes: Imagined Synchrony Improves Attitudes Towards Out-groups Gray Atherton, Liam Cross 2020 PDF Save Alert Research Feed How Moving Together Binds Us Together: The Social Consequences of Interpersonal Entrainment and Group Processes L. Cross, M. Turgeon, Gray Atherton Psychology 2019 9 PDF Save Alert Research Feed The socioecological psychology of upward social mobility. S. Oishi, Minkyung Koo, Nicholas R. Buttrick Medicine The American psychologist 2018 4 Save Alert Research Feed Individual differences in aggressive and peaceful behavior: new insights and future directions C. Webb, P. Verbeek Psychology 2016 2 Save Alert Research Feed An Innovative Framework for Delivering Psychotherapy to Patients With Treatment-Resistant Posttraumatic Stress Disorder: Rationale for Interactive Motion-Assisted Therapy M. van Gelderen, M. J. Nijdam, E. Vermetten Psychology, Medicine Front. Psychiatry 2018 20 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed How Person-Organization Fit Impacts Employees' Perceptions of Justice and Well-Being M. Roczniewska, Sylwiusz Retowski, E. Higgins Psychology, Medicine Front. Psychol. 2018 8 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed An attempt to test whether dogs (Canis familiaris) show increased preference towards humans who match their behaviour K. Silva, J. Bräuer, +5 authors C. Tennie Biology Journal of Ethology 2020 View 1 excerpt, cites results Save Alert Research Feed Motor imagery, performance and motor rehabilitation. T. Macintyre, C. Madan, A. Moran, C. Collet, A. Guillot Psychology, Medicine Progress in brain research 2018 9 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 100 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Walking in (Affective) Circles: Can Short Walks Enhance Affect? P. Ekkekakis, E. Hall, L. Vanlanduyt, S. Petruzzello Psychology, Medicine Journal of Behavioral Medicine 2004 233 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Sync or sink? Interpersonal synchrony impacts self-esteem J. Lumsden, L. Miles, C. N. Macrae Psychology, Medicine Front. Psychol. 2014 60 Save Alert Research Feed Give your ideas some legs: the positive effect of walking on creative thinking. M. Oppezzo, D. Schwartz Psychology, Medicine Journal of experimental psychology. Learning, memory, and cognition 2014 262 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed The sensory feedback mechanisms enabling couples to walk synchronously: An initial investigation A. Zivotofsky, Jeffrey M. Hausdorff Psychology, Medicine Journal of NeuroEngineering and Rehabilitation 2006 108 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed The rhythm of rapport: Interpersonal synchrony and social perception L. Miles, Louise K. Nind, C. N. Macrae Psychology 2009 256 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Do birds of a feather move together? Group membership and behavioral synchrony L. Miles, J. Lumsden, M. Richardson, C. Neil Macrae Psychology, Medicine Experimental Brain Research 2011 112 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Too late to coordinate: Contextual influences on behavioral synchrony L. Miles, J. L. Griffiths, M. Richardson, C. N. Macrae Psychology 2009 121 Save Alert Research Feed Creativity in the Outcomes of Conflict P. Carnevale Political Science 2006 30 Highly Influential View 4 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed To "do the right thing" or to "just do it": locomotion and assessment as distinct self-regulatory imperatives. A. Kruglanski, E. P. Thompson, +4 authors S. Spiegel Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2000 435 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Social Connection Through Joint Action and Interpersonal Coordination K. L. Marsh, M. Richardson, R. Schmidt Psychology, Medicine Top. Cogn. Sci. 2009 409 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract Tables and Topics Paper Mentions 13 Citations 100 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Blog posts, news articles and tweet counts and IDs sourced by Altmetric.com Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE
work_odmy3er76rbzhf7f32tvwmxcny ---- Imaging the Left Atrial Appendage With Intracardiac Echocardiography Editorial Imaging the Left Atrial Appendage With Intracardiac Echocardiography Leveling the Playing Field Mathew D. Hutchinson, MD; David J. Callans, MD Amid the boundless scientific discovery of the mid-19thcentury, Henry David Thoreau reflected, “The question is not what you look at, but what you see.” Scientific discovery emerges from novel perspectives on commonly observed phe- nomena. To truly “see” in the scientific sense, we must approach questions using the proper point of view. In this context, perspective is at least twice as important in comparative studies. To be fair and scientifically rigorous, each technique needs to be interpreted under optimal conditions. Article see p 571 In this issue of Circulation: Arrhythmia and Electrophys- iology, Saksena and colleagues1 present the results of the Intracardiac Echocardiography Guided Cardioversion Helps Interventional Procedures (ICE-CHIP) study: a prospective comparison of intracardiac echocardiography (ICE) with transesophageal echocardiography (TEE) in a cohort of pa- tients with atrial fibrillation (AF) undergoing invasive elec- trophysiology procedures. The major outcome variables were imaging completeness and concordance between the 2 imag- ing modalities in visualizing (1) the interatrial septum, (2) the left atrium (LA), and (3) the left atrial appendage (LAA). The major finding of clinical importance in the study was the lack of sensitivity of ICE to detect LAA thrombus when present on TEE. The incidence of spontaneous LA thrombosis detected by TEE in patients with AF referred for AF ablation has been reported to be quite low, ranging from 0% to 1.6%.2,3 Although the authors argue otherwise, TEE is widely consid- ered to be the clinical gold standard in the diagnosis of LA thrombosis. Correlative studies with pathological specimens of ultrasound images are rare. To further complicate the situation, some patients undergoing TEE may have equivocal findings or acoustic artifacts that may be incorrectly inter- preted as thrombus, thereby delaying their planned ablation procedure. Furthermore, TEE imaging cannot be safely per- formed in a minority of patients, thus creating a potential niche for ICE to exclude thrombus in selected patients.4 –7 Because the overall incidence of LA thrombus in patients referred for AF ablation is low and many centers already use ICE to facilitate their AF ablation procedures, using ICE to exclude thrombus in this population could minimize the excessive cost and risk associated with duplicative TEE studies. As the authors highlight in their discussion, there are several methodological deficiencies in ICE-CHIP that may limit its broad applicability. First, although the authors report complete ICE imaging of the LA and LAA in 94% and 85% of patients, respectively, they offer no consistent methodol- ogy by which this survey was performed. It seems curious that little or no advice was given to operators in this study about how studies would be judged as “complete.” In fact, 95% of patients with complete ICE studies did not have LAA pulsed Doppler flow velocity measured. Although we recog- nize that there is no generally accepted standard protocol for LAA imaging with ICE, it is axiomatic that fully imaging this complex 3D structure requires multiple 2D planes at a minimum. It is also our experience, as the authors assert, that there is a significant learning curve required both to navigate the phased-array ICE catheter within the heart and to interpret ICE images. This learning curve builds naturally on prior training in ultrasonography; however, there is no substitute for hands-on learning. Although not explicitly stated in the study methodology, it is assumed that all of the operators in the study were highly skilled in ICE imaging. Another unavoidable criticism is that the blinded reviewers certainly would easily discriminate the 2 imaging modalities during adjudication of the study end points. The authors define concordance as the chief comparative metric in the study. Despite no difference in the overall proportion of ICE and TEE studies with LA and LAA spontaneous echo contrast, there was strikingly low concor- dance between the 2 imaging studies within individuals (65% and 60%, respectively). Conversely, there was a high concor- dance in detecting LA and LAA thrombus (97% and 92%, respectively). The large number of “normal” patients in this cohort may inflate the observed concordance of thrombus detection, thereby limiting its prospective value. Moreover, the markedly disparate concordance between ICE and TEE images for the related clinical entities of spontaneous echo contrast and thrombus discloses fundamental differences in the imaging techniques. The 2 patients with normal ICE studies who were found to have thrombus on TEE underscore this point. It is not surprising that the image quality obtained with ICE was poor. In our experience, complete imaging of the LAA with phased-array ICE from the right atrium is achieved in a minority of patients, which may in part be due to variability in the thickness and the orientation of the interatrial septum The opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the editors or of the American Heart Association. From the Cardiovascular Division, Department of Medicine, Univer- sity of Pennsylvania School of Medicine, Philadelphia, Pa. Correspondence to David J. Callans, MD, 9 Founders Pavilion, 3400 Spruce St, Philadelphia, PA 19104. E-mail david.callans@uphs.upenn.edu (Circ Arrhythm Electrophysiol. 2010;3:564-565.) © 2010 American Heart Association, Inc. Circ Arrhythm Electrophysiol is available at http://circep.ahajournals.org DOI: 10.1161/CIRCEP.110.960245 564 D ow nloaded from http://ahajournals.org by on A pril 5, 2021 through which the ICE images are obtained. When imaging from the right atrium, the LAA lies obviously in the echo far field; enlargement of the LA merely increases the distance of the LAA from the imaging transducer, which often requires lowering the imaging frequency to enhance the imaging field depth, often severely compromising far-field tissue resolu- tion. This concept is analogous to the poor resolution of anterior structures (eg, the right ventricle) with TEE. Al- though it was not part of the present study, this anatomic limitation with ICE can be easily overcome by navigating the phased-array catheter in closer proximity to the LAA, com- monly through the left pulmonary artery (Figure). Several reports have highlighted the importance of novel imaging planes to more completely visualize the LAA.8,9 Finally, because there are multiple commercially available phased- array ICE systems with variable transducer functionality and navigability, it may be inappropriate to generalize the results of the trial to all ICE systems. Like most trials, ICE-CHIP provokes more questions than it answers. It serves as a much-needed first step toward a just comparison of LA imaging with ICE and TEE. A pivotal trial will be very difficult to design because the critical end point (the finding of LAA thrombus) is rare in patients referred for AF ablation, and invasive examinations are hard to justify once a positive finding is made with TEE. Nonetheless, the operators who have experienced the exquisite detail achieved when imaging with ICE proximate to the LAA remain confident that ICE will eventually win the day. Disclosures Drs Hutchinson and Callans both receive research support and speaker’s honoraria from Biosense Webster, Inc. References 1. Saksena S, Sra J, Jordaens L, Kusumoto F, Knight B, Natale A, Kocheril A, Nanda NC, Nagarakanti R, Simon AM, Viggiano MA, Lokhandwala T, Chandler ML; ICE-CHIP Investigator Study Group. A prospective com- parison of cardiac imaging using intracardiac echocardiography with trans- esophageal echocardiography in patients with atrial fibrillation: the Intra- cardiac Echocardiography Guided Cardioversion Helps Interventional Procedures Study. Circ Arrythm Electrophysiol. 2010;3:571–577. 2. Valenzuela TD, Roe DJ, Nichol G, Clark LL, Spaite DW, Hardman RG. Outcomes of rapid defibrillation by security officers after cardiac arrest in casinos. N Engl J Med. 2000;343:1206 –1209. 3. Mazarelli J, Keane MG, Wiegers S, Hutchinson MD, Callans DJ, March- linski FE, Silvestry FE. Incidence of left atrial thrombus by transesopha- geal echocardiography prior to pulmonary vein isolation procedures for atrial fibrillation. J Am Coll Cardiol. 2007;49:159A. 4. Manning WJ, Silverman DI, Gordon SP, Krumholz HM, Douglas PS. Cardioversion from atrial fibrillation without prolonged anticoagulation with use of transesophageal echocardiography to exclude the presence of atrial thrombi. N Engl J Med. 1993;328:750 –755. 5. Agmon Y, Khandheria BK, Gentile F, Seward JB. Clinical and echocar- diographic characteristics of patients with left atrial thrombus and sinus rhythm: experience in 20 643 consecutive transesophageal echocardio- graphic examinations. Circulation. 2002;105:27–31. 6. Looney YM, Chandrasekaran V, Crerar-Gilbert A. Diagnosis of left atrial appendage thrombus in the presence of sinus rhythm with the aid of transesophageal echocardiography during coronary artery bypass grafting. J Cardiothorac Vasc Anesth. 2006;20:96 –97. 7. Kallmeyer IJ, Collard CD, Fox JA, Body SC, Shernan SK. The safety of intraoperative transesophageal echocardiography: a case series of 7200 cardiac surgical patients. Anesth Analg. 2001;92:1126 –1130. 8. Reddy VY, Neuzil P, Ruskin JN. Intracardiac echocardiographic imaging of the left atrial appendage. Heart Rhythm. 2005;2:1272–1273. 9. Hutchinson MD, Jacobson JT, Michele JJ, Silvestry FE, Callans DJ. A com- parison of intracardiac and transesophageal echocardiography to detect left atrial appendage thrombus in a swine model. J Interv Card Electrophysiol. 2010;27:3–7. KEY WORDS: ablation � echocardiography � electrophysiology � Editorials Figure. Two views of the LAA obtained with the phased-array AcuNav catheter (Siemens Acuson; Mountain View, Calif). A, The imaging catheter is placed through the tricuspid valve and rotated 180° to obtain a superior view. The aortic valve is seen in short axis, with the mouth of the LAA visible adjacent to the left coronary cusp. Note the proximity of the left main coronary artery to the LAA. The proxi- mal segment of the left superior pulmonary vein also is visible in this view. B, The imaging catheter is now deflected superiorly, inserted through the pulmonic valve and directed leftward in the pulmonary artery. The LAA is now seen in the near field with detailed visualiza- tion of the pectinate musculature. LCC indicates left coronary cusp; LM, left main coronary artery; LSPV, left superior pulmonary vein; P, pectinate musculature; PA, pulmonary artery; PV, pulmonic valve. Hutchinson and Callans TEE vs ICE for LAA Assessment 565 D ow nloaded from http://ahajournals.org by on A pril 5, 2021
work_oejvq4u5sjex5n6cpaagf6lppe ---- © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 39 Publication date: September 30, 2018 DOI: 10.5281/zenodo.2529548 Philosophical Sciences ENVIRONMENTAL ETHICS: FROM PHILOSOPHY TO MOVEMENT Samuel Akpan BASSEY 1 , Leonard NWOYE 2 1 Department of Philosophy, University of Calabar, Calabar, Cross River, 540242, Nigeria 2 Department of Philosophy, University of Calabar, Calabar, Cross River, 540242, Nigeria Abstract: Environmental ethics is an area that investigates the subject of which ethical norms are suitable for governing human relations with the natural environment. The association among humanity and her environment turn out to be an ethical dilemma amid the twentieth century, when accelerated economic and scientific development was convoyed by deep modifications in our global ecological systems. In response, environmental ethics calls for restrictions to this dichotomous association between man and nature. This paper unites the existing literatures on environmental ethics, asking for a move from philosophical postulations to tangible action so as to save our world. Keywords: legislation, environmental ethics, environmentalism. I. INTRODUCTION Prior to the introduction of major legislation concerning the environment, it had been a popularly accepted notion that our utilization of the earth would be subject to no limitations. Our manifold reason, pertaining to the growth of commercial industries, the purchase of lands for residency, the optimization of environmental settings for pedestrian requirements and the persistently swelling request for space upon which to drive had for many years after the start of the Industrial Age taken priority in our perception of sociological development. The overarching notion that the earth belonged to man to do with as he pleased was given little contest in the public © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 40 forum, with large economic, political and cultural contingents generally conceding to the argument that this was the best avenue to serving the public interests. Decades of industrialization, however, leading into the economic boom which followed World War II and saw America into its first great age of consumerism, began to take a legitimate toll on the natural landscape of the nation. Especially in the United States, which was so valued a land asset in its founding due to the seemingly endless wealth of natural resources and species diversity, it had been perceived that such bounties were at our disposal in perpetuity. With growing evidence that this perception was not only false but was bearing deeply destructive consequences for the species and land surrounding us, a new perspective began to emerge which would be the ideological grounding for the environmental, conservation and wildlife preservation movements. Namely, a thought referred to as environmental ethics would take root, first as an outcome of a few significant works of literature and afterward as a meaningful, multifaceted and harmonized political movement. II. ENVIRONMENTAL ETHICS Accordingly, we are guided by the definition offered in the text by Brennan & Lo (2002), which establishes that “environmental ethics is the discipline in philosophy that studies the moral relationship of human beings to, and also the value and moral status of, the environment and its nonhuman contents.” (Brennan & Lo, 1) In other words, prior to the inception of a popular environmental movement, the notion that we as a species have a responsibility to live in harmony with rather than in dominion over our surroundings would be broached in the philosophical context first. The advance of this idea in popular consciousness would ultimately produce a compelling and mainstream acceptance of the idea that we must shift our perspective as a species to one with more ecological sensibility. Indeed, the most practical ways that this has come to affect us on a day to day basis can be seen in the way that products are packaged, the manner in which land is used and the way that our natural elements are protected from abuse. For instance, the ideals of the environmental ethics movement may be credited for forcing the adoption of emissions standards for factories and automobiles. This will in turn have reduced the number of pollutants in the air and the occurrence of resultant health maladies such as emphysema, bronchitis and certain types of cancer. This capacity to effect practical change is the primary reason for the emergence of global effort movements such as those represented in Earth First and Greenpeace. Such groups have been dedicated through activism first and practical political orientation thereafter to help make the philosophical imperatives of environmental ethics a practical reality. The notion of biocentric equality is an underlying impetus of the environmental movement known as Earth First! According to its website, the organization rejects the arrogance of any entity-corporate, environmental or governmental—which assumes a human superiority tantamount to negotiating control over nature. Founded in 1979, Earth First! explicitly rejects trivialization under the category of „organization,‟ instead remarking upon itself as a movement, a priority and a family. Under this supposition, it purports itself a global group intent upon recognizing that nature is not a resource to be exploited by humanity, but a network of codependent systems and species of equal value. Subscribing to the tenets of the Deep Ecology movement, Earth First! is accordingly sympathetic to and explicitly in favor of actions which, though perceived in the mainstream as radical, are actually directed at liberating the environment from the radical abuses of human institutions. In this regard, it is apparent that there is a direct correlation between the tenets of the modern Deep Ecology movement and the principles offered by early environmental icon, Henry David Thoreau. Several years prior to the publication of his landmark 1854 © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 41 Walden, Thoreau would coin the term „civil disobedience,‟ in an essay which determined that legally or socially subversive tactics may sometimes not only be acceptable but may be considered the only ethical redress to the institutionalized symptoms of a sick society. It is the explicitly stated design of Earth First to engage the problems of our environmental abuses through direct action rather than what its leaders refer to as the indirect methods of structural compliance. Earth First! campaign search of biocentric goals on all fronts, attempting to interrelate with the court system, to systematize grass-roots campaigns in the face of precise threats and even to engage in non-legal forms of civil display. The movement‟s ethical position is that there is no acceptable compromise with regard to the earth‟s health and that it is the responsibility of every single individual to take action. As Thoreau had argued, it may be considered unethical to stand by and witness the performance of grave injustices without taken preventative action. More moderate groups though, have experienced greater success in gaining some level of legitimacy on the global environmental scheme. To this end, Greenpeace, probable the most identifiable name in the movement for environmental ethics activism was shaped in 1971. This was done upon the event of a nuclear test conducted in Alaska by the U.S. government. One of what would become a sizeable and easily recognizable fleet of ships, the Amchitka stood „witness‟ to the abuses of our environment as a principle of individual responsibility. It was the view of those a party to this action that the organization‟s policy of witness against crimes perpetrated upon the environment could help it to expose and campaign for the reduction of such behaviors. In accordance with the principles of Social Ecology, Greenpeace views the institutional violation of the environment as reflective of a shared indifference. It is thus that it promotes the ascendancy of individuals to both sustainable living practices and alignment with its goals of global climate-change prevention, ocean protection, wildlife defense and the elimination of nuclear power, among many other associated interests. Arguing that there is a direct relationship between the state of the environment and the inherent inequality in a number of human institutions, this organization brings to bear some of the ideas of Rachel Carson, whose 1962 watershed text, Silent Spring, as we will observer hereafter, pinpointed the consequences of corporate and governmental negligence. III. DISCUSSION ON ENVIRONMENTAL ETHICS References here above to Henry David Thoreau and Rachel Carson are crucial. Though separated by roughly a century, the works of these two writers may be seen as the philosophical basis to the environmental ethics ideology that would ultimately become a practical movement. The concept of environmental ethics would originally be established with the proliferation of Thoreau‟s ideas of simplification and ecological compatibility and thereafter, with the collision of Carson‟s ideas and the age of reform in America. In 1962, marine biologist and environmental activist Rachel Carson published Silent Spring, a work that opened the first round of fire against the perception that man was the only species of importance on the Earth. A book rife with frightening contentions about the irreparable damage with which we have already lashed the earth, Silent Spring would be a sensible point of entry into the discourse over environmental preservation. As one of the first popular works of non-fiction to promote the idea that ecological decline will inevitably lead to a decline in the survivability of man, Carson‟s book touched off a public awareness of the need to apply new strategies to extending environmental conscientiousness. Carson‟s book centers on the ill effects which the commonly accepted use of pesticides in agriculture were having on the health of environments which hosted all manner of life, among them humanity. Decrying the absence of regulation against the use of such dangerous chemicals, Carson‟s work points to some of the major environmental contingencies of our failure to prevent this poisoning of our ecology. She also uses this stark and © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 42 frightening logic to connect a failure of the government to regulate environmental behaviors with an ethical failure to do the business of protecting the people. To accomplish this, she uses startling imagery that keys into our capacity for moral outrage over environmental abuses and their implications. She represent a town where “mysterious maladies swept the flocks of chickens; the cattle and sheep sickened and died. Everywhere was a shadow of death. The farmers spoke of much illness among their families. In the town the doctors had become more and more puzzled by new kinds of sickness appearing among their patients.” (Carson, 2) That the correlation between these collected symptoms and the use of pesticides in our predominantly agricultural towns had yet to be recognized at this point in history is important to consider. Though today it still receives troublingly little acknowledgment, the exponential rise in the consumption of organic produce in recent years is indicative of a graduating cognizance of that which Carson‟s work brought to the forefront of ecological discourse. Here, she makes apparent the causality of her concern and, thus, illuminates the pattern of environmental abuse which is an immediate ethical trespass and an ultimate threat to man as much as it is to any other species which is targeted by such behavior, either with intent or by collateral happenstance. Herein, she expounds upon the retribution which man will receive for his impractical coexistence with other species and habitats on earth. In simplified terms, she describes a cycle in which man ultimately poisons himself. Using pesticides to exterminate entire species of insect has had the effect of eliminating certain creatures from an ecological chain, therefore removing an important set of players in the interaction between predators and prey. With the toxification or disappearance of insects in the habitats discussed in Silent Spring, the bird population which relied upon these as a source of food also began to suffer. Given the adaptability of nature, insect populations commonly resurge with new genetic immunities to our pesticides. In the absence of the bird populations once controlling them, these insects are then capable of spreading disease and crop devastation without obstruction from natural ecological balance. And as it is described above and throughout the book, it is clear that these are ecological changes which directly correlate to man and his survival. This is sensible given his singular role in creating environmental blight and ecological imbalance. Carson‟s work would also give rise to works of great importance by figures such as Lynn White, whose “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis” would tighten the correlation between ecological decline and ethical misappropriation of man‟s self-appointed role as a custodian of the planet. Indeed, White (1974) most aggressively identifies man‟s moral disposition as a key catalyst for the destruction of the earth, demanding some more practical channeling of the various strands of ethical divergence reflected in our environmental policy. As White opine, “with the population explosion, the carcinoma of planless urbanism, the now geological deposits of sewage and garbage, surely no creature other than man has ever managed to foul its nest in such short order. There are many calls to action, but specific proposals, however worthy as individual items, seem too partial, palliative, negative: ban the bomb, tear down the billboards, give the Hindus contraceptives and tell them to eat their sacred cows. The simplest solution to any suspect change is, of course, to stop it, or better yet, to revert to a romanticized past: make those ugly gasoline stations look like Anne Hathaway's cottage or (in the Far West) like ghost-town saloons.” (White, 2) This point of focus is a useful one for beginning to understand the orientation of such nations as the U.S. toward a global environmental movement. Indeed, for the U.S., ethicality scarcely enters into the discourse. Quite to the contrary, the United States appears to be inexorably and ruthlessly driven by the ambitions of its economy. The desire for massive levels of consumption and the conditioning of a lifestyle of excess have both delivered the U.S. to a place of ecological unsustainability. However, its government and industries have simultaneously proven unresponsive to these conditions. U.S. automakers lag behind those in other nations that have worked out of economic necessity to develop more fuel efficient alternatives to the gas-guzzlers which are so popular in America. © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 43 The economic effects of this chosen dependency are based on the danger of relying upon a finite source of fuel. To this point, Whitehall (2008) demonstrates a pattern which denotes the close correlation between an increasing oil scarcity and a set of clear economic challenges. His findings show that over just a period of a year, the cost per barrel rose from just fewer than 60 U.S. Dollars a barrel on the international market to upwards of 140 U.S. Dollars a barrel. The increase is a demonstration of how unreliable oil is not just in terms of its lack of sustainability but in terms of its negative economic implications, which associate it to dangers of economic inflation. (Whitehall, 1) This signifies the ecological effects of America‟s poor orientation towards environmental ethics have undoubtedly identifiable economic cost as well. On a global scale, the environmental movement is increasingly becoming less a fringe activist terrain and more a policy area of great importance for the industrialized nations of the world. There is increasingly a consensus on the dangers of global climate change; the threat to our health of pollutants in land, air and water; the implications to food scarcity to hungry populations; and the need to change energy harvesting and consumption habits. Collectively, these environmental concerns are registering with ever-greater prominence in the nations of Western Europe, North America and in economically advanced parts of China. Qsuite certainly, in all of these contexts, there remain considerable challenges ahead in achieving projected future goals for meeting environmental improvements. However, these challenges pale in comparison to those which lay ahead of the developing nations of the world. Where environmentalism is concerned in particularly, a clear challenge exists to the developing sphere, with many developing nations simultaneously demonstrating the greatest need for extreme environmental reform and yet fully lacking the resources or priority to address pressing environmental concerns. IV. HOW IT HAS BECOME A MAJOR ISSUE This presents our future outlook with its greatest area of complexity. As nations struggle simply to feed their populations and to address famine, disease and homelessness, environmentalism is a policy focus often perceived as luxury at best and as politically motivated at worst. Also impacted by the patterns of globalization which open the doors of developing nations to the activities of multinational corporations, many developing nations find that their environmental conditions are very much at the mercy of outsiders. As a result, as the debate raging around many developing countries on how to bring global restraint to environmental abuses continues, practices in many of these contexts continue to reflect a severity of neglect for reform. Indeed, all evidence suggests that in spite of the economic arguments against the implementation of environmental restrictions in developing nations, rationality denotes that soon all nations must face these issues. According to our research, “environmentalism, although a good postmodern indicator, is more fundamental than a culture shift because it is based on serious global threats to life on this planet. Ideologies may surge and flow across the face of these realities, but environmental issues cannot be argued or deconstructed away.” (Peritore, 30). This is quite a pertinent point to the discussion, lending us the basic understanding that the permeation of environmental ethics into developing nations, though inclined by the processes of globalization, is not simply a vestige of foreign imposition. The establishment of more firm protections for land, air, water and, by extension, food sources, communities and homes, in the developing world is tantamount to the emergence of this sphere form untenable conditions of poverty and filth. And yet, resistance exists in a variety of forms, even beyond the obviation that nations such as those in Africa, the Middle East or South Asia will frequently lack the stability or resource to maintain or enforce sound environmental policies. This is true for a number of cogent reasons relating to the cost of environmental enforcement and for a number of more conditional reasons relating to the desire of globalizing firms to operate in © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 44 nations with decidedly lax environmental parameters. This morass of conditions denotes that “while we should not necessarily be sanguine about environmental protection in developing countries, we need not be pessimistic either.” (Warshawsky, 114) This is to say that the international community is increasingly drawing to a consensus on the need to curb behaviors which have are causing trauma to the environment, with the leadership change from Bush to Obama in the United States promising significant new level of improvement in regulatory enforcement. In general, the pattern of the last two decades has moved the developing world toward higher levels of control over corporate polluting in particular, especially with the 1997 inception of The Kyoto Treaty. This set of environmental protocols “commits industrialised nations to reducing emissions of greenhouse gases, principally Carbon Dioxide, by around 5.2% below their 1990 levels over the next decade” (BBC News, 1). In many ways, though this should be considered a model for improvement in the industrialized world, it has interceded with the forces of globalization to encourage corporate polluters to find contexts in which those activities will be enabled. Ultimately, the matter of this opportunity for exploitive profitability is a dominant force obstructing the development of stricter environmental regulations in the developing sphere. V. SOURCES The set of sources consulted for this subject drive together the topics of environmentalism and ecological ethics. The array of journal articles, complete texts and web sources consulted discuss these two topics both individually and in intercession with one another to formulate a thorough overview of environmentalism as a function of an ethical imperative. This is most importantly noted in the text by Carson (1962), which is a template setting work in the field. Among the first to aggressively affiliate ethical trespass with the degradation of the environment, this would be both historically important to the discourse and central to the way that this account addresses environmental ethics. This is grounded even further in the literary milestone that was Thoreau‟s W alden (1854), which promoted perhaps for the first time in any notable context the ethical clarity which can be gained through a simplicity and naturalness of living. The text by Peritore (1999) is valuable for applying the assumption that ethics and environmentalism must be inherently related, presenting the case that the way environmental abuses are perpetrated in the developing world represents a serious trespass of human ethical responsibility. By contrast, the article by Warshawsky (2003) shows some developing nations, in this case Costa Rica and Bolivia, working to achieve progressive templates for environmentalism in the developing world. Such a dynamic segues well into an evaluation of such web-pages as the Earth First! Worldwide and Greenpeace International organizational sites. These present an overview of the environmental challenges and activities poised at addressing them as channeled through prominent activist groups. These sites are also driven by explicitly stated ethical imperatives to the protection and preservation of the earth. Indeed, such activities are characterized by the Brennan & Lo (2002) text, which defines these activities as comporting to the specific principles of environmental ethics. This also serves as a working definition for our purposes, demonstrating the notion that environmental responsibility is tantamount to the preservation of human life, among the utmost of ethical imperatives. The compilation by Light & Rolston (2003) underscores this concise definition by providing an exhaustive list of many of the landmark discussions on the subject. This would include important texts by Aldo Leopold, Richard Sylvan and Peter Singer. On an applied level, the text by Whitehall (2008) would discuss the over-consumption of fossil fuels and the connection of this pattern with environmental degradation. This denotes a concrete human behavior that may, in this discussion, be addressed according to an ethical lens. © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 45 So too may this be applied to evaluation of the article published by BBC News (2003), which describes the Kyoto Treaty and its implications to global environmental responsibilities. With respect to our discussion, this would provide a useful construct for what should be expected of the ethically oriented environmental perspective. VI. CONCLUSION Economic Development single-handedly cannot prolong for long except the health of our surrounding environment is properly ensured. This is achievable only when human beings begin to understand their own potential and restrictions in terms of the immensity of God's creation and value the entire ecosystem at large for sustainable future. Hence combination of environmental, social, ethical concepts and strong communal involvement along with community participation is the key to successful sustainable development program. REFERENCES BBC News. (2003). What is the Kyoto Treaty. BBC.co.uk. Online at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/2233897.stm Brennan, A. & Lo, Y. (2002). Environmental Ethics. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Online at http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ethics-environmental/ Carson, Rachel. (1962). Silent Spring. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co. Earth First! Worldwide. (2010). Homepage. http://www.earthfirst.org/ Greenpeace International. (2010). Homepage. http://www.greenpeace.org/international/ Light, A. & Rolston, H. (2003). Environmental Ethics: An Anthology. Wiley-Blackwell. Peritore, N.P. (1999). Third World Environmentalism. University Press of Florida. Thoreau, H.D. (1854). Walden. Project Gutenberg Warshawsky, H. (2003). Environmental Leadership in Developing Countries: Transnational Relations and Biodiversity Policy in Costa Rica and Bolivia. Global Environmental Politics, 3(3), 114-116. White, L. (1974). The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis. New York: Harper and Row. Whitehall, J.K. (2008). Get on the Other Side of the Pump. Jutia Group. Online at http://jutiagroup.com/2008/09/12/get-on-the-other-side-of-the-pump/ http://www.earthfirst.org/ http://jutiagroup.com/2008/09/12/get-on-the-other-side-of-the-pump/
work_ofcem56ar5b3bha3qqwqnrv2ci ---- Thru-hiking the John Muir Trail as a modern pilgrimage: implications for natural resource management Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=reco20 Journal of Ecotourism ISSN: 1472-4049 (Print) 1747-7638 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/reco20 Thru-hiking the John Muir Trail as a modern pilgrimage: implications for natural resource management Sarah Hitchner, John Schelhas, J. Peter Brosius & Nathan Nibbelink To cite this article: Sarah Hitchner, John Schelhas, J. Peter Brosius & Nathan Nibbelink (2018): Thru-hiking the John Muir Trail as a modern pilgrimage: implications for natural resource management, Journal of Ecotourism, DOI: 10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 Published online: 15 Feb 2018. Submit your article to this journal View related articles View Crossmark data http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=reco20 http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/reco20 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 https://doi.org/10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=reco20&show=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=reco20&show=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2018-02-15 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2018-02-15 Thru-hiking the John Muir Trail as a modern pilgrimage: implications for natural resource management Sarah Hitchnera, John Schelhasb, J. Peter Brosiusc and Nathan Nibbelinka,d aCenter for Integrative Conservation Research, University of Georgia, Athens, GA, USA; bSouthern Research Station, USDA Forest Service, Athens, GA, USA; cDepartment of Anthropology, University of Georgia, Athens, GA, USA; dWarnell School of Forestry and Natural Resources, University of Georgia, USA ABSTRACT In many religions, the simple act of walking from one point to another, sometimes over great distances, becomes a life-changing event, often undertaken only once in a lifetime at great financial and physical cost. In recent decades, walkers often label themselves or are labeled by others as pilgrims, and their walks parallel traditional religious pilgrimages such as the Hajj or the Camino de Santiago. In this article, we examine 26 travel blogs of thru-hikers (or intended thru-hikers) of the John Muir Trail in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California, U.S.A., for elements of spirituality that correspond to discussions of religious pilgrimages. We also examine the ways that thru-hikers discuss management of the trail; like pilgrims on other trails, John Muir Trail (JMT) thru- hikers convey simultaneous annoyance and appreciation of rules that restrict behaviors on the popular trail. We contend that understanding a thru-hike of the JMT as a form of pilgrimage has important implications for natural resource management and can help wilderness managers better meet the needs of this type of trail user, one who crosses multiple administrative boundaries, often seeks a distinctive combination of comradery and solitude, and for whom a backcountry hike may be a transformative experience. ARTICLE HISTORY Received 3 May 2017 Accepted 24 January 2018 KEYWORDS Backpacking; John Muir Trail; pilgrimage; spirituality; thru- hiking; trail management; travel blogs All that is necessary to make any landscape visible and therefore impressive is to regard it from a new point of view, or from the old one with our heads upside down. Then we behold a new heaven and earth and are born again, as if we had gone on a pilgrimage to some far-off holy land … (John Muir) 1. Introduction Intentional immersion in natural places, and specifically hiking long distances through parks and wilderness areas, can be interpreted as a form of modern pilgrimage in which people temporarily disengage from their daily life activities, enter a liminal period of attempting to complete a journey for personal reasons, and then re-enter the outside world, often with a changed perspective as a result of spiritual or personal © 2018 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group CONTACT Sarah Hitchner slhitchn@uga.edu Center for Integrative Conservation Research, University of Georgia, 321 Holmes-Hunter Academic Building, 101 Herty Drive, Athens, GA 30602, USA JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM, 2018 https://doi.org/10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184&domain=pdf mailto:slhitchn@uga.edu http://www.tandfonline.com growth gained during the experience (Badone & Roseman, 2004; Ptasznik, 2015; Turner, 1969; Turner & Turner, 1978; Van Gennep, 1960). There are many modern examples of pilgrimages through federal lands in the United States, including reenactment of impor- tant cultural journeys such as the Trail of Tears, following in the footsteps of important naturalists such as John Muir or William Bartram, or thru-hikes (hikes from one endpoint to the other) of long-distance hiking trails such as the Appalachian Trail and the Pacific Crest Trail. Pilgrimages have renewed importance in the modern world as people seek meaning, and many pilgrimages have close ties to landscapes as people grapple with the meaning of the human relationship with nature (Frey, 1998; Maddrell, della Dora, Scafi, & Walton, 2015; Stronza, 2001). Journeys to and within these natural areas, even when conducted with non-religious motivations, resemble religious pilgrimages in that they are transformative experiences undertaken by individuals or groups for the purposes of spiritual or emotional benefit along well-defined routes in places that are considered ‘more sacred than the environment of everyday life’ (Margry, 2008, p. 17). As noted by Ross-Bryant (2013) and Schelhas (2014), national parks are considered by many U.S. citi- zens to be sacred places, and the performance of secular pilgrimages within or between them both reflect and create meanings of the sacrality of these spaces. Because of the importance of these journeys to the individuals that undertake them, there are numerous sites on the internet where one can read detailed blogs of natural pil- grimage experiences. Such blogs remain a largely unexplored resource for understanding the environmental thought and in-person nature experiences (with the notable exception of Champ, Williams, & Lundy, 2013). In this article, we analyze 26 publicly available blogs of thru-hikers of the John Muir Trail (JMT), an ∼211-mile trail that mostly overlaps with the Pacific Crest Trail, in terms of how the thru-hiking experience meets the criteria of a modern pilgrimage. We also explore the tensions, as well as the overlaps, between the desire of hikers for solitary communion with nature and the social nature of the trail, as well as between annoyance at the rules regarding the JMT and an appreciation of the need for these regulations. Understanding a thru-hike of the JMT as a type of pilgrimage has implications for wilderness management. As noted by Cole and Williams (2012, p. 15), who summarized 50 years of research on wilderness experiences, managers must under- stand that visitors’ experiences in wilderness areas are ‘diverse, situational, and idiosyn- cratic,’ making it difficult for managers to know how to best manage these areas for the highest quality visitor experiences. They emphasize the need to ‘delve more deeply, through in-depth interviews, into the meanings people attach to experience’ (Cole & Wil- liams, 2012, p. 16). We suggest that managers of the parks, forests, and wilderness areas through which the JMT passes can better serve the segment of the users who view a thru-hike of the trail as a pilgrimage by understanding their spiritual motivations and experiences, and we contend that ethnographic analysis of thru-hikers’ blogs both lays the foundation for future interviews and offers insights not obtainable by other data col- lection methods. 2. Background: John Muir and the JMT John Muir (1838–1914) was a Scottish-American naturalist and author who advocated for the federal protection of wilderness areas, especially in the Western United States (and specifically in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California). He co-founded the Sierra 2 S. HITCHNER ET AL. Club in 1892 and helped encouraged the passage of the 1890 Congressional National Park Bill, which led to the establishment of Yosemite National Park and other parks and wild- erness areas. Many natural sites have been named for him (e.g. Muir Woods National Monument, Muir Pass, Muir Beach, Mount Muir, and Muir Glacier), and his writings have inspired millions of people to both protect natural places and experience nature first- hand (Sierra Club, 2017). A Christian who claimed to know much of the Bible by heart, Muir saw the beauty of nature as a great gift from God, and he often expressed his love for wilderness in religious terms. Worster (2008, p. 8) wrote in his biography of Muir that: ‘“God” for Muir, was a deliberately loose and imprecise term referring to an active, creative force dwelling in, above, and around nature’ (Worster, 2008, p. 9). As we discuss in this article, many JMT thru-hikers share Muir’s views of nature as the physical manifestation of a divine presence both within and outside the confines of the label of Christianity. The JMT is an ∼211-mile trail in the Sierra Nevada mountain range of California, U.S.A. For 160 of those miles, it follows the longer Pacific Crest Trail that runs from Mexico to Canada. Construction on the trail began in 1915 when the Sierra Club received $10,000 in governmental funding from the state of California, and it was completed in 1938, the year of the 100th anniversary of John Muir’s birth (http://www.pcta.org/). Most people hike the trail from north to south, starting at Happy Isles in Yosemite National Park and ending on the summit of Mount Whitney, the highest point in the con- tiguous United States. The JMT passes through different adjacent and overlapping man- agement areas with different types of regulation: national parks (Yosemite, Kings Canyon, and Sequoia), national forests (Inyo and Sierra), wilderness areas (Ansel Adams), and national monuments (Devil’s Postpile) (see Figure 1). Hikers intending to travel the entire length of the JMT must obtain permits from the administrative entity (National Park Service (NPS) or Forest Service) where they begin their hike, which is usually the northern terminus of the trail, Happy Isles in Yosemite National Park. This is challenging because permits for this area become available 24 weeks in advance of the hikers’ intended start date, and given the short window of time available for a thru-hike due to seasonal restrictions, these spots fill quickly. Some permits, such as those needed to summit Mount Whitney, the southern terminus of the JMT, are given out almost exclusively through a lottery system. For both southbound and northbound hikers, permits can be elusive, as demand is higher than available supply. The NPS has noted a 100% increase in demand for JMT permits from 2011 to 2015 and an increase of 242% from January 2014 to January 2015 (NPS, 2017). Figure 2 shows the average number of people annually using the JMT, while Figure 3 shows the number of permits given to exit Donahue Pass from Yosemite Valley, a stretch required to thru-hike the JMT. These statistics indicate the total number of users of the trail and possibly the hikers who intend to complete the JMT; however, the number of people who complete a thru-hike is difficult to ascertain. Clearly, the blogs we analyzed were written by people who had obtained permits, but many others intending to thru- hike are not able to because of limited permits. In essence, the legal ability to thru-hike the JMT is dependent on a combination of careful planning and good luck. Although there is administrative coordination among agencies for JMT hikers, each agency must also balance thru-hiking with other hiking interests and experiences (e.g. day hiking, other backcountry users, and Mt. Whitney ascents) and environmental con- cerns (NPS, 2017). As Mitchell (2016) emphasizes, these agencies represent the state in JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 3 http://www.pcta.org/ shaping the spiritual experiences of hikers on two levels. First, backcountry policy and management structures the pilgrimage experiences of hikers, and second, national parks and wilderness areas have historically been promoted by the state and others as places that provide opportunities for what can be considered public religious activities, including pilgrimage. As Mitchell (2016, p. 177) notes of JMT hikers: ‘In the public, state-managed space of wilderness, hikers attested to a sense of spiritual liberation from the burdens of civilized life. In this way, their spirituality takes on the character of a liberal, progressive public religion.’ It is the explicit exclusion of private enterprise that creates the opportunity for spiritual experience (Mitchell, 2016). Figure 1. JMT. Credit: Nathan Nibbelink. 4 S. HITCHNER ET AL. The popularity of this trail by many different types of users requires regulations and trail management practices that may infringe on those long-distance hikers seeking soli- tude, freedom, a temporary escape from urban life, and spiritual experiences through natural immersion. However, many thru-hikers grudgingly accept the rules enforced by natural resource managers (and occasionally break them), similar to pilgrims on more tra- ditional religious pilgrimage routes in which overuse and improper management threaten Figure 2. Number of people using the JMT (from NPS, 2017). Note: 2002–2006: average number of people using the JMT was about 1000 per year. 2006–2009: number of people nearly doubled to almost 2000 per year. 2009–2014: the number of people increased to 3500 per year. 2015–2016: number of people leveled out just above 3500 per year. Figure 3. Graph showing increase in permits exiting Donahue Pass (NPS, 2017). Note: Reservation data as of 9 January 2015 show an approximate year-to-date increase of 242% as compared to last year for JMT permits and an overall increase in permit requests of approximately 165%. JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 5 the physical integrity of the landscape and have detrimental effects on people’s spiritual experiences in these areas. 3. Pilgrimage studies Barber (1993, p. 1) describes a pilgrimage as ‘a journey resulting from religious causes, externally to a holy site, and internally for spiritual purposes and internal understanding,’ and the practice of traveling long distances to sacred places, often by foot, is common to many of the world’s religions. Many people associate the term with religious pilgrimages such as the Hajj, a once-in-a-lifetime journey to Mecca for Muslims, or with Catholic pil- grims to Lourdes in France or Hindu pilgrims to the Ganges River in India (Barber, 1993; Collins-Kreiner, 2010b). Other well-known pilgrimages include the Christian Way of Saint James along the Camino de Santiago (Road to Santiago) in Spain (some routes include France and Portugal) and the Way of 88 Temples/Shikoku Buddhist pilgrimage in Japan (Westwood, 2003). Many scholars have noted that modern tourism is rooted in pilgrimage (Cohen, 1992; Collins-Kreiner, 2010b; Graburn, 1989; McIntosh & Mansfeld, 2006), and numerous studies addressing the differences between pilgrims and tourists or travelers have found the lines between them to be blurry (Badone & Roseman, 2004; Collins-Kreiner, 2010a, 2010b; Jirásek, 2014). Tourists often call their own journeys ‘pilgrimages,’ and non-reli- gious tourists (or adherents of other faiths) often visit sacred sites. Terms such as ‘pilgrim- age tourism’ (Collins-Kreiner & Kliot, 2000), ‘secular pilgrimage,’ and ‘sacred tourism’ (Singh, 2005), ‘religious tourism’ (Collins-Kreiner, 2010b), or ‘pilgrimage as tourism’ (Rountree, 2002) reflect the lack of clear distinction between tourism and pilgrimage. Collins-Kreiner (2010b, p. 156) says that ‘the polarities on the pilgrimage-tourism axis are labeled sacred vs. secular, and between them range an almost endless list of possible sacred-secular combinations.’ Tourism thus is not simply hedonistic consumerism devoid of meaning, and is instead understood to be rooted in the history of pilgrimage and a modern adaptation of it, often accompanied by a modern, more expansive view of religion (Ross-Bryant, 2013, p. 6). Badone and Roseman (2004, p. 2) claim that as Geertz (1973) conceptualized religion as a search for meaning and the ‘really real,’ ‘tour- istic travel in search of authenticity or self-renewal falls under the rubric of the sacred, col- lapsing the distinction between secular voyaging and pilgrimage.’ People of all faiths (or without faith) continue to conduct pilgrimages for a variety of reasons. Religious reasons can include a vow or promise, reflection or meditation, prayer, atonement for sin, or a demonstration of faith (Frey, 1998, p. 32) or spiritual reasons, which are ‘more vaguely defined personal searches or inner journeys of trans- formation’ (Frey, 1998, p. 33). Other motivations include a desire to see and experience places of cultural and historical significance and places of folklore and legend, to advance causes (social, political, personal, religious), or as a personal challenge, the path to self-discovery, or temporary escape from everyday life. As ethnographers continually remind us, knowing the motivations of ‘the Other’ is difficult if not impossible (Badone & Roseman, 2004). The motivations of travelers rarely fit into discrete categories, and mul- tiple reasons for undertaking a particular journey are most likely the norm rather than the exception. Badone and Roseman (2004, p. 2) point out that this has always been the case; they state: ‘among the large number of medieval Europeans who traveled to Santiago de 6 S. HITCHNER ET AL. Compostela and Canterbury, it is not likely that all were propelled by uniquely pious motives’ (see also Smith, 1992). Frey (1998, pp. 4–5) notes that: Although the Santiago pilgrimage has a religious foundation based in Catholic doctrine regarding sin, its remission and salvation, in its contemporary permutation these religious elements endure, but they also share the same stage with transcendent spirituality, tourism, physical adventure, nostalgia, a place to grieve, and esoteric initiation. The Camino can be (among many other things) a union with nature, a vacation, an escape from the drudgery of the everyday, a spiritual path to the self and humankind, a social reunion, or a personal testing ground. It is ‘done’ and ‘made’ as a pilgrimage, but what does that mean now? The glue that holds these disparate elements together seems to be the shared journey, the Camino de Santiago. A pilgrimage is done alone but also communally; everyone on the path overcomes per- sonal challenges, but the challenge itself becomes a shared experience, both in the physical presence of other people and in the knowledge that many other people have literally walked the same path. Everyone must overcome his or her own challenges on the way. Citing work by Turner (1969) and Van Gennep (1960) on rites of passage, and applying it to long-distance thru-hiking, Ptasznik (2015, p. 20) notes that: ‘During the state of liminality, social distinctions cease to exist, creating a camaraderie between those under- taking the ritual.’ The shared nature of this physically and emotionally intense experience creates a sense of kinship with others facing the same challenges, although it is simul- taneously a personal journey of self-discovery and self-reflection in which many hikers seek solitude. While seeking solitude, many long-distance hikers also recognize and appreciate the social component of the hike. It is a shared journey, one that some hikers complete together in the same space and time and that other hikers share virtually through social media, blogs, videos, books, and other forms of communication. Peterson (2017) notes that while some early nature writers and explorers such as John Muir and Henry David Thoreau did seek solitude in nature, hiking clubs were formed in the late 1800s because ‘what most early hikers sought was not solitude; it was fellowship.’ For hikers today, the experience is collective whether a person hikes alone or with partners, and many people choose to share their experiences. Regardless of how the experience is shared, whether physically or virtually, the camaraderie that results is part of what makes the journey a pilgrimage. Other scholars have researched modern hiking and backpacking as a spiritual practice. For example, Bratton (2012) writes about hiking the Appalachian Trail as a spiritual experience, and the trail itself as both a physical and social environment. She notes the ‘growing academic interest in nature religion, pilgrimage from secular to sacred, wilder- ness spirituality, and the meaning of walking’ (Bratton, 2012, p. xv). She maintains that long-distance walks have been a key element in many of the world’s religions and that modern long hikes on established trails such as the Appalachian Trail confer similar spiri- tual benefits to traditional pilgrimages associated with mainstream religions. Theologian Belden Lane (2014, p. 4) notes that ‘spiritual practice – far from being anything ethereal – is a highly tactile, embodied, and visceral affair,’ and it is precisely the physicality of the journey that leads to spiritual renewal and, in some cases, redemption. Further, Peterson (2017) notes that for long-distance trails such as the Appalachian Trail and the Pacific Crest Trail, ‘the lack of utilitarian function also made the trails’ ideological purpose JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 7 more evident.’ Since the process of undertaking a long hike is for most people unnecessary, these hikes serve as means to fill emotional, and in many cases, spiritual needs. Ptasznik notes how the use of the term ‘pilgrimage’ when applied to hiking long dis- tances reflects a diversified approach to spirituality in the United States; among many hikers, there is less a focus on organized, mainstream religions and more emphasis on ‘diffuse and individualized forms of spirituality common to the United States’ (Ptasznik, 2015, p. 6; see also Mitchell, 2016; Taylor, 2010). Similarly, McIntosh and Mansfeld (2006, p. 118) note that the conventionally Western distinction between the external world of objects and events and the inner world of spirituality and religion is also becom- ing less clear as ‘we are now seeing a major integration of outer and inner life’ (see also Neal & Biberman, 2003). With this in mind, trail maintenance organizations have fre- quently adopted language that reflects the spiritual aspect of the trails and the desire of users of the trail to experience spiritual moments while immersed in nature (Ptasznik, 2015, p. 16). For example, the Appalachian Trail Conservancy states that their vision ‘is to connect the human spirit with nature … . We are committed to protect this sacred space through education and inspiration’ (http://www.appalachiantrail.org/). The internal and external worlds of people intersect in specific places at specific moments, and the landscapes through which journeys take place are also a key element of the definition of a pilgrimage. Pilgrimage routes often contain layers of cul- tural, historic, and religious or spiritual significance. Specific sites along the pilgrimage paths are socially constructed as sacred, secular, or both at once (Collins-Kreiner, 2010b, p. 157, see also Gatrell and Collins-Kreiner, 2006; Sarmiento & Hitchner, 2017). Scholars have noted the restorative and therapeutic aspects of the physical land- scapes in which spiritual pilgrimages take place (Conradson, 2007; Maddrell et al., 2015), and these landscapes are also often considered sacred. Maddrell et al. (2015, p. 1) focus on the intersection of pilgrimage and landscape studies, noting that ‘the shrine, pilgrim route and their wider surroundings are often deeply intertwined as part of the pilgrim experience.’ Ross-Bryant (2013, pp. 17–18) notes that travelers in the United States often visit national parks, which are still seen by many Americans as pristine, untouched places of natural beauty that embody American values and ideals and to which people can go in order to spiritually recharge and even be ‘born again.’ Recognizing the critique of ‘pristine wilderness’ articulated by Cronon (1996) and other scholars, she states that: ‘The national park is nature that has been made culture, while claiming to be pure nature’ (Ross-Bryant, 2013, p. 2). Mitchell (2016) interviewed 32 JMT hikers at access points along the trail, focusing on the extent and nature of religion and spirituality among the hikers and their relationships to nature and place. Hikers identified more with spirituality than organized religion, emphasized the importance of ‘wilderness’ in contrast to ‘civilization’ and the opportunities for reflection and spiritual experiences afforded by stepping out of ‘civilization,’ and contrasted ‘community’ of hikers with non-wilderness users (Mitchell, 2016). While not directly invoking the idea of pilgrim- age, Mitchell (2016) notes that the experience is a temporary retreat from ‘civilization’ for spiritual refreshment that is then carried back into ordinary life. In this sense, visitors to national parks and other federally regulated areas such as national forests and wild- erness management areas can be considered pilgrims, and their journeys to and within these parks can be labeled pilgrimages. 8 S. HITCHNER ET AL. http://www.appalachiantrail.org/ 4. Ethnographic analysis of thru-hiker blogs Anthropology can help understand the ‘full story’ of what happens to those who engage in all forms of tourism (Stronza, 2001, p. 278), and ethnographic analysis of travelers’ narra- tives is a key method of investigating the meaning of their experiences. As noted by Doost- dar (2004, p. 653), ‘calls are increasingly being made for an ethnographic and anthropological approach to the study of computer-mediated communication and online communities’ (see also Escobar, 1994; Hakken, 1999; Miller & Slater, 2000; Wilson & Peterson, 2002). Blogs, or weblogs, are web-based personal journals, with dis- parate entries uploaded by individuals in chronological (or reverse chronological) order (Banyai & Havitz, 2013; Dearstyne, 2005; Panteli, Yan, & Chamakiotis, 2011). Backpackers keep blogs for a number of audiences: family and friends they know ‘in real life,’ people with whom they maintain personal but virtual friendships (i.e. have never met offline), unknown audiences (i.e. readers of blogs who read and sometimes respond to blog posts but are ‘strangers’ to the bloggers), and the bloggers themselves (Panteli et al., 2011). Motivations for writing for these different audiences can shift; some bloggers begin blogging in order to update friends and family of their whereabouts and experiences but change their writing style in response to comments from unknown blog readers or as the act of blogging becomes a more personal means of self-expression (Panteli et al., 2011). Travel blogs are written voluntarily and not for commercial or research purposes; thus, they are perceived by various audiences as more accurate interpretations and reflections of the authors’ perspectives, priorities, and ascribed meanings of their experiences (Nelson, 2015; Volo, 2010). However, travel blogs have limitations as a resource for tourism research: (1) not all locales are equally represented (long-term travelers are more likely to blog); (2) there is considerable variation in the content of blogs and among bloggers; and (3) blogs are subjective versions of reality and cannot be verified (Nelson, 2015). We have chosen to analyze blogs in order to understand how hikers describe inner spiri- tual experiences while hiking the JMT. We analyze how these experiences are similar to more traditional pilgrimages and reflect on implications for resource managers who are responsible for managing public lands for many types of users. 5. Methods The data and analysis presented here represent preliminary work intended to lay the foun- dation for future fieldwork in the Sierra Nevadas involving in-depth interviews with thru- hikers and natural resource managers. We chose to focus on blogs related to thru-hiking the JMT primarily because of the overwhelming number of blogs about thru-hiking longer trails in the United States such as the Pacific Crest Trail and the Appalachian Trail. Focus- ing on a less-represented trail was more manageable given limited time and resources we had available for the exploratory research. The fact that the trail was named for John Muir, an icon of environmentalism and a noted figure in linking nature and spirituality/religion (Taylor, 2010), suggested that hikers might be inclined to reflect on issues central to our study. We selected blogs to analyze based on the following criteria: (1) blogger’s intention to thru-hike the JMT (though not all were successful), (2) sufficient length of blog/number of entries (at least 10), and (3) self-reflective nature of blog posts (not just a description of gear and list of waypoints and campsites). This was a subjective process, neither random JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 9 nor statistically generalizable. We analyzed 26 blogs that met these criteria. Rather than rigidly specifying preconceived categories of topics and looking for evidence to support them in the blogs, we employed a grounded theory approach to this inquiry that allowed themes to emerge from the data (Glaser & Strauss, 1967). We used NVivo quali- tative data analysis software to note, categorize, and organize these themes, and we then linked these themes to ideas encountered in the extant literature on heritage tourism, pil- grimages, and immersion in nature as a spiritual experience. As is conventional with social science research, we have coded the names of the partici- pants, in this case bloggers unaware of our study. Although publicly available blogs are considered open access, we have chosen to use codes,1 as it is standard practice in our dis- cipline and because the names of the bloggers are not relevant to this research. We have lightly edited the direct quotes for the sake of clarity and correct spelling and punctuation; we have retained original markers of emphasis such as capital letters or italics as they appear on the blogs. 6. Results 6.1. Motivations to hike the JMT As with other types of pilgrimage, hikers mentioned different reasons for wanting to hike the JMT. Some hiked in memory of someone who served as an inspiration to the hiker, including a close family friend with a ‘true mountaineering spirit’ (HB19) and a great- aunt who, for 87 years, ‘lived out her own adventures’ (HB16). Others saw the thru- hike as a personal challenge or adventure; one hiker noted that she ‘wanted to see if I could do it, and what kind of hiker I am’ (HB 22). Some used this hike as preparation for other long hikes (HB2). One hiked to bring attention to a specific cause, in this case ‘to inspire others to support the cause of HIV/AIDS and Mental Health Care’ (HB2). Several wrote that their main motivation was simply a love of hiking, including the ‘ritua- listic daily pattern of backpacking’ (HB22), and being outdoors. As described below, for many hikers, there was also a spiritual motivation for hiking. 6.2. Hiking the JMT as a pilgrimage or spiritual experience As noted, the word ‘pilgrimage’ is used loosely by many types of travelers and might not refer to an explicitly religious experience. We found that some JMT thru-hikers directly used the word ‘pilgrimage’ in their blogs to describe their experience on the JMT and the word ‘pilgrim’ to describe fellow hikers. I’m heading up to do a day hike of Clouds Rest on Monday, then off I go for my JMT pilgrim- age! (HB19) From August 23 to September 13, 2015, I hiked the John Muir Trail … The journey was just as much an interior pilgrimage as a physical walk through the mountains. (HB22) We share one evening and one morning, and I never see them again … That’s typical of this linear community, this fleeting intimacy. When one meets another on the path, both have a sense for what the other is experiencing … when one outpaces the other, or heads the oppo- site direction, why bother saying goodbye? Await the next pilgrim and pick the conversation up where it left off. (HB22) 10 S. HITCHNER ET AL. Most hikers characterized their thru-hike as some sort of personal journey, often with a spiritual element. Hikers wrote about this in various ways. One man wrote that while experiencing an unintended employment gap, he decided to ‘pursue a quest … to have an adventure, a spiritual journey’ (HB5). Another wrote about how the process of thru- hiking forced one to be ‘present in the moment, accept whatever the trail offered us, and cultivate our state of mind. After all, we had not come to the mountains to carry our work ethic into them, but to … feel different on the inside’ (HB17). Several specifically discussed their faith in Christianity; they wrote about God (HB5, HB12, HB13), and several carried Bibles and/or prayer books on their hike (HB12, HB13). One ascribed the incredible beauty of the scenery to God and thanked Him for ‘His magnificent cre- ation’ (HB5). Another wrote directly, and extensively, about his Christian faith and the ways that it infused his thru-hiking experience: I’m a Christian and I’m going to get all gushy about Christian related things, so if you don’t like that kind of stuff then just skip this … if you can handle it then read on … . Then of course there was the scenery, and man if you don’t believe in God after you see that then I don’t know what it would take. (HB12) Others wrote about a more personalized, less formal spirituality. For example, one hiker said that ‘This isn’t a “moment” for me, it truly is a spiritual experience, a sense so strong that tells me that everything’s been aligned so that I may be here, right here, right now’ (HB5). Another noted that for her and a good friend of hers, nature serves as a church and refers to outdoor immersion experiences as ‘worshipping in the green temple’; she further notes that she has recently been ‘church-shopping vigorously’ in various national parks (HB22). Others wrote about the idea of renewal, restoration, or rejuvenation of being immersed in nature, which they consider to be a type of spiritual or sacred land- scape. One hiker compared natural places in the United States to sacred sites in other parts of the world; she wrote: ‘If the great cathedrals of Europe can be described as houses of stone and light, then places like the Grand Canyon and the Sierra Nevada moun- tains are surely America’s great cathedrals’ (HB13). Finally, one woman who hiked the JMT alone, described how the walk itself becomes a sort of prayer: ‘This path in the present connects my path in the past and my path in the future. Every step I take is memory, is hope, is prayer’ (HB26). Some thru-hikers described this experience as time away from ‘the real world,’ a liminal period during which one can be refreshed in order to better face the challenges of everyday life. Several hikers wrote about how the thru-hiking experience forced them to focus and be continually aware; one man said that he was ‘more aware on the trail than I had ever been in the city’ (HB7). This awareness, according to many hikers, stems from the simplicity of life on the trail: the repetitive nature of daily activities (HB7), nonstop immersion ‘in the splendor of Nature’ (HB7), and the fact that while hiking, ‘everyday life is stripped down to the bare necessities (i.e. staying fed, staying hydrated, trying to stay clean, staying warm and getting rest)’ (HB12). The combination of being fully aware (of one’s self and surroundings) and being distanced from distrac- tions and non-necessities for even a short time can have profound positive impacts on hikers. One man noted that: Yeah it was only 3 weeks, but I guess that’s all it took to have a profound impact on me from the standpoint of putting things in my life into better perspective … . For me it was realizing JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 11 how much time I’ve spent over the years stressing over things in my life that don’t really matter. So I hope to take this new perspective and apply it by focusing on the important things like being a good husband, a good father, a good friend, and putting my time and effort into the things that really matter in life. (HB12) Several hikers specifically referred to their experience thru-hiking the JMT as a break from ‘the real world’ (HB23, HB26) and expressed reluctance to return to it (HB9). They all planned to carry their newfound perspectives into the lives to which they are returning (HB6, HB7, HB23), acknowledging the challenge of this. One man, nearing the end of his hike, stated: Just one more day remains to make sure that when I come home the golden goose will still have been fed and remain healthy. If you can’t tell by the previous posts, I’m getting anxious. I’m not worried about what’s out there, I’m worried about what I return to. (HB9) These quotes reflect the various ways that bloggers were self-reflective while on the JMT or writing about their experiences afterwards and reveal the personally transformative nature of the experience. Others specifically mentioned that this was not a particularly spiritual experience for them. However, they often acknowledge that for many people, it is. For example, one thru-hiker noted that: ‘Unlike many people, I don’t have anything profound to say; this hike won’t be about a life changing event or a catharsis of some sort. I just like to hike, especially in beautiful country’ (HB11). 6.3. Social encounters and relationships on the JMT Some hikers discussed the desire for solitude and the dislike of contact with other hikers. As several bloggers noted, the JMT trail is very popular and often crowded. One person cited its nickname of ‘the John Muir Thoroughfare’ (HB9). Several people noted the lack of solitude on much of the trail and commented that opportunities, even for hikers without companions, to be totally alone while hiking, are rare (HB6, HB22). One hiker said: ‘This isn’t the trail for you if you want to be alone for days on end’ (HB6). Another expressed such disappointment at the lack of solitude that she would not hike the JMT again: I was amazed how many people were hiking up! A nearly constant stream. I was glad to be going down and ready to be out of the crowd. As beautiful as this trail is, I don’t plan to return. It is simply too popular, too regulated, and if I were to return, it would be off the beaten path on the high Sierra. (HB20) Some hikers discussed the pros and cons of hiking solo and with partners. One person, hiking alone, stated that although at times she wanted a hiking partner, other times, ‘when the world is calm between rivers, silent, gentle enough for wildlife to come be noticed, I am at peace and happy – not ready to give up the solitude for the companionship and shared worries’ (HB3). Others wrote explicitly about recognizing the complexity of seeking both solitude and company at the same time, or enjoying the solitude with only occasional shared moments. One noted that she prefers to hike alone, but enjoys chatting with fellow hikers along the way: ‘Solitude and accidental companionship – the best of both worlds!’ (HB3). 12 S. HITCHNER ET AL. Several blogs reflected a sense of community among hikers, particularly of thru-hikers who often pass each other multiple times over periods of several weeks and tend to con- gregate in the same campsites and lodging facilities. Many bloggers describe meaningful social interactions, even intense and genuine connections, with fellow hikers on the trail; one man noted: I’m not exactly sure how to explain this without sounding woo-woo, but I felt a connection between myself, Nature and other hikers that I’ve never felt before. I felt their energy in my heart; and this energy gave me great strength and a considerable sense of peace. (HB7) Interactions that may be taken for granted off-trail become infused with meaning while thru-hiking (HB1, HB7, HB22, HB23). For example, one hiker wrote: I’m not having super deep conversations with anyone. But it feels deep. The content of the conversations is irrelevant to their underlying truth: We are in the fellowship – we are the fellowship. We say our destination is Mount Whitney, but our journey is through one another. (HB22) Bloggers explained how these positive encounters had a clear effect on restoring their faith in humanity. One hiker wrote about learning on this hike that ‘there are a lot of good people still out there. You just need to turn off the TV and the radio and look around you. I’m sure that you’ll see them’ (HB23). Another noted that the connection among strangers on the trail, and the constant concern for one another’s safety and well-being, encourages compassion for others in off-trail life as well, stating that: ‘We need to look after and care for our fellowman at all times not just while we are on the trail’ (HB23). 6.4. Regulation and management of the JMT Once hikers are on the trail, management decisions and bureaucratic details affect the thru-hiking experience in several ways. Specific management issues that hikers must navi- gate include rules regarding where they are allowed to camp, where they can have camp- fires, the requirement to use bear canisters for food in some areas along the trail, and the rules regarding human waste. Several hikers noted disappointment in not being able to have a fire (HB9, HB11) or use wood-burning stoves. Another hiker was annoyed at a regulation banning thru-hikers from staying in a lodge at Tuolumne Meadows, under the threat of having his permit revoked. He said sarcastically: ‘I never have quite under- stood this rule … Oh well, people surely smarter than I am must have made up this rule’ (HB10). Several people discussed issues regarding the requirement to use bear cans for food storage, stating that they were heavy, bulky, not big enough at times, and too big at others. One hiker stated: ‘The canisters are heavy, rigid, and large. They occupy a prime hunk of backpack real estate and make accessing anything else more complicated. I’m not thrilled’ (HB22). Some would prefer to hang their food from trees, as they are likely accustomed to doing elsewhere. One, however, recognizes that the rule exists ‘thanks to many, many clueless or apathetic folks who improperly stored food’ (HB22). Regulations regarding human waste, including the difficulty of burying it in rocky terrain away from trails, camp sites, and water sources, and the requirement to pack it all out from the Mount Whitney area, are a popular topic of discussion in the blogs (HB14). JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 13 While hikers did complain about some of these management issues in their online hiking blogs, they also wrote about the need for regulations to preserve the natural beauty and ecological integrity of the popular trail. One hiker noted: There seems to be so many rules that are new and foreign to me. I’m used to being free when in the wilderness and not regulated with all these rules … I guess the trail is so popular that if it wasn’t regulated it would be trashed in no time. People are loving The John Muir Trail to death. (HB21) Others admitted intentionally breaking the rules during their hike, due to both unex- pected circumstances and gaps in planning and knowledge. One hiker noted that his group was forced to make an unauthorized camp site in Yosemite National Park because they were slower than they had planned and could not safely hike in the dark (HB1); another hiker described a similar situation around Tenaya Lake, where they would have to camp illegally near water if they could not reach the road to town before dark (HB17). Others admitted to hanging bags of food instead of keeping it all in a bear canister as required (HB11, HB12). One stated: ‘That’s illegal, but what choice is there? I’m pretty sure the rangers know that people do this all the time’ (HB11). One woman freely admitted to helping herself to an outdoor hot spring bath at Red’s Meadow, knowing it was closed (HB22). Another hiker noted that he could probably get away with breaking a rule regarding using a wood-burning stove. However, he decided to comply, saying: ‘Oh well, if you can’t adapt you shouldn’t be out there anyway’ (HB9). Despite complaining at times about rules and regulations, interactions with park rangers and other authority figures along the trail were overwhelmingly positive. Several hikers noted instances in which rangers had exerted extra effort to warn hikers of potential dangers on the trail ahead, including threats of wildfires, lack of potable water, approaching storms, and damage to the trail (HB1, HB10). In some cases, rangers ‘stretched the regs’ (HB10) to help thru-hikers, indicating that they were not as interested in policing the trail as in keeping hikers safe and the trail well-maintained. Many of these details may be common among backcountry users, but some that are specific to the JMT can perhaps be addressed through tailored management strategies in ways that both enhance hikers’ experiences and maintain the ecological integrity of the trail and adjoining areas. 7. Discussion: understanding the JMT as a pilgrimage route and implications for natural resource management Pilgrimages, in all their modern manifestations, continue to hold deep cultural meanings (Badone & Roseman, 2004). Thru-hiking the JMT meets many criteria of being a modern pilgrimage. It presents physical challenges and hardships, requires a period of liminality or time spent away from ‘real life,’ and offers an opportunity for transformative spiritual experiences while completing the hike. Many people go to wilderness areas such as this to find solitude and independence; however, the JMT is often quite crowded, especially in certain high-traffic areas. Despite this tension, there is a sense of community among thru-hikers. Thru-hikers of the JMT appreciate the work that has gone into the creation and maintenance of the trail, and although they are annoyed by some of the regulations 14 S. HITCHNER ET AL. and rules of the trail, they recognize the need for them in order to preserve the natural beauty and ecological integrity of this area, given the popularity of the trail for different types of users. They also value the role that rangers and other authority figures play in not only enforcing rules, but also genuinely caring about the safety and experience of hikers. For thru-hikers seeking immersion in nature and an opportunity to temporarily distance themselves from an urban environment and their normal lives, the JMT offers a pilgrimage experience akin to more explicitly religious journeys by foot. The increasing popularity of this route, and people seeking to hike the entire length of it, has necessitated the development of mechanisms to limit both potentially damaging behaviors and the number of people on the trail at any given time. Increased demand has led to a revised interim management system in order to limit some of the negative effects of overcrowding on the trail, including the inability of short-distance hikers to obtain permits, crowding at designated campsites and creation of new and unauthorized campsites along the trail, and increased interactions with bears. In 2015, the NPS implemented an interim management plan which includes an exit quota of 45 hikers per day over Donahue Pass (to exit Yosemite National Park). NPS (2017) notes that: The goal of the exit quota is to restore traditional wilderness use patterns, balance access for JMT hikers with access for non-JMT hikers in the Yosemite Wilderness, and reduce physical and social impacts. Additionally, the interim exit quota allows the park to collect more data to inform future planning efforts. Data collected by NPS employees and other natural resource administrators along the trail, as well as feedback gathered during planning sessions open to the public, will lead to an integrated and holistic wilderness management plan (NPS, 2017). Park and wilderness managers understand the need to balance access to the trail with limiting negative physical impacts on the trail itself and negative social impacts on the hiking experience. A recent review of research on wilderness experiences found that wilderness users share many motivations with those engaging in other outdoor recreation experiences: enjoying nature, physical fitness, and reducing tensions (Cole & Williams, 2012). However, the same review also highlights the importance of understanding variation in motives across wilderness areas and users, and the need to more deeply explore the lived and felt experiences of wilderness users (Cole & Williams, 2012). Another recent review, which focuses on future research, encourages social scientists to understand both the values associated with wilderness and the role of technologies in wilderness experiences (Watson, Cordell, Manning, & Martin, 2016). Natural resource managers, park rangers, employees of national forests, etc. can glean information from travel blogs (and possibly other forms of online shared social media) that may help guide decisions on how to manage places and resources to best meet the needs of people that go there while maintaining the integrity of the place. Mitchell (2016) suggests that natural resource managers provide both public goods and facilitate the interior and private satisfaction of individuals. Our analysis of JMT thru-hiker blogs shows that, for many hikers, this journey is a type of modern pilgrimage, and we maintain that wilderness managers need to understand and manage for such pilgrimage experi- ences. To be clear, we chose the blogs we analyzed to reflect our focus on pilgrimages, and other selections of blogs could emphasize other dimensions of thru-hiking, such as athletic endeavor, aesthetic experience, or engagement with other people. Yet Mitchell JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 15 (2016) suggests that all of these aspects – the daily ritual of hiking, the beauty of nature, and the social bond with other hikers – in effect make hiking the JMT a spiritual experi- ence. If one goal of natural resource management is to serve the public, recognition of and management for pilgrimage experiences is highly appropriate. The fact that pilgrimage experiences may represent turning or re-orientation points in the lives of some hikers emphasizes the power and uniqueness that a hiking pilgrimage can evoke. While other research has examined the relative importance of spiritual motivations compared to other motivations, only a few studies have examined the nature of the spiri- tual experiences of wilderness users (Bratton, 2012; Frederickson & Anderson, 1999; Mitchell, 2016). Though our exploratory study demonstrates the complexity of managing trails and public lands for multiple types of users with different objectives, approaches, and aspirations, our results are not sufficient to make specific recommendations about how managers should balance pilgrimage experiences with other management objectives. However, this study does highlight how the cultural experience of thru-hiking long-dis- tance trails in wilderness areas serves as a modern pilgrimage and is consistent with trends in American spirituality and religion. Natural resource managers create the con- ditions for pilgrimage experiences, and it is critical that they understand the nature of these experiences and how management actions within their jurisdiction affect them. Note 1. We have numbered the blogs 1–26 and used the prefix HB, which stands for ‘Hiking Blog.’ For example, the second blog we analyzed would be coded as ‘HB2.’ Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the authors. Funding This work was supported by the USDA Forest Service [Forest Service Agreement Number 15-JV- 11330144-042]. References Badone, E., & Roseman, S. R. (2004). Approaches to the anthropology of pilgrimage and tourism. In E. Badone & S. R. Roseman (Eds.), Intersecting journeys: The anthropology of pilgrimage and tourism (pp. 1–23). Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Banyai, M., & Havitz, M. E. (2013). Analyzing travel blogs using a realist evaluation approach. Journal of Hospitality Marketing and Management, 22, 229–241. 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HITCHNER ET AL. http://www.nybooks.com/articles/2017/08/17/take-a-hike-american-trails/ http://www.nybooks.com/articles/2017/08/17/take-a-hike-american-trails/ http://vault.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/life/muir_biography.aspx http://vault.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/life/muir_biography.aspx Abstract 1. Introduction 2. Background: John Muir and the JMT 3. Pilgrimage studies 4. Ethnographic analysis of thru-hiker blogs 5. Methods 6. Results 6.1. Motivations to hike the JMT 6.2. Hiking the JMT as a pilgrimage or spiritual experience 6.3. Social encounters and relationships on the JMT 6.4. Regulation and management of the JMT 7. Discussion: understanding the JMT as a pilgrimage route and implications for natural resource management Note Disclosure statement References
work_ogo5xau4ejeqfn5oaohwqohcay ---- Articles 514 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Spring Flowering Response to Climate Change between 1936 and 2006 in Alberta, Canada ElisabEth bEaubiEn and andrEas hamann In documenting biological responses to climate change, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change has used phenology studies from many parts of the world, but data from the high latitudes of North America are missing. In the present article, we evaluate climate trends and the corresponding changes in sequential bloom times for seven plant species in the central parklands of Alberta, Canada (latitude 528–578 north). For the study period of 71 years (1936–2006), we found a substantial warming signal, which ranged from an increase of 5.3 degrees Celsius (8C) in the mean monthly temperatures for February to an increase of 1.58C in those for May. The earliest-blooming species’ (Populus tremuloides and Anemone patens) bloom dates advanced by two weeks during the seven decades, whereas the later-blooming species’ bloom dates advanced between zero and six days. The early-blooming species’ bloom dates advanced faster than was predicted by thermal time models, which we attribute to decreased diurnal tem- perature fluctuations. This unexpectedly sensitive response results in an increased exposure to late-spring frosts. Keywords: climate change, global warming, phenology, flowering, Canada observations, including Thomas Jefferson, Henry David Thoreau, and Aldo Leopold (Stoller 1956, Miller-Rushing and Primack 2008), long-term records of phenology obser- vation are scarce for North America as compared with Europe (Schwartz and Beaubien 2003). A notable analysis was carried out by Aldo Leopold’s daughter N. L. Bradley and his son A. C. Leopold. They compared Aldo Leopold’s 1935–1945 Wisconsin farm records (Leopold and Jones 1947) with data on 36 plant species collected in the same area from 1976 to 1998 (Bradley et al. 1999). Another major long-term observation effort is the phenology network established by Caprio (1957), in which the phenology of lilac (Syringa vulgaris) and honeysuckle cultivars (Lonicera spp.) was recorded with the help of local garden clubs in 12 western US states until 1994 (Cayan et al. 2001). A simi- lar lilac–honeysuckle network, which still exists today, was established in 1959 in the northeastern US states and eastern Canadian provinces (Schwartz and Reiter 2000). However, there is a notable lack of phenology data for western Canada and Alaska, where the change in the spring warming signal over the last 50 years has been most pronounced globally (Rosenzweig et al. 2007). Besides being a documentation of global change, trends in plant phenology can reveal important ecological conse- quences associated with climate change (Parmesan 2006, Cleland et al. 2007). Plant populations are finely tuned to local frost-risk environments at the beginning and end of the growing season, and phenological traits are usually highly heritable and are often subject to strong selection The scientific field of phenology, the study of the seasonal timing of life-cycle events, has seen a recent revival in light of climate change’s growing prominence. Sparks and colleagues (2009) noted that the use of the term phenology in the scientific literature became seven times more common between 1990 and 2008. In documenting biological responses to global climate change, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change has relied on phenology studies as compel- ling evidence that species and ecosystems respond to global climate change (Rosenzweig et al. 2007). Particularly for perennial plants in temperate zones, temperature exposure over time is the main driver for spring development, includ- ing the timing of bloom and leafout (Rathcke and Lacey 1985, Bertin 2008). This makes spring phenology one of the most sensitive, immediate, and easily observed responses to chang- ing climate in temperate regions (e.g., Schwartz et al. 2006). The use of phenology observations to document climate variability and climate change has a long history. Arakawa (1955, 1956) analyzed a long-term record of the dates of the annual cherry blossom festival in Japan that reached back to the ninth century. Remarkable phenology records covering more than two centuries also exist for European countries, starting with observations made by Linnaeus in the eighteenth century (Parmesan 2006). In a meta-analysis for Europe, Menzel and colleagues (2006) compiled an astonishing 125,000 time series recorded for more than 500 plant species in 21 countries. Although a number of famous North American his- torical figures were involved in early systematic phenology BioScience 61: 514–524. ISSN 0006-3568, electronic ISSN 1525-3244. © 2011 by American Institute of Biological Sciences. All rights reserved. Request permission to photocopy or reproduce article content at the University of California Press’s Rights and Permissions Web site at www.ucpressjournals.com/ reprintinfo.asp. doi:10.1525/bio.2011.61.7.6 Articles www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 • BioScience 515 Articles pressures (Campbell and Sugano 1975, Vitasse et al. 2009, Li et al. 2010). The timing of spring plant development balances the need to avoid damage due to late-spring frosts with a maximization of the use of the available growing season in competition with other species (Lechowicz 1984, Leinonen and Hänninen 2002). Therefore, plants at higher northern latitudes and at high elevation break bud relatively early; that is, the need to utilize the growing season takes precedence over avoiding late-spring frost damage. This has been documented in many common garden studies for widespread plant species (reviewed in Li et al. 2010). The timing of spring development in virtually all temper- ate perennial plants is primarily controlled by temperature (Rathcke and Lacey 1985, Hunter and Lechowicz 1992). Plants require a certain amount of exposure to warm tem- peratures before leafout or flowering occurs. Exposure to warm temperatures over time can be measured in degree days, which is the sum of the average daily temperatures above a base value. A common base temperature is 5 degrees Celsius (8C), which is widely used to calculate growing degree days in agriculture. For a given species, this amount of warmth over time, referred to as the required heat sum, is nearly constant and can be used to predict bloom times from daily temperature records in what is called a thermal time model (Bertin 2008). The required heat sum for spring development is a genetically controlled adaptive trait (Lei- nonen and Hänninen 2002). Heat sum accumulation allows plants to respond to an unpredictable onset of the grow- ing season, which can easily vary by a month in northern latitudes. If spring development were exclusively driven by expo- sure to warm temperatures, climate change would not be expected to affect the match of plant development with the available growing season. However, additional factors are known to modulate the timing of spring development. Photoperiod may delay bud break if warm temperatures arrive unusually early (Menzel et al. 2005). Some plants also require a certain amount of exposure to cool temperatures following bud set in the fall before they start development in response to warm spring temperatures. This is referred to as a chilling requirement and is measured by summing the exposure to moderately cool temperatures, typically between 08C and 108C. The chilling requirement is thought to guard plants from prematurely breaking bud during midwinter thaws. In both cases, climate warming would be expected to delay the spring response. Plants may be constrained by photoperiod effects that prevent early development, or in warmer regions, they may not receive sufficient exposure to cold temperatures to release them from dormancy (Bertin 2008). Another factor that affects spring phenological response at high latitudes and high elevation is the prevalence of snow (Inouye and Wielgolaski 2003, Wielgolaski and Inouye 2003). A deep spring snowpack further shortens the growing season, and once the snow has melted, the plant response is often immediate, suggesting very low heat sum requirements, and making the release from snow a primary driver of spring phenology. This also has important implica- tions for the effects of climate change. A smaller snowpack due to either higher temperatures or less precipitation would lead to an earlier release from snow, an earlier start of plant development, and potentially higher frost exposure (Inouye 2008). In the present article, we report the results from spring flowering observations conducted over approximately seven decades (1936–2006) in Alberta, western Canada. We ana- lyzed the first-bloom dates for seven plant species that come into flower in a temporal sequence between early April and June. The first objective of this study was to attempt to pro- vide evidence of a plant response to global climate change for a higher-latitude location in western North America, a region for which long-term data are scarce. Second, we asked whether phenology trends correspond to observed tem- perature trends according to spring thermal time models or, alternatively, whether other factors influence spring devel- opment, which would potentially lead to altered sequences of bloom time. Finally, we investigated whether shifts in bloom time have led to changes in the exposure of species to late-spring frosts. Phenology observations in central Alberta We evaluated observations from a phenology network across the central parkland of Alberta (figure 1). This ecological subregion covers approximately 50,000 square kilometers and is situated between the boreal forest to the north and the warmer and drier grasslands to the south. The native vegetation consists of open forests dominated by two poplars (Populus tremuloides Michx. and Populus balsamifera L.), white spruce (Picea glauca [Moench] Voss), and birch (Betula spp.), as well as prairie vegetation found under drier microsite conditions. However, much of the native vegetation has been converted to agricultural use because the area has some of the best soils in Canada. Intensive phenology observations began in 1936 with a program by Agriculture Canada, in which the timing of wheat development and the bloom times for 50 native plant species were recorded over 26 years. The purpose of this program was to identify indicator events to guide the timing of agricultural activities (Russell 1962). This program ended in 1961, which resulted in a data gap of 11 years before botanist Charles Bird initiated a new research program, which tracked the bloom times for 12 native spe- cies between 1973 and 1986. The data were collected by a network of citizen scientists (Bird 1983), supplemented by Bird’s own observations (figure 1). This network was extended by EB in 1987, and in its current form, the vol- unteer observers record data for one or more of 25 species (www.plantwatch.fanweb.ca). Since 1987, this network has collected data from approximately 650 observers, with up to 240 observers reporting each year. The plant species for this phenology network were selected primarily on the basis of the plants’ wide distribution and short bloom period in 516 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Articles spring, the ease of their identification by citizens, and the lack of similar-looking species. For additional background on these data series, see Beaubien and Johnson (1994) and Beaubien and Freeland (2000). In the present study, we evaluated the dates of the first bloom for several plant species. First bloom was defined as a plant stage at which the first flower buds had opened in an observed tree or shrub or in a patch of smaller plants. We requested that the observers report on plants that were situated in flat areas away from heat sources such as the walls of houses. Observers were asked to select plants that approximately represented the average bloom time for that species in their area (i.e., that were not the first or last of that species to bloom). Therefore, our first-bloom data do not rep- resent the earliest-blooming individuals of a popula- tion (as in Miller-Rushing et al. 2008). Rather, they represent a developmental stage sampled to represent a local population. Gener- ally, the first-bloom stage is the simplest to observe and yields more temporally pre- cise data than later bloom stages, which can be harder to estimate. Because many of the data (e.g., those col- lected between 1987 and 2006) were compiled from multiple individual plant observations, we used the mean annual bloom date from all available points in the central parkland. The annual first-bloom dates were categorized by species and year for all three data sets and were used for sta- tistical analysis and graphi- cal presentation. Except for the first data set (collected between 1936 and 1961; Russell 1962), we excluded phenology data from the greater Edmonton area. Edmon- ton’s human population has grown at an exponential rate to over one million from 85,000 at the beginning of this research (Statistics Canada 2010). It is therefore possible Figure 1. Central parkland study area in Alberta, western Canada. The figure indicates the location of long-term weather stations and the locations of phenology observations. The white symbols indicate long-term observations. For the Alberta PlantWatch network, the size of the circles indicates the length of data collection by a volunteer. Articles www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 • BioScience 517 Articles that urban heat-island effects on temperature may confound data on climate-change trends (e.g., Roetzer et al. 2000). The three observation programs (those of Russell [1962], Bird [1983], and Beaubien [Beaubien and Johnson 1994, Beaubien and Freeland 2000]) included the same four woody and three herbaceous (nonwoody) plant species (figure 2). The first species to bloom is the prairie crocus (Anemone patens L.), which is found in grasslands through- out the Northern Hemisphere and blooms soon after a snowmelt. Usually blooming within two days of the prairie crocus is the trembling aspen (P. tremuloides), one of the most common and widely distributed tree species in North America. It is the first tree in Alberta to shed pollen and to produce leaves in spring. About 25 days later, saskatoon, or serviceberry, (Amelanchier alnifolia Nutt.) blooms. Saska- toon is a widespread tall woody shrub with edible berries that were the most important plant food for the prairie Blackfoot First Nations. The remaining four species follow in approximately eight-day intervals, starting with the choke cherry (Prunus virginiana L.), a tall woody shrub that is also widespread throughout North America. The wolf willow (Elaeagnus commutata Bernh. ex Rydb.), or silverberry, is a nitrogen-fixing, medium-sized shrub with a short, well- defined bloom period and an overpowering smell that aids in correct identification. The northern bedstraw (Galium boreale L.) is another widely distributed and easily identi- fied herbaceous species. The last species in this sequence is the yarrow (Achillea millefolium L.), perhaps one of the best known and most widely distributed herbaceous species in the world. In this section, we followed the scientific nomen- clature of Moss (1983). Climate and phenology trends We used daily minimum, maximum, and mean tempera- ture data obtained from the Adjusted Historical Cana- dian Climate Database (AHCCD 2009) to analyze climate trends. This database includes four weather stations with long-term records for the study area (figure 1): Edmonton Figure 2. The species included in the study were prairie crocus (Anemone patens L.); trembling aspen (Populus tremuloides Michx.); choke cherry (Prunus virginiana L.); wolf willow (Elaeagnus commutata Bernh. ex Rydb.), or silverberry; saskatoon (Amelanchier alnifolia Nutt.), or serviceberry; yarrow (Achillea millefolium L.); and northern bedstraw (Galium boreale L.). Photos by Linda Kershaw. 518 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Articles International Airport (ID #3012205), which is well outside the city of Edmonton; Lacombe (ID #3023722); Calmar (ID #3011120); and Coronation (ID #3011887). To visualize temperature trends and to compare station records, we also calculated the mean monthly minimum, the mean monthly maximum, and the mean temperature values for February, March, April, and May from the daily data. In addition, we generated interpolated monthly data following the method of Mbogga and colleagues (2009) for the central parkland ecoregion. The interpolated climate data and station data suggest that the central parkland ecoregion is climatically very homogenous. The mean monthly temperatures for Feb- ruary, March, and April for the 1961–1990 normal period differ by less than 18C between any two of the four weather stations and among the grid cells of the interpolated surface. The average correlation coefficient between pairs of stations is .97 for the mean monthly temperatures from February through May. Because of the climatic homogeneity of the study area, we used the mean climate values from the four weather stations for subsequent analysis, which matches the data preparation of phenology observations as regional averages for the central parkland. We observed a substantial warming trend between 1936 and 2006 that was most pronounced in late winter and early spring (figure 3). For the 70-year period of this research, the slope of a linear regression equates to a 5.38C increase in the mean February temperature, a 2.78C increase in the mean March temperature, and a 1.88C increase in the mean April temperature. These trends were even more pronounced in the mean monthly minimum temperatures (6.08C, 3.98C, and 2.28C for February, March, and April, respectively), whereas the mean maximum temperature changes over the study period were 4.58C, 1.58C, and 1.58C. A Mann–Kendall test for identifying trends in time-series data following the method of Hipel and McLeod (1994) revealed that the warming trends for the monthly temperatures from Febru- ary to April were statistically significant at a = .05 (table 1). The annual sequence of the species’ first-bloom dates was fairly consistent between years (figure 4a). The plants responded to warming temperatures by blooming earlier in spring, with the most pronounced changes in the earliest- blooming species (A. patens and P. tremuloides). These spe- cies’ flowering dates advanced by approximately two weeks, whereas the later-blooming species’ flowering dates advanced Figure 3. Temperature trends for the central parkland study area for the change in the mean monthly minimum temperature (in degrees Celsius) and the change in the mean monthly maximum temperature. Articles www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 • BioScience 519 Articles This result corresponds to the observed temperature changes, with considerable warming in late winter but minimal warming in late spring. Figure 4. (a) Trends in observations of first bloom for seven species. The species names are abbreviated to the first four letters of the genus and the first three letters of the species name provided in figure 2. (b) The predicted day of first bloom from a thermal time model (the best model is highlighted in bold in table 3). between zero and six days over the study period. A Mann– Kendall test also confirmed the advanced blooming in the earliest-blooming species as statistically significant (table 2). Table 1. Mann–Kendall test statistics for time-series trends in minimum, maximum, and mean monthly temperature (shown in figure 3). Month Minimum temperature Maximum temperature Mean temperature Temperature change (8C per decade) Mann–Kendall statistic () p(>) Temperature change (8C per decade) Mann–Kendall statistic () p(>) Temperature change (8C per decade) Mann–Kendall statistic () p(>) February 0.86 0.31 .0001 0.64 0.28 .0004 0.75 0.28 .0003 March 0.56 0.21 .0052 0.21 0.07 .1854 0.39 0.15 .0365 April 0.31 0.18 .0157 0.21 0.07 .1928 0.26 0.12 .0756 May 0.05 0.10 .1275 0.00 0.04 .5874 0.02 0.04 .3010 8C, degrees Celsius 520 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Articles Trends toward an earlier onset of spring phenology in the Northern Hemisphere are well documented in the literature. In a meta-analysis for the Northern Hemisphere, Root and colleagues (2003) revealed an average three-day advance per decade in tree phenology, with somewhat more pronounced trends at higher latitudes. For Western Europe, Menzel and colleagues (2006) and Schleip and colleagues (2009) analyzed phenology time series of at least 30 years between 1955 and 2000. They found that changes in the spring phenology of plants were most pronounced in central and western maritime Europe, advancing around 3.5 days per decade. These changes appear to be larger than our observed changes for our earliest-blooming species (which advanced approximately two days per decade). However, the difference arises mainly from the observation period. For example, in a long-term study of UK plant communities, Amano and col- leagues (2010) found approximately the same 3.5 days per decade rate of change as did Menzel and colleagues (2006) over the last 30 years. Conversely, the rate of change over the 70 years corresponding to our study showed an advance of only approximately one day per decade for the data from Amano and colleagues (2010), because most of the observed warming at their study site occurred over the last 30 years. Our observation of a total advance of 14 days for A. patens and P. tremuloides over 70 years appears to be on the high end of changes observed in the Northern Hemisphere. Thermal time models of spring development Thermal time models use daily temperature data to predict the timing of bud break or flowering. Daily temperatures are, however, not directly used as predictor variables. Instead, daily temperature values are integrated over time by adding daily temperature measurements. The derived predictor variable for bud break or flowering is the date at which the tempera- ture sum reaches a certain value (the required heat sum). De Réaumur (1735) was the first to establish the principle of thermal time and the concept of degree days as predictors for plant development. Degree days are calculated as the sum of the daily average temperature values from a chosen start date (often arbitrarily set as 1 January) and a threshold value (often 08C to 58C for early spring–blooming species). This summa- tion continues up to the day of a phenology event, yielding a required heat sum for the observed event. This classical thermal time model has been modified in various ways to account for the nonlinearity of the physio- logical response to temperature (for a review, see Bonhomme 2000). Other modifications include accounting for the chill- ing requirements of plants before temperature accumulation begins or for additional environmental factors (for a review, see Chuine et al. 2003). Nevertheless, the simple linear model has proven to be surprisingly accurate, often having just one variable parameter: minimum temperature threshold. This parameter bounds the lower end of the temperature range that is assumed to be approximately linearly correlated with a spring physiological response (Bonhomme 2000). Sometimes, start dates of heat sum accumulation other than 1 January are tested in order to approximately account for dormancy release or photoperiod effects (e.g., Wielgolaski 1999). Complex mechanistic or statistical models often yield only minor improvements—if any—over the classical ther- mal time model, particularly for studies that are not carried out in controlled environments (e.g., Hannerz 1999, Schaber and Badeck 2003, Linkosalo et al. 2006). In figure 4b and table 3, we show the results from a classical thermal time model applied to our data. The development of a thermal time model involves the selection of a base tempera- ture for degree-day calculations—for example, 08C. The next step is to calculate the required heat sum for an observed phe- nology event to occur. This required heat sum is a mean value based on the phenology events of a species observed over multiple years that can be estimated with a standard error (SE; see table 3). With a species-specific required heat sum value, we can now use daily temperature data to predict a bloom time for each year (figure 4b). The correlation between the observed bloom dates in each year (figure 4a) and the bloom date predicted by the thermal time model (figure 4b) serves as a measure of model fit. The model fit may be improved by modifications of base temperatures or start dates. We tested a wide range of base temperatures for degree- day calculations from –108C to 108C, in 18C intervals. Fur- thermore, we tested multiple start dates for temperature accumulation (1 January, 1 March, and 31 March) in order to account for possible unmet chilling requirements. The best thermal time model—the one with the highest cor- relation between the observed and the predicted flowering dates—was obtained with threshold values between –38C and 38C (bold correlation coefficients in table 3). This is a fairly typical result for northern temperate and boreal plant species, which usually have optimal threshold parameters between 08C and 58C (e.g., White 1995, Hannerz 1999). As was expected for a northern environment, later start dates did not improve the correlations, suggesting that species’ chilling requirements were met before winter. We therefore report only the statistics for a start date of 1 January in table 3. Table 2. Mann–Kendall test statistics for time-series trends in first-bloom dates for seven plant species, expressed in number of days per decade shift to earlier bloom time. Species Change in bloom time (days per decade) Mann–Kendall statistic () p(<) Anemone patens –2.1 –0.26 .0039 Populus tremuloides –2.0 –0.29 .0008 Amelanchier alnifolia 0.0 0.03 .6181 Prunus virginiana –0.6 –0.09 .1759 Elaeagnus commutata –0.7 –0.16 .0735 Galium boreale –0.4 –0.03 .3735 Achillea millefolium –0.9 –0.09 .1673 Note: See figure 4a. Articles www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 • BioScience 521 Articles also checked for the effects of chilling requirements in the previous fall, with chilling degree days calculated between the upper and lower thresholds of 08C and 58C and 28C and 88C, following the method of Linkosalo and colleagues (2006). None of these additional factors could account for a significant portion of the variance that was not already explained by the thermal time model (data not shown). A nonlinear, Q 10 -based thermal time model following the method of Bonhomme (2000) yielded model accuracies for all species (measured as r2 between the observed and predicted events and as the SE of heat sum) that were similar to previous results (figure 4b). However, they actu- ally increased the discrepancy between the observed and predicted temporal trends for the early-blooming species by a small amount (data not shown). A possible remaining explanation is that spring phenology is not only a function of mean daily temperatures; it is also influenced by the amplitude of diurnal temperature variations. Karl and colleagues (1993) were the first to demonstrate that global minimum temperature increased faster than maximum temperature, resulting in a significant decrease of diurnal temperature variation, which was subsequently confirmed by Easterling and colleagues (1997). This differential warm- ing pattern in minimum and maximum temperatures clearly applies to our study area as well, where the minimum night temperatures in March increased more than twice as fast as the daily maximum temperatures (figure 3, table 1). We therefore hypothesize that the increase of the minimum night tempera- tures relative to the mean daily temperatures used in the heat sum model results in a more rapid heat sum accumulation. Correlation coefficients are a good measure to use in assess- ing statistical error, but they do not detect statistical bias (sys- tematic over- or underprediction). We therefore validated the thermal time model using a second statistical measure: mean absolute error (MAE). MAE is calculated as the absolute dif- ference between the observed and predicted bloom dates. We carried out an independent cross-validation using a temporal split of the temperature and phenology data. The first two- thirds (1936–1986, with approximately 40 years of data) were used for the development of the thermal time model, and the last third (1987–2006) was used for model validation. Generally, the classical thermal time model appears to be very accurate in predicting the mean bloom dates of the species in the central parkland (table 3). The MAE values in predicting bloom time in the independent cross-validation ranged from 1.6 to 4.5 days. The species with the largest MAE values in table 3 were the earliest-blooming species: A. patens and P. tremuloides. For these species, the predictions were biased, underpredicting the rate of change in bloom time (compare figure 4a and 4b). Observed versus predicted phenology trends In an attempt to explain the discrepancy between the observed and predicted trends in A. patens and P. tremuloides, we used a multiple regression approach in order to incorporate other climatic and environmental factors (see equation 1 in Chuine et al. 2003). The environ- mental factors that we tested include the amount of winter precipitation that fell as snow, the depth of snowpack at the end of February and March, and several dryness indices. We Table 3. Correlations between flowering date and thermal time for different base temperature values for heat sum accumulation. Species Heat sum Base temperature (°C) Years of recorded data HS0 (8C) HS (8C) SE –3 –2 –1 0 1 2 3 MAE (days) Anemone patens 50 94 187 9.6 .81 .80 .79 .78 .75 .72 .68 3.9 Populus tremuloides 60 103 202 6.4 .90 .89 .88 .88 .86 .84 .81 4.5 Amelanchier alnifolia 60 303 172 3.1 .84 .86 .87 .89 .90 .91 .92 1.6 Prunus virginiana 57 419 258 3.8 .84 .86 .87 .89 .90 .90 .91 2.4 Elaeagnus commutata 44 511 385 7.0 .75 .76 .78 .79 .80 .81 .81 3.5 Galium boreale 58 690 467 6.3 .70 .72 .74 .75 .75 .76 .77 2.1 Achillea millefolium 52 782 696 8.9 .69 .71 .72 .73 .74 .73 .72 2.2 Note: The threshold value for the best model (highest correlation) is shown in bold. °C, degrees Celsius; HS, heat sum for the best model; HS 0 , heat sum for a threshold of 0°C, provided for comparison of thermal time requirements across species; MAE, mean absolute error of the observed versus the predicted bloom time; SE, standard error 522 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Articles to –208C (represented by the gradient). To give an example, in 1994 and 1995, there were frost events of –208C as late as 28 and 30 April (days 118 and 120, respectively). That means that virtually all of the reported flowering individuals were exposed to these extreme frost events. As a contrasting exam- ple, in 2000, we had a –128C event that occurred on 14 April (day 104). This affected only the early-blooming portion of the population. Most individuals bloomed after that late frost event and were exposed only to a –48C frost that occurred as late as day 133 (13 May). In figure 5, trends toward an earlier bloom would be represented by the violin plot points being located higher on the left side than on the right side. Higher frost exposure experienced by blooming populations would be visible as darker colors toward the right side. Note that we have population-level information from many observers of the PlantWatch Alberta network only since 1987. Before that date, we assume a normal distribution around the known annual average reported by Russell (1962) and Bird (1983). In the case of A. patens, we can see a slightly increased exposure of blooming populations to frost events over time, with overall darker shades toward the right side of figure 5. To test whether this trend is statistically significant, we can- not directly use the distributions shown in figure 5, since we lack population-level data from before 1987. Instead, we analyzed trends in the value of the coldest frost event follow- ing the average bloom times shown in figure 4a for each year (table 4; later-blooming species that were not exposed to frost were excluded). For example, A. patens individuals with an average bloom time were exposed to colder spring frost events, at a rate of –0.578C per decade. This means that frost events to which blooming plants were exposed were on aver- age 48C colder at the end than at the beginning of the study period. This trend was not significant for any other species at an a level of .05. However, two other early-blooming species showed similar trends toward increased exposure to Although heat sum accumulation calculated from min- imum night temperatures is not biologically reasonable because it does not incorporate daytime temperature expo- sure, we explored this option as well. The result is a relatively poor model fit (r = .79 for P. tremuloides), but the flowering advance over time was predicted more accurately (14 days observed versus 13 days predicted over the study period). It makes adaptational sense that the minimum temperature values (which could represent damaging frost events) modu- late daytime thermal time accumulation to control spring development. This would allow plants to fine-tune spring development for microsites with different diurnal temperature variation but may also increase the exposure of P. tremuloides and A. patens to late-spring frosts under climate change. Exposure to late-spring frost Late-spring frosts of –108C occurred earlier, at a rate of 0.7 days per decade, and very severe spring frosts of –208C occurred earlier, at a rate of 1.1 days per decade over the study period (data not shown). This is a considerably slower rate than the advance of bloom times for the early-blooming species, which occurred at a rate of approximately 2 days per decade (figure 4a). This discrepancy raises the question of whether early-blooming species might be exposed to increased risks of late-spring frosts because of climate change. To answer this question, we compared the incidence of late-spring frost events with the timing of first bloom. In figure 5, we show the variance of bloom times observed across a population sample of A. patens for different years by means of a special form of boxplot, the so-called violin plot, which reveals the frequency of bloom time for different dates. This plot quantifies the bloom dates of the sampled popula- tion (the width of the violin plot points indicates frequency, the number of reported observations with that date). It also shows the latest dates of spring frost events ranging from 08C Figure 5. The distribution of the day of the year when flowers appear in Anemone patens individuals. The width of the points in this form of boxplot indicates the frequency of reported observations. The gradient indicates the severity of frost events to which blooming individuals are exposed, with the lighter part of the gradient representing less severe frost events. We have population-level data available only since 1987. Before that date, we assume a normal distribution (which is used only for visualization in this figure). Articles www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 • BioScience 523 Articles tures in this month). The phenology response of two early- blooming species—A. patens and P. tremuloides—appears to be unexpectedly sensitive to these temperature changes. Their bloom times changed twice as fast as did the frost events, thus shifting their bloom period closer to the receding winter and increasing the danger of damage from late-spring frost. The database that we analyzed was assembled as a col- laborative effort among university biologists, government researchers, and over 650 members of the general public. This effort has both harnessed the energy of concerned citizens and provided them with biological insights and a raised awareness of climate-change issues in Alberta. Besides documenting a biological response to global climate change, citizen contributions are invaluable for the validation of remote-sensing data and the calibration of carbon uptake models in terrestrial ecosystems (Badeck et al. 2004). In con- clusion, we would like to encourage interested readers to join local phenological networks that make this research possible. Links to local networks can be found at www.plantwatch.ca for Canada and www.usanpn.org for the United States. Acknowledgments Funding to carry out the analysis presented in this paper was provided by NSERC Discovery Grant RGPIN-330527-07 and Alberta Ingenuity Grant #200500661. We thank all citizen sci- entists who contributed to the data collection and appreciate their enthusiasm and continued support of this program. Botanist Linda Kershaw contributed the photographs, and we thank Mryka Hall-Beyer for her helpful comments. References cited Amano T, Smithers RJ, Sparks TH, Sutherland WJ. 2010. A 250-year index of first flowering dates and its response to temperature changes. Pro- ceedings of the Royal Society B 277: 2451–2457. AHCCD. 2009. Adjusted Historical Canadian Climate Data. (26 April 2011; http://ec.gc.ca/dccha-ahccd ) Arakawa H. 1955. Twelve centuries of blooming dates of the cherry blossoms in the city of Kyoto and its own vicinity. Geophysica Pura e Applicata 30: 147–150. Arakawa H. 1956. Climatic change as revealed by the blooming dates of the cherry blossoms at Kyoto. Journal of Meteorology 13: 599–600. Badeck F-W, Bondeau A, Böttcher K, Doktor D, Lucht W, Schaber J, Sitch S. 2004. Responses of spring phenology to climate change. New Phytolo- gist 162: 295–309. Beaubien EG, Freeland HJ. 2000. Spring phenology trends in Alberta, Canada: Links to ocean temperature. International Journal of Biome- teorology 44: 53–59. Beaubien EG, Johnson DL. 1994. Flowering plant phenology and weather in Alberta, Canada. International Journal of Biometeorology 38: 23–27. Bertin RI. 2008. Plant phenology and distribution in relation to recent cli- mate change. Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society 135: 126–146. Bird CD. 1983. Alberta flowering dates. Alberta Naturalist 13 (suppl. 1): 1–4. Bonhomme R. 2000. Bases and limits to using ‘degree day’ units. European Journal of Agronomy 13: 1–10. Bradley NL, Leopold AC, Ross J, Huffaker W. 1999. Phenological changes reflect climate change in Wisconsin. Proceedings of the National Acad- emy of Sciences 96: 9701–9704. Campbell RK, Sugano AI. 1975. Phenology of bud burst in Douglas-fir related to provenance, photoperiod, chilling, and flushing temperature. Botanical Gazette 136: 290–298. frost, and trends of this magnitude or larger would arise by random chance only once in 19 times for P. tremuloides or once in 16 times for A. alnifolia. This paradoxical result of increased frost risk with climate warming differs from the results of comparable studies at lower latitudes. Scheifinger and colleagues (2003) observed that frost risks generally decreased, because the retreat of late frosts outpaces the advance of spring development. However, the low heat sum requirements of species from environments with short growing seasons results in a finely tuned adaptive balance between avoiding spring frost and using the avail- able growing season (Li et al. 2010). Earlier snowmelt due to higher temperatures or lower winter precipitation may affect this balance in high-elevation environments (Inouye 2008). In our study, at relatively high latitude, we excluded snow as a factor that can explain the unexpectedly sensitive pheno- logical response of A. patens and P. tremuloides to warming trends. Instead, changes in diurnal temperature fluctuations may be responsible for a faster advance in bloom dates than can be explained by standard thermal time models. Although this explanation is speculative, it could guide future experimental research toward the development of improved thermal time models that take diurnal temperature fluctuations into account. Regardless of whether diurnal tem- perature variations are the ultimate cause of the discrepancy between the observed and predicted trends, our results sug- gest that projections of phenology response into the future, although they are important (e.g., Leinonen and Kramer 2002), should be made with caution. Models that explain interannual variation of plant response very well over a limited observation period may not always provide reliable long-term projections. In the case of P. tremuloides and A. patens, it appears that we would underpredict climate change response by 23% and 44%, respectively, with a standard thermal time model. Conclusions In this study, we documented considerable advances in phe- nology over time that were driven by what we perceive as astonishing warming trends in spring temperature. Particu- larly in March, we also found large changes in diurnal temper- ature fluctuations (the average daily minimum temperatures increased 2.7 times faster than the daily maximum tempera- Table 4. Mann–Kendall test statistics for time-series trends in the value of the coldest frost event following average bloom time, expressed in degrees Celsius change per decade. Species Temperature change (°C per decade) Mann–Kendall statistic () p(<) Anemone patens 20.57 20.20 .0231 Populus tremuloides 20.44 20.15 .0521 Amelanchier alnifolia 20.13 20.06 .0671 Prunus virginiana 20.01 0.01 .4909 524 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Parmesan C. 2006. Ecological and evolutionary responses to recent climate change. Annual Review of Ecology, Evolution, and Systematics 37: 637–669. Rathcke B, Lacey EP. 1985. Phenological patterns of terrestrial plants. Annual Review of Ecology and Systematics 16: 179–214. Roetzer T, Wittenzeller M, Haeckel H, Nekovar J. 2000. 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work_ogre5spupfarhkw4w5yncuetia ---- edth_5 89..105 THE ‘‘KINGDOM OF GOD ON EARTH’’ AND EARLY CHICAGO PRAGMATISM Daniel Tröhler Pestalozzianum Research Institute for the History of Education Teachers College, Zurich ABSTRACT. Pragmatism has been rediscovered in recent years and presented as emblematic of modern thinking. At the center of this worldwide interest in late-nineteenth century Pragmatism stood, first, a rejection of the traditional dualistic construction of the world in philosophy and psychology; second, a distinguishing of the findings of learning theory from those of evolutionary theory; and, third, a consider- ation of industrial democracy as the context of modern thinking and action. In this essay Daniel Tröhler shows that these innovations were far less secular than has generally been assumed. Underlying early Chicago Pragmatism is a reformed (Calvinist) Protestant mentality that was shaped by a vision of a com- mon mission: realizing the ‘‘kingdom of God on earth’’ — a mentality that responded critically to the provocations of modernity (specifically, industrialization and capitalism) and, through this response, de- veloped a distinctive discourse that came to be called ‘‘Pragmatism.’’ REFORMED CONGREGATION In the last quarter of the nineteenth century, many young American college grad- uates traveled to Germany to obtain their doctoral degrees. These journeys took place in the context of changes occurring in the traditional American system of higher edu- cation during this period. Previously, the colleges were not so much research institu- tions as theological seminaries aimed primarily at educating future pastors; for this reason, doctorates were rare. However, with the rise of new, modern research univer- sities, such as Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, established in 1876, there was a need for qualified faculty. Many young college graduates therefore traveled to Germany in order to acquire the PhD degrees that would qualify them for teaching positions in the research departments of these new universities — and also of older universities, such as Princeton or Harvard, which were being reformed more slowly. 1 At first glance, the careers of these young graduates seem to follow a straightfor- ward plan — go to Germany, earn a doctorate, and then embark on an academic career in the United States. This has often led people to conclude that the American univer- sity system was more or less a copy of the German system. But upon closer examina- tion, the differences between the systems were much greater than the traditional account would have us believe. The greatest difference no doubt emerged from the dif- ferent way that the universities saw themselves in relation to religion, which led to numerous other differences. To illustrate, take the example of James Hayden Tufts, 2 1. Laurence R. Vesey, The Emergence of the American University (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965), 174ff. 2. James Hayden Tufts was born on July 9, 1862 in Monson, Massachusetts, and was taught by his father at Monson Academy. After graduating from Amherst College in 1884, he served as high school principal in Westport, Connecticut, for one year and then taught mathematics at Amherst College for two years. From 1887 to 1889, he studied at Yale Divinity School under William Rainey Harper, who would later become president of the University of Chicago. EDUCATIONAL THEORY j Volume 56 j Number 1 j 2006 � 2006 Board of Trustees j University of Illinois 89 who studied Kant in Berlin and Freiburg in 1891 and completed a doctorate on Kant’s teleology under the Kantian scholar Alois Riehl in 1892. 3 In his unpublished memoirs, Tufts related a small episode regarding his experience in Germany that indicates the significance of this difference in attitudes toward religion. When he matriculated in Berlin, he was asked to state his religious affiliation, and he hesitated: I didn’t think ‘‘Congregationalist’’ would mean much in Deutschland. Fortunately a friendly German solved the difficulty by two questions and a syllogism. ‘‘Are you Jewish?‘‘ ‘‘No.’’ ‘‘Are you Roman Catholic?‘‘ ‘‘No.‘‘ ‘‘Then you must be evangelical, for these are the only possibilities.’’ 4 Evangelical (meaning Lutheranist), however, was precisely what Tufts was not, and the Prussian public official’s apparent lack of understanding of this can be taken as symptomatic of a wider lack of understanding on the part of Germany’s scholars and the public at large (whose ideas were shaped by state religion) of the specific forms and denominations of Protestantism in the United States. The sepa- ration of church and state had not, in defiance of European fears, reduced the religiosity of Americans; on the contrary, it had strengthened it, as Reverend Robert Baird had already attempted to make clear to Europeans in 1844. 5 The success of American Protestantism derived in part from the great distances separat- ing communities in the United States — that is, from geographical conditions, which provided an ideal breeding ground for the English varieties of Calvinism (reformed) and their understanding of political-religious participation. These comparatively vast distances fortified the autarkic worldview of Calvinism, as it was initially developed in England against the background of the dominant episco- pal Anglican church in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. These views stood in fundamental opposition to the practices in Lutheranist-dominated Germany. 6 Tufts’s memoirs are incomplete and were never published. Tufts himself has remained relatively unknown, and his writings are not generally included in the academic canon of the period from 1880 to 1930 that today is called the DANIEL TRÖHLER is Head of the Pestalozzianum Research Institute for the History of Education in the University of Applied Sciences at Teachers College, Zurich, Kurvenstrasse 17, Postfache, CH-8090 Zurich; e-mail \daniel.troehler@phzh.ch[. His primary areas of scholarship are the history and his- toriography of education, republicanism and education, pragmatism, and the internationalization of research. 3. James Hayden Tufts, ‘‘The Sources and Development of Kant’s Teleology’’ (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 1892). 4. James Hayden Tufts, ‘‘Germany,’’ n.d., James H. Tufts Papers, box 3, folder 13, University of Chicago Regenstein Library. 5. Robert Baird, Religion in America (New York: Harper and Bros., 1844). 6. It should be noted that at the beginning of the nineteenth century, some of the German states — in- cluding Prussia, Baden, Hessen, Nassau, and Pfalz — had a so-called united church, meaning that the Lu- theran (evangelical) and Calvinist (reformed) churches were joined together. However, Lutheranism remained dominant even in these areas. E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 200690 ‘‘progressive era.’’ 7 However, I do not refer to Tufts merely because his memoirs supply a fitting anecdote, nor do I think that the ideas of this little-noted thinker might fundamentally alter our understanding of American intellectual history. Nor is it my objective to extol Tufts as one of the ‘‘Greats’’ alongside the well- known ‘‘Greats’’ — John Dewey, George Herbert Mead, William James, and Jane Addams. In examining Tufts, my aim is, rather, to throw light on the tight net of mu- tual relations among those people who would later be celebrated as the stars of Pragmatism. Through this narrowly focused study, my goal is to achieve a kind of historical reconstruction of the mentality characterizing what William James called the ‘‘Chicago School’’ in a 1904 essay, published only twelve years after Tufts’s return from Germany. 8 Even in that essay, James had already carried out a reduction, narrowing down the Chicago School to John Dewey and his disciples. 9 This reduction of the Chicago School to one man not only represents a pattern of thought common at that time; it also accords with the mainstream of traditional historiography up until today. Contemporary accounts of the intellectual develop- ment of individual persons frequently spring from pedagogical motives — namely, from the hope that the ideas or thoughts of a ‘‘hero’’ will aid us in the present. 10 7. Tufts does not appear at all in the thirty-volume Encyclopedia Americana, for example, nor in Michael McGerr’s recent book on this period, A Fierce Discontent: The Rise and Fall of the Progressive Movement in America, 1870–1920 (New York: Free Press, 2003). Tufts does not even figure in the canon of the so-called Pragmatists, which is generally restricted to Charles Sanders Peirce, William James, George Herbert Mead, and John Dewey (see, for instance, Israel Scheffler, Four Pragmatists: A Critical In- troduction to Peirce, James, Mead, and Dewey [London: Routledge and Kegen Paul, 1974]). There are ex- ceptions, of course: see James Campbell, The Community Reconstructs: The Meaning of Pragmatic Social Thought (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1992); James Campbell, ed., Selected Writings of James Hayden Tufts (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1992); Andrew Feffer, The Chicago Pragmatists and American Progressivism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993); and John R. Shook, The Chicago School of Pragmatism, 4 vols. (Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 2000). 8. William James, ‘‘The Chicago School,’’ Psychological Bulletin 1 (1904): 1–5. 9. Ibid. James characterized this group as follows: ‘‘Some universities have plenty of thought to show, but no school; others plenty of school, but no thought. The University of Chicago, by its Decennial Pub- lications shows real thought and a real school. Professor John Dewey, and at least ten of his disciples, have collectively put into the world a statement, homogeneous in spite of so many cooperating minds, of a view of the world, both theoretical and practical, which is so simple, massive, and positive that, in spite of the fact that many parts of it yet need to be worked out, it deserves the title of a new system of philos- ophy’’ (p. 1). 10. This is the reason I do not consider here accounts such as Steven Rockefeller’s impressive study, John Dewey: Religious Faith and Democratic Humanism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991), or Bruce Kuklick’s Churchmen and Philosophers: From Jonathan Edwards to John Dewey (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1985). Rockefeller takes a biographical approach and provides a study of arguments and concepts rather than an investigation of languages or mentalities. Furthermore, his study is pedagogically motivated. Rockefeller describes his goal as demonstrating the ‘‘relevance of Dewey’s philosophy to the dilemmas of contemporary American society and the merging global community,’’ and he maintains that Dewey’s views continue to hold for ‘‘for all those throughout the world today who love freedom and seek to pursue the democratic way of life’’ (pp. 5, ix). The problems with Rockefeller’s mis- sionary tone are quite apparent in the current political context. Kuklick’s study runs counter to my own analysis from a methodological perspective. My aim is to explore the mental dispositions and in- tellectual options that led to the development of a network of thought, while Kuklick, in asserting that ‘‘Dewey’s arrival [at the University of Chicago] in 1894 created a ‘school’ of thought,’’ seems to suggest that philosophical systems spring from individual thinkers. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 91 In contrast, the present study is an attempt at contextual reconstruction of a historical phenomenon: the ‘‘creation’’ of Chicago Pragmatism (which I take to include, among others, Mead, Tufts, and Addams, as well as Dewey). Such a project requires an analysis of the dominant mental dispositions that frame the theoretical options of these figures, as well as the personal networks out of which — against a background of specific social and economic developments — their discourse devel- oped. Put more simply, no matter how the intellectual hierarchy of this ‘‘school’’ of Pragmatism is assessed, I argue, the exponents would most likely never have come together in Chicago without James Hayden Tufts. What interests me is the discourse underlying the invitations to Dewey and Mead in 1893 to join the fac- ulty at the University of Chicago, as well as their connections with others outside the university (notably Jane Addams). I want to discover why we can speak of a ‘‘Chicago School’’ and what its shared mode of thinking was. My thesis is that the common ground connecting what James called the Chi- cago School was American reformed Protestantism as it articulated itself within the unprecedented environment of a booming city like Chicago. In this context, American Protestantism is best understood not as a specific theology, but rather as a mentality, one that was highly skeptical toward universally applicable doctrines (see, for example, the Baptist and Congregational churches). Because these Protes- tant movements saw the local congregation as the fundamental and essential ele- ment of the church and were committed to the strong particularism of individual congregations, which were organized according to ‘‘democratic’’ structures, social- religious practice was more important than theological speculations. Around the end of the nineteenth century, the liberal movements in American theology (such as ‘‘New Theology’’) strengthened the will toward worldly redemption. Therefore, this kind of Christianity does not — to use a distinction Reinhardt Koselleck made in one of his essays in Futures Past — refer to religiousness, as it can be found prior to the religious war in the seventeenth century; it should be understood instead as ‘‘secular’’ religion. 11 In this spirit Theodore Munger observed in 1883: ‘‘The New Theology does indeed regard with question the line often drawn between the sacred and the secular.a line that, by its distinction, ignores the very process by which the kingdom of this world is becoming the kingdom of the Lord Jesus Christ.’’ 12 Social- religious movements that developed against the backdrop of massive urban problems, such as the Social Gospel, sought to reconcile Christianity and industrial society. 13 I will develop my thesis, first, by showing how American Protestantism and democracy are connected in order to explain the narrow, religiously homogeneous 11. Reinhart Koselleck, Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1985). 12. Theodore T. Munger, cited in William R. Hutchinson, The Modernist Impulse in American Protes- tantism (Durham and London: Duke University Press 1992), 76. Munger, in his volume on Horace Bush- nell, the prominent Congregationalist minister who rejected distinctions between the sciences and Christianity, constructed a prehistory of ‘‘New Theology.’’ See Theodore T. Munger, Horace Bushnell: Preacher and Theologian (Boston and New York: Houghton, Mifflin, 1899). 13. It is not by chance that another Congregationalist minister, Washington Gladden, is held to have been the inaugurator of the Social Gospel. For a good overview, see Charles Howard Hopkins, The Rise of the Social Gospel in American Protestantism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1940). E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 200692 personal network of Chicago Pragmatism. Then, I examine how American Protes- tantism reacted to the process of modernization. Through exploring this reaction and the specific efforts mounted to address problems associated with industrializa- tion, we can reconstruct the ultimate aim of Protestantism (and, by extension, Pragmatism), which was to build the kingdom of God on earth. Finally, I describe how very modern Pragmatism seemed at that time, as it responded to the crisis of democracy with a demand for more democracy. Yet, I conclude, this vision of democracy, which so mistrusted modern institutions, was problematic. CALVINISM AND DEMOCRACY Around the turn of the twentieth century, many reports from Germany sharply criticized both the American economic system of capitalism and its political sys- tem of democracy. In Germany, capitalism and democracy were lumped together and denounced (by Thomas Mann, for example) as incompatible with Christianity. 14 This subjective and somewhat aggressive critique of the United States is really quite surprising given the fact that there was extensive discussion of Max Weber’s theses in Germany at this time. Weber, of course, strongly argued for the Calvinist roots of the form of capitalism as performed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Perhaps the quintessential model of a turn-of-the-century American capitalist, John D. Rockefeller, owner of the Standard Oil Company, was a deeply religious Baptist. The Baptists emerged in the early seventeenth century as a kind of left-wing splinter group within the Puritan movement. Their fundamentally democratic faith (with its principles of ‘‘soul competency’’ and religious liberty) distinguished the Baptists from other sects. According to their underlying conviction, only true be- lievers, those who have personal faith in Christ, comprise the true church, and they confess their faith through baptism as adults. Regularly held readings of the Bible in the presence of the Holy Spirit are sufficient to uphold the true faith, on their view. This belief leads directly to the concept of congregational government and is related to the doctrine of ‘‘the priesthood of all believers.’’ Only Christians, with a unified voice, should make the decisions in the church, and in this they contribute to estab- lishing the kingdom of God on earth. By the late 1800s the Baptists had become the strongest Protestant community in the United States. In a letter dated May 15, 1889, Rockefeller, certainly the wealthiest Baptist in America at that time, stated that he would contribute $600,000 as a challenge pledge toward the first $1,000,000 in endowment for a college to be established in Chicago. Rockefeller’s donation was an act of philanthropy as practiced by a network of wealthy Americans of mostly Protestant origin. According to Weber’s thesis, philanthropy could be understood as an effort by the wealthy in the face of the dark side of Protestant religiosity — harsh capitalism and its striving for political 14. Recently, critical studies on this German reaction have also appeared. See, for example, Georg Kamphau- sen, Die Erfindung Amerikas in der Kulturkritik der Generation von 1890 [The Invention of America in the Cultural Criticism of the Generation of 1890] (Weilerswist: Velbrück Wissenschaft, 2002); and Daniel Tröhler, ‘‘The Discourse of German ‘Geisteswissenschaftliche Pädagogik’ — A Contextual Reconstruction,’’ Paedagogica Historica: International Journal of the History of Education 39, no. 6 (2003): 759–778. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 93 power — to put things right with God and their fellow human beings through acts meant to serve the social good, such as founding universities. According to Dorothy Ross’s analysis, the social sciences that emerged at these universities had a scientistic and liberal — or, as one would say in German, a social — character, as they were grounded on the premise that American history was set on a millennial course, exempt from real historical change. 15 In other words, the social sciences thrived in contexts that adopted the premise that America was the kingdom of God. Thus, it is not surprising that the introduction of the liberal arts, the secular humanities curriculum, at U.S. universities was in no way a departure from religious values but was instead seen as a more sublime form of transmitting those values. 16 The idea of ‘‘American exceptionalism’’ was deeply rooted in the religious feel- ings of Americans, largely independent of social class. This is evident, for example, in the fact that in a large percentage of late-nineteenth-century American homes, The Pilgrim’s Progress, John Bunyan’s allegorical narrative about a ‘‘Christian’’ heading to salvation, occupied a place right next to the family Bible. 17 The same vision is reflected in the distinctively American literature that emerged during the nineteenth century, including the work of authors such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and especially Walt Whitman, whom Harold Bloom de- clared the center of the American canon of literature and poetry. 18 In this work, America, democracy, and religion — not theology and also not denomination 19 — are 15. Dorothy Ross, The Origins of American Social Science (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). Compare this with Thomas L. Haskell, The Emergence of Professional Social Science: The American Social Sci- ence Association and the Nineteenth-Century Crisis of Authority (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1977). 16. Kersten Jacobson Biehn, ‘‘Kanonisierung der Freien Künste: Der Aufbau eines säkularen Lehrplans — das BeispielderPrincetonUniversität’’ [Sanctifyingthe LiberalArts:TheConstructionofaSecularCurriculum— the Example of Princeton University], Zeitschrift für Pädagogische Historiographie 10, no. 2 (2004): 74–82. 17. Bunyan wrote The Pilgrim’s Progress while in prison from 1678 to 1684, during the period of the English Restoration. The book follows a Christian’s arduous journey from his home to the heavenly city. In German Pietist circles, the book was read as an illustration of the inner journey upon which Christ had to embark; Americans saw the story as emblematic of their own task, to realize the kingdom of God in the United States. It is no coincidence that in John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, The Pilgrim’s Progress was the on- ly book besides the Bible that the Joad family possessed. David Tyack shows clearly that between 1860 and 1960 many American school superintendents patterned their autobiographies after Bunyan’s description of life in The Pilgrim’s Progress; in turn, this Protestant self-understanding and worldview exerted a strong in- fluence on the field of education generally. See David Tyack, ‘‘Pilgrim’s Progress: Toward a Social History of the School Superintendency, 1860–1960,’’ History of Education Quarterly 16, no. 3 (1976): 257–300. 18. Harold Bloom, The Western Canon: The Books and School of the Ages (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1994), 264ff. 19. It is important to see that theology is not what is at issue here — that is, we are not examining questions about the character of the Trinity or the doctrine of Holy Communion, for example. Instead, my interest lies in the mental dispositions that emerge from the practice of life and that limit intellectual options. Ulti- mately, I argue that people who are born into a Protestant Congregationalist community and are raised and socialized within that community have a different mentality than people brought up in, say, a Catholic mi- lieu, particularly with regard to the issues of individual responsibility and political-democratic engagement. Given this background, Rockefeller’s concern that Dewey did not become a member of a church in Chicago and did not send his children to Sunday school is less important; see Rockefeller, John Dewey, 214. Before the 1980s, there was virtually no research on American congregations in the area of intellectual history. At that time, the Congregational History Project was launched and it has since produced promising new re- search perspectives. See, for example, James P. Wind and James W. Lewis, eds., American Congregations, vol. 2 New Perspectives in the Study of Congregations (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 200694 inseparable, as Whitman expressed in his 1871 work Democratic Vistas: ‘‘For I say at the core of democracy, finally, is the religious element. All the religions, old and new, are there.’’ 20 And in one of his later dedicatory poems, ‘‘Starting From Paumanok,’’ Whitman wrote: ‘‘My comrade! For you to share with me two great- nesses, and a third one rising inclusive and more resplendent, The greatness of Love and Democracy, and the greatness of Religion.’’ 21 The influence that Whitman had on Dewey is evident in a letter that Dewey wrote to his wife, Alice Chipman Dewey, on April 16, 1887: ‘‘I have been reading Walt Whitman more and find that he has a pretty definite philosophy. His philoso- phy of democracy and its relation to religion strikes me as about the thing.’’ 22 Dewey’s deep trust in Whitman continued throughout his life — it is an expression of the dominant discourse in the United States at the turn of the twentieth century that bound together the chief architects of Pragmatism. THE BIOGRAPHICAL NETWORK OF THE CHICAGO SCHOOL What we might today call the ‘‘moderate Protestant discourse’’ of that time — the vision of establishing God’s kingdom on earth — was infused by a religious understanding of social life and, in particular, an emphasis on mutual communica- tion as a prerequisite of democratic decision making. This view was advocated in the academic milieu by a network of men who, as a rule, came from strict Protes- tant family backgrounds — mostly Congregationalists and also Baptists, but never Lutherans — and whose views were guided by their faith. Nor did these academics see a conflict between their commitments to religion and to liberal education: Frederic Henry Hedge, a Harvard professor and Unitarian pastor, for example, wrote, ‘‘The secularization of the College is no violation of its motto, ‘Cristo et Ec- clesiae.’ For, as I interpret those sacred ideas, the cause of Christ and the Church is advanced by whatever liberalizes and enriches and enlarges the mind.’’ 23 Neither the ‘‘secularization’’ of the curriculum nor the increased emphasis on research at the universities changed the character of the firmly anchored Protes- tant self-understanding in the United States, despite the fact that the majority of immigrants in the late nineteenth century were no longer Protestants. The chro- nological priority of Puritanism, as well as its strong localism, which was particu- larly suited to meet the needs of such a vast country, discouraged the emergence of a serious competitor to ‘‘liberal Protestantism’’ in the public discourse. I will illuminate this point through the example of the University of Chicago, which 20. Walt Whitman, ‘‘Democratic Vistas,’’ in Leaves of Grass and Selected Prose, ed. Ellmann Crasnow (1871; repr. London: Orion, 1993), 521. 21. Walt Whitman, ‘‘Starting from Paumanok,’’ in Leaves of Grass (London: James R. Osgood and Com- pany, 1881), 23. 22. John Dewey to Alice Chipman Dewey, April 16, 1887, The Correspondence of John Dewey, vol. 1, no. 00057 (Charlottesville, Virginia: InteLex Corporation, 2002). 23. Frederic Henry Hedge, cited in George M. Marsden, ‘‘The Soul of the American University: A Histor- ical Overview,’’ The Secularization of the Academy, eds. George M. Marsden and Bradley J. Longfield (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 9. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 95 eventually replaced the old center of ‘‘New Theology,’’ Andover Seminary, 24 and thus became ‘‘probably the country’s most powerful center of Protestant liberalism.’’ 25 In 1891, Rockefeller entrusted the president of the University of Chicago, Bap- tist theologian William Rainey Harper, with the great task of building up the uni- versity. Harper was looking for a star to head his philosophy department, and William James recommended Charles Peirce, but the appointment fell through when a member of the Harvard philosophy department expressed doubts as to Peirce’s character. 26 In the meantime, Harper hired James Hayden Tufts, one of his own former students from Yale Divinity School. At the time, Tufts had been work- ing as an instructor in the University of Michigan philosophy department, headed by John Dewey. 27 As noted previously, Harper offered the Chicago position on con- dition that Tufts first go to Germany to earn his doctorate in philosophy. Tufts’s departure left a hole in Dewey’s philosophy department at Ann Arbor, which was to be filled by George Herbert Mead. Mead was the son of Congrega- tionalist minister Hiram Mead, who had joined the faculty at the Oberlin Theolog- ical Seminary as professor of Sacred Rhetoric and Pastoral Theology in 1869. George Herbert Mead studied at Oberlin College, completing his bachelor’s degree and forming a close friendship with Henry Northrup Castle, the son of a Protestant missionary in Hawaii. When Castle and his sister, Helen, traveled to Europe and settled temporarily in Leipzig, Germany, in 1888, Mead, too, went to Leipzig in order to pursue a PhD in philosophy and physiological psychology, where he studied mainly under Wilhelm Wundt. In 1891, Dewey’s offer of an instructorship in philosophy and psychology at the University of Michigan interrupted Mead’s work on his degree (interestingly, he never did complete his PhD). One year later in 1892, Tufts, now equipped with a German PhD, became a member of the University of Chicago faculty. He urged Harper to invite Dewey to chair the philosophy department. Dewey accepted the post on the condition that Mead also be brought to Chicago as an assistant professor. Thus, in 1894, the Dewey-Mead-Tufts trio became the core of the group that William James would later call the Chicago School, a local and closely linked network of intellectuals whose understanding of themselves as academicians — in absolute contrast to the German tradition — was shaped by the idea that science and knowledge must have practical utility and must guide our living activity. Their shared Protestant social doctrine, as we will see, certainly informed their understanding of social issues. All of them became involved with the work of Jane Addams’s settlement house, Hull House. This affinity with Addams was not surprising, since Addams, too, was 24. See Daniel Day Williams, The Andover Liberals: A Study in American Theology (New York: King’s Crown Press, 1941). 25. Sydney E. Ahlstrom, A Religious History of the American People (New Haven and London: Yale Uni- versity Press, 1972), 774–775. 26. Louis Menand, The Metaphysical Club (New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2001), 285ff. 27. John Dewey to James H. Tufts, June 20, 1889, The Correspondence of John Dewey, vol. 1, no. 11892. E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 200696 raised in a devout Protestant family, her father imparting to her strong sense of moral responsibility, purpose, and charity — traits characteristic of his Quaker faith. In addition, Tufts was an active member of the City Club of Chicago Com- mittee on Housing Conditions for many years, even serving as chairman in 1910. Mead and Dewey were active in the League for Industrial Democracy, a social political movement founded in 1905 by Upton Sinclair and Jack London and aimed at the radical democratization of society (it was originally called the ‘‘Intercolle- giate Socialist Society’’). The ideal held up by Dewey and his colleagues was not the disinterested scholar but rather the socially responsible academician, and their primary object was not Bildung but rather social justice guided by a spirit of demo- cratic Protestantism. This network of colleagues, over time, formed even stronger professional and interpersonal relations. For instance, George and Helen Mead published Dewey’s early progressive education papers under the title The School and the Society in 1900, and their only child, whom they named Henry Castle Albert Mead (after Helen’s brother), later married Irene Tufts, the daughter of James Hayden Tufts and Cynthia Whitaker. When Dewey left Chicago for Columbia University in 1904, Tufts was promoted to professor and succeeded Dewey as chair of the philosophy department. In 1908, several years after Dewey had left, he and Tufts coauthored Ethics, and they published a completely revised edition in 1932. After Helen Mead’s death, Dewey arranged for Mead’s appointment as a professor at Columbia University for the 1931–1932 academic year; before he could take up that appointment, however, Mead died in Chicago on April 26, 1931. CALVINISM AND THE MODERN AGE At the end of 1893, around the time that Dewey was hired by the University of Chicago, he wrote a letter to James Rowland Angell, the son of James Burrill Angell, a devout Congregationalist and president of the University of Michigan. The elder Angell had hired Dewey at Ann Arbor on the recommendation of George Sylvester Morris, while the younger Angell had studied under Dewey at Ann Arbor and was in Halle, Germany, when Dewey wrote him (he would later also come to Chicago and set up the new department of psychology there; in 1921 he became president of Yale University). In his letter, Dewey undertook to clarify the differ- ence between German and American thinking. 28 The Germans, Dewey wrote, had in the main developed an unsurpassed philological expertise, while at the same time building remarkable scientific laboratories. He doubted whether Americans could ever rival the Germans in the art of philology, but doubted also that efforts to do so would be justified, for it would not make sense according to the principle of the division of labor: 28. Unlike many other academics, Dewey had not studied in Germany. He was one of the first to obtain a doctorate in philosophy in the United States (from Johns Hopkins University). TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 97 What we can do, perhaps, on the historical side is to interpret the history of thought more from the anthropological and political standpoint — as a social phenomenon..I think that even the ‘‘Ideas‘‘ have yielded and turned out not ‘‘metaphysical’’ but aesthetic-political products. 29 The separation of idealism and reality that characterized German thought was intellectually attractive to the Americans, as is indicated by their interest in and study of German philosophy. But such a dualistic starting point, premised as it was on the Lutheran doctrine of the two kingdoms, 30 provided little tangible with which to understand and address the multitude of social, political, and economic problems at the turn of the century. 31 Dewey, like many others, was seeking a ‘‘unified lan- guage,’’ as he wrote in 1892 in a letter to Joseph Villiers Denney, professor of English and dean of the College of Arts, Philosophy, and Science at Ohio State University: The ‘‘unified language’’ seems to be the most complete expression of what the ‘‘idea’’ does in thought, how religion has one language, philosophy another, science another, literature another & so on. Seeing the common objective fact, we get the unified language — the language of action. This is democracy — the appropriation of the store of spiritual wealth in all directions by the whole & common people. Slang unifies with philosophy, theology & poetry. This unified language is the breaking down of barriers & rigid separation to my mind. 32 This idea of an all-inclusive language, encompassing not only disciplinary and ideological thoughts but also thinking and acting, demonstrates just how far from liberal, in the current philosophical sense, these exponents who belonged to the ‘‘liberals’’ of the time actually were. The following assertion by Daniel Coit Gilman, founding president of Johns Hopkins University, illustrates this point: ‘‘American universities should be more than theistic; they may and should be avowedly Christian — not in a narrow or sectarian sense — but in the broad, open and inspir- ing sense of the Gospels.’’ 33 These Protestant academics believed in teaching the 29. John Dewey to James Rowland Angell, May 10, 1893, The Correspondence of John Dewey, vol. 1, no. 00478. 30. Martin Luther and German evangelical Protestantism hold to the doctrine of the two kingdoms. In Christ’s kingdom, governed by the spiritual authority of the Word and the Sacraments, there is grace and forgiveness of sins, and there are no differences among men. The other realm, the secular kingdom, is ruled by the temporal authority of the ruler, the sword, and the law; there is neither grace nor equality. Lutherans view the two kingdoms as instituted by God as mutually beneficial. The realm of Christ bene- fits from the temporal realm, because secular authority enforces peace in the world, and the temporal realm is served by the realm of Christ in its proclaiming of the Gospel through the Word. This Evangel- ical Protestantism holds further that it is of prime importance not to confuse the two kingdoms: God rules the spiritual kingdom through the Gospel. The Gospel is not meant to rule the secular kingdom, which is ruled by its own power and laws. Any attempt to use the Gospel to rule the secular world is an error. Politically, this doctrine —particularly since it was accompanied by a state church — was tanta- mount to total deprivation of people’s right of decision making. This makes clear once more the funda- mental difference between the Baptist faith and Congregationalism, and it explains why American Lutherans and Presbyterians did not follow the liberal turn of theology — that is, in the words of William R. Hutchinson, they were ‘‘most resistant to change.’’ See William R. Hutchinson, The Modernist Im- pulse in American Protestantism (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1992), 114. 31. These problems were primarily found in urban areas, such as Chicago. William Stead, son of a British Congregationalist minister, wrote an impressive account of the conditions in Chicago around 1893–1894; see William Thomas Stead, If Christ Came to Chicago! A Plea for the Union of All Who Love in the Service of All Who Suffer (Chicago: Laird and Lee, 1894). 32. John Dewey to Joseph Villiers Denney, February 8, 1892, The Correspondence of John Dewey, vol. 1, no. 00462. 33. Gilman, cited in D.G. Hart, ‘‘Faith and Learning in the Age of the University: The Academic Minis- try of Daniel Coit Gilman,’’ in The Secularization of the Academy, eds. Marsden and Longfield, 107. E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 200698 Gospel — that is, the teaching of salvation through Jesus’ words on the coming of the kingdom of God — but not with the intention of making those teachings the subject of discussion in theology or the science of religion. Instead, the teaching of salvation was seen as the prerequisite to thinking and acting, as the fertile ground, so to speak, on which life and thought took place and out of which sprung liter- ature such as Walt Whitman’s. The University of Chicago’s President Harper pro- vided another, more specific statement of this purpose when he told the student body that the fourth part of world history was beginning, it had its center in the United States, and in this era civilization was reaching its apex: according to him, ‘‘the history of civilization has been synchronous with the development of a pure and true conception of God, and of his relation to man’’ — that is, the Baptist- Protestant interpretation of God and his relation to man. 34 Harper saw this move- ment as a mandate for a mission that had been assigned to the United States by God and that had deep educational consequences: ‘‘If, now, our faith is sure that there has been committed to us this great mission, shall we not purify ourselves?’’ For Harper, this was a purification from both immorality and ignorance: The ideal purification is a purification from vice and immorality, from sin of every kind and from impurity; but it is more — it is a purification (I use the word advisedly) from ignorance and prejudice, from narrowness of every kind, and from intellectual dishonesty. What is nee- ded? The gospel and education. 35 Only the two together would empower the United States to convert the world: ‘‘In this work of educating humanity to understand God and itself, America is the training-school for teachers.’’ 36 THE KINGDOM OF GOD ON EARTH American Protestantism, therefore, was a fundamental part of the American mentality during this period. This religious understanding was not fundamentalist in orientation but liberal in the American sense: mostly undogmatic, not specific to any denomination or church, and thus best understood as an all-encompassing certainty rather than as a sect. James B. Angell, Dewey’s employer at the Univer- sity of Michigan, characterized the proper relation of religion and higher education as follows: Michigan is a Christian State, and her University can be true to her only by cherishing a broad unsectarian but earnest Christian spirit. I think that her sister universities in the Northwest are pervaded by the same spirit, and that they are contributing their full share to the dissemi- nation of a Christian culture. 37 Accordingly, true science could not oppose Christianity — in this circle, the choice was not one of either Darwinism or Christianity. To be liberal meant a lack of 34. William Rainey Harper, ‘‘America as a Missionary Field,’’ in William Rainey Harper, Religion and the Higher Life (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1904), 175. 35. Ibid., 180–181 (emphasis added). 36. Ibid., 184. 37. James Burrill Angell, cited in Bradley J. Longfield, ‘‘From Evangelicalism to Liberalism: Public Mid- western Universities in Nineteenth-Century America,’’ in The Secularization of the Academy, eds. Marsden and Longfield, 46. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 99 concern about dogmas, like original sin, and this opened up the possibility of thinking and acting in a scientific and modern way and, at the same time, in a Christian way. Of course, some theological tensions between these value systems were recognized, and numerous studies attempted to reconcile them. (See, for in- stance, the writings of John Fiske, who served under Tufts on the faculty of the University of Chicago’s philosophy department. 38 ) All of the participants in the Chicago School recognized that the conditions of living were changing, particularly in large cities such as Chicago. The goal of real- izing the message of salvation required adjusting politics and education to these conditions in order to respond to them, where adjustment is an active process that requires targeted action. Out of this recognition grew the Social Gospel movement, to which Jane Addams also belonged. In Addams’s programmatic treatise, ‘‘The Necessity for Social Settlements’’ (1892), written prior to the founding of the Uni- versity of Chicago and nearly two years before Dewey and Mead’s arrival in Chicago, she interpreted her settlement community, Hull House, as a response to the manifold social divisions characteristic of the urban experience, which had isolated people from one another and therefore weakened democracy, understood as ‘‘social intercourse.’’ 39 Addams saw democracy primarily as a process of social exchange, as a form of cooperation, to which she gave a religious interpretation: The Settlement movement is only one manifestation of that wider humanitarian movement which throughout Christendom, but pre-eminently in England, is endeavoring to embody it- self, not in a sect, but in society itself..I believe that this turning, this renaissance of the early Christian humanitarianism, is going on in America, in Chicago, if you please, without leaders who write or philosophize, without much speaking, but with a bent to express in social service and in terms of action, the spirit of Christ. 40 Action in the sense of self-activity stood at the center of intelligent cooperation for the purpose of mastering and changing the environment into an industrial democ- racy, and ‘‘activity’’ here was at its core religious. This line of thinking was impressively developed by George Herbert Mead. As early as March 20, 1885, Mead wrote to his friend Henry Castle that Christianity was an infallible motive for an active life, ‘‘which raises every man to become a King and Priest,* me to God; makes every man a man of action and gives the most exceeding pleasure health and removes the dregs from the cup and despair from life.’’ 41 Mead developed this view shortly before he was asked to join the faculty at 38. Fiske’s work in this area was controversial — at Harvard, he was condemned as an atheist and denied permission to teach. Tufts stood by him, however. In a 1916 letter, Tufts explicitly and positively identi- fied Fiske as one of the few contemporary authors mentioned in Dewey’s Democracy and Education. James Hayden Tufts to Edith Foster Flint, March 9, 1916, James H. Tufts Papers, box 1, folder 7, Uni- versity of Chicago Regenstein Library. See also John Dewey, Democracy and Education (1916; repr. New York: Free Press 1944), 45n. 39. Jane Addams, ‘‘The Subjective Necessity for Social Settlements,’’ in Philanthropy and Social Pro- gress, ed. Henry C. Adams (New York: Thomas Y. Cromwell, 1893), 1. 40. Ibid., 19–20 (emphasis in original). 41. George Herbert Mead to Henry Northrup Castrup, March 20, 1885, Mead Papers, box 1, folder 2, University of Chicago Regenstein Library (emphasis in original; asterisk indicates uncertain reading of Mead’s handwriting). E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 2006100 the University of Chicago on Dewey’s recommendation. Evidence of this develop- ment is a forty-page manuscript, probably written in 1893 while Mead was still in Ann Arbor. In this lecture, Mead discussed the meaning of the New Testament, focusing on the relationship of Jesus Christ to John the Baptist and on Christ’s Gospel, specifically on his announcement of the coming kingdom of God on earth in the Sermon on the Mount. According to Mead, it is from their spontaneous rela- tionship with God in prayer that men recognize they have common — not contra- dictory — interests, which are endangered by the capitalist economy: ‘‘The centering of our interest upon riches that pass away involves the absence of all ‘treasure in the Kingdom of Heaven.’ For where your treasure is there will your heart be also [Matthew 6:21].’’ Mead continued, ’’We find in a later chapter [of the Holy Bible] still more strongly expressed the destructive effect of the greed for wealth upon that identity of interest that should exist between all men in the Kingdom, — ‘If thou wilt to be perfect go and sell all that thou hast and give to the poor and thou shalt have treasure in heaven’ [Matthew 19:21].’’ 42 Mead then quoted Matthew 19:24 — the passage saying that it is easier for the camel to pass through a needle than it is for a rich man to enter Heaven — to which he offered the follow- ing as a complement: It is just as impossible to do both — serve God in this Kingdom and Mammon as well. One’s life is not made up of the abundance of things one possesses, but life is more than meat. In God’s King- dom it is impossible that one’s interest should be centered upon the mere conditions of existence. 43 Faith in Christ and thus the ‘‘community of interest’’ of men is not a matter of rational understanding, but it is also not a matter of ‘‘emotion in the sense in which we generally perhaps consider an emotion. It does not represent a feeling insofar as this is something static but a state mind prepared for the most absolute, the most perfect acting — it is the condition of perfect activity.’’ 44 To provide evidence for this interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount, Mead referred to William James’s Principles in Psychology, first published in 1890, in which James insisted that emo- tions are the consequence of activities and thus exist prior to all attempts at ration- alization. In that work, James had wanted to demonstrate clearly that the traditional assumption of a causal relation of the following type was false: coming unexpectedly upon a bear in the woods, then experiencing fear, then running away. James wrote that it was more correct to assume that we experience fear because we run away — that running away is the physical activity and that the subsequent perception of the activity is what we call a feeling. 45 Following this digression, Mead returned to Jesus in order to show that the emotion of love can arise only in connection with action and activity: I come back to our theme if the principle which Jesus represents is to be expressed as an emo- tion. The emotion of love — it can only be as an active principle — the principle of the most 42. George Herbert Mead, untitled essay on Jesus, love, activity [ca. 1893], Mead Papers, box 10, folder 1, University of Chicago Regenstein Library: 20–21. 43. Ibid., 21. 44. Ibid., 26. 45. William James, Principles in Psychology (New York: Henry Holt, 1890), 449–450. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 101 complete and absolute activity our natures are capable of. It must have back of it the instinc- tive actions of the whole social — in other words: religious — nature and it must have the power of supporting these activities at once and without cessation. 46 Or, as Dewey expressed it in the same year of 1893: Christianity is revelation, and revelation means effective discovery, the actual ascertaining or guar- anteeing to man of the truth of his life and the reality of the Universe. It is at this point that the sig- nificance of democracy appears. The kingdom of God, as Christ said, is within us, or among us. 47 DEMOCRACY AS REDEMPTION The idea of a true community of interests and thus the realization of the king- dom of God on earth was not held exclusively by the Chicago Pragmatists; rather, it shaped a wider Protestant discourse that dominated the field of common school- ing at the end of the nineteenth century. 48 This same idea can be seen in Graham Taylor, who, after Jane Addams, was perhaps the most important exponent of the settlement house. Like Addams and others in the Chicago School, Taylor oscillated between scholarship and social engagement: he was founder and director of the Chicago Commons Settlement House and, at the same time, a professor of biblical sociology in the sociology department at the Chicago Theological Seminary. 49 His lectures were based largely on Francis Herbert Stead’s The Kingdom of God: A Plan of Study in Three Parts, which was written in 1893. However — and this may ex- plain why the Dewey circle had close contacts with Addams but not with Taylor — Taylor championed a type of social reform that was much more closely oriented to formal institutions: for example, it targeted, among other things, better conditions for, and an increase in, civic participation and voting among the work force. In 1882, about ten years before Mead set down his thoughts about the Sermon on the Mount as a guide for realizing the kingdom of God on earth, Taylor deliv- ered a Thanksgiving address titled, ‘‘The Unity of Human Interests.’’ While the ad- dress has been passed down to us only in the form of phrases and abbreviated words (‘‘That in Ch[rist] of G[od] at call of State, on day sacred to Home’’), its con- tent is illuminating. In contrast to Mead or Addams, Taylor asserted that the in- stitutionalized interests of state, church, and family ‘‘are really one. Their common blessings imply substantial unity.’’ 50 This was precisely not what Mead, Dewey, and Addams thought. Whereas they shared with Taylor the vision of a kingdom of 46. Mead, untitled essay on Jesus, love, activity, 37f. (punctuation as in original). 47. John Dewey, ‘‘Christianity and Democracy’’ (1893), in John Dewey: The Early Works, 1893–1894, vol. 4, ed. Jo Ann Boydston (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1971), 6–7. 48. David Tyack, ‘‘The Kingdom of God and the Common School: Protestant Ministers and the Educa- tional Awakening in the West,’’ Harvard Educational Review 36, no. 4 (1966): 447–469. 49. Taylor’s private papers contain the following description of his settlement house: ‘‘Chicago Com- mons is a ‘Social Settlement’ located at the corner of Grand Avenue and Morgan Street. It was founded in May, 1894, and is the home of a group of people who want to share the life of the neighborhood its com- forts and discomforts; its privileges and responsibilities; its political, civic and personal duties and pleas- ures. They offer their home as a social center for the neighborhood, in which they desire to be friends, fellow-citizens, neighbors,’’ Graham Taylor Papers, Chicago Commons Scrapbooks, box 1 (1900–1906), Newberry Library, Chicago. 50. Graham Taylor, ‘‘The Unity of Human Interests — Address at Thanksgiving’’ [November 30, 1882], Graham Taylor Papers, Newberry Library, Chicago. E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 2006102 God and the idea of a community of interests, they did not view these primarily in the context of formal institutions, and certainly not the church. It is not by chance that Jane Addams was convinced that Hull House was the expression of a renais- sance of early Christianity. Mead, Dewey, and Addams were less concerned than Taylor with strengthening the institutional power of the state and were not at all interested in a strong church; instead, they sought to perfect their vision of com- munity as an expression of a common interest that was Christian, social, and dem- ocratic — and therefore critical for American development. They viewed as ‘‘good’’ that which emerged from unity and remained unified; ‘‘bad’’ was the particular or the particularizing: ‘‘The bad act is partial, the good organic..The good man, in a word, is his whole self in each of his acts; the bad man is a partial (and hence a dif- ferent) self in his conduct. He is not one person, for he has no unifying principle.’’ 51 Within this framework, capitalism had to be criticized, not because it is based on private ownership of the means of production, but instead because of its socially divisive, segregating consequences, which, because it made common intercourse, the community of interests, and organic unity impossible, stood in the way of realizing the kingdom of God on earth. Theologian and journalist George Davis Herron, one of the most popular activists of the Social Gospel movement, expressed this by calling America undemocratic: We Americans are not a democratic people. We do not select the representatives we elect; we do not make our own laws; we do not govern ourselves. Our political parties are controlled by private, close political corporations that exist as parasites upon the body politic, giving us the most corrupting and humiliating despotisms in political history, and tending to destroy all political faith in righteousness. 52 This critique, formulated in the language of republicanism, finds fertile ground in the Protestant ideal of liberal reform, according to which social, religious, and democratic life are fundamentally identical — a natural expression of the common interests of men. On this view, formal institutions become, if not superfluous, cer- tainly secondary: The political realization [of Christianity] will be a pure democracy. Christianity can realize it- self in a social order only through democracy, and democracy can realize itself only through the social forces of Christianity. A pure social democracy is the political fulfillment of Christi- anity;.It is the historical and providential idea that God shall lead the people by his Spirit of right as his sons, governing them inspirationally rather than institutionally. 53 51. John Dewey, ‘‘The Study of Ethics: A Syllabus,’’ in John Dewey: The Early Works, vol. 4, ed. Boy- dston, 245. 52. George Davis Herron, ‘‘The Christian State — The Social Realization of Democracy,’’ in The Christian State: A Political Vision of Christ (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1895), 76–77. Herron was a Congrega- tional Church minister and professor of applied Christianity at Grinnell College from 1893 to 1899. In many ways, his views were closer to those of Graham Taylor. In fact, Taylor invited him to teach ‘‘social religion’’ at the Chicago Commons School of Social Economics in 189 (see Graham Taylor Papers, Chicago Commons Scrapbooks, box 2, Newberry Library, Chicago). After his scandalous divorce in 1899, Herron resigned from Grinnell College and joined the Socialist Party. The passage cited here, which is as representative of Pragma- tism as it is of Christian Socialism, shows how closely connected the various social reform movements were; specifically, it indicates that the mentality of liberal Protestantism linked these movements together. 53. Ibid., 74–75. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 103 This argument is not very far from the analysis that Dewey set forth in The Public and Its Problems, first published in 1927, when he accused the captains of industry of destroying democracy in order to serve their private interests. 54 In this connection, Dewey said, ‘‘the cure for the ailments of democracy is more democ- racy,’’ so that a scattered and mobile and diverse public can come to ‘‘recognize it- self as to define and express its interests.’’ Given this premise, it is not surprising that Dewey viewed democracy as the ‘‘idea of community life itself,’’ in which there is a single consciousness of a single interest that produces the public as a public and in this way makes democracy truly possible in the first place: ‘‘The clear consciousness of a communal life, in all its implications, constitutes the idea of democracy.’’ 55 As Dewey repeatedly stressed, the vitality of democratic social life does not depend on formal democratic institutions, like voting or representa- tive government, but vice versa. Thirty years after the period examined here, Dewey’s mode of thinking had not essentially changed: ‘‘Democracy will come into its own, for democracy is a name for a life of free and enriching communion. It had its seer in Walt Whitman. It will have its consummation when free social inquiry is indissolubly wedded to the art of full and moving communication.’’ 56 On Dewey’s view, the project of communion and immediacy must start with education, namely, education in the home within communal ‘‘face-to-face relationships.’’ 57 Upon this background, it is probably advisable when interpreting My Peda- gogic Creed — Dewey’s first work on education to enjoy broad reception — to 54. John Dewey, The Public and Its Problems (1927; repr. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1954). This book is an answer to Walter Lippman’s The Phantom Public (1925; repr. New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1929). Lippmann, the son of second-generation German-Jewish parents, declared himself a socialist dur- ing his years at Harvard, but, starting at the turn of the twentieth century, he turned to radical liberalism in the European sense. In The Phantom Public, Lippmann criticized the Protestant-republican ideology of homo politicus: ‘‘The environment is complex. Man’s political capacity is simple’’ (p. 78). He wrote that the ideal of the old American communities, whereby ‘‘the voter’s opinions were formed and cor- rected by talk with their neighbors,’’ was no longer effective within the complexity of the ‘‘Great Soci- ety’’ (p. 181). For this reason, Lippmann called for a plural public, arising from the exchange of interests: ‘‘I have conceived public opinion to be, not the voice of God, nor the voice of society, but the voice of the interested spectators of action’’ (p. 197). Dewey responded first with a critical review (see John Dewey, ‘‘Practical Democracy,’’ New Republic 45 [December 2, 1925]: 52–54) and then with a series of lectures at Kenyon College, Ohio, in 1926. These lectures were later edited and published as The Public and Its Problems. 55. Dewey, The Public and Its Problems, 140, 148–149 (emphasis in original). 56. Ibid., 184. 57. Ibid., 218. Evidently, The Public and Its Problems was not the definitive answer, because Dewey was unable to solve the problem of how local communities, which he wished to revitalize, could be brought to engage in the type of global communication necessary to advance scientific knowledge. That is, he failed to resolve the issue of why local communities should want to harmonize with other communities. Dewey developed a strategy for harmonizing the particular with the universal in his 1934 book, A Com- mon Faith. What is crucial in the present context is not so much the fact that in this work Dewey, as Rockefeller stresses, once again uses the term ‘‘God’’ in a positive sense after not having done so many years (see Rockefeller, John Dewey, 234), but rather the fact that human and religious experience are made synonymous — that is, plurality is attributed to an assumed unity. Compare with Daniel Tröhler, ‘‘The Global Community, Religion, and Education: The Modernity of Dewey’s Social Philosophy,’’ Stud- ies in Philosophy and Education 19, no. 1–2 (2000): 159–186. E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 2006104 understand the democratic element of his theory of the school in the context of Dewey’s own summary of his educational belief: ‘‘I believe that in this way the teacher always is the prophet of the true God and the usherer in of the true king- dom of God.’’ 58 In these days when religion in education is invariably equated with the agenda of conservative, fundamentalist Christianity, it is important to con- sider, by way of contrast, an encompassing religious stance on education that does not lie in an illiberal religiousness. 58. John Dewey, ‘‘My Pedagogic Creed’’ (1897), in John Dewey: The Early Works, 1895–1898, vol. 5, ed. Jo Ann Boydston (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1972), 95. See also Dewey’s final ad- dress before the Students’ Christian Association of the University of Michigan on May 27, 1894: ‘‘The re- sponsibility now upon us is to form our faith in the light of the most searching methods and known facts; it is to form that faith so that it shall be an efficient and present help to us in action, in the co-operative union with all men who are sincerely striving to help on the Kingdom of God on earth’’ (John Dewey, ‘‘Reconstruction’’ [1894] in John Dewey: The Early Works, vol. 4, ed. Boydston, 105). AN EARLIER VERSION OF THIS PAPER was presented at the International Research Seminar ‘‘Peda- gogical Modernization: Secular and Religious Aspects of Pedagogics,’’ Ascona, Switzerland, October 2004; at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, 2005; and at Rice University, Houston, Texas, 2005. I would like to thank Thomas S. Popkewitz, Thomas L. Haskell, and the editor of Educational Theory, Nicholas C. Burbules, for their amicable help in shaping this article. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 105
work_ohhtb2cao5eqzgopljr7ce2jla ---- A Pig Doesn't Make the Revolution - Review: Leonardo Caffo, Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione: manifesto per un antispecismo debole (2013) A Pig Doesn’t Make the Revolution Valentina Sonzogni Architecture and Art Historian, Museum of Contemporary Art, Rivoli, Italy valentina_sonzogni@yahoo.it Caffo, Leonardo. 2013. Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione: manifesto per un anti spe ci- smo debole. Casale Monferrato: Sonda. 127 pp. € 12.00. ISBN 978-8-87106-701-8 We are always coming up with the emphatic facts of his- tory in our private experience, and verifying them here. All history becomes subjective; in other words, there is properly no history; only biography. Every mind must know the whole lesson for itself, must go over the whole ground. What it does not see, what it does not live, it will not know. (Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essays, 1841) Writing a review of Leonardo Caffo’s book Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione (A Pig Doesn’t Make the Revolution) has a special meaning for me, as the title of the book recalls the eponymous interview that I did with Caffo in 2011, focusing on what I would call “the bases” of antispeciesism. At that time, after embracing Vegetarianism, I was looking for a theo- retical background that would provide intellectual support to my spiritual longing for animal welfare: this is how I came across his research. I would call it a piece of good luck, as Caffo’s thinking has been complementing what I consider to be not only a new political position and a major reality check but, in the first place, a personal evolution. Caffo’s conceptual system, which I then carried with me in my path as an “amateur” animal rights advocate (I promote this view in a rather small community), revolves around the concepts of compassion and lucidity, civil disobedience and the capacity to talk to ordinary people as well as to finely educated people in order to transmit “the truth” that is hidden behind the clean and anonymous walls of the slaughterhouse. So this is a review of a book, but it also contains my personal opinion on Caffo, who embodies – he will excuse me for using him as a guinea pig – a new genre of activism that may finally manage to get the message outside of the enclave of activists, perhaps finally conquering the attention of indifferent omnivores as well as leather and fur fashionistas. http://www.ledonline.it/Relations/ Valentina Sonzogni 144 Relations – 2.2 - November 2014 http://www.ledonline.it/Relations/ The book is structured in a rather simple and clear way. After a first chapter in which Caffo presents the thesis of the animal liberation’s move- ment initiators such as Peter Singer and Tom Regan, he proceeds to deline- ate a genealogy of the movement by oppositions calling into cause thinkers such as Matthew Calarco and Jacques Derrida as well as Martin Heidegger to accompany the reader in a series of mental experiments proving the specificity of the struggle for animal rights. The crucial transition of the field of animal cognition into that of animal studies is analyzed by Caffo through a review of the different definitions of speciesism, showing that the intellectual plea today is for a larger perspective that would start from pain and distress, anguish and fear and in which sensiocentrism would be the ethical guide to such (r)evolution. In the third chapter, Caffo examines his main ideas and achievements, namely what he defines “antispecismo debole” or “terzo antispecismo” (“weak antispeciesism” or “third antispeciesism”). The fourth chapter is the re-publication of a dialogue between Caffo and Marco Maurizi in which they debate in a reciprocate interview on the topic of possible scenarios for animal liberation, among which Maurizi especially supports political antispeciesism, a theory and practise that pairs advocacy for human and non human animals rights. The conclusion of the book tells a lot about its own premises: Caffo acknowledges and incorporates in his method the idea of “negoziato concettuale” (“intellectual negotiation”) as it was introduced by Roberto Casati (Casati 2011). The enormous task of achieving animal liberation can progress only through the negotiation of the different souls and minds of the animal rights movement and, I would add, not only in the Italian scenario, but opening up to other countries and their experiences, from Austria to China, learning from their victories and defeats while developing a solid strategic action for animals, as Melanie Joy would put it (Joy 2008). Something may surprise the reader: Caffo states to have tried to write his book not as an animal rights advocate but as an animal (Caffo 2013, 9): writing as a pig would write can make visible to our eyes the only possible way to his own liberation. Once you get familiar with his thinking, believe me, you will agree that Caffo is that pig, that forgotten nameless animal dying unheard, in this very moment, in a filthy slaughterhouse, somewhere on the planet earth. His “weak antispeciesism” is born out of compassion (and, of course, out of a strong philosophical grounding); yet, if this kind of “sentimental” approach to the matter can be regarded as inappropriate or “weak” within Academic circles, his theory is appealing for most audi- ences, reaching out for non-vegan communities, intersecting with other disciplines and slowly permeating those communities that have no familiar- L. Caffo, “Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione: manifesto per un anti spe ci smo debole” 145 Relations – 2.2 - November 2014 http://www.ledonline.it/Relations/ ity with such topics. A new definition of activist, also fostered by Joy in her book Strategic Actions for Animals, seems to be another important step in the process of helping the pig with his revolution: animal rights advocates should not present themselves as “non-eaters of something” (opposing omnivores in this), but as supporters of a new conception of the world, that is, as an avant-garde movement. Do you remember the Cubists, or Igor Stravinsky, James Joyce or Le Corbusier, The Beatles and Madonna? That’s it, we won’t make it as vegans (although we must all tend to this kind of diet) but we will make it as antispeciesists in that we bring further a new idea of life and philosophy. But Caffo says more: antispeciesists are not only doing this, but what is more, they are speaking up for those who have no voice, so they must become that pig. Having said that, Caffo proceeds to take a distance from what he is known as “political antispeciesism”, generally intended as a movement that aims at liberating both human and non-human animals at the same time (and I apologize for not acknowledging the different tendencies of the movement here). Caffo does not deny political antispeciesism but defines the ideological and practical limits of struggling for animals in order to define sharply the timing and the goals of this battle. Caffo has been criti- cized for his “third antispeciesism” in that it seems to exclude human rights struggles. Yet, although he sets animal suffering as a priority in the agenda, he is not devaluing the equally urgent issue of human slavery or exploita- tion. Such urge derives from the philosophical difference between action and intention, which is killing an animal in a car accident versus allowing the livestock system with the consequent death row, from the creation of lives that should never have been born to the slaughterhouse etc. The care- fully planned and organized killing of billions of non-human animals for food industry, fashion and science (among other purposes) is enough of a reason to set animal liberation at the top of the agenda. Caffo’s antispe- ciesism is weak in this sense: that is, it suspends the judgment on broader theories and limits its goal to a more “humble” task, i.e. to act immediately for animal liberation in any possible manner. So far so good. But how to fight for animal rights? That seems to be the question here. Once the conceptual frame is set, Caffo seeks inspiration in the work of the philosopher Henry David Thoreau in indicating the path of civil disobedience as a form of individual struggle against the privileges that the human species has self-granted to its members: “A new antispe- ciesism must be politically aware of a systemic mistake, while being able to morally deal with individual deviant behaviours on which, if possible, we must immediately take action” (Caffo 2013, 72). These guidelines are summarized in a few points that encourage to give up part of established Valentina Sonzogni 146 Relations – 2.2 - November 2014 http://www.ledonline.it/Relations/ and socially accepted privileges, such as for instance the food obsession that is so typical of Western (and especially Italian) people. This different education fosters individual disobedience, for instance accepting to go to jail after freeing operations and rescues, transgressing the law and so forth, as is already done by ALF and other groups worldwide. From a theoretical point of view, Caffo restates the priority of the non-human animal: “[…] accepting that ours is a struggle not for people and not even also for people, but only for non-human animals, and that the face of a weeping pig alone matters more than all the dreams of man- kind” (Caffo 2013, 75). Getting involved with animal liberation limits the field to this specific battle, which is remarkably different from a global, larger and more complex battle against exploitation – situating it non before human liberation, but just next to it, although separated. Animal liberation is prioritary for Caffo and it is a moral imperative based on a commonly accepted truth that is not questionable: non-human animals do suffer, feel and remember, they can think and some of them understand human language (everyone who has a dog or a cat, let alone a monkey can confirm this). They have familiar bonds and memory and a nervous system that makes them feel physical pain and psychological distress. One can have no empathy for non-human animals but these facts are as accepted nowadays as the fact that the planet earth is spherical. And, just as many people today dismiss as unacceptable any act of sex, gender and race discrimination, one day they will find unacceptable the habit of animal corpses consumption in public (once called “meat”) or shoes made with dead skin (once called “leather” or “hide”). It is again Caffo who writes: Unfortunately, however, it is widely believed that we should not force other to stop eating meat because, in the name of a generic pluralism, we must respect the food choices of other individuals. Those who argue that eating or making clothes out of non-human animals is justifiable rarely try to pro- vide valid arguments for their thesis. […] However, a value judgment about what is eaten is widespread: the proof can be found in the fact that, virtually, human cultures do not practice cannibalism, because eating humans is con- sidered reprehensible. (Caffo 2013, 93) Even though he distances himself from the actual debate on political antispeciesism, Caffo is a political antispeciesist because antispeciesism is political in the first place. What Caffo states is: let’s put non-human ani- mals back at the center of our struggle and let us not only feel their pain but be them. In any case, there is enough space in one’s mind and heart to embrace more than one cause. Pigs perhaps don’t make the difference (yet), but we (still) do. L. Caffo, “Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione: manifesto per un anti spe ci smo debole” 147 Relations – 2.2 - November 2014 http://www.ledonline.it/Relations/ RefeRenceS Caffo, Leonardo. 2013. Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione: manifesto per un antispecismo de bole. Casale Monferrato: Sonda. Casati, Roberto. 2011. Prima lezione di filosofia. Roma: Laterza. Joy, Melanie. 2008. Strategic Actions for Animals. New York: Lantern Books.
work_oi5j5yhkfvhedlektr5ni4cleq ---- UCLA UCLA Previously Published Works Title How Social Movements Do Culture Permalink https://escholarship.org/uc/item/7q98d88c Journal International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, 23(2) ISSN 1573-3416 Author Roy, William G. Publication Date 2010-09-01 DOI 10.1007/s10767-010-9091-7 Peer reviewed eScholarship.org Powered by the California Digital Library University of California https://escholarship.org/uc/item/7q98d88c https://escholarship.org http://www.cdlib.org/ How Social Movements Do Culture William G. Roy Published online: 26 February 2010 # The Author(s) 2010. This article is published with open access at Springerlink.com Abstract While much social science literature has analyzed the cultural bases of social movement, activity, and the content of cultural production by social movements, relatively little has been written about the concrete social relations within which social movements do culture. This paper addresses the issue of what social movements are doing when they produce culture. Four dimensions of social relations within which culture is enacted are identified: the division of labor, the relations of power, tuning in, and embeddedness. A contrast between the how the People's Songsters Movement of the 1930s and 1940s and the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s used American folk music illustrates how variation in these dimensions affects the effects that cultural production had on social movement outcomes. Keywords Social movements . Culture . Modes of relationships . Civil Rights Movement “When I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe. I am related to the earliest times, and to the latest.” Henry David Thoreau The power of music has long been celebrated by philosophers, poets, statesmen and activists. Music has the power to seduce, inspire, soothe, and fortify. We all know that. What do social movements do? They protest, plea, organize, recruit, petition, demonstrate, meet, debate, strike, and express. As collective agents of expression, like other collectivities, they do art, literature, music, drama, and other creative endeavors. Some authors have even suggested that their cultural activities are more enduring and historically important than their political achievements (Eyerman and Jamison 1998). The most common question about the cultural activities of social movements probes meaning: How are cultural expressions motivated by activists and interpreted by audiences? Insofar as Int J Polit Cult Soc (2010) 23:85–98 DOI 10.1007/s10767-010-9091-7 The paper has benefited from the constructive and insightful comments of Jacqueline Adams and Violaine Roussel. Permission to publish this article in English was granted by Presses Universitaires de Vincennes. W. G. Roy (*) Department of Sociology, University of California, Los Angeles, Los Angeles, CA 90095-1551, USA e-mail: billroy@soc.ucla.edu social movements are defined in terms of their goals and demands, cultural objects are critical to fathom movements' mindsets, ideologies, and cultural resonances. But, content is only one dimension of how social movements do culture. Thus, the central issue of this paper is how sociologists studying social movements study culture. The argument is simple: As important as content of cultural forms is, the effects of art, music, drama, literature, etc. achieved by social movements depend at least as much on the social relations within which culture is embedded. We need to move beyond attending to the content of art, music, drama, literature, etc. to examine how people relate to each other while doing music, drama, literature, etc. We need to recognize that the social relationship by which one person or group has a monopoly on creativity, which they disperse to audiences, is only one kind of social relationship for culture. The claim here is that many people doing art, doing music, doing drama, doing literature, not just consuming it, is an extraordinarily powerful mode for both solidifying commitment to social movements and for helping them achieve their goals. I will illustrate the argument with a comparison of two social movements that self- consciously used American folk music but with very different results. In contrast to Europe, where the genre of folk music was invented as part of the nationalizing projects of the late nineteenth century (Cohen 2002), folk music in the US was used by left-wing groups. Like recent social movements in France (Waters 2003), social movements in America have used music and other cultural forms to simultaneously express distinctive identity and cultural commonality. The communist-led movement of the 1930s and 1940s developed the most extensive and elaborate cultural infrastructure of any movement in American history, with influence in every aesthetic realm from fine literature to Hollywood (Denning 1996). They successfully catapulted American folk music from an esoteric interest of academics and antiquarians into a genre of popular music. But, they failed to reach their target audience—the working class. One major reason is that they never transcended the conventional social relationship that prevails in western culture, that of performer and audience, even though they were to create a culture of participatory performance. In contrast, the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s is well known as one of the most musical movements in American history. For a brief period at least, music fortified the movement, wielding solidarity among the participants, and, with music that had strikingly thin political content, stirred the public imagination. The more powerful role that music played in the Civil Rights Movement is explained less by the music itself, much of which was inherited from the Old Left, than by the social relationship within which it was done. For the Civil Rights Movement, music was less a matter of a performer singing for an audience than part of the collective action itself. At the lunch counter, on the picket line, on the bus rides, and in jail, they made music collectively. Unless we attend to the social relations in which people are doing culture, we will be unable to explain the different effects that music had for these two movements. Modes of Relationships Between Culture and Social Movements Sociology has conceptualized several ways that social movements relate to culture. 1. Art as a social movement: Sometimes artists organize as artists, musicians as musicians, or writers as writers, not just in pursuit of their own self interests, as when they unionize but toward larger social or political goals. The Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s exemplified this type of movement when such luminaries as Langston Hughes, James Weldon Johnson, W. E. B. DuBois, Louis Armstrong, and Billie Holiday transformed the face of American letters and music (Bell 1975; Floyd 1990). Artists often feel obliged to join 86 Roy together as artists to use their talents on behalf of movements for justice and change. Thus, artists against the war in Iraq have formed an Artist Network that supports the larger anti-war effort. Roussel has investigated the trajectories by which artists become active and cope with conflicting pressures (Roussel 2007). 2. Social movement dynamics in art worlds: Apart from the overt politically engaged artistic projects like the Harlem Renaissance, Howard Becker has pointed out that all art is a collective activity that shares characteristics with social movements. Art worlds coalesce around networks, mobilize resources, selectively defy conventions, wax and wane, much as social movements (Becker 1982; Zolberg and Cherbo 1997). Innovation tends to appear at the margins of art worlds and diffuse in manner of new ideologies. Artists cluster around insurgent schools to challenge orthodoxies, often based in new organizational forms. Thus, impressionism became a major art form when a new distribution system based on critics, dealers, and small exhibitions challenged the Academy system and created a very different art world (White and White 1993). Even when change is initiated by elites, it often takes the form of innovating new organizational forms that diffuse to other locales. In the US, high art and music became differentiated from popular art and music through the institutionalization of the elite- sponsored non-profit corporation. Such organizations as the Boston Museum of Fine Arts or the Boston Symphony Orchestra were able to liberate themselves from dependence on commercial success by relying on elite subsidies, making it possible to sustain refined culture (DiMaggio 1982a, b). The art world that the organizational form enabled then spread to other cities, much as a movement spreads. 3. Cultural analysis of music, literature, and drama in social movement art: By far the most common mode of analysis is cultural analysis of the content of art, music, literature, and drama. Art, music, literature, or drama is treated merely as a vehicle to communicate content, like speeches, newsletters, protest demands, petitions, or interviews. Hermeneutic, semiotic, or interpretative analysis is applied to understand how social movements make meaning or connect to the meaning sets of constituencies. As Swidler describes the cultural role of social movements: “Even without conscious efforts at publicity, one of the most important effects social movements have is publicly enacting images that confound existing cultural codings” (Swidler 1995, p. 33). The model typically underlying the role of culture in social movements is that social movements succeed in reaching goals by adding members: members decide to join and participate on the basis of alignment between their meaning systems and those of the social movement. So a social movement can grow and thus succeed by articulating meanings close to potential constituents or by doing the cultural work of converting potential constituents to their ways of seeing the world. As a close parallel to the way that some religious organizations grow, we might call this the evangelical model of movement building. What becomes sociologically at stake in this perspective is what content of ideas, symbols, ideologies, narratives, and in recent scholarship, frames most effectively converts recruits into apostles. The recruit is assumed to be mainly a culture processor, taking in ideas, symbols, ideologies, narratives and frames, and responding with support, indifference, or hostility on the basis of a pre-existing mental state. The typical event in this process is the culture-driven decision.1 And that culturally driven decision to participate or not is often prior to and analytically divorced from 1 While there is no reason why sociologists could not study iterative processes by which previous cultural work changes social movements or recruits, setting the stage for later culturally informed decisions, this is rarely done. Though see Pedriana and Stryker (1997) for an effective analysis of how discourse at one point in time can influence later discursive interaction. How Social Movements Do Culture 87 the recruits' actual participation in the social movement itself. Though eschewing the autonomous decision-maker of rational choice theory, cultural theory (understood as a system of mental frames) too often substitutes a culturally informed decision-maker. Both assume an autonomous actor soaking up input, digesting it internally, and outputting a decision. Missing is the kind of social relationship within which culture is performed. As important as the content of culture is, the same words, symbols, images, narratives, and frames can have very different effects depending on the qualities of relationship within which it occurs. This is what a relational approach can bring to the table. The relational approach focuses on the qualities of interaction itself. It is the sound of two hands clapping, which can never be reduced to the qualities of each hand separately. For example, equality is a relational quality, irreducible to the amount of goodies held by either party, but found only in the relationship of parties to each other. Equality between two actors can be achieved if both are wealthy or both poor. It depends on the wealth of neither actor as individual but only how they relate to each other. A relational approach to social movements can take at least three forms. The most common is the network approach (Snow et al. 1980; Klandermans and Oegema 1987; Marwell et al. 1988; Gould 1995; Diani and McAdam 2003; Andrews and Biggs 2006). Here, the content of cultural work is refracted through the structure of relationships within which a recruit is embedded. Such factors as the unanimity of influence, the number of people that influence a recruit, the extent to which interaction partners interact with each other all have an effect on how people make decisions. A second relational approach focuses on various enduring qualities of interaction among people. Trust, emotional bonds, and solidarity among people lubricate cultural work making potential recruits more open to influence (Stepan-Norris and Zeitlin 1989; Jasper 1998; Tilly 2005). A third approach, which is emphasized here, focuses on the social dynamics of the interaction as it happens, examining how the nature of what is going on at the time of the interaction affects the consequences of doing culture. For example, the social relationships in a classical music performance are shaped by such factors as the architecture, physical layout, performance practices, norms of audience comportment, and the division of labor among composer, performer, conductor, and audience (Small 1998). Similarly, DeNora (2000) describes how the activities that people do to music shapes not only the meaning of the music but the activities being done, whether solitary listening, aerobics, shopping, making love, or raving. The social relations interact with the sonic qualities to shape the experience, as music affords or lends itself to different ways of experiencing. For the purposes of this paper, we can identify four dimensions of the social relationships within which culture is enacted: 1. The division of labor within which culture is enacted: For western music, labor is divided among composer, performer, listener, and interpreter, though other societies have very different divisions of labor (Feld 1984). Likewise Graffiti, especially when it is part of gang activity, typically is embedded in a very different relationship of artist and audience from conventional art. Some forms of street theater attempt to break down the wall between performer and audience by enticing bystanders to participate in the unfolding drama. When we acknowledge that “Music is not a thing at all but an activity, something that people do” (Cohen 2002, p. 2), the division of labor becomes very important. Western culture distinguishes between composition, performance, distribu- tion, and reception, even when individuals do more than one job. There are of course exceptions. Jazz blurs the line between composition and performance. Congregational singing blurs the line between performance and reception. Other societies do not make these distinctions. Among the Suya of Brazil, there are distinctions between composer, 88 Roy performer, and audience. Music is led by village elders for rituals in which men collectively improvise on known musical themes (Seeger 2004). The division of labor defines the bundle of tasks that people perform when participating in the doing of art or music. Merely viewing or only listening calls for a much lower degree of participation than more active tasks and thus is less involving. This is especially true when the involvement is collective. As Becker argues, all the arts are collective, even those, such as painting or poetry, often considered solitary (Becker 1982). The division of labor in that collective effort and the role that people play in the division of labor is a major factor in the effects that the arts can have, quite apart from their content. 2. Power: Whatever the division of labor among people doing culture, there is variation in the power structure that describes the relative distribution of influence among different actors within art worlds. In classical music, for example, music directors select the repertoire for programs, composers dictate the notes played, conductors shape how the notes are played, and listeners influence trends through their choices of patronage. Similarly, artists, patrons, critics, brokers, and consumers differ in their relative power in different societies and different kinds of art. To some extent, the distribution of power is shaped by the division of labor. Separating the composer from the performer necessarily gives the composer considerable power. The musical score becomes a device by which the composer restricts the power of the performer to shape what is performed. When the performer is separated from the audience, any power the audience might wield is generally negative, their choices a selective mechanism that can reinforce some composers, pieces, and performers over others. The operation of power in social movements is important for the role of art not only in terms of the content, but also the form. Centralized movements make decisions about culture at the top, tending to adopt forms that maintain control. Leaders in centralized movements generally prefer to control the messages of cultural production and thus to prefer forms in which messages can be monitored. Decentralized movements allow a greater proliferation of message and permit forms of music in which the collective experience is more important than the message. 3. Tuning in: Schütz (1964) has described how music has the ability to synchronize people's consciousness into a sense of sharing that transcends the meaning it might have for any solitary listener. McNeill has argued that the synchronization of drilling, chanting, and singing fortifies collective efforts, including war (McNeill 1995). While auditory media like music, poetry, and chanting have obvious qualities of tuning in because they are set in time, visual arts also vary in the extent to which people experience them collectively or individually. For example, Chicano activists have self- consciously created murals as group projects to foster solidarity (Reed 2005). Many accounts have described how the Chinese Cultural Revolution in the late 1960s was fanned by the crowds which gathered around poster walls. Schütz describes tuning in as a synchronization of inner time, “the experience of ‘We,’ which is at the foundation of all communication” (Schütz 1964, p. 173). It can take the form of mutual gaze, conversation, ritual participation, or music. This is a variable concept, not a dichotomy; there can be shallow or deep tuning in that can foster trivial or consequential bonds. Singing a duet together bonds more tightly than hearing canned music in a store. For social movements, joining arms and singing creates more solidarity, more a sense of “We” than attending a concert together, no matter how effective the performance, just as congregational singing is more likely to foster devotion than a choral anthem. Tuning in is one of the major mechanisms by which the content of artistic expression affects recruitment and commitment. The impact of a message depends not only on whether How Social Movements Do Culture 89 it resonates with a receiver's values and world view, but also on the circumstances under which it is communicated, especially the presence of others. Messages are more likely to have impact when the sender and receiver are tuned in through what Schütz calls precommunicative interaction, by which he means intercourse that precedes communication through mutual orientation toward each other. It is the social achievement by which people are on the same page, by which they can react when interacted with. Music is one of the strongest means for tuning in, especially making music together (Schütz 1964; McNeill 1995; Frith 1996). To persuade, messages must be consistent with receivers' prior values and world view. But, they are much more powerful when refracted through tuning in. It is tuning in that gives music, not just lyrics, its power. This is why states have national anthems, religions have hymns, and social movements have protest songs. 4. Embeddedness: Western society is distinctive in the extent to which it has framed culture as putatively pure form, denigrating art, music, literature, and drama that is supposedly compromised by “using” culture for non-artistic purposes. Culture is considered most aesthetic when it is the most pure and aesthetically compromised when it is intended for political, commercial, or other instrumental purposes. Comparative and historical studies have shown the peculiarity of the quest for pure culture. Other societies embed the arts in a variety of social forms—religion, work, political ritual, family, etc. (Lomax 1962; Small 1998; Feld 1984; Seeger 2004; Bohlman 1999; Gioia 2006; Taylor 2007). Similarly, historians and other scholars have documented how the conception of pure art or music autonomous from “society” is itself a historical development that emerged from a set of very particular circumstances. The exaltation of “pure” art as a separate sphere of action is an achievement to be explained more than it is an immanent aesthetic to automatically be defended against encroachment by society (Zolberg 1990; DeNora 1995; Citron 2000; Weber 1999). Social scientists are moving beyond the simple issue of whether “pure” culture is possible to investigate the relation between cultural and other social relations by studying what people are doing when they do culture. This is not a question of motivation or intention. Even when people understand themselves as doing pure culture, they are doing other things. Small, for example, has ethnographically described how the classical music concert is a site of displaying and reproducing middle class respectability (1998). Other studies more explicitly have investigated the relationship between cultural objects and religion, politics, sports, relaxing, making love, education, and of course social movements. While many of these studies focus on the content, others have analyzed how the culture is embedded in social relations (Zolberg 1990; Reed 2005; Berezin 1994; Du Gay 1997; Leblanc 1999; DeNora 2002; Martin 2004; Ikegami 2005; Rosenthal and Flacks 2009). Analyzing the embeddedness of culture means suspending the distinction between pure and pragmatic culture or between aesthetic and social dimensions to focus on what people are doing when they are doing culture. Music as Propaganda Versus Music in Collective Action The use of music by the Communist-inspired Left of the 1930s and 40s, often called the People's Songsters, and by the American Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s offers a vivid contrast of the social relationships within which culture can be done. Both adopted American folk music as an explicit cultural project but embedded it in very different types of social relationships with very different effects. The Old Left used music as a weapon of 90 Roy propaganda, establishing a formidable cultural infrastructure to expound the ideology they wanted the working class to embrace. While they succeeded in introducing the genre of folk music to American popular music, they failed to reach across the social boundaries they hoped folk music would bridge. In contrast, the Civil Rights Movement used music within collective action itself, singing freedom songs as they gathered, marched, rode busses, and endured jail. Abandoning conventional distinctions between performer and audience, content and form, with relative nonchalance about the political content of their music, their music helped bridge one of the most intractable social boundaries of American society, that of race. Although the American Communist Party in the first half of the twentieth century is best known for heavy-handed political economy and a strongly materialist version of Marxist– Leninism, as the leading force in the American left during the 1930s and 1940s, it developed an elaborate cultural infrastructure that touched on all media of cultural expression (Denning 1996.) Many of America's most respected literary figures such as Langston Hughes, John Dos Passos, Malcolm Cowley, and Richard Wright were active in the left and belonged to organizations affiliated with the party. Other party organizations produced drama, art, and criticism on a large scale. Beginning in the 1920s, politically engaged musicians established foreign language choruses for workers and a Composers' League that included such distinguished contributors as Marc Blitzstein, Aaron Copeland, Charles Seeger, and the recently immigrated Hanns Eisler. After discovering that politically motivated modern classical music did not appeal to workers, largely at the instigation of Charles Seeger, they took on American folk music as “the people's music.” Folk music was more appealing than other vernacular genres for several reasons. Popular commercial music reeked of bourgeois culture; country music and blues were associated with particular groups, namely rural whites and rural blacks, and most important, “the folk” could be thought of as “the people.” As one of the few politically engaged predominantly white organizations that self-consciously reached out to African Americans, the people's song movement explicitly defined folk music to include black and white music. For the rest of the paper, I want to contrast how the Communist-inspired movement of the 1930s and 1940s and the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s each used music. The social relations within which culture was enacted helps explain the differential effect that the People's Songsters had on the movement and the broader society, why they succeeded more at making folk music a well known form of popular music than bringing together the broad range of people included in the “folk” and why the Civil Rights Movement was able to forge a racially diverse movement that served as a model for subsequent movements to emulate. I will organize the discussion around the four dimensions of social relationships within which culture is enacted, as discussed above. Some of the contrasts are over-drawn here for reasons of brevity. 1. The division of labor within which culture is enacted: The People's Songsters movement adopted the conventional composer/performer/audience model, while the Civil Rights Movement assumed a song-leader/group model. Although the earliest communist-inspired music was found in popular choruses, mostly non-English, the composers, song collectors, and performers who promoted folk music in the 1930s and 1940s tended to fall back into a performance mode. Music was taken to the people in union meetings, urban coffee houses, night clubs, concerts both large and small, and rent parties needed to pay the rent of movement musicians. To be sure, they did not foster conventional quiescence of classical music concerts. One of the reasons they embraced folk music was so that audiences could participate. The best-known leftist singing group of that period, the Almanacs, was self-consciously participatory. The How Social Movements Do Culture 91 group's bass, Lee Hays, had come from the folk-music-rich Appalachian region where he honed the skills of song leading. He found an enthusiastic ally in the movement's most visible advocate, Pete Seeger. The Almanac singers intentionally refrained from becoming too professional, even to the point of abstaining from rehearsals and allowing participants of modest talent to participate. Prior to that time, American folk music had been known mainly to academics and antiquarians. The “folk” in rural America who did the music that the academics labeled folk music did not understand their music to be folk music and did not make any distinction between inherited songs learned orally and commercial music learned from sheet music or the newly available radios many of them owned. Music that the academics labeled folk music was occasionally introduced to urban dwellers by rural musicians packaged as quaint, urban interpreters such as poet Carl Sandburg or concert versions performed in classical style. It was almost always performed by individuals or occasionally by duos. The leftist movement invented the urban folk singing ensemble with groups such as the Almanacs and the commercially successful Weavers, typically quartets with accompanying guitar, banjo, string bass, and sometimes, a mandolin. It was hoped that the ensemble format would encourage the audience to sing along, to make a concert a participatory experience. They even invented a new concert format, the hootenanny, an occasion where a variety of musicians could perform, with audience participation highly encouraged. But, they failed to foster the singing movement they had hoped for. Even though activists wholeheartedly embraced the music and energetically participated in musical activities, the broader movement, especially the unions, did not become a musical union. Some movements produced songbooks, and some union meetings invited the Almanacs or other performers to perform, but music-making was more performative than participatory. The main problem was that the social roots of the music promoters conflicted with that of the workers. “Folk music” almost always refers to someone else's music. The people who indigenously do the music do not call it folk music, and those who do call it folk music are rarely very folk-like. “Folk music” typically refers to rural, agrarian, unlettered, unrefined music that is embraced by urban, educated, sophisticated observers. The activists who adopted folk music as the music of the people were mostly college educated, either white Anglo-Saxon Protestants or second generation European Jewish immigrants sincerely motivated to reach across the cultural divide. However, the working class, mostly white, often upwardly mobile workers were unresponsive. Their music was more likely to be the popular commercial music of Benny Goodman than the politically charged folk music of the Almanacs. As Almanac lead singer Pete Seeger recalled, “We were convinced that the revival of interest in folk music would come through the trade unions... How our theories went astray! Most union leaders could not see any connection between music and pork chops” (Seeger 1992, p. 26). It was not just a matter of culture vs material interests. After a union performance in which the Almanacs dressed casually in order to connect more easily to the workers, the union members were offended at the lack of respect. They attended union meetings in coats and ties and expected performers to look their best. The conventional composer/performer/audience division of labor was also reinforced by the organizational infrastructure developed by party members and sympathizers. The Communist Party from its earliest days self-consciously used culture as a weapon in the class struggle, creating art, literature, and music for, about, and sometimes, by the working class. In doing so, its creative practitioners also created culture by and for themselves, many of whom were not working class. Beginning in the 1920s, they were especially active in literature, reflecting the high culture orientation of many participants. “John Reed Clubs” 92 Roy named after the renowned communist journalist who emigrated to the Soviet Union, were created in many cities. The organizational infrastructure of left-wing folk music reached its peak after World War II, when the Communist Party was bearing up under assault from McCarthyism and expulsion from labor unions. At no point before or since has the organized left had such a significant presence in the musical culture of the nation. People's Songs, Inc. (PSI) drew together progressive musicians from the party fringes, New Deal activists, unions, and college campuses. By publishing books and magazines, sponsoring events, creating forums for interaction, and linking to other producers and distributors of left-wing music, they gave folk music a greater presence both in the media and movement at large. While American folk music had been given a radical tinge during the era of the Popular Front and the Almanacs, it was indelibly stamped as pink in the PSI era. Its musicians included many who are now considered folk legends—its inspirational leader, Pete Seeger, its icon of African American heritage, Huddie Ledbetter, its conscience of authenticity Woody Guthrie, and its storehouse of talent including Josh White, Brownie McGhee, Burl Ives, Tom Glazer, and Oscar Brand. The division of labor in making music for the Civil Rights Movement dissolved the distinction between composer, performer, and audience. Meetings were modeled after the template of the black church where members were accustomed to congregational singing. While some major events such as the celebrated 1963 March on Washington followed a conventional performer/audience model, most of the collective action events in the movement had no single presider. Sit-ins, picketing, bus riding, marching, and the like involved organized crowds. So, the primary division of labor in the music was the leader and group, a well-known relationship in black communities, one that was further refined during the course of the movement. The Highlander School in Monteagle, Tennessee, a crucial training ground for movement activists, had regular workshops to train song leaders, share songs, and integrate music into the collective action. Many SNCC (Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee) and CORE organizers in small towns were trained song leaders and many SCLC activists were ministers. 2. Power: The vanguard strategy of the Old Left manifested itself in a hierarchical party structure, contrasted with the leadership and empowerment orientation by which the Civil Rights Movement did culture. Though the artists and musicians associated with the party exercised considerable autonomy from the formal hierarchy overseen by the Cultural Division, the party did authorize the broad parameters of cultural form and content. Most importantly, the party inculcated in them the use of culture as a propaganda weapon (Lieberman 1995). A vanguard is a group that takes responsibility for educating masses. Under party guidance, culture is a means to communicate its understanding of truth. So, the Almanac Singers, who were hardly Party stalwarts, reversed their earlier anti-war lyrics after Hitler invaded the Soviet Union, parroting the party's fresh pro-Roosevelt belligerency. As educated urbanites, the institutional form they knew to achieve anything was to form an organization, elect officers, develop a program of activities, put out a newsletter, forge links with other organizations, and mobilize a constituency. With the Communist party as the major leftist organization in the country during the 1930s, even those not initially affiliated would gravitate in that direction. When People's Songs, Inc. was established after World War II, they found an office in a building with other party-related organizations, hired a young party member as executive director, issued a newsletter containing tips on how to run a hootenanny along with politically engaged songs, and worked to find venues for radical performers. It was not top down in the sense of fealty to the party, which was at best indifferent to How Social Movements Do Culture 93 their activities.2 But, it was hierarchical in the sense that they assumed that the goal of the movement was to take their message to the less enlightened masses through the strategy of national organizations headquartered in the nation's cultural capital, New York City. In contrast, the Civil Rights Movement was always highly decentralized, both organizationally and culturally. Song leaders were accountable only to other organizers. They were trained at transitory events such as workshops at the Highlander School and communicated with each other through mimeographed song books and gatherings at demonstrations. Thus, the music could more easily serve to create solidarity among people than having to carry a message from a central leadership. Song leaders were either paid organizers, who may have come from outside the community but who were socially similar to community members, or community leaders, especially ministers and teachers. Community meetings were run like church services, which for African American southerners meant extensive congregational singing. Some of the songs, such as the movement's anthem “We Shall Overcome,” were converted hymns, while others were stylistically similar to hymns. Many of the songs were so-called “Zipper songs” that could be easily adapted for any situation and which allowed participants to make up verses on the spot. They would typically have a single line repeated several times, followed by a chorus. “Oh Freedom” for example, had several verses made up by demonstrators in Albany, Georgia, including “No more jail house...” and to defy the local sheriff, “No more Pritchett...” each verse ending in “And before I’ll be a slave, I’ll be buried in my grave, And go home to my Lord and be free” (Carawan and Carawan 1963). 3. Tuning in. Music always involves some sort of tuning in (Schütz 1964). And virtually all social movements that use music are attentive to its ability to create solidarity as well as carry a message (Eyerman and Jamison 1998). But, the social relations within which music is enacted affect the ways in which people are connected to each other and thus what is political about the culture. For the Old Left, politics was first and foremost in the lyrics. So tuning in took the form of frame alignment (Snow et al. 1986; Gamson et al. 1992; Benford and Snow 2000; Johnston and Noakes 2005). People were considered close to each other to the extent that they were “on the same page.” Cultural activities were considered successful when they raised people's consciousness. To extend the metaphor of tuning in, resonance was defined in terms of political agreement. In contrast, for the Civil Rights Movement, tuning in was based more on common participation in making music. They were able to achieve what the Old Left had aspired to, creating a singing movement. SNCC organizer Charles Sherrod has described how when he first arrived in Albany, Georgia, people had learned to sing “We Shall Overcome” from seeing it on television, but that it was stiff and passive. So, he taught them how to join arms, sway, and harmonize, binding the participants into a collectivity (Reagon 1975). 4. Embeddedness: Music for the Old Left was embedded in a political party aspiring to change people's consciousness. Their music was overtly political, which in western society creates a tension with aesthetic standards of “pure” culture. When activists became performers, they thus distinguished between their political songs and their popular songs, as the Almanac Singers did when they intentionally balanced their repertoire with political and folk songs (Lieberman 1995). When they tried to embed music in other forms, such as unions, they found little success. They did find a ready 2 Interview with Irwin Silber and Barbara Dane, Oakland-California, 2001. 94 Roy audience when they performed for Progressive candidate Henry Wallace in the 1948 presidential campaign, although the effort bankrupted the sponsoring organization, People's Songs, Inc. For the Civil Rights Movement, the music was embedded in the collective action itself, in meetings, picketing, riding on busses, sitting in, and passing the time in jail. These were activities in which a crowd of people, often confronted with hostile authorities, engaged in drawn out activity that required tight coordination and communal movement. Their repertoire of collective action was ideal for making music together. And music was the ideal medium for reinforcing and empowering these forms of collective action. Tellingly, when the movement abandoned non-violent civil disobedience and its related repertoire of collective action, they also abandoned music in the movement and, like the Old Left before them, embraced music for its content. Conclusions and the Future of Music in American Social Movements Both the Old Left and the Civil Rights Movement were musically successful on their own terms. American folk music developed from a category comprehensible mainly to academics and antiquarians into a mainstream genre. People associated with the folk music project of the 1930s and 1940s created a set of musical codes and a canon of songs that erupted in the 1960s with a new revival. And American folk music, even when divorced from activism, would carry a leftist overtone. The Civil Rights Movement not only ended de jure segregation, its number one goal, but also has offered the template of collective action for all sorts of rights-based movements since then, even those on the right. The lessons can be extended beyond music. The social relations within which social movement culture is enacted are shaped by both cultural medium and the designs of the activists. For the women's movement of the 1970s, poetry was a major activity in consciousness-raising groups, both its writing and reading. It was a medium for women to articulate problems they had intuitively felt but for which they lacked a language. Women used poetry as a means to communicate with other women in their consciousness-raising group and to collectively connect the personal to the political (Reed 2005). Both music and poetry have a strong metric component, a pre-cognitive tuning in that transcends the literal meaning of the words. By the social process, they were also making the personal collective, taking a medium usually assumed to be the epitome of personal expression and individuality and using it to both capture and deepen the consciousness of a group. Similarly, the Chicano collective creation of murals collectivizes what is usually considered an individualistic medium. Though there is a division of labor between production and consumption of murals, the producers remain part of the public whose space is transformed by the mural. Thus, examining the social processes by which people do culture can deepen our understanding of how social movements operate. Recent work, such as Polletta's path- breaking analysis of participatory democracy in movement organizations, has focused on the internal dynamics of how social movement operate, shifting attention away from the perennial issue of why people join. We can move beyond the evangelical model of social movements to see what explains the internal social relationships with movements and how those social relations help shape the broader effects that social movements have on society. The social relations of culture—the division of labor within which culture is enacted, the power dynamics among those doing culture, the way that culture tunes in people involved in culture, and the activities within which culture is enacted—transcend cultural content. The social relations explain the effects of culture on social movement dynamics and How Social Movements Do Culture 95 consequences in a way that analyzing the content of culture inevitably misses. In this paper, music illustrates a general principle that applies similarly to art, drama, poetry, and other aesthetic endeavors. The conditions for social movements to deeply embed music in their collective action like the Civil Rights Movement are today not propitious. First, most constituents have grown up relating to music almost solely as mass media. Even Christian churches include more performative music and less congregational singing. Children reaching maturity today have had fewer opportunities to participate in music-making than previous generations as schools have cut back on all arts. Thus, music is increasingly something you buy more than something you can imagine participating in. Secondly, it is unlikely that any culturally coherent group will have the cultural authority to shape any movement's culture independent of the mass media in the way that blacks did in the Civil Rights movement. Beyond the critical core who grew up singing in churches, participants from other cultural backgrounds entered a movement in which the culture of the black church and the black colleges presented a template respected by all. Only ethnically based groups today have a culturally homogeneous leadership that offers a model for doing culture. Third, there is virtually no cultural infrastructure in current movements—no unifying party such as the communists had, no national organizations like People's Songs, Inc., no record companies like Folkways. Finally, collective action itself has lost the tradition of doing music. In marches, chants have replaced songs. Demonstrations only occasionally have music, almost always as performance without participation. The songs of an earlier generation are considered old fashioned, and none have taken their place. The web itself can be the institutional basis of new movements if they can be thoroughly integrated into other aspects of life in the same sense that black churches and black colleges were integrated into the lives of many Civil Rights activists. Yet, there are glimmers of change. New electronic technologies allow music to be made more easily than ever before. All but the very poor and uneducated have the hardware to make music and the means to distribute it broadly. The potential that the web offers for decentralized movements in general equally applies to music and other culture. Especially if we broaden the making of music beyond singing and playing an instrument to include mixing, synthesizing, and sampling, there are new opportunities for movements to do music. Finally, both of these movements can offer inspiration for activists of the future. 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Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 98 Roy How Social Movements Do Culture Abstract Modes of Relationships Between Culture and Social Movements Music as Propaganda Versus Music in Collective Action Conclusions and the Future of Music in American Social Movements References << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /None /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Gray Gamma 2.2) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (ISO Coated v2 300% \050ECI\051) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Error /CompatibilityLevel 1.3 /CompressObjects /Off /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJDFFile false /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Perceptual /DetectBlends true /DetectCurves 0.0000 /ColorConversionStrategy /sRGB /DoThumbnails true /EmbedAllFonts true /EmbedOpenType false /ParseICCProfilesInComments true /EmbedJobOptions true /DSCReportingLevel 0 /EmitDSCWarnings false /EndPage -1 /ImageMemory 1048576 /LockDistillerParams true /MaxSubsetPct 100 /Optimize true /OPM 1 /ParseDSCComments true /ParseDSCCommentsForDocInfo true /PreserveCopyPage true /PreserveDICMYKValues true /PreserveEPSInfo true /PreserveFlatness true /PreserveHalftoneInfo false /PreserveOPIComments false /PreserveOverprintSettings true /StartPage 1 /SubsetFonts false /TransferFunctionInfo /Apply /UCRandBGInfo /Preserve /UsePrologue false /ColorSettingsFile () /AlwaysEmbed [ true ] /NeverEmbed [ true ] /AntiAliasColorImages false /CropColorImages true /ColorImageMinResolution 150 /ColorImageMinResolutionPolicy /Warning /DownsampleColorImages true /ColorImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /ColorImageResolution 150 /ColorImageDepth -1 /ColorImageMinDownsampleDepth 1 /ColorImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeColorImages true /ColorImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterColorImages true /ColorImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /ColorACSImageDict << /QFactor 0.40 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /ColorImageDict << /QFactor 1.30 /HSamples [2 1 1 2] /VSamples [2 1 1 2] >> /JPEG2000ColorACSImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 10 >> /JPEG2000ColorImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 10 >> /AntiAliasGrayImages false /CropGrayImages true /GrayImageMinResolution 150 /GrayImageMinResolutionPolicy /Warning /DownsampleGrayImages true /GrayImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /GrayImageResolution 150 /GrayImageDepth -1 /GrayImageMinDownsampleDepth 2 /GrayImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeGrayImages true /GrayImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterGrayImages true /GrayImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /GrayACSImageDict << /QFactor 0.40 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /GrayImageDict << /QFactor 1.30 /HSamples [2 1 1 2] /VSamples [2 1 1 2] >> /JPEG2000GrayACSImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 10 >> /JPEG2000GrayImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 10 >> /AntiAliasMonoImages false /CropMonoImages true /MonoImageMinResolution 600 /MonoImageMinResolutionPolicy /Warning /DownsampleMonoImages true /MonoImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /MonoImageResolution 600 /MonoImageDepth -1 /MonoImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeMonoImages true /MonoImageFilter /CCITTFaxEncode /MonoImageDict << /K -1 >> /AllowPSXObjects false /CheckCompliance [ /None ] /PDFX1aCheck false /PDFX3Check false /PDFXCompliantPDFOnly false /PDFXNoTrimBoxError true /PDFXTrimBoxToMediaBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXSetBleedBoxToMediaBox true /PDFXBleedBoxToTrimBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXOutputIntentProfile (None) /PDFXOutputConditionIdentifier () /PDFXOutputCondition () /PDFXRegistryName () /PDFXTrapped /False /Description << /CHS /CHT /DAN /ESP /FRA /ITA /JPN /KOR /NLD (Gebruik deze instellingen om Adobe PDF-documenten te maken die zijn geoptimaliseerd voor weergave op een beeldscherm, e-mail en internet. 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work_ojzorm7dy5c3bjn6ylxdiyszby ---- ORX1300010 584..592 Tools for thinking applied to nature: an inclusive pedagogical framework for environmental education M E R E D I T H R O O T - B E R N S T E I N , M I C H E L E R O O T - B E R N S T E I N and R O B E R T R O O T - B E R N S T E I N Abstract An effective educational framework is necessary to develop the engagement of children and adults with nature. Here we show how the tools for thinking framework can be applied to this end. The tools comprise 13 sensory- based cognitive skills that form the basis for formalized expressions of knowledge and understanding in the sciences and arts. These skills are explicitly taught in some curricula. We review evidence of specific tools for thinking in the self-reported thinking processes and influential childhood experiences of prominent biologists, conservationists and naturalists. Tools such as imaging, abstracting, pattern rec- ognition, dimensional thinking, empathizing, modelling and synthesizing play key roles in practical ecology, biogeo- graphy and animal behaviour studies and in environmental education. Ethnographic evidence shows that people engage with nature by using many of the same tools for thinking. These tools can be applied in conservation education programmes at all levels by actively emphasizing the role of the tools in developing understanding, and using them to design effective educational initiatives and assess existing environmental education. Keywords Biophilia, empathy, environmental education, Gerald Durrell, John Muir, naturalists, Robert MacArthur, tools for thinking Introduction Improving conservation education and fostering attach-ment to nature are considered essential to prepare future generations of conservation biologists and facilitate positive outcomes for conservation initiatives (Noss, 1997; Orr, 1999; Ewert et al., 2005). Simply placing children in natural settings for play or for study is not enough to foster biophilia (Turner, 2003; Louv, 2008). Developing engagement with nature requires an educational framework. One proposal is to use the naturalistic intelligence defined in Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences (Gardner, 1999) to guide conservation education in schools and outreach programmes (Jacobson et al., 2006; Hayes, 2009). This type of intelligence is identified as a cognitive capacity typical of naturalists and those who excel in the study of nature. Gardner’s multiple intelligences have been characterized in a strong form as innate (thus largely unteachable), dedi- cated, computational capacities existing in discrete mental silos and characterized by a unique developmental style and a specialized language (Gardner, 1983), and in a weak form as clusters of competences that exist on a gradient and coalesce into culturally valued forms of learning and ex- pression (Gardner, 1999). This theory is most often used to justify teaching in multiple formal languages (e.g. verbal, mathematical, dance) to reach multiple intelligences. We disagree with multiple intelligence theory on several grounds and propose alternative educational recommenda- tions. Here we present a universal, targeted and inter- disciplinary approach to conservation education. We propose that conservation education should be centred on teachable and learnable cognitive skills that are accessible to everyone. We believe that those who appreciate and study nature share a common set of tools for thinking with everyone else (Root-Bernstein & Root-Bernstein, 1999) and that by stimulating and practising these skills everyone has the potential to develop an improved understanding of and appreciation for nature. Analysing what hundreds of scientists, artists and inventors have reported about their own thinking processes we have identified 13 cognitive skills or tools common to creative problem-solving endeav- ours across disciplines (Table 1; Root-Bernstein & Root- Bernstein, 1999). Used serially or in an integrated manner, clustered according to task and talent, these tools reflect intuitive ways of thinking that yield formal understanding through sensual experience, emotional feeling and intellec- tual knowledge. Their exercise largely precedes the rational articulation of knowledge in words, numbers or artistic or other disciplinary expressions. One core difference between tools for thinking and multiple intelligences is thus that we put pedagogical emphasis on mode of cognition rather than mode of expression. Teaching in multiple formal languages MEREDITH ROOT-BERNSTEIN* Department of Ecology, Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile, Santiago, Chile MICHELE ROOT-BERNSTEIN Department of Theatre, Michigan State University, East Lansing, USA ROBERT ROOT-BERNSTEIN (Corresponding author) Department of Physiology, Michigan State University, East Lansing, MI, 48824, USA. E-mail rootbern@ msu.edu *Also at: School of Geography and the Environment, Oxford University, South Parks Road, Oxford, UK Received 21 August 2012. Revision requested 28 November 2012. Accepted 9 January 2013. First published online 13 March 2014. © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 48(4), 584–592 doi:10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core is not on its own an adequate educational strategy because (as polymaths adept in multiple disciplines can demon- strate) formal expressions are interchangeable, translatable products whose forms are dictated by disciplinary norms, not the origins or bases of ways of learning and thinking. The tools for thinking are trainable and their practised, conscious use improves analytical and creative thought through learning how and when each tool can be applied to a given problem or situation. This is a second core difference between tools for thinking and multiple intelligences; train- ing people to concentrate on a cluster of competences is contrary to the evidence that successful practitioners in any field learn to use many or all of the tools for thinking. Teaching should thus focus on training everyone to use each of the tools. However, systematic training in the use of specific tools has often been clustered in particular domains despite being applicable to a range of multidisciplinary activities (Table 2; Root-Bernstein, 1991; Root-Bernstein & Root-Bernstein, 1999). One of our key arguments is that making the tools for thinking explicit in science-based and avocational conser- vation activities will improve performance in relevant thinking, feeling and problem-solving. This claim takes a position within the complex field involving consciousness, introspection and knowledge. Previously researchers be- lieved that it was impossible for introspection to produce accurate reports of cognitive processes but this view has been critiqued and problematized (White, 1988). There are many different aspects of a cognitive process (e.g. rules, intermediate outputs, causal explanations) and many forms in which they can be reported (White, 1988). People appear to have little or no introspective insight into psychological processes underlying perception (e.g. illusions), motor learning (i.e. acquiring muscular patterns), attitudes or TABLE 1 Descriptions of the 13 tools for thinking, with examples of their application in conservation. Tools are listed in order of potential development, from basic to complex. For source material see Root-Bernstein & Root-Bernstein (1999). Tool Description Examples in conservation science or outreach Observing Honing all the senses to perceive acutely Finding signs of animal activity in a habitat; recognizing a new species Imaging Creating mental images using any or all senses Imagining a plant, insect or bird species from its description in a guide; imagining biogeochemical cycles Abstracting Eliminating all but the essential characteristics of a complex thing Selecting functional traits in functional trait ecology; focusing on carbon in REDD+ payment for ecosystem service programmes Recognizing patterns Perceiving similarities in structures or properties of different things Investigating diversity–latitude & diversity–altitude relationships; studying El Niño/La Niña cycle effects Forming patterns Creating or discovering new ways to organize things Making taxonomies & phylogenies; developing data-sharing structures; developing selection guidelines for flagship species Analogizing Discovering functional similarities between structurally different things Studying the common ecological roles of top predators & megafauna; proposing fire as a herbivore Body thinking Reasoning with muscles, muscle memory, gut feelings & emotional states Engaging in charisma-generating interactions with other species, such as swimming with dolphins; designing structures such as bridges or barriers to affect movements of wild animals Empathizing ‘Becoming the thing’ one studies, be it animate or inanimate Raising or living with wild animals to understand species- specific behaviours; analysing what selfish genes ‘want’ Dimensional thinking Translating between two & three (or more) dimensions (e.g. between a blueprint & an invention); scaling up or down; altering perceptions of space & time Putting space & scale into ecological models; communicating the possible effects of climate change Modelling Creating a simplified or miniaturized analogue of a complex thing to test or modify its properties Creating a model habitat in a shoebox; graphical, mathematical & simulation models of ecological processes Playing Undertaking a goalless activity for fun, incidentally developing skill, knowledge & intuition Playing outdoors; catching insects or collecting flowers as an amateur; amateur nature photography; doing a low- investment, high-risk exploratory study Transforming Using any or all tools for thinking in a serial or integrated manner Observing biodiversity at a field site; hypothesizing an expected pattern; searching for the pattern; abstracting the key parameters controlling the observed pattern; building a graphical model based on the abstracted parameters; scaling the model up to derive global implications Synthesizing Knowing in multiple ways simultaneously: bodily, intuitively & subjectively as well as mentally, explicitly & objectively Studying invasive species in a restoration ecology context; developing a long-term relationship with a local habitat, park or study site Tools for thinking in conservation 585 © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core self-esteem (Wilson & Dunn, 2004). By contrast, introspec- tion can provide accurate reports of cognitive working memory (Baars & Franklin, 2003) and, as such, is inter- preted as indicating the development of conscious knowl- edge (Baars & Franklin, 2003). A common definition of conscious knowledge is knowledge whose use can be controlled (Jacoby, 1991). Knowledge may be unconscious when its representations are of too poor quality to support control, while still affecting performance (Cleeremans & Jiménez, 2002). There is evidence that control, and hence consciousness, of different aspects of knowledge exists on a gradient and that as learning progresses, knowledge can come under greater control (Fu et al., 2007). Subjects who progress from unconscious to conscious knowledge during a learning task are able to use the knowledge strategically (Haider et al., 2011). When conscious knowledge is manipulated by intentional instruction, significant quali- tative and quantitative improvements in performance are observed (Haider et al., 2011). Thus we argue that intro- spection by talented practitioners (who have developed high levels of control) is a valid tool for generating reports about cognitive processes using the tools for thinking. Explicit teaching and thinking with the tools is then expected to improve their control and strategic use by students and consequently improve measures of performance. Here we make a case for the central role of tools for thinking in conservation-related research and nature appreciation, using qualitative research methods. We present examples from memoirs and other writings by and about naturalists, conservationists, ecologists and biologists. We also draw on ethnographic studies of the public’s engagement with nature. The focus on thinking tools offers a novel approach to understanding that engage- ment. It also facilitates pedagogical replication of critical processes of that engagement, with implications for conservation education in the classroom and in the public arena. The role of childhood experience Childhood exposure to nature can be a defining experience (Louv, 2008). The naturalist Gerald Durrell, founder of the first conservation-oriented zoo, published two memoirs about his childhood on the Greek island of Corfu, where he learned to train his eyes and body to observe nature (Durrell, 1956). The ethologist and artist Desmond Morris spent his childhood similarly. He described the experience of observing samples of pond water through a microscope: ‘I felt I was entering a secret kingdom, where flagella undulated, cilia beat, cells divided, antennae twitched, and tiny organs pulsated. I spent so much time with my head bowed over the eyepiece of this magical instrument, and became so engrossed TABLE 2 Examples of areas of learning where explicit training in the tools for thinking is provided. Tool Areas where currently trained explicitly References Observing Nature appreciation Scientific training Checkovich & Sterling (2001) NSF (2000), Dvornich et al. (2011) Imaging Reading comprehension Engineering Chemistry Surgery Spatial reasoning Borduin et al. (1994) Alias et al. (2002) Drummond & Selvaratnam (2009) Sorby (2009) Beermann et al. (2010), Stieff (2011) Abstracting Computer science Mathematical modelling Root-Bernstein (1991) Bennedsen & Caspersen (2008) Pattern forming and pattern recognition Mathematical reasoning Silvia (1977), Burton (1982), Pasnak et al. (1987) Analogizing Scientific training Glynn (1991), Harrison & Treagust (1994), Coll et al. (2005) Body thinking Sciences Druyan (1997), Root-Bernstein & Root-Bernstein (2005), Robson (2011) Empathizing Medicine Animal welfare outreach Ascione (1997) Mariti et al. (2011), Riess et al. (2012) Dimensional thinking Geology Chemistry Kastens & Ishikawa (2006) Stieff (2011) Modelling Ecology Other sciences Welden (1999) Ewing et al. (2003), Musante (2006) Transforming Uses of graphs Thought experiments Colburn (2009) Galili (2009) All or most Kindergarten through PhD curricula Hawaii Arts Alliance (accessed 2012), Mishra et al. (2011), Mishra et al. (2012), Kellam et al. (2013) 586 M. Root-Bernstein et al. © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core with what I saw, that I would cheerfully have dived down the tube of the microscope.. .’ (Morris, 1979, p. 15). For Morris this was the first experience of an imaginative skill he later found critical to his work as a zoologist and artist (Morris, 1979; Root-Bernstein, 2005). The lepidopter- ist and novelist Vladimir Nabokov also combined artistic and scientific response to nature. He described his numerous childhood hunts for new specimens as synaes- thetic (multi-sensorial) experiences. His success in finding butterflies of which he had only read verbal descriptions (Nabokov, 1947) implies a well-developed ability to recall what he had seen at first- or second-hand or to imagine what the unseen species might look like. It also suggests an ability to form patterns, to organize phenomena in systematic ways, to recognize gaps in that organization and conjecture the existence of new phenomena, all skills that would have served him well at the Museum of Comparative Zoology at Harvard University, where he made contributions to butterfly taxonomy (Lumenello, 2005). Aware of the childhood foundation for his cognitive skills, Nabokov advised adults never to hurry children absorbed in play (Nabokov, 1947). The maturation of engagement and practice The skilled analytical activities of biologists, such as decomposition of complex systems into functional parts or hypothesizing causal pathways, can all be reduced to constituent tools for thinking: analysis of complex systems is a combination of abstracting and patterning; hypothesizing causal pathways is a combination of patterning, analogizing and modelling. Here we review examples of how tools for thinking have contributed to the research or outreach of naturalists, biologists and conservationists. Observing the natural environment leads to pattern recognition and formation, both of which are critical to teasing out ecological or biological structures and their functions. The 19th century philosopher and naturalist Henry David Thoreau recorded in prose and sketches the details of what he saw, heard, smelled, touched and tasted during his walks (Thoreau, 2009). He also returned repeatedly to the question of how new oak forests were formed. After observing a squirrel burying a nut, he imagined the large-scale pattern that would emerge from repetition: ‘This, then, is the way forests are planted.. .If the squirrel is killed, or neglects its deposit, a hickory springs up’ (Thoreau, 2009, pp. 454–455). Similarly, through the selection of key images, the biologist and writer Rachel Carson revealed ecological functions and patterns, with their particular rhythms over time and space. She supplemented her observations of ocean life by imaging deep-sea scenes and processes that she could not witness (Lear, 2007). Biogeography began with the search for repeating patterns in community composition over space, and has developed increasingly sophisticated tools, concepts and models of pattern-forming (Lomolino et al., 2004). Current advances in ecology and biogeography are indebted to dimensional thinking, focusing on the influence of space on biological processes and exploring scale-dependence in space and time (Levin, 1992; Whittaker et al., 2005). The naturalist E.O. Wilson describes how dimensional thinking granted him insight into how to conduct his experimental studies of island biogeography: ‘To an ant or spider one-millionth the size of a deer, a single tree is like a whole forest. The lifetime of such a creature can be spent in a microterritory the size of a dinner plate. Once I revised my scale of vision downward in this way I realized that there are thousands of such miniature islands in the United States, sprinkled along the coasts as well as inland in the midst of lakes and streams’ (Wilson, 1994, p. 262). By contrast, many advances in animal behaviour research and outreach have occurred as a result of empathy. Jane Goodall wrote that ‘intuitive interpretations [of chimpanzee behaviour], which may be based on an understanding stemming directly from empathy with the subject, can be tested afterward against the facts set out in the data’ (Goodall, 1986). Combining empathizing with the kinaes- thetic enactments of body thinking and playing, Konrad Lorenz would crouch and waddle like a goose to raise and study his goslings, or speak to birds using their own calls (Lorenz, 1952). By these and similar means he was able to observe many species-specific behaviours, including im- printing and courtship (Lorenz, 1952; Burkhardt, 2005). The neuroendocrinologist Robert Sapolsky also expressed a strong identification with the animals he studied: ‘I joined the baboon troop during my twenty-first year. I had never planned to become a savannah baboon when I grew up, instead, I had always assumed I would become a mountain gorilla’ (Sapolsky, 2001, p.1). Sapolsky’s empathy and judicious anthropomorphism allowed him to develop a functional comparison between baboon personalities and society and human personalities and society. That extended analogy had clear scientific outcomes in his discoveries linking stress physiology, personality differences and the dominance hierarchy (Sapolsky, 2001). Although its validity as a research tool is debated, anthropomorphization can be helpful for engaging the public empathetically with other species and promoting conservation (Root-Bernstein et al., 2013). Tools for thinking are usually used in clusters, according to problem-solving needs. The mathematical ecologist Robert MacArthur, who founded several subfields in ecology, had a passion for observing, abstracting, pattern recognition, and imaging or visualizing his models as memorable and elegant graphs (Pianka & Horn, 2005). Tools for thinking in conservation 587 © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core Observed data had first to be abstracted or simplified into generalizations. He then patterned generalizations in new ways to draw out new implications. He believed that the best science ‘comes from the creation of de novo and heuristic classification of natural phenomena’ (Wilson & Hutchinson, 1989). He further excelled at the translation of derived patterns into the formalisms of mathematics and mathematical models, using mathematics to communicate ideas developed with multiple tools for thinking. Accomplished biologists and naturalists demonstrate a capacity to use multiple tools for thinking, to transform or move serially from one to another and to use them simultaneously and synthetically. The naturalist and con- servationist John Muir demonstrated an ability to observe with all his senses and with empathic sensitivity, to body- think a route over challenging landscapes while noticing the influence of large-scale geological patterns on smaller- scale patterns such as animal movements (Muir, 1954). He communicated his experiences not in mathematics, like MacArthur, but in evocative prose. Promoting engagement through conservation education Imaginative, sensual thinking is central to the creative processes of biologists, ecologists and conservationists. Therefore incorporating tools for thinking explicitly in educational curricula at all levels and in outreach pro- grammes would help to prepare future naturalists, biolo- gists, conservationists and concerned citizens. Anthropological research has shown that non-scientists relate to animals and nature through sensual engagement and use tools for thinking, such as imaging, body thinking, pattern recognition and empathizing, to under- stand their experiences. People who swim with dolphins, for instance, report experiencing transformative physical grace, a form of body-thinking that enables them to identify empathetically with dolphins and with nature as a whole (Peace, 2005; Servais, 2005). A reindeer herder has described empathizing with his reindeers at play in the snow (Lorimer, 2006). Volunteers in a scientific study of corncrakes used auditory and kinaesthetic imaging, pattern recog- nition, and transforming to interpret radio-tracking noise (Lorimer, 2008). Folk biology, local ecological knowledge and people’s ability to recognize morphospecies (Dupré, 1999; Abadie et al., 2008) depend on pattern recognition and pattern forming, whether in terms of identifying morphospecies or categorizing them as edible or inedible, for example. Researchers have tried to understand such engagement by invoking non-human charisma. Lorimer (2007) defined three types: ecological charisma refers to the way we detect or sense a species, corporeal charisma to the epiphanies we experience through physical engagement with a species, and aesthetic charisma to our emotional response to a species’ appearance. Non-human charisma is often misunderstood as an intrinsic characteristic of a species but it is intended to refer to the processes through which we understand species as fellow beings (Lorimer, 2007). Tools for thinking can play a role in these processes. Observing, imaging and patterning can underlie ecological charisma, body thinking and empathizing can contribute to developing corporeal charisma, and synthe- sizing and synaesthetic thinking can lead to aesthetic charisma. There are several ways in which tools for thinking can be implemented in conservation education. They can be used to make people more aware of how they can interact with nature in the most rewarding ways, to devise the most effective conservation education approaches, and to evaluate educational programmes. The passive inclusion of tools for thinking in environ- mental education is not sufficient to make people aware of how they can apply these tools to understand nature (Turner, 2003; Dvornich et al., 2011); teaching and outreach must be active and explicit. Although all the tools can be applied to conservation science and outreach (Table 1), tools are problem-specific and need not be taught as a complete group in each creative or problem-solving activity. Learning to observe well can help change young people’s perceptions of nature from an empty, bewildering or meaningless place to a place filled with stories and secrets (Fig. 1). A tools-for-thinking approach emphasizes the universality of the thinking process, which can be expressed in many formal languages, and thus facilitates the incorporation of favourite skills and activities into an engagement with conservation. Using tools for thinking can alter both the content and delivery of conservation education. We have listed the tools in the order in which they are likely to be developed, from the simplest and most basic to those relying on the integration of prior tools (Table 1). Thus we would recommend employing only the first few tools with young children and reserving tools such as dimensional thinking, modelling, transforming and synthesizing for older children and adults. Although scientists use many and sometimes all of the tools for thinking, a study has suggested that only a few of the tools (observing, abstracting, patterning and analogizing) are explicitly taught in science textbooks (Lownds et al., 2010). Imaging, dimensional thinking, modelling, transforming and synthesizing are sometimes present implicitly in the form of illustrations but are rarely explicit. Body thinking, empathizing and playing are often rejected as being subjective and therefore non-scientific but they may be useful for amateur engagement with nature and for professional scientists. Fig. 2 is a summary of a workshop incorporating body thinking and empathy, intended for 588 M. Root-Bernstein et al. © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core advanced undergraduates or graduate students with existing competence in mathematical ecology. Finally, tools for thinking can be used to evaluate the cognitive practices of students and the strengths and weak- nesses of conservation education programmes. A good programme will incorporate many of the tools explicitly and student outcomes may be structured to demonstrate mastery within particular lessons and transfer of learning outcomes to other contexts. We have noted a predominant use of certain tools by naturalists, biologists and conservationists: observation, empathy, pattern recognition and formation, dimensional thinking, modelling and synthesis. There are fewer reports of the use of imaging, abstracting, analogizing, body thinking, playing and transforming among this group. As tool use is problem-specific, what problems are we over- looking or failing to solve by not using these tools to their potential? What new chapters in the advancement of Animal Signs Using your Observing, Pa�ern Recogni�on and Imaging Tools How to observe: Walk slowly, using all your senses. Take notes of what you hear, smell, taste, and feel. Draw or photograph animal signs you see. How to recognize pa�erns: Review your notes. Sort them and reorganize them. What associa�ons or common traits do you find in the signs? How to image: Imagine the images, sounds, feelings, etc. when the sign was formed. Ac�vity: Understanding animal signs 1. Use your observing skills and take note of any nests, burrows, pits, trails, footprints, faeces, eggs, bones, feathers, and marks that might be made by animals. 2. Search for pa�erns; for example, for the signs above you could ask ‘Are these signs made in the same way? Are they found near the same vegeta�on, the same footprint, etc. or different ones? Are they clustered? Are they the same size?’ Make a collage, diagram or taxonomy showing your pa�erns. 3. Now image how these animal signs might have been formed. What animal do you think made each sign? What was it doing when it made the sign? When did it happen? Write a short story imaging how your favourite sign was formed. Example sign 1 Example sign 2 FIG. 1 An activity to train school students to use the tools of observation, pattern recognition and imaging (adapted from NatureMapping Foundation). Tools for thinking in conservation 589 © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core Advanced workshop in thinking tools and foraging ecology: Using mul�ple tools in dance and mathema�cal modelling Stage 1: Observing, body thinking, empathizing GOAL: a shape and movement repertoire of body observa�ons Step 1. Observe a foraging animal (live or video). What body shapes, movements and rhythms do you observe? Step 2. Imagine you are the animal foraging. Imitate the body shapes, movements and rhythms you observed. Stage 2: Abstrac�ng and pa�ern forming GOAL: a number of movement and shape phrases describing the essence of the body observa�on experience Step 1. Select up to five observa�ons as the essence of your observa�on experience. Explore how they fit together. Step 2. Organize your abstracted shapes and movements into two phrases, one short (3–5 movements) and one long (5–7 movements). Decide how o�en to repeat each and in what order. Does this represent the essence of the foraging you observed? Stage 3: Transforming and modelling GOAL: a mathema�cal model of foraging ecology Step 1. Find a partner. Observe them performing their dance. Step 2. Abstract the essence of what you see and feel in the observed dance. What units do you see? What are their rela�onships? Are �me and space important? Step 3. Here is where you use the mathema�cal modelling skills that you already possess. Pa�ern the abstracted units and rela�onships into a mathema�cal equa�on. Plot the behaviour of the model. Does the model represent the foraging dance? Reflec�on • How does your model differ from other par�cipants’ models? • Do you think you lost or gained informa�on through the transforma�on? • What would happen if you wrote a story or made a moving sculpture instead of composing a dance in Stage 2? • Can you skip the abstrac�ng and pa�ern-forming steps? FIG. 2 A workshop for undergraduate or graduate ecology students who already have well-developed mathematical skills. The use of dance to express observations about animal foraging helps to make students more aware of the steps prior to model building and may suggest new ways to think about their subject (adapted from Root-Bernstein & Overby, 2012). 590 M. Root-Bernstein et al. © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core conservation and the social relationship to nature could be opened by focusing on these neglected tools for thinking in conservation education and outreach? Acknowledgements Meredith Root-Bernstein was supported by a graduate fellowship from CONICYT (no. 63105446) and a post- doctoral fellowship from FONDECYT (no. 3130336) during the preparation of this article. References ABADIE, J.C., ANDRADE, C., MACHON, N. & PORCHER, E. (2008) On the use of parataxonomy in biodiversity monitoring: a case study on wild flora. Biodiversity and Conservation, 17, 3485–3500. ALIAS, M., BLACK, T.R. & GRAY, D.E. (2002) Effect of instructions on spatial visualization ability in civil engineering students. International Education Journal, 3, 1–12. ASCIONE, F.R. 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work_on7haurudngcpmf65jn4igna7u ---- New Literary History, 2010, 41: 173–190 The Slaveries of Sex, Race, and Mind: Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Lady Byron Vindicated By T. Austin Graham Harriet Beecher Stowe’s notorious 1869 exposé, “The True Story of Lady Byron’s Life,” has quite plausibly been described as “the most sensational magazine article of the nineteenth century,”1 but as is often the case with sensations it has tended to be talked about much more than understood. Stowe’s nominal project in the “True Story” was the defense of the poet Lord Byron’s wife against criticism levied against her in the British and American press both before and after her death in 1860, and she continued advocating on her behalf the following year in a subsequent, stand-alone treatment titled Lady Byron Vindicated (1870). Her larger aim, however, was to strike a blow in the service of women’s rights, with Stowe attempting in her Byron studies to refine her earlier thinking about the institution of slavery and to expand its definition in such a way that it could be applied to the condition of women in the United States and elsewhere. But her project’s fate is a textbook illustration of the grievous consequences that can occur when an example used in the service of an argument overshadows the argument itself, as it was the inflammatory means by which Stowe made her point that received the most attention during her lifetime and afterwards. First aired in America’s Atlantic Monthly and England’s MacMillan’s, Stowe’s polemic could not have been better designed to provoke contro- versy. The “True Story” proclaimed in a public forum the long-whispered rumor that Lord Byron had carried on an incestuous affair with his half sister and had fathered a daughter by her, and the reaction was swift, angry, and damaging for nearly everyone involved. Partisans of Lord Byron and defenders of his memory were predictably incensed, claiming that the story would permanently besmirch his reputation and that his wife had fed it to Stowe out of disloyalty and deceit. A large contingent of Stowe’s audience was horrified that she would so exceed the bound- aries of propriety and pollute mainstream publications with salacious subject matter, with fifteen thousand of the Atlantic’s subscribers (about one third of the readership) canceling in protest and almost wrecking new literary history174 the magazine in what Oliver Wendell Holmes dubbed “the Byron whirl- wind.”2 And Stowe, who was of course no stranger to controversy, stood to lose a great deal. The Atlantic survived and the poet’s work ended up suffering little in its popularity and critical esteem, but Stowe’s ca- reer was not the same after 1870. Forrest Wilson, one of Stowe’s early biographers, despaired in 1941 that after the Byron affair, “Never again would she stand alone as the supreme female figure in the American scene. . . . Today with the millions the most conspicuous and influential American woman of the 1850’s and 1860’s is but a name—the author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin—she who deserved to be remembered for so much else.”3 Stowe’s later writing, of course, now has a more secure place in the academy than it did when Wilson wrote her literary obituary, but the sheer peculiarity of the imbroglio still lingers: why would the author of the nineteenth century’s best-selling novel jeopardize her career in such spectacular fashion, airing an allegation that was all but certain to inflame the public and yet was unlikely to benefit anyone other than Lady Byron, a woman whom Stowe considered a friend but who had been dead for nearly a decade? Until relatively recently, scholars who discussed Stowe’s Byron texts mainly concerned themselves with the veracity of their allegations and the motivations that led Stowe to make them, with most concluding either that she made a fool of herself or that Lady Byron rather craft- ily took advantage of her. Biographies of the poet have varied a great deal over the years, but one constant has been the tendency to dismiss Stowe as a hack and to treat Lady Byron’s collaboration with her as an expression of vanity and revenge: in 1925, John Drinkwater called Lady Byron Vindicated “one of the most nauseating essays in sanctimony that has ever been written”; in 1970, Leslie A. Marchand deemed Stowe’s account of the controversy “garbled”; and in 2002, Fiona MacCarthy included an unflattering photograph of Lady Byron in her Byron: Life and Legend, a caption declaring that she “devoted herself to self-justification and philanthropy” in her final years.4 In Americanist circles, meanwhile, twentieth-century studies of Stowe’s Byron texts were for quite some time essentially speculative, taking quasi-psychoanalytical form as critics attempted to make sense of her baffling professional decision. In years past some of her theorized motives for writing Lady Byron Vindicated have included a desire to boast of her connections to the English aristocracy, a hope of making money by exploiting a celebrity, and, most eyebrow raising of all, a peculiar kind of crush on Byron himself, a simultane- ous attraction to and repulsion from a bad-boy literary idol left over from her schoolgirl days.5 In many ways, then, the conversation about Stowe and the sensation she caused has gone on as it always has, with 175the slaveries of sex, race, and mind commentators on both sides of the Atlantic sharing a certain disbelief at her audacity and a need to make sense of it. Such reactions are to be expected, given Stowe’s sordid subject matter, but they tend to distract attention from the forceful claims about gender and social marginalization that she makes in Lady Byron Vindicated, with this oversight being no less pressing for Stowe’s having more or less brought it upon herself. Only recently have scholars been able to get beyond the text’s lurid claims about the Byron marriage and consider what the couple’s relationship might have represented to Stowe more broadly, with a handful of investigations having uncovered Stowe’s im- plicit arguments about the female voice, the burden of authorial proof, and transatlantic readership.6 But perhaps the most compelling char- acterization of Lady Byron Vindicated has also been the least explored: the biographer Joan D. Hedrick’s suggestion that Stowe intended it to be “the Uncle Tom’s Cabin of sexual slavery,”7 an explosive portrait of a famous female victim whose example would help correct a pervasive and institutional abrogation of women’s rights. The term “slavery” in connection with the brief and unhappy Byron marriage might from the outside seem something of an overstatement on Hedrick’s part, but Stowe deploys or implies it at several points throughout Lady Byron Vindicated and appears to mean it quite literally. As Stowe put it in a let- ter to Horace Greeley, Lady Byron’s sad life had for her come to typify “the old idea of woman: that is, a creature to be crushed and trodden under foot whenever her fate and that of a man come in conflict.”8 What is more, Stowe had recently found a new way of framing and criticiz- ing this “old idea” thanks to John Stuart Mill’s The Subjection of Women (1869), which had appeared in the same year as the “True Story” and provocatively conflated the institution of marriage with that of chattel slavery. And if ever there were a writer capable of considering the condi- tion of women in relation to theories of enslavement it would be Stowe, whose novels of the 1850s were instantly recognized as monuments of abolitionist literature. One of the peculiarities of Lady Byron Vindicated and its place in Ameri- can literary studies, however, is that scholars have made precious few attempts at connecting Stowe’s treatment of the “slavery” Lady Byron is alleged to have suffered with race slavery of the sort found in Stowe’s other works. Stowe’s ridiculers in the cartooning community certainly had no compunctions about broaching the subject while the Byron controversy was raging, caricaturing the affair by playing up the incon- gruous, presumably comic juxtaposition of a conspicuously whitened Byron with leering, pitch-black characters from Stowe’s novels. Men of letters did the same: Charles Mackay’s 1869 biography of Medora new literary history176 Leigh (the daughter produced by Byron’s alleged incest) speculated that Lady Byron had attracted Stowe’s attention in part because she was active in abolitionist circles and was therefore “what the Americans call a nigger-worshipper.”9 Still others speculated, somewhat gleefully, that the American Civil War and the end of the most obvious depredations of chattel slavery had robbed Stowe of her most reliable and best-selling subject matter, leaving her unable to make fiction out of what one scholar has termed “the difficult and unglamorous problems of reconstruction” and leading her to defame Byron out of desperation.10 But all this nastiness aside, sustained critical attention to Stowe’s earlier concern with emancipation and American slavery can make her decision to leap to Lady Byron’s defense seem considerably less odd than it otherwise might. Her treatment of the poet’s wife has often struck readers as a departure from the social and political concerns of her 1850s fiction, but putting Lady Byron Vindicated into conversa- tion with Stowe’s antebellum, racially oriented works not only makes it seem more of a piece with her previous career, but also reveals a more expansive, even philosophical understanding on her part as to what “slavery” entails. Exploring Stowe’s ideas about race and sexual subjugation through the prism of Lady Byron Vindicated puts her in the company of such metaphysically minded writers as Frederick Douglass, Henry David Thoreau, and even Byron himself, all of whom understood slavery to be an institution of the mind as well as a matter of public policy, its tyrannical masters found, as Thoreau put it, everywhere from Mississippi to Massachusetts, enslaving “understandings and consciences” in addition to black bodies.11 Far from a mere exercise in literary score settling or sensationalism, Lady Byron Vindicated advances a conception of slavery that goes beyond legal and social conditions and defines it as a way of thinking, with Stowe arguing that women can as a sex be enslaved in much the same way that Africans once were as a race, and worse, that women can be complicit in the act of enslavement by enslav- ing themselves. Indeed, one of the ironies of this text is the fact that the extraordinary controversy that has surrounded it over the years has had so little to do with its feminism—a feminism so radical that, had it not been overshadowed by Stowe’s invocation of scandal, might have caused every bit as much of an uproar in its time. *** The evolution of Stowe’s thinking on the subject of sexual slavery is best illustrated by the differences between her magazine and book treatments of the Byron affair, which, when taken together, illustrate a 177the slaveries of sex, race, and mind growing sense on her part that Lady Byron was an especially prominent victim of a broader male conspiracy against all of womankind. In the “True Story,” Stowe’s claims are comparatively modest, mostly in rela- tion to the question of whether and how women ought to go about defending themselves and their family members in public. Perhaps the most notable quality of Lady Byron that emerges in this account is her unfailing discretion, with Stowe depicting her as a woman who took refuge in a “perfect silence” after she and her husband separated in 1816 and who refrained from responding to the many attacks that were subsequently levied against her in print—attacks that, according to Stowe, frequently came from Byron himself.12 Much of the first half of the “True Story” finds Stowe engaging in literary exegesis, quoting and condemning lengthy passages of Byron’s poetry that are alleged to be an insulting commentary on his wife. While Stowe’s doing so invites the charge that she has failed to recognize, as Peter W. Graham has put it, that much of Byron’s work depends upon “fiction-making that braids or weaves two or more realities into a whole that resists reduction into any one of its component strands,” her portrait of Lady Byron is neverthe- less one of extraordinary forbearance.13 And yet, Stowe writes, even this forbearance has been twisted into a fault by her detractors, with a recent memoir by Byron’s mistress—the Countess Guiccioli—dwelling “with a peculiar bitterness on Lady Byron’s entire silence” during the years in which the poet became an infamous public figure and was himself in need of defenders (TS 532, emphasis in original). For Stowe, the irony is simply too cruel: Lady Byron’s unwillingness to damage her husband’s already-shaky reputation has been transformed into an act of disloyalty, “the most aggravated form of persecution and injury” (TS 532). Then, about halfway through the “True Story,” Stowe drops her bomb- shell, making for one of the most extraordinary instances of “burying the lead” in all of American literary history: From the height at which he might have been happy as the husband of a noble woman, he fell into the depths of a secret adulterous intrigue with a blood relation, so near in consanguinity that discovery must have been utter ruin and expulsion from civilized society. From henceforth, this damning guilty secret became the ruling force in his life, holding him with a morbid fascination, yet filling him with remorse and anguish and insane dread of detection. (TS 542) Stowe may not have realized just how inflammatory this claim would turn out to be, for in the “True Story” it is essentially a supporting detail, an occasion for her to illustrate the superior character of Lady Byron, new literary history178 the grace with which she handled her husband’s “secret adulterous intrigue,” and the generosity of her never having revealed the truth. The poet, Stowe writes, was torn “between angel and devil” throughout his life, but his wife was entirely committed to saving his soul, showing “that immortal kind of love such as God feels for the sinner,—the love of which Jesus spoke” (TS 545–46). This eminently Christian goodness, Stowe argues, was in part a consequence of Lady Byron’s “heroic self- abnegation and self sacrifice” (TS 555), her determination to put aside her own injuries (no matter how painful) in order to ease her husband’s torment (no matter how self-inflicted). But even more importantly, Lady Byron’s unwillingness to denounce her husband’s crime is presented not as a consequence of doctrinal obedience or wifely obligation, but rather as the manifestation of unusual strength. Stowe’s Byron is tragically divided and utterly confined by his wicked impulses, whereas her Lady Byron is a divine liberator: “Her love was never the doting fondness of weak women; it was the appreciative and discriminating love by which a higher nature recognized godlike capabilities under all the dust and defilement of misuse and passion” (TS 557). As introduced in the “True Story,” then, Lady Byron is an object of admiration rather than of pity, with her silence represented as stoicism and her charity as munificence. But the outcry that followed the article’s publication forced Stowe to take a very different tack as she expanded on and clarified her claims the following year in Lady Byron Vindicated. Here Stowe relies considerably more on evidence and documentation than she does on character analysis, including a voluminous array of articles, letters, literary works, and other commentary related to the affair. Stowe also writes with a more defensive tone, justifying her involvement in the case with nearly as much fervor as she declaims Lady Byron’s virtue. Most importantly of all, however, Lady Byron Vindicated is broader in scope and intention than the “True Story,” with Stowe concerned not only with the Byron marriage but also with a transatlantic “slavery for women” that she believes the affair has brought to light.14 Stowe’s broader intentions are evident at the very beginning of her book: to those critics who have argued that her previous article had failed as a “literary effort,” she asks, “Are the cries of the oppressed, the gasps of the dying, the last prayers of mothers,— are any words wrung like drops of blood from the human heart to be judged as literary efforts?” (LB 4, emphasis in original) Stowe’s violent imagery and accusatory, direct mode of address should of course be familiar to anyone who has read the abolitionist pronouncements of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and for Stowe the stakes in Lady Byron Vindicated are every bit as high. Stowe returns to the subject of Lady Byron’s silence in the first half of the text, but this time finds much larger and more sinister social 179the slaveries of sex, race, and mind problems at play. Some of her points are relatively unremarkable, such as her assertion that sexual double standards obliged Lady Byron to remain quiet so as not to damage the woman who bore her husband’s child: “The world may finally forgive the man of genius anything,” Stowe observes, “but for a woman there is no mercy and no redemption” (LB 74). More notable is Stowe’s sense that the vilification Lady Byron endured after her separation was the result of her having been subject to a pervasive and unjust taboo, one holding that wives, even those in the most abusive of marriages, may not contest the wrongs they suffer at the hands of their husbands. Stowe recounts with particular fury the editorial attention that a rare statement of clarification from Lady Byron drew after Thomas Moore’s biography of the poet appeared in 1830, with one representative article in Blackwood’s Magazine declaring that Lady Byron had, in asserting herself, trampled on “the rights of a husband to his wife’s silence when speech is fatal . . . to his character as a man” (LB 113). Even worse, in Stowe’s estimation, is the model that another writer suggests that Lady Byron ought to have followed instead, that of a local widow who declined repeatedly to cast aspersions on her husband after his death in spite of the fact that he had in life treated her with extraordinary violence and cruelty, even beating her while she was pregnant: “Nay, I remember once how her pale countenance reddened with a sudden flush of pride, when a gossiping crone alluded to their wedding . . . That, I say, sir, whether right or wrong, was—forgiveness” (LB 116, emphasis in original). As Stowe glosses this conversation, the outrage is not simply that these writers are suggesting that Lady Byron attempt to burnish her husband’s posthumous reputation but rather that they expect her to alter her inward, private estimation of him, that “this abused, desecrated woman must reverence her brutal master’s memory” (LB 117, emphasis in original). For Stowe, this doctrine of perpetual feminine silence and forgiveness is not only restrictive but also seems to demand outright masochism, as though the woman in question is somehow to enjoy the abuse she receives from her husband. The corrective image of femininity that Lady Byron’s detractors offer is, in Stowe’s words, that of helpless, cowering, broken-hearted, abject women, given over to the animal love which they share alike with the poor dog,—the dog, who, beaten, kicked, starved, and cuffed, still lies by his drunken master with great anxious eyes of love and sorrow, and with sweet, brute forgiveness nestles upon his bosom, as he lies in his filth in the snowy ditch, to keep the warmth of life in him. Great is the mystery of this fidelity in the poor, loving brute,—most mournful and most sacred! (LB 118) new literary history180 Here and elsewhere, Stowe finds the construction of feminine false consciousness to be the greatest of all social outrages perpetuated on women and argues that it leads to “utter self-abnegation” (LB 138), a condition that in no way resembles the “heroic self-abnegation” that she had attributed to Lady Byron in her earlier article. There Lady Byron is presented in explicitly religious terms, but Lady Byron Vindicated is more concerned with the “patron saint” of femininity venerated by the masculine press, a woman whose state is described in such grotesquely unequal terms that she seems almost to have sprung from the pages of antebellum abolitionist literature. In Stowe’s words, the husband of such a woman “tears her from her children; he treats her with personal abuse; he repudiates her,—sends her out to nakedness and poverty; he installs another mistress in his house, and sends for the first to be her handmaid and his own: and all this the meek saint accepts” (LB 138). And for Stowe, the danger is that these outrages will become all the more entrenched in England and America if so prominent and ac- complished a woman as Lady Byron is silenced. “If the peeress as a wife has no rights,” she asks, “what is the state of the cotter’s wife?” (LB 120, emphasis in original) It is worth pausing at this point to acknowledge the polemical, fre- quently bombastic quality of Stowe’s language and to consider whether her comparison of even the most abused wife with that of an enslaved African is in fact reasonable. Certainly Stowe’s comparison is an extreme one, but by making it in Lady Byron Vindicated she entered a long-running conversation on women’s rights that had been unfolding—at least in America—for about forty years, one that routinely invoked the term “slavery” to describe the legally inferior condition of women. As virtually every history of the women’s rights movement notes, it was the antislav- ery cause that gave American women their first, significant opportunity to engage in political advocacy, that provided them with a model of how such campaigns could be organized and operated, and that most importantly of all theorized a doctrine of higher laws and human rights that was quickly invoked in the service of other marginalized groups.15 More than three decades before Lady Byron Vindicated, Angelina and Sarah Grimké advanced the notion that free women not only could empathize with African slaves but also were enslaved themselves, with Sarah declaring in 1838 that “it requires but little thought to see that the condition of women and that of slaves are in many respects paral- lel.”16 Before long the woman-slave analogy was, according to Blanche Glassman Hersh, “the most frequently used feminist argument in the antebellum period,”17 and such rhetoric reached a high point in the “Declaration of Sentiments” drafted at the Seneca Falls Convention of 181the slaveries of sex, race, and mind 1848, which invoked Jeffersonian, emancipatory language in much the same way that Abraham Lincoln later would and declared: “The history of mankind is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations on the part of man toward woman, having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over her.”18 In subsequent decades it was almost de rigeur for Lucy Stone and other reformers to declare that “marriage is to woman a state of slavery,”19 and in so doing they laid the groundwork for Stowe’s defense of Lady Byron. So too had other thinkers anticipated Stowe’s notion that the ulti- mate product of sexual slavery is a warped feminine consciousness. Perhaps the most significant early articulation of such a theory was Mary Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Women (1792), a text that was somewhat in vogue at the time of Lady Byron Vindicated, thanks to its having been serialized in the American feminist journal Revolution in 1868. Among other things, Wollstonecraft argues in the Vindication that Western society seeks “to enslave women by cramping their under- standings and sharpening their senses,” subjecting them to a regimen of indoctrination that deadens their mental faculties, intensifies their sensual urges, and produces submissive creatures beholden not just to men but also to their own degraded appetites. “To their senses, are women made slaves,” Wollstonecraft declares, such that they come to “despise the freedom which they have not sufficient virtue to struggle to attain.”20 And while Wollstonecraft was too infamous a figure to be much invoked by feminists during the first half of the nineteenth cen- tury, her notion that a person could be mentally enslaved even while enjoying legal freedom was routinely echoed in American intellectual circles, whether politically or philosophically. Thoreau would famously argue in 1854 that it is conventional wisdom, and not the government, that most often turns humanity into chattel, declaring that “the law will never make men free”21 and advancing an argument suggested in 1837 by the title of Angelina Grimké’s Appeal to the Women of the Nominally Free States. Indeed, when thus expanded the term “slavery” could be made to apply to virtually any sentient person, such that nineteenth-century advocates for Native Americans, European immigrants, white laborers, and even free lovers could all claim those populations to have been “enslaved” in one way or another. Thus does Herman Melville’s Ishmael show himself to be very much a man of his era in posing his famous rhetorical question in Moby-Dick: “Who ain’t a slave?”22 Perhaps the single most important influence on Stowe’s thinking in Lady Byron Vindicated, however, was John Stuart Mill’s The Subjection of Women of 1869 and his contention therein that the same primitive desire for dominion that had produced African slavery was continuing, albeit new literary history182 more insidiously, to characterize relations between the genders. As does Stowe, Mill argues that Western institutions of custom, education, and religion all are designed to rob women of their ability to ponder and question their status as second-class citizens, thereby bestowing upon men “not a forced slave but a willing one.”23 Indeed, Mill goes so far as to declare that sexual slavery is even more encompassing than the sort that had been practiced in the antebellum South, which, while more spectacular in its brutality, nevertheless left slaves with at least some de- gree of privacy, “off duty” moments that could not be impinged upon. As Mill puts it: “‘Uncle Tom’ under his first master had his own life in his ‘cabin,’ almost as much as any man whose work takes him away from home, is able to have his own family. But it cannot be so with the wife.”24 Much of Mill’s argument on this score, of course, can be disputed, particularly his notion that marriage slavery is more totalizing than the racial variety because it has a built-in sexual component, requiring a “last familiarity” from wives that chattel slaves can refuse.25 But the important thing to grasp in The Subjection of Women is Mill’s belief that the degraded position of black chattel and that of the English wife dif- fer only in degree and not in kind; as for Stowe, she credited Mill with making her thinking on gender relations “all clear,” and she appears to have brought his theorization of a mentally stunted female underclass to bear on her second, more expansive treatment of Lady Byron.26 Perhaps the most significant difference between Stowe’s “True Story” and Lady Byron Vindicated is her concern not just with the Byron marriage and its aftermath, but also with the larger process of socialization that it seems to reveal: those who would enforce Lady Byron’s silence are seek- ing also to imbue her with “that utter deadness to the sense of justice which the laws, literature, and misunderstood religion of England have sought to induce in woman as a special grace and virtue” (LB 119, emphasis in original). Social institutions, and in particular the “misunderstood religion of England,” are for Stowe bent on forcing women to view them- selves as a degraded sex and become their own, self-regulating captors, and it is on this subject that the connections between her conception of sexual slavery and the racial variety she had opposed nearly two decades earlier can be seen most clearly. Frederick Douglass, whom Stowe read and attempted to correspond with during the writing of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, had years before reached much the same conclusions about the psychological dimensions of the slavery he had suffered. He observes in his 1845 Narrative that “to make a contented slave, it is necessary to make a thoughtless one,” usually by a series of steps that not only force the slave to submit to a master’s will but more importantly convince him of the essential rightness of his enslavement.27 In Douglass’s theorization, 183the slaveries of sex, race, and mind the completely mastered slave must believe that he is morally unfit for freedom, that his fate is best left in the hands of an enlightened other, and that Christianity reserves a special reward for those who suffer worldly torments; once this has been accomplished, the slave will rule himself far more sternly than any outside authority could. And it was the ignorance that had been systematically forced upon Southern blacks that gave Stowe her first opportunity to develop a broad conception of slavery that could later be applied to the condition of women, with her novels of the 1850s considering subjection in both its legal and metaphysical terms several years in advance of her encounter with Mill. The influence of Douglass’s theorization of slavery on Stowe’s fiction is most obviously evident in her characterization of the perennially suffering, unerringly forgiving, and supremely Christian Uncle Tom, whose inflexibly doctrinal way of thinking—“confined entirely to the New Testament”28—produces in him a wellspring of love for those who own him and a comparative disregard for worldly justice insofar as it affects the master-slave relationship. Such assured and even enthusias- tic martyrdom, of course, is precisely what has rendered Stowe’s novel uncomfortable for contemporary readers and made the name “Uncle Tom” synonymous with passivity, accommodation, and racial shame. But it is important to note that Stowe would in her later writings find such self-abasement—particularly when informed by religion—to be more disturbing than saintly, not only in regard to sex in Lady Byron Vindicated but also in her subsequent treatments of black slavery. Hence, her second novel Dred, the story of a slave conspiracy and uprising, is in many ways an extended meditation on the perversions Christianity suffers when used to justify slaveholding and on the pronounced intel- lectual shuttering required if one is to believe that it is, in fact, God’s will that slaves serve their masters. For each African moved to a “higher piety” through Biblical instruction, Stowe observed in 1856, “thousands are crushed in hopeless imbecility,” rendered docile and even accepting of the outrages perpetuated on them.29 And if slavery’s most important hallmarks include a tendency towards self-restriction and self-deprecation in the slave, then it does not take too many associative steps to see how Stowe might eventually conclude that women—even so prominent a woman as Lady Byron—could suffer the fate that Africans had. The key question in Lady Byron Vindicated, then, is whether or not the object of its inquiry—a woman whom Stowe had praised the year before for her “heroic” silence and loyalty—had upon further reflection come to seem a slave instead. Put another way, have the men whom Stowe accuses of attempting to master Lady Byron succeeded? In the second half of the volume, Stowe provides a lengthy account of her personal new literary history184 meetings, interviews, and correspondence with Lady Byron, and to some degree the portrait of her that emerges seems to indicate that she had in fact lived up to the standard of self-repressing femininity that Stowe now finds so objectionable. Lady Byron remains proud of her long-departed husband: “We talked for some time of him then; she with her pale face slightly flushed, speaking, as any other great man’s widow might, only of what was purest and best in his works, and what were his undeniable virtues and good traits, especially in early life” (LB 218). She strikes Stowe as passive, “an interested spectator of the world’s affairs” instead of “an actor involved in its trials” (LB 206). And even in revealing the secret of her husband’s incest, she seems still to believe that it is improper of her to do so: “There was something awful to me in the intensity of repressed emotion which she showed as she proceeded,” Stowe writes (LB 235). The sticking point lies once more in the question of self-assertion, in whether or not Stowe now finds Lady Byron’s decision to be “a silent sufferer under calumny and misrepresentation” to be impressive or an exemplary expression of sexual slavery (LB 360). Certainly Lady Byron has not descended to the sickening, animalistic level that Stowe fears men would consign women to, but even the Byron defender Charles Mackay (he of the “nigger-worshipper” comment) had been taken aback by Stowe’s depiction of her in the MacMillan’s piece. If Stowe’s allega- tions are in fact true, Mackay writes, then Lady Byron is a woman “so meek, so spiritless, so abject, so stupidly forgiving, so unconscious of the respect due to herself and to the outraged laws of God and man, that she preferred to be a dog sleeping at the door of an incestuous adulterer, rather than an honest and outraged woman.”30 Once more Lady Byron is faulted for failing to speak on her own behalf, and Stowe seems to support such criticism at points in Lady Byron Vindicated, arguing that utter self-abnegation has been preached to women as a peculiarly feminine virtue. It is true; but there is a moral limit to the value of self-abnegation. It is a fair question for the moralist, whether it is right and proper wholly to ignore one’s personal claims to justice. The teachings of the Saviour give us warrant for submitting to personal injuries; but both the Saviour and St. Paul manifested bravery in denying false accusations, and asserting innocence. (LB 196) Here and elsewhere, Stowe’s implications are stern indeed: by allowing herself to be the victim of injustice, Lady Byron could perhaps also be said to have become an instrument of it, as acquiescence and passivity are in Stowe’s estimation as often as not the moral equivalents of active support for an ideological position. Stowe even goes so far as to accuse 185the slaveries of sex, race, and mind those Americans who have done nothing more than read rumors about Lady Byron in the print media of having been “betrayed into injustice, and a complicity with villainy,” and she will not allow the Byron contro- versy to be treated simply as a case of one woman’s failing to protect her reputation (LB 194, 196). Rather, the principle at stake has an effect on women more broadly: “There are thousands of poor victims suffering in sadness, discouragement, and poverty” to whom Lady Byron’s testi- mony “might bring courage and hope from springs not of this world” (LB 162–63). Lady Byron’s story, in other words, belongs not just to her but also to her sex, and her failure to defend herself is by extension a failure to defend women more broadly. For Stowe, the mind-forged manacles that enslaved women and left them thoughtless participants in an unjust system could only be broken by active resistance, and to a point she is offering—she did in Uncle Tom’s Cabin—an iconic sufferer who is too weak for rebellion but who might be able to inspire it in others. Indeed, the tragedy of Lady Byron as presented in Lady Byron Vindicated is less that she has suffered abuse than that she aspires to a freedom of thought that she is ultimately too bound by convention and doctrine to attain. In some ways, Lady Byron is depicted as remarkably heterodox: at her most bold she tells Stowe, “I look upon creeds of all kinds as chains,—far worse chains than those you would break,—as the causes of much hypocrisy and infidelity” (LB 210). But when all is said and done, she cannot bring herself to speak against her husband or on her own behalf, in spite of the fact that she recognizes, as Stowe paraphrases it, a “last duty which she might owe to abstract truth and justice in her generation” (LB 368). Stowe’s ultimate estimation of Lady Byron’s degree of “enslavement” is best expressed in the following: Lady Byron’s hopes for her husband fastened themselves on all the noble frag- ments yet remaining in that shattered temple of his mind which lay blackened and thunder-riven; and she looked forward to a sphere beyond this earth, where infinite mercy should bring all to symmetry and order. If the strict theologian must regret this as an undue latitude of charity, let it at least be remembered that it was a charity which sprang from a Christian virtue, and which she extended to every human being, however lost, however low. (LB 398–99) In the end, Stowe’s Lady Byron is more an Uncle Tom than a Dred, but if she has not served the cause of highest justice by publishing her story herself, she has gone part of the way and given an intermediary the opportunity to do so in her stead. She did not defy those who sought to confine her, but neither could her condition be classed as total enslavement. new literary history186 Indeed, if there is a true slave to be found in this text it is not a woman, but rather the “master” himself, Lord Byron. For Stowe he is ultimately a figure of lost potential, a man who possessed the capacity to be a friend of universal liberty but was too shackled by worldly vice for his work or life to reflect it. Stowe notes in Lady Byron Vindicated that there has always been a “peculiarity in Lord Byron, that the pure and the impure in his poetry often ran side by side without mixing,” and for most of her life she seems to have understood him to represent an almost poignant failure of possibility (LB 397). The poet and his works were profoundly attractive to Stowe when she was a girl, but she would later remember that, upon Byron’s death in 1824, her father mourned his “wasted life and misused powers” and eulogized him thus: “I did hope he would live to do something for Christ. What a harp he might have swept!”31 Following Stowe’s lead, scholars have classified a great many characters in her novels as “Byronic” over the years, usually because they are impossibly divided between lofty principle and base actuality—for example, the sardonic Augustine St. Claire of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, a man who mocks the intellectual justifications of chattel slavery but is too unprincipled to free the slaves he owns. But perhaps nowhere is Stowe’s sense of Byron’s moral schizophrenia more evident than in Dred, a novel that she wrote around the time she made Lady Byron’s acquaintance and in which there seem to be two utterly opposite and yet entirely plausible versions of the poet. He first appears in the form of Edward Clayton, a young man who is “quite Byronic” in appearance and who devotes his law career to the cause of abolition.32 But he can also be found in the wicked Tom Gordon, a slaveholder who drinks away his time at univer- sity, threatens to purchase and rape a slave married to his mulatto half- brother, and, significantly, shares the surname of Lord Byron himself. These antithetical Byrons, when taken together, manifest the duality that Stowe had so often found in him, with the poet emerging at some points as a friend of liberty and at others as the product of a primitive and dying social order. And if Lady Byron Vindicated is any indication, it was the latter fate—that of the very worst kind of conventionality—that Stowe believed had ultimately befallen him. There are a great many ironies implicit in Stowe’s project, among them the fact that her moral inflexibility rather uncomfortably resembles the rigid closed-mindedness that she identifies at the root of gender in- equality. But perhaps most important of all are the myriad ways in which Stowe, by denouncing tyranny, winds up sounding like the very poet she condemns. Many of Byron’s poetical works contain a similar sense that it is in its thinking that humanity is most completely enslaved and that emancipation is a matter of the mind, but perhaps none does so more 187the slaveries of sex, race, and mind effectively in the context of Lady Byron Vindicated than his verse drama Cain (which, as it happens, Stowe believed to have been motivated in part by Byron’s obsession with incest). Cain is introduced as a Promethean figure, a man told to be “cheerful and resign’d” in a postlapsarian world of toil but who yet desires to satisfy those “thoughts which arise within me, as if they / Could master all things.”33 God has left him in what the tempter Lucifer calls “a Paradise of Ignorance, from which / Knowledge was barr’d as poison”34 and so he abjures it, choosing to think freely and heretically even at the cost of having his progeny condemned to eternal labor—a divine sentence against one man’s subsequent race that eighteenth- and nineteenth-century proponents of African slavery often claimed to be carrying out, on the grounds that black skin was in fact the residual “mark of Cain.”35 For the contemporary novelist Charles John- son, the rebelliousness that Byron attributes to Cain is in part a product of his despised “blackness,” but it is also in this crucible of slavery that modern thought is born. In Byron’s treatment, Johnson writes, “Western man himself was Cain, cursed with the burden of restlessness and the endless quest for selfhood.”36 And thus does Byron bring together many of the ideas that Stowe would grapple with fifty years later, questioning whether the act of enslavement can ever be completed unless the mind as well as the body has been mastered. In the end, it is difficult to reconcile the fact that Byron could at the same time be, as one scholar has put it, “the single greatest literary and imaginative influence on the writings of Harriet Beecher Stowe” and also one of her greatest villains.37 Understanding the figure of Byron as reflected in her works requires readers to think of him as both a champion of liberty and a symbol of sexual subjection, and this paradox is no doubt at least part of the reason why Stowe, on one striking oc- casion in Lady Byron Vindicated, figures him in feminine terms. “There have been women able to lead their leashes of blinded adorers; to make them swear that black was white, or white black, at their word,” Stowe observes. “Such an enchanter in man’s shape was Lord Byron” (LB 84). Most immediately, Stowe is referring here to Byron’s uncanny ability to command the admiration of other men, even those whom, like Walter Scott, he might have previously insulted. But Byron’s femininity, given the larger context of feminine self-slavery that hangs over Lady Byron Vindicated, is surely meant by Stowe to be seen as not a little pathetic, as well. For Stowe, the coquettish woman, even one able to reduce a company of men to a coffle that she can lead about as she pleases, is still the greater slave, still subject to those social dictates that give her the illusion of control but that nevertheless render her complicit in her own unwitting imprisonment. And if women can be understood to enjoy their new literary history188 enslavement and do the work of their masters for them, then perhaps even Lord Byron—feminine “enchanter” that he is—can become the very sort of stifling master he claims in his poetry to despise. University of California–Los Angeles NOTES 1 Edward Wagenknecht, Harriet Beecher Stowe: The Known and the Unknown (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1965), 83. 2 Oliver Wendell Holmes, Life and Letters of Oliver Wendell Holmes, ed. John T. Morse, Jr. (Cambridge, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 1896), 2:183. 3 Forrest Wilson, Crusader in Crinoline: The Life of Harriet Beecher Stowe (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1941), 551. 4 John Drinkwater, The Pilgrim of Eternity: Byron—A Conflict (New York: George H. Doran, 1925), xxiii; Leslie A. Marchand, Byron: A Portrait (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1970), 476; Fiona MacCarthy, Byron: Life and Legend (London: John Murray, 2002), photo insert. 5 In addition to Wagenknecht and Wilson, see Jean Willoughby Ashton, “Harriet Stowe’s Filthy Story: Lord Byron Set Afloat,” Prospects 2 (1976): 373–84; and Alice C. Crozier, The Novels of Harriet Beecher Stowe (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1969). 6 See Jennifer Cognard-Black, Narrative in the Professional Age: Transatlantic Readings of Harriet Beecher Stowe, George Eliot, and Elizabeth Stuart Phelps (New York: Routledge, 2004); Caroline Franklin, “Stowe and the Byronic Heroine,” in Transatlantic Stowe: Harriet Beecher Stowe and European Culture, ed. Denise Kohn, Sarah Meer, Emily Todd (Iowa City: Univ. of Iowa Press, 2006), 3–23; Susan McPherson, “Opening the Open Secret: The Stowe-Byron Controversy,” Victorian Review 27, no. 1 (2001): 86–101; and Susan Wolstenholme, “Voice of the Voiceless: Harriet Beecher Stowe and the Byron Controversy,” American Literary Realism 19, no. 2 (1987): 48–65. 7 Joan D. Hedrick, Harriet Beecher Stowe: A Life (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1994), 356. 8 Hedrick, Harriet Beecher Stowe, 369. 9 Charles Mackay, Medora Leigh: A History and an Autobiography (London: Richard Bentley, 1869), 17. 10 Ashton, “Harriet Stowe’s Filthy Story,” 378. 11 Henry David Thoreau, Collected Essays and Poems, ed. Elizabeth Hall Witherell (New York: Library of America, 2001), 342. 12 Harriet Beecher Stowe, “The True Story of Lady Byron’s Life,” The Oxford Harriet Beecher Stowe Reader, ed. Joan D. Hedrick, (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1999), 538 (hereafter cited as TS). 13 Peter W. Graham, Don Juan and Regency England (Charlottesville: Univ. Press of Virginia, 1990), 27–28. 14 Stowe, Lady Byron Vindicated (Boston: Fields, Osgood and Co.: 1870), 114 (hereafter cited as LB). 15 For two excellent studies that take up the woman-slave analogy in detail, see Jean Fagan Yellin, Women and Sisters: The Antislavery Feminists in American Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale Univ. Press, 1989); and Kathryn Kish Sklar and James Brewer Stewart, eds., Women’s Rights and Transatlantic Antislavery in the Era of Emancipation (New Haven, CT: Yale Univ. Press, 2007). Other useful histories of the women’s rights movement and its connection to the antislavery cause include Bonnie S. Anderson, Joyous Greetings: The First 189the slaveries of sex, race, and mind International Women’s Movement, 1830–1860 (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2000); Ellen Carol DuBois, Feminism and Suffrage: The Emergence of an Independent Women’s Movement in America, 1848–1869 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univ. Press, 1978); Eleanor Flexner, Century of Struggle: The Woman’s Rights Movement in the United States (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 1975); Blanche Glassman Hersh, The Slavery of Sex: Feminist-Abolitionists in America (Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press, 1978); Gerda Lerner, The Grimké Sisters from South Carolina: Pioneers for Women’s Rights and Abolition (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 2004); Sally G. McMillen, Seneca Falls and the Origins of the Women’s Rights Movement (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2008); Shirley Samuels, ed., The Culture of Sentiment: Race, Gender, and Sentimentality in Nineteenth-Century America (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1992); Kathryn Kish Sklar, Women’s Rights Emerges within the Antislavery Movement, 1830–1870: A Brief History with Documents (Boston: Bedford, 2000); Kathleen S. Sullivan, Constitutional Context: Women and Rights Discourse in Nineteenth-Century America (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 2007); Judith Wellman, The Road to Seneca Falls: Elizabeth Cady Stanton and the First Woman’s Rights Convention (Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press, 2004); and Jean Fagan Yellin and John C. Van Horne, eds., The Abolitionist Sisterhood: Women’s Political Culture in Antebellum America (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univ. Press, 1994). For a study of the women’s rights movement that argues that its debts to the antislavery cause have tended to be overstated by historians, see Nancy Isenberg, Sex and Citizenship in Antebellum America (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1998). 16 Sarah Grimké, Letters on the Equality of the Sexes, and Other Essays, ed. Elizabeth Ann Bartlett, (New Haven, CT: Yale Univ. Press, 1988), 130. 17 Hersh, The Slavery of Sex, 196. 18 Sklar, Women’s Rights Emerges, 176. 19 Hersh, The Slavery of Sex, 197. 20 Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792.; repr., New York: Norton, 1982), 22, 61, 52. 21 Thoreau, Collected Essays and Poems, 338. 22 Herman Melville, Moby-Dick (1851; repr., New York: Norton, 1967), 15. 23 John Stuart Mill, The Subjection of Women (London: Longmas, Green, Reader, and Dyer, 1869), 26. 24 Mill, The Subjection of Women, 23. 25 As Eric J. Sundquist has noted, no attentive reader of Uncle Tom’s Cabin could agree that American slaves were free from sexual abuse at the hands of their masters, as Stowe consistently shows “that slavery and sexual violation were inseparable and that the plantation could become an arena of erotic dissipation and male lust.” See Sundquist, “Introduction,” New Essays on Uncle Tom’s Cabin (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1986), 24. 26 Hedrick, Harriet Beecher Stowe, 359. 27 Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written by Himself (1845; repr., New York: Norton, 1997), 64. 28 Stowe, Uncle Tom’s Cabin: or, Life Among the Lowly (1852; repr., New York: Penguin, 1986), 210. 29 Stowe, Dred: A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp (1856; repr., New York: Penguin, 2000), 51. 30 Mackay, Medora Leigh, 45. 31 Stowe, Life and Letters of Harriet Beecher Stowe, ed. Annie Fields (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1897), 39. 32 Stowe, Dred, 9. 33 George Gordon, Lord Byron, The Major Works, ed. Jerome J. McGann (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2000), 885, 889. 34 Byron, Major Works, 910. new literary history190 35 For more on this subject see David M. Goldenberg, The Curse of Ham: Race and Slavery in Early Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 2003); and Stephen R. Haynes, Noah’s Curse: The Biblical Justification of American Slavery (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2002). 36 Charles Johnson, Dreamer: A Novel (New York: Scribner, 1998), 161–62. 37 Crozier, The Novels, 203.
work_opd3eqyvmbcrhkpahprrncktbu ---- Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 60 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 RESUMEN Se presentan los orígenes del método abductivo en el romanticismo oscuro estadounidense. Sus implicancias semióticas como método de investigación científica. Se replantea el problema semiótico en una actualidad trans e intercultural llamada desglobalización. Por último se presenta el método abductivo como ejemplo de una metodología de investigación en la carrera de Interpretación y Docencia Musical Especializada de la Universidad de Talca, Chile. Palabras Clave: Método Abductivo, Romanticismo, Semiótica, Hermenéutica ABSTRACT The origins of the abductive method in American dark romanticism are presented. Its semiotic implications as a method of scientific research. The semiotic problem is reconsidered in a trans and intercultural news called deglobalization. Finally, the abductive method is presented as an example of a research methodology in the Specialized Musical Interpretation and Teaching career at the University of Talca, Chile. Keywords: Abductive Method, Romanticism, Semiotics, Hermeneutics Revista NEUMA ISSN 0719-5389 • Año 12 Volumen 1 • Universidad de Talca 61 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization Pp. 60 a 75 * Correo electrónico jasoto@utalca.cl Artículo recibido el 22-12-2018 y aceptado por el comité editorial el 27/05/2019 EL MÉTODO ABDUCTIVO DE INVESTIGACIÓN CIENTÍFICA. SUS ORÍGENES EN EL ROMANTICISMO OSCURO ESTADOUNIDENSE Y ALGUNAS REFLEXIONES Y EJEMPLOS EN TORNO A CONTEXTOS MULTICULTURALES Y LA ENSEÑANZA DE LA MÚSICA EN LA DESGLOBALIZACIÓN THE ABDUCTIVE METHOD OF SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH. ITS ORIGINS IN US DARK ROMANTICISM AND SOME REFLECTIONS AND EXAMPLES REGARDING MULTICULTURAL CONTEXTS AND THE TEACHING OF MUSIC IN DEGLOBALIZATION Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas Universidad de Talca Chile* Introducción: El presente artículo explora el origen del método abductivo de investigación en el llamado romanticismo oscuro norteamericano (estadounidense) del siglo XIX, específicamente en obra de Edgar Allan Poe y sus cuentos y novelas de investigación detectivesca como “Los Cuentos de la Rue Morgue” (1841), “El Misterio de Marie Rogêt” (1842) y “La Carta Robada” (1844), en las cuales participa el detective Agustin Dupine, modelo posteriormente utilizado por el mundialmente famoso personaje Sherlock Holmes del escritor Arthur Conan Doyle para sus tramas de investigación detectivesca. En ese sentido se explora el método abductivo como una herramienta de pensamiento legítima, surgida durante el periodo conocido como el Dark Romanticism. Posteriormente se analiza los diversos tipos de abducción hipotética Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 62 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 1 Entendemos por “Desglobalización” al estrato de tiempo actual (2018/2019), considerando como tal, la actualidad relativa al desgaste de la hegemonía de los EEUU luego de la crisis financiera del 2008 y el crecimiento constante de las migraciones globales producto de los procesos de descolonización en África, Centro América y Medio Oriente. El surgimiento de las identidades étnicas subalternas y sus demandas de representaciones políticas como por ejemplo el pueblo mapuche, palestino y kurdo. Así como el surgimiento de nuevas hegemonías políticas y económicas como China, todo esto en el marco de un proceso de destrucción acelerada del medio ambiente y de cambio climático global con el resultado de las llamadas Crisis de las Migraciones. Sobre el término Desglobalización ver: Ibarra, Manuel (2008). “Alfredo Jalife-Rahme. Hacia la Desglobalización”, Revista Estudios Fronterizos, Vol. 9, Nº 17, pp. 197-202. propuestos por el filósofo estadounidense Charles Sanders Pierce, respecto de su teoría semiótica, en la cual propone la existencia de tres planos de relaciones semiótico-textuales. Las relaciones dadas entre signo, interpretante y contexto. En este sentido, el filósofo propone tres niveles en el proceso de semiosis, pasos previos a la construcción de hipótesis abductivas, a saber; la primeridad, donde el concepto o signo existe en estado puro del Ser, la Segundidad, donde el concepto o signo existe en relación a un sujeto interpretante, y una Terceridad, donde el concepto o signo existe en el plano de relación del sujeto y su contexto. En el sentido anterior, reflexionamos en la implicancia que tiene para la semiótica el actual contexto multicultural del periodo de post-globalización o desglobalización1, pues por ejemplo, es muy distinto enseñar e investigar sobre música en el contexto europeo-occidental, que en el contexto global multicultural, donde existen músicas de otras culturas, como por ejemplo la mapuche, que posee diferentes concepciones del tiempo o del espacio, o de la música oriental, con sus microtonos y su especial sonoridad. En ese sentido proponemos una hermenéutica diatópica según la propuesta epistemológica de Soussa Santos basada en el diálogo transcultural. En seguida proponemos una cuarteridad, o cuarta etapa en el proceso de semiosis, donde el signo es hermenéuticamente leído diatópicamente, superando la hegemonía ideológica del positivismo cultural occidental univocista, en una época de desglobalización con individuos de dos o más identidades. Finalmente, y luego de los anteriores planteamientos teóricos, ejemplificamos la aplicación metodológica del modelo abductivo, en la investigación en múeica llevada a cabo en la carrera de Interpretación y Docencia Musical Especializada en la Universidad de Talca en Chile. Desarrollo El Romanticismo Oscuro o Dark Romanticism, tiene su cuna en la sociedad estadounidense del siglo XIX. En general, es un movimiento influenciado por el romanticismo europeo de fines del siglo XVIII y principios del XIX, aunque también, en Estados Unidos fue influenciado por los autores adscritos al llamado Trascendentalismo, sistema filosófico, político y literario surgido como reforma dentro de la Iglesia Unitaria. La propuesta trascendentalista estaba basada en El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 63 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 2 Hernández, Gloria (2009). “El Proceso de Recepción de The American Scholar de Ralph W. Emerson”. Revista Norteamérica. Año 4, número 1, p. 222. 3 Vásquez, Adolfo (2015). Romanticismo Oscuro. De la Literatura Gótica a los Poetas Malditos. Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Actas de Literatura Contemporánea; XVI, p. 1. 4 Mié, Fabián (2012). “Demostración y Silogismo en los Analíticos Segundos. Reconstrucción y Discusión”, Diánoia, volumen LVIII, 70, pp. 35–58. las ideas que el ser humano posee un espíritu libre e inquieto, el cual posee un trascendental impulso llamado intuición, que lo separa de intermediadores y de milagros, y que pone en su mano la capacidad de cambiar su realidad basado en sus percepciones del mundo. Esta filosofía está influenciada por la filosofía alemana de autores como Kant, Fichte, Schelling y Schopenhauer y su principal representante fue el autor Ralph Waldo Emerson en su ensayo The American Schollar2; “Los autores más representativos de la corriente son: Edgar Allan Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Herman Melville, y también se adscriben a la misma la poetisa Emily Dickinson y el poeta italiano Ugo Foscolo. La expresión romanticismo oscuro proviene por un lado de su condición pesimista y por otro de la influencia del primigenio movimiento romántico. Su nacimiento se produjo a mediados del siglo XIX, como se ha dicho, a partir del trascendentalismo. Éste se originó en Nueva Inglaterra a cargo de intelectuales de renombre como Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau y Margaret Fuller, y cosechó gran prestigio más o menos desde 1836 hasta finales de los 1840s. El movimiento tuvo gran influencia en distintas áreas, como la literatura, a medida que los escritores iban imbuyéndose de su doctrina. Mientras tanto, ciertos autores, entre ellos los citados Poe, Hawthorne y Melville, encontraron las ideas trascentalistas demasiado optimistas o egoístas, y reaccionaron contra ellas a través de sus obras poéticas y prosísticas; ésta sería la tendencia que daría origen al “Dark Romanticism”3. La atracción por los temas oscuros de estos autores. los llevó a diseñar nuevas estructuras narrativas para contar historias sobre asesinatos y detectives. Uno de ellos, el atormentado y genial Edgar Allan Poe, diseñó una estructura narrativa basada en la hipótesis, también comprendida como una sospecha, curiosidad, o una conjetura frente a determinado fenómeno o situación específica generalmente de tipo problemática. Si bien es cierto el romanticismo oscuro se alejó del movimiento filosófico del trascendentalismo, mantuvo de esta filosofía la idea de poner la intuición humana como una herramienta del pensamiento, mientras los trascendentalistas, separados de la Iglesia Unitaria de Bostón, sostenían la idea que cada ser humano poseía un dios interior y cómo éste se manifestaría en la intuición. En sus novelas de detectives, Poe pone de manifiesto el método abductivo de investigación como una metodología de la intuición, método que ya había sido mencionado por Aristóteles en sus Segundos Analíticos4. Sin embargo será Pierce Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 64 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 5 Lada Ferredas, Ulpiano (2001). “La dimensión Pragmática del signo literario” Estudios Filológicos. Nº 36, pp. 61-70. quien lo sintetiza y desarrolla como una herramienta científica de investigación semiótica. El aporte de Edgar Allan Poe, es metodológico. Si bien hasta el siglo XIX se utilizaba el método abductivo de investigación hipotética conjuntamente con los métodos deductivo e inductivo, Poe es el primero en proponer el método abductivo como estructura narrativa y como estructura de investigación dentro de una estructura literaria, para lo cual eligió la novela. Si bien es cierto, también escribió cuentos detectivescos, la estructura de sus novelas con Agustin Dupine como protagonista, es la estructura sampleada por Arthur Conan Doyle quien lo reconoce como su maestro. La lista de escritores influenciados por Poe y los demás autores del romanticismo oscuro incluye a Julio Cortázar, Charles Baudelaire y al mismo Charles Sanders Pierce (por solo nombrar a los que reconocen su influencia en novela, cuento y poesía) quienes además lo han traducido al francés y al español y estudiado desde el punto de vista semiótico. En ese sentido, Pierce es quien llega a un mayor nivel de profundidad, ya que desarrolla el estudio de la hipótesis y la categoriza. El filósofo estadounidense, fue quien desarrolló una teoría sobre el funcionamiento del proceso semiótico, por ende, es uno de los padres de la ciencia de interpretación de los signos conocida en Estados Unidos como semiótica y en Europa como semiología. En ese sentido, vamos a analizar el aporte del método abductivo en la ciencia de la semiótica y en cómo opera la mente humana en la comprensión de cualquier signo. Respecto de signo, utilizaremos la definición de Umberto Eco, quién intenta integrar tanto la definición de signo de Pierce, como la definición del también semiólogo Ferdinand de Saussure. Primero veamos la definición de signo que hace Pierce, para acercarnos a las definición de signo que hace Eco. Pierce define el signo como; “un signo, o representamen, es un primero que está en una tal genuina relación tríadica a un segundo, llamado su objeto, que es capaz de determinar que un tercero, llamado su interpretante, asuma la misma relación tríadica a su objeto en la que él se encuentra respecto del mismo objeto (Pierce; 1988, 144)”5. En esta definición de signo, Pierce dice que independiente de si ese signo es representado por otro signo, un carácter, un objeto, u otra cosa como un fenómeno, identifica un triángulo con el objeto a representar, el signo representante y el interpretante. El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 65 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 6 Murillo, Sandra y Berna Valle (2015). “El signo y sus aproximaciones teóricos en el desarrollo de la ciencia semiótica”. Razón y Palabra, Vol. 19, Nº 91, S/P. En cambio, de Saussure, se centra en el signo como palabra, digamos propone una semiótica lingüística. En ese sentido, propone que el signo lingüístico posee dos caras, un significado y un significante. Umberto Eco entonces nos dice que signo es tanto algo que representa (Pierce), como lo que decodifica el interpretante (Saussure); “Sin embargo, Eco termina estableciendo que la semiótica deberá ocuparse de cualquier cosa que pudiera considerarse como signo, aludiendo a la definición peirceana sobre el signo como sustituto de algo. Explicará que signo es cualquier cosa que se presente como substituto significante de cualquier otra cosa “Esa cualquier otra cosa no debe necesariamente existir ni debe subsistir de hecho en el momento en que el signo la represente. En ese sentido, la semiótica es, en principio, la disciplina que estudia todo lo que puede usarse para mentir (Eco, 2005, p. 22)”6. El aporte de Pierce además de la teoría de signos, es en la metodología de la abducción, pues es quién identifica el método abductivo como producto de la imaginación, del asombro, mientras define que la deducción y la inducción, son producto de la lógica y no de la intuición. Para comprender esto, podemos explicarlo en cualquier ejemplo de las Ciencias Sociales. Cuando se estudia un sujeto x, ese sujeto es asociado a su cultura y por ende cae en la generalización de cualquier análisis, puesto que se entiende que como sujeto debería cumplir con las características que configuran su cultura o la cultura a la que pertenece. Esta generalización es típica en las Ciencias Sociales y en alguna forma ha sido legítima para describir científicamente a los sujetos de alguna cultura en particular. También las Ciencias Sociales utilizan el método inductivo, es decir de una amplia gama de características de alguna cultura: un sujeto puede ser descrito como parte de esa cultura, por simplificación. ¿Qué sucede entonces cuando un sujeto puede pertenecer a dos o más culturas? La respuesta es justamente el desafío de nuestra conclusión. Volvamos a Pierce. Pierce es quién sistematiza el estudio del método abductivo, especialmente de la hipótesis. “El término Abducción, según el Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology de Baldwin, corresponde a la απογογη de Aristóteles, ajustándose a la palabra latina del humanista Julius Pacius, abductio. Abducción o presunción es la mejor forma de traducir este término aristotélico, el cual, tomado desprevenidamente, podría significar secuestro, lo sorprendente de los fenómenos. La presunción es el tipo de razonamiento que Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 66 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 proporciona o permite la formulación de nuevas ideas. La abducción se puede considerar adecuada para la comprensión de fenómenos culturales y para la caracterización de las culturas, no sólo porque está dotada de un sustrato filosófico sólido, sino porque las culturas, multifactoriales y polisémicas, exigen una postura inter y transdisciplinar, la cual es bienvenida por la abducción. Además, como la abducción no se propone llegar a la comprobación de ningún tipo de teoría, sino a la formulación de hipótesis, se convierte en la herramienta óptima, lejos de la cual está la enunciación de juicios. El procedimiento abductivo consiste, básicamente, en la identificación de la anomalía o la novedad, la descripción de la misma, la indagación por referentes teóricos que ayuden a comprender dicha anomalía y, por último, la formulación de hipótesis explicativas que den cuenta del fenómeno detonante, indistintamente si dichas hipótesis son consistentes o no con las diversas formulaciones teóricas encontradas y descritas en el marco teórico”7. Pierce define entonces hipótesis como una “inferencia mediata de carácter sintético, probable y explicativa”8 lo que vuelve a la hipótesis un elemento lógico a pesar de surgir de la imaginación, pues toda hipótesis parte de la base de ser probable, es decir, el explicar con amplia validez la verosimilitud del fenómeno estudiado. De esta manera y suponiendo que la hipótesis hubiera existido antes que el fenómeno, éste podría entenderse hipotéticamente como una consecuencia. Tampoco se trata de hacer hipótesis con cualquier idea que surja, sino más bien el científico propone hipótesis dentro de marcos lógicos posibles. Al respecto Pierce estipula tres reglas para formular una hipótesis; “1.- La hipótesis ha de presentarse expresamente como una cuestión a discutir, antes de hacer las observaciones que atestiguarán su verdad. En otras palabras, debemos procurar discernir cuál será el resultado de las predicciones de la hipótesis. 2.- El aspecto tocante al cual se anoten las semejanzas debe tomarse al azar. No hemos de escoger un tipo particular de predicciones, para las que se sabe que la hipótesis es válida. 3.- Los fracasos tanto como los éxitos de las predicciones deben reseñarse honradamente. El procedimiento entero tiene que ser franco e imparcial”9. Respecto de su clasificación, esta depende de la ciencia desde donde surge la hipótesis, pues se hace necesario diferenciar su aplicación tanto en las ciencias 7 Montoya, Juan Eliseo (2013). “Abducción, Interdisciplinariedad y Cultura”. AdVersuS, X, Nº 24. pp. 122-144. 8 Pierce, Charles (1878). Deducción, Inducción e Hipótesis. Traducción castellana y notas de Juan Martín Ruiz- Werner, Buenos Aires: Aguilar 1970. pp. 1-12. 9 Pierce (1878). Deducción…, pp. 1-12 El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 67 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 exactas como en las ciencias sociales y humanas. En ese sentido, las ciencias exactas poseen la capacidad de demostrar a través de experimentos y resultados comprobables las hipótesis propuestas, mientras que en las ciencias humanas y sociales, esto no es tan así, pues la esencia de las ciencias del espíritu, es que no buscan leyes, al menos no en el postpositivismo10, sino que las ciencias humanas y sociales buscan significados entre los signos culturales, los cuales pueden ser medibles a veces, pero esa no es la meta de las ciencias blandas, cuyo objetivo es comprender significados y no establecer leyes. En ese sentido, las ciencias sociales y las ciencias humanas, obligatoriamente están sujetas a la interpretación y por ende a la hermenéutica y a la semiótica. Es decir, a las ciencias de la interpretación y de la representación. No es de extrañar que haya sido un semiótico como Pierce, quién haya entregado una sistematización de las hipótesis. Para Pierce, la hipótesis, es el método investigativo por excelencia. Pues, la inducción y la deducción siempre están sujetos a la lógica del interpretante y la generalización y simplificación están en directa relación a la cultura del investigador. Umberto Eco y Thomas Sebeok clasifican las abducciones en explicativas, creativas y explicativas-creativas11. así como Pierce sistematiza el procedimiento metodológico para elaborar una hipótesis por abducción de la siguiente manera. 1.- Identificar una anomalía, novedad o fenómeno. 2.- Descripción de la anomalía. 3.- Indagación por referentes teóricos que ayuden a comprender la misma. 4.- Formulación de hipótesis explicativa que busque dar cuenta del fenómeno o anomalía. 5.- Comparación de si aquellas hipótesis explicativas son coherentes con el marco teórico. La abducción no tiene como propósito la comprobación de una hipótesis; su rigurosidad está dirigida a la producción de las mismas, pues éste es su punto de llegada a diferencia de la inducción, la cual es predicativa, y de la deducción la cual es predictiva12. 10 Entendemos por postpositivismo, según la definición que hace Javier Benito Seoane; La ciencia postpositivista considera que sobre un objeto caben diversas interpretaciones válidas, diversos lenguajes. En consecuencia, apuesta por el diálogo entre las múltiples voces que hablan acerca de un objeto y no cree en la posibilidad de hallar un lenguaje privilegiado para la descripción de la realidad, un «espejo de la naturaleza» (RORTY, 1990; 1996a y 1996b). De esta manera, la ciencia postpositivista es una ciencia dialógica. Seoane, Javier Benito (2011). “Teoría Social Clásica y Postpositivismo”, Barbaroi, Nº 35, pp. 141-163. 11 Eco, Umberto y Thomas A. Sebeok (1989). The Sign of Three. Pierce, Holmes, Dupin. Bloomington: Indiana U.P.; (traducción española) El signo de los tres. Dupin, Holmes, Pierce. Barcelona: Lumen (1989), p. 38. 12 Montoya, Juan Eliseo (2013). “Abducción, Interdisciplinariedad y Cultura”. AdVersuS, X, Nº 24. pp. 122-144. Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 68 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 En este caso Juan Montoya sostiene que la abducción es una posibilidad, que siempre va a funcionar dentro de un sistema simbólico cultural. ¿Pero qué ocurre, cuando el investigador trabaja con un sistema cultural desconocido para él? Aquí es cuando entramos en el área de la hermenéutica. Es decir, en la ciencia de la interpretación de textos, como el mismo Pierce sostenía “no tenemos ninguna capacidad de pensar sin signos”13. Para comprender el proceso hermenéutico desde el punto de vista semiótico, debemos considerar que el trasvasije teórico de lo hermenéutico y lo semiótico sí es posible, aunque los semióticos y los hermeneutas siempre celosos de sus disciplinas se opongan al considerar todo signo como texto y todo texto como signo. Al respecto Paul Ricoeur sostiene lo siguiente: “He escogido como problema crítico el punto más delicado, aquel en el que tanto la semiótica como la hermenéutica, me atrevería a decir, encuentran un obstáculo. Este problema se ha designado frecuentemente con el término mimesis. El término proviene de Aristóteles. Declara, en la Poética, que el tipo narrativo que es para el drama (la tragedia, la comedia y la epopeya) constituye una «μίμησίς της πράξες»14, que se traduce normalmente por «imitación de la acción». Pero ¿hay que traducir mimesis por imitación? Este es todo el problema. Precisamente, acaba de aparecer una traducción de la Poética que han hecho alumnos de Todorov donde se traduce mimesis por «representación». De esto se trata justamente. Esta traducción tiene además un precedente: Erich Auerbach subtitula su gran libro Mimesis «La representación de la realidad en la literatura occidental»”15. Según lo anterior, tenemos que tanto en la hermenéutica como en la semiótica, existe un lector de códigos, ya sea este código signo o texto. Ambas disciplinas necesitan de un interpretante que se enfrenta necesariamente al proceso de mimesis. Por lo tanto en la semiótica, todo signo no es más que representación (mimesis) de otro signo, como en hermenéutica todo texto se construye en imitaciones textuales de otros textos (mimesis) por lo que mimesis significa tanto imitación como representación. La separación entre estas dos ciencias humanas (hermenéutica y semiótica) estuvo en la doble interpretación de la palabra poiesis en Aristóteles. Esta doble significación consiste en que para unos, mimesis significa representación y para otros significa imitación. La diferencia es abismal entre uno y otro concepto y separó las dos ciencias por caminos muy diferentes a lo largo de la historia de la ciencia, con resultados dispares. Sin embargo como el proceso de interpretación se centra en un acto interno, mental y consiente de decodificación 13 Pierce, Charles (1878). Deducción…, pp. 1-12 14 Paul Ricoeur se refiere a la traducción llevada a cabo por Roselyne Dupont-Roc y Jean Lallot: La Poétique, París, Seui!, 1980 (N. del T). 15 Ricoeur, Paul (1997) “Hermenéutica y Semiótica. Dedicado a: Horizontes del Relato: Lecturas y Conversaciones con Paul Ricoeur”. Revista Cuaderno Gris, Nº 2. pp. 91-106. El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 69 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 16 Montoya, Juan Eliseo (2013). “Abducción, Interdisciplinariedad y Cultura”. AdVersuS, X, Nº 24. pp. 122-144. 17 Como lo hacían los antiguos antropólogos que se iban años a vivir con los indígenas de la Amazonía y luego publicaban en Europa o EEUU interesantes libros sobre lo observado, pero en un idioma incomprensible para el sujeto-objeto de estudio. de un interpretante circunscrito a un proceso de comunicación, el sentido de la abducción funciona igual para semióticos que para hermeneutas. Es la hermenéutica la que se ha preocupado en profundizar la comprensión e interpretación, mientras a rasgos generales, la semiótica se ha preocupado de la creación y circulación de signos, siendo la generadora de las teorías de la comunicación más conocidas. En la tradición hermenéutica latinoamericana se ha profundizado en la comprensión del Otro en el sentido cultural, destacando la hermenéutica analógica de Mauricio Beuchot, la cual propone la creación de hipótesis de parte del investigador, en el contexto del mismo fenómeno16. Es decir, el autor propone una hermenéutica donde el interpretante construye en su mente una analogía del fenómeno a investigar, haciendo el esfuerzo de situarse en el contexto del fenómeno cultural mismo. Esto significa un gran avance en materia metodológica y hasta hace un par de décadas fue una buena herramienta para la investigación cultural, aplicable en la etnomusicología como en el estudio de los textos de culturas diferentes a la cultura del investigador. Pero en la actualidad, en el proceso de desglobalización estamos ante un nuevo desafío metodológico, pues la realidad es mucho más compleja que colocarse en el lugar del Otro para comprenderlo. ¿En qué sentido? En que en la realidad transcultural actual, el Otro no necesariamente es otro sujeto, sino más bien puede ser varios otros, en el sentido que en la época de la desglobalización, las identidades culturales son múltiples producto de las grandes migraciones tanto capo-cuidad, como de un continente a otro, así como el mismo investigador como sujeto con conciencia, puede ser uno y otro a la vez. Tanto para el interprete como para el interpretante, atrás ha quedado la dicotomía cultura occidental/cultura otra. El binarismo yo-otro, ya no aplica. Hoy yo puedo ser yo y otro al mismo tiempo. Según lo anterior, podríamos afirmar que en la época de la desglobalización, la hermenéutica analógica se queda corta, pues el investigador ya no está analizando un fenómeno en el contexto del fenómeno17, ya que hoy somos objeto y sujetos de estudio a la vez, por lo tanto podemos analizar un fenómeno en uno o dos contextos diferentes al mismo tiempo. En la desglobalización, por ejemplo, el investigador es un mismo indígena de la Amazonía que estudia sus tradiciones dentro y fuera de su cultura, pues los indígenas de la desglobalización van a las universidades, son indígenas y científicos a la vez, como es el caso de Linda Tuhiwai Smith. La investigadora Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 70 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 18 Tuhiwai Smith, Linda (2013). A Descolonizar las Metodologías. Investigación y Pueblos Indígenas. Santiago: LOM. de origen maorí, escribe en inglés, es de nacionalidad neozelandesa y es autora del célebre libro “A Descolonizar las Metodologías”18. Lo mismo ocurre con los investigadores occidentales. Foucault era un filósofo occidental y homosexual, por lo que estaba en una posición dominante y era minoría subalterna a la vez, dominante y dominado el mismo tiempo, por lo que no podemos afirmar que era un occidental que pudiésemos clasificar fácilmente según una inducción o una deducción. En ese sentido se ha propuesto una nueva hermenéutica conocida como hermenéutica diatópica, que no pone su esfuerzo en situarse por analogía en el contexto del Otro, sino más bien en una hermenéutica que intenta dialogar con el Otro, generar un diálogo de culturas, comprender y conocer al Otro mediante el diálogo de saberes, y no desde una situación investigativa parcial. Propuesta por De Soussa Santos, está basada en el diálogo y no en la analogía, pues el problema de la analogía (más allá de su buena intención) es que nunca el sujeto podrá situarse ni material ni imaginariamente en el lugar del otro, por lo tanto. Así, el investigador empático, va a hacer el ejercicio de ponerse en el lugar del otro, pero su analogía no pasará más allá del ejercicio, mientras el extractivismo epistémico sigue adelante. Esto explica, cómo a pueblos subalternos, no solo se les extrae los recursos naturales, sino además el sentido de su existencia y su cultura. De esta manera, éste diálogo de saberes propuesto por De Sousa Santos es una hermenéutica basada en la diferencia, pero no en una diferencia discriminadora, sino en una diferencia consiente, que el conocimiento es necesario construirlo entre todos los seres humanos, independiente de su cultura. _____________________________________________________________________ En este sentido, De Soussa Santos parte de la base que la ciencia se ha desarrollado sobre la base del colonialismo occidental. En ese sentido es fácil acusar a la ciencia como colonialista, que de hecho lo es. ¿Qué ganaron los indígenas a los cuales estudió Levi Strauss? El aporte de Levi Strauss es a la ciencia de la antropología y del conocimiento en general, no en sentido de un aporte local a los indígenas estudiados. Este extractivismo epistémico se reproduce día a día en las universidades del mundo y es un verdadero desafío superarlo. En la Universidad de Talca hay músicos de varias nacionalidades, pero no hay músicos ni musicólogos mapuche, ni aymara, ni quechua, ni rapa nui. El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 71 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 La ecología del saber que propone De Soussa Santos19 es ideal como hermenéutica en la desglobalización, pues en este estrato de tiempo en que estamos presente, las identidades no son sólidas ni estables, las identidades son múltiples, trans y líquidas. Es decir, una persona del mundo actual, en el que la tendencia cultural de los humanos es la movilidad y la multiculturalidad, un sujeto puede tener varias identidades, occidental, indígena, bisexual, liberal, conservador, religioso o agnóstico, las identidades pueden ser de varios tipos dependiendo de la cultura. Es trans, además porque la identidad no es estable. Una persona un día puede convertirse al Islam o por el contrario leer a Feuerbach y volverse ateo, la identidad es algo que siempre está cambiando. Además, el contacto intercultural ya no está relegado a una elite o a un grupo de inmigrantes. En la desglobalización, el fenómeno de la migración afecta a todos los países y a todas las clases sociales. Por último, la identidad es líquida, pues al ser múltiple y trans, es algo que está modificándose a cada momento. En cada rincón del mundo hay alguien que se está adaptando a una nueva cultura, pero filtrando elementos de la cultura nueva y de su cultura de origen, creando una nueva identidad todos los días. Desde el punto de vista semiótico, proponemos que la transculturalidad podría ser vista en términos de Pierce como una cuarteridad, es decir una nueva etapa en la representación semiótica donde el signo es hermenéuticamente leído diatópicamente, superando la hegemonía ideológica del positivismo cultural occidental univocista, pues en la época de desglobalización los individuos tienen dos o más identidades. En ese sentido, los sujetos de la desglobalización asumen los significados y sentidos de lo simbólico en sus diferentes contextos culturales y es necesario que así lo hagan para su completa adaptabilidad cultural, pero nunca antes en la historia había ocurrido que la diversidad cultural se transforme en un proceso contextual dinámico. La cuarteridad como categoría de la experiencia, en términos de Pierce, sería una lectura semiótica compleja de la realidad multi y transcultural en la que signos y textos funcionan en varios sentidos. La multicausalidad y multidireccionalidad de los signos es una característica de la desglobalización. Esto ha ocurrido históricamente con muchos conceptos, pero como vimos anteriormente con el ejemplo del concepto mimesis, ahora podemos funcionar en un mundo donde mimesis significa representación a la vez que imitación. 19 De Soussa Santos, Boaventura (2014). “Más allá del pensamiento abismal: de las líneas globales a una ecología de los saberes”, En: B. De Sousa Santos, B. y Meneses, M. Epistemologías del Sur (Perspectivas). Madrid: Akal. pp. 43. Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 72 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 Igualmente, como en la categoría de experiencia, primeridad es el concepto puro y en abstracto, pero sujeto a la libertad, posibilidad e indeterminación. Es una idea en una mente humana, cualquiera sea la idea y cualquiera sea la mente. Segundidad como categoría de la experiencia, implica algo tal como es, pero en relación a otra cosa. Pierce relaciona esta categoría con la idea de la existencia, por lo tanto, es una categoría ontológica. Esto en relación a los sentidos que captan cualidades de los fenómenos, cuyas cualidades serían una primeridad o cualidad pura. En la secundidad nosotros construimos hechos de la realidad o de existencia. Es la relación del objeto abstracto con la existencia en sí misma. Por terceridad o tercera categoría de la experiencia, se hace posible la conexión de las cualidades de las cosas con lo que percibimos. En esta relación formulamos razonamientos, por lo que el signo se transforma en lo que entiende el interpretante, quien constituye un razonamiento que relaciona el concepto abstracto en que el interpretante es a su vez medio de razonamiento. Sabemos que todo interpretante tiene su contexto, por lo que podríamos decir que las terceridad tiene que ver con el concepto abstracto, el interpretante y su contexto. Pero ¿Qué ocurre en un contexto trans y multicultural, en el que los conceptos tienen dos o más significados y estos significados a su vez son líquidos y cambiantes en contextos cambiantes? Estos múltiples significados no están dados por la doble significación de un concepto dentro de una cultura como el concepto poiesis, o como el concepto historia que significa tanto pasado como disciplina investigativa del pasado. Sino que está dado por el hecho que en la desglobalización, los conceptos tienen doble o más significados en diferentes culturas, así como existen conceptos en un idioma que no tienen traducción en otros idiomas. Por ejemplo, para un occidental una montaña es un paisaje y a su vez un recurso económico. Mientras para un maorí una montaña, por un colonialismo aprendido, significa paisaje y recurso, pero también puede significar un espacio sagrado, en un sistema simbólico propio, significado que no existe en la lógica occidental. Así es como tenemos conceptos que en diferentes culturas significan diferentes cosas, por lo que observamos que el contexto de significación es multiple, trans y líquido y que la enseñanza de la historia, las artes y la música está supeditado a esta nueva época transcultural. Específicamente el caso de la enseñanza de la música en una universidad regional de Chile, implica investigar con los ojos abiertos a los nuevos elementos que atraviesan la cultura chilena. La revalorización de lo mapuche, aymara, quechua y rapa nui. El aporte cultural rítmico de la migración afrodecendiente- caribeña. Los nuevos musicólogos deben ser formados en las ciencias semióticas y hermenéuticas para poder captar aquellas sutilezas culturales que occidente El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 73 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 ha identificado, pero no ha comprendido, o lo que es peor, no ha querido comprender. Introducción a la Metodología de la Investigación Musical en la Universidad de Talca En el anterior contexto cultural y teórico, dictamos el curso; Metodología de la Investigación a alumnos de la carrera de Interpretación y Docencia Musical Especializada en la Universidad de Talca, Chile, quienes deben hacer una tesis en investigación musical, para lo que se diseñó un curso en el que la tesis sea trabajada como un Estudio de Caso formulado en el noveno semestre de la carrera, y desarrollada como Trabajo de Grado en el décimo semestre. Comenzamos por pedirle a los alumnos del curso en el noveno semestre, que hagan en su Centro de Práctica un análisis FODA y lo expongan al curso, respecto del contexto del proceso de enseñanza aprendizaje de la música. Lo anterior, con el fin que se interioricen de la realidad de sus contexto educativo y encuentren un tema a investigar aplicando el modelo de Estudio de Caso, el que está amparado en mostrar evidencia científica de algún problema de investigación relacionada al proceso de enseñanza de la música. De este procedimiento metodológico surgieron los temas de investigación que los alumnos deben trabajar en forma individual o en parejas, descubierto por ellos, de acuerdo a fortalezas, oportunidades, debilidades o amenazas (FODA) que ellos encuentren en el proceso de educación musical, mientras hacen su Práctica Profesional como futuros profesores de la música, en diferentes establecimientos educacionales de la ciudad de Talca. A continuación les pedimos un anteproyecto evaluado en el que deben indicar su investigación en términos implícitos; (observación del tema-problema, hipótesis, antítesis (3 autores mínimo) análisis, síntesis, tesis). Anteproyecto que en este caso nace del análisis FODA y que les permite ordenar sus ideas de investigación, construir preguntas de investigación, realizar conjeturas e hipótesis, cuestionar sus premisas y construir instrumentos de investigación, utilizando el método abductivo antes expuesto para el desarrollo de una investigación de tipo Estudio de Caso. Los resultados fueron óptimos, ayudando el método abductivo a encontrar eficazmente un tema-problema a investigar, que en definitiva es lo más difícil de lograr en alumnos que no tienen experiencia investigativa. Posteriormente en el décimo semestre de la carrera en el curso Trabajo de Grado, los alumnos debieron llevar a cabo su anteproyecto de investigación, transformando el proyecto de forma implícita antes mencionada a la forma explicita; Introducción, Hipótesis, Marco Teórico, Marco Metodológico, Objetivos de Investigación, Presentación del Tema-Problema, Justificación del Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 74 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 Tema-Problema, Análisis y Resultados, Conclusiones Específicas y Generales, hasta lograr obtener una Tesis. Este método ha sido útil en la construcción y diseño de los trabajos de grado de los alumnos del a Escuela de Música de la Universidad de Talca. Conclusión En el Romanticismo Oscuro norteamericano del siglo XIX, surge en la cabeza de un escritor genial y atormentado un método de investigación abductiva como novedosa construcción narrativa. Capta el interés de otro escritor, ahora en Europa y desarrolla todo un canon de la novela de investigación. Luego un semiólogo estadounidense sintetiza y elabora una teoría del conocimiento basada en la hipótesis como reemplazo de los modelos inductivos y deductivos surgidos de la lógica griega y propone a la intuición a la altura del método. Luego y tras el debate hermenéutico de la actualidad, se presenta la abducción como un método del pensamiento necesario para comprender la compleja realidad que vive la humanidad en el siglo XXI y su aceleración del tiempo. Por último, se propone el método abductivo como una importante herramienta de investigación en el contexto de una sociedad que está viviendo un proceso de desglobalización donde el viaje es la mejor didáctica para investigar la música, las artes, las ciencias humanas y sociales, entregando el ejemplo de; cómo el método abductivo es utilizado para una investigación de tipo Estudio de Caso en la Universidad de Talca, con alumnos de la Escuela de Música. BIBLIOGRAFÍA Aguayo, Pablo (2011). “La Teoría de la Abducción de Pierce: Lógica, Metodología e Instinto”. Ideas y Valores, Nº 145, pp. 33-53. De Soussa Santos, Boaventura (2009). “Un discurso sobre las ciencias”. En: J.G. Gandarilla. Una epistemología del sur: la reinvención del conocimiento y la emancipación social. México: Siglo XXI. pp. 17-59. De Soussa Santos, Boaventura (2014). “Más allá del pensamiento abismal: de las líneas globales a una ecología de los saberes”, En: B. De Sousa Santos y M. Meneses. Epistemologías del Sur (Perspectivas). Madrid: Akal. pp. 21-61. Eco, Umberto y Thomas A. Sebeok (1989). The Sign of Three. Pierce, Holmes, Dupin. Bloomington: Indiana U.P.; (traducción española) El signo de los tres. Dupin, Holmes, Pierce. Barcelona: Lumen (1989), p. 38. Hernández, Gloria (2009). “El Proceso de Recepción de The American Scholar de Ralph W. Emerson”. Revista Norteamérica. Año 4, número 1, p. 222. El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 75 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 Ibarra, Manuel (2008). “Alfredo Jalife-Rahme. Hacia la Desglobalización”. Reseña en Revista Estudios Fronterizos, Vol. 9, Nº 17, pp. 197-202. Lada Ferreras, Ulpiano (2001). “La dimensión pragmática del signo literario”. Estudios Filológicos. Nº 36, pp. 61-70. Mié, Fabián (2012). “Demostración y Silogismo en los Analíticos Segundos. Reconstrucción y Discusión”, Diánoia, volumen LVIII, número 70, pp. 35–58. Mancuso, Hugo (2010). De lo decible. Entre semiótica y filosofía: Pierce, Gramsci, Wittgenstein. Buenos Aires: SB Editorial Montoya, Juan Eliseo (2013). “Abducción, Interdisciplinariedad y Cultura”. AdVersuS, X, Nº 24. pp. 122-144. Murillo, Sandra y Berna Valle (2015). “El signo y sus aproximaciones teóricos en el desarrollo de la ciencia semiótica”. Razón y Palabra, Vol. 19, Nº 91, S/P. http://www.redalyc.org/articulo.oa?id=199541387030 Consultado el 20 de agosto del 2019. Pierce, Charles (1878). Deducción, Inducción e Hipótesis. Traducción castellana y notas de Juan Martín Ruiz-Werner Buenos Aires: Aguilar 1970. pp. 1-12.pp. 1-12. Poe, Edgar Allan (1973). Ensayos y Críticas. Traducción e Introducción de Julio Cortázar. Madrid: Alianza Editorial. Ricoeur, Paul (1997). “Hermenéutica y Semiótica. Dedicado a: Horizontes del Relato: Lecturas y Conversaciones con Paul Ricoeur”. Revista Cuaderno Gris, Nº 2. pp. 91-106. Seoane, Javier Benito (2011). “Teoría Social Clásica y Postpositivismo”, Barbaroi, Nº 35, pp. 141-163. Tuhiwai Smith, Linda (2013). A Descolonizar las Metodologías. Investigación y Pueblos Indígenas. LOM. Santiago. Vásquez, Adolfo (2015). Romanticismo Oscuro. De la Literatura Gótica a los Poetas Malditos. Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Actas de Literatura Contemporánea; XVI, p. 1. Velásquez, Graciela (2015). “El rol de la abducción peirciana en la investigación científica”. Valenciana, Volumen 8, Nº 15, pp. 189-213. Yegres, Alberto (2005). “Filosofía, Ilustración y Romanticismo”. Revista de Investigación, vol. 39, Nº. 86, pp. 1-8.
work_opwbg27ypbg2dj5fenlscwbah4 ---- Figure 4.1: The famed rust-less iron pillar installed in Delhi in about 1233 CE was originally erected as a gnomon in Udaigiri, central India, located on tropic of Cancer. The gnomon, built about 400 CE was designed to cast shadow in the direction of the passage to temples, on summer solstice day. (Photo courtesy R. Balasubramaniam) 40 4. Astronomical Heritage: Towards a Global Perspective and Action Rajesh Kochhar, International Astronomical Union (IAU) This international symposium is taking place in the 400th year of the chance invention of telescope. The accidental discovery in 1608 of a combination of lenses by the Dutch optician Hans Lippershey may belong to the realm of romance of history. But the next year when Galileo made the world’s first designer telescope and turned it skywards, he initiated a revolution the impact of which has gone beyond astronomy and science. Homo Sapiens is an astronomical species. Ever since humans learnt to walk upright they have looked at the sky and wondered. The sky has remained the same but its meaning as well as significance has continually changed. To begin with, the sky was a divinity to be feared and appeased. It then became a phenomenon to be observed and utilized. And finally now it has been reduced to be an object of study and a labora- tory for testing our scientific theories. In the course of time as the human intellect gradually gained sophistica- tion, humankind also reworked its equation with nature. From estimating angles to measuring distances our un- derstanding of the skies has indeed deepened, literally and figuratively. Astronomy today is at the cutting edge of intellec- tual enquiry and, at its most glamorous, a child of high technology. But it is more than a branch of modern sci- ence. It is a symbol of the collectivity and continuity of humankind’s cultural heritage. This mixture of science and culture is astronomy’s strength as well as dilemma. Strength, because support for astronomy transcends all boundaries; dilemma, because this support transcends science also. As is well known it is very difficult to define things. It has been said that definition should emerge from actual practice. This is largely true. But there are times when concepts need to be defined properly so that future ac- tions can be given a direction. When we were in school we were told in the English class that the word his- tory has no plural. Now I realize that we were wrongly taught. I am inclined to go to the other extreme and assert that there is no history only histories. That is why today the trend is to use the term heritage as in the title for this symposium. Heritage can be seen as the sum total of histories. And yet for the sake of developing a global perspective and planning combined action we must try to develop a universal history. Elsewhere I have used the term Cultural Copernican- ism. Just as Copernican principle in cosmology tells that the universe does not have a preferred location or direction, Cultural Copernicanism would imply that no cultural or geographical area or ethnic or social group can be deemed to constitute a benchmark for judging and evaluating others. Within this framework how do we deal with the past? Past should not be pitted against the present. It must be conceded that modern astron- omy is the terminus of an evolutional track. Astronomy (as well as science in general) should be seen as a multi- stage civilizational cumulus where each stage builds on the knowledge gained in the previous stages and in turn leads to the next. In various stages there are invariably deed ends which should be handled with sensitivity. In this context it would be useful to keep in mind a wise statement by Henry David Thoreau: “A man is wise with the wisdom of his time only, and ignorant with its ignorance.” History is an exercise in reconstructing the past that is carried out in the present with an eye on the fu- ture. Thus paradoxical as it may seem history is an instrument that converts the past into a bridge between the present and the future. More specifically, history of astronomy is an enquiry into how human perception of their cosmic environment has evolved with time. It is relatively an easy matter to discuss the history of modern astronomy as western astronomy. But if we wish to advance the cause of astronomy, if we wish to see world-wide development of astronomy, we must place post-Galilean developments in a wider spatial and temporal context. Some relevant details of the activities planned by the International Astronomical Union and the United Nations in commemoration of International Year of Astronomy 2009 will be provided. 41
work_oqo4qspn7jfbjl732muc2iavde ---- renselange.com IKS Rense Lange IKS Rense Lange Home Integrated Knowledge Systems (IKS) focuses on the application of advanced analytic techniques and statistical modelling in new contexts and emerging industries. In educational assessment this includes Computer Adaptive Testing (CAT) to achieve greater testing efficiency, as well as Automatic Essay Grading (AES) where students’ essays are graded by computer. In a financial technology (FINTECH) context, the approach focuses on using psychographic data to provide loans to meritorious – but often under-served - groups like minorities or women that may lack an extensive credit history. Central to IKS’ approach is the use of Machine Learning, often relying on the powers of Google’s TensorFlow or Keras. Rense Lange Following his undergraduate studies at the University of Groningen, the Netherlands, Rense Lange was awarded a Doctorate in Psychology and a Master's Degree in Computer Science from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, USA. He has published over 75 refereed papers, books, and chapters in the areas of computer science, econometrics, education, machine learning, medicine, psychology, psychiatry, and psychometrics, and serves as a reviewer and member of the editorial board of several journals. As well, he is an Honorary Fellow at the Malaysian Psychometric Association. While teaching at the University of Illinois, Dr. Lange founded Integrated Knowledge Systems (IKS) to provide test administration, psychometrics and quality control services for medium and large scale clients, at the US state and district level, in educational assessment and personnel testing. Over the past years IKS has served clients in Canada, China, Malaysia, Mexico, Portugal, Spain, and the USA. Additionally, Dr. Lange heads the ISLA Laboratory for Statistics and Computation in Vila Nova de Gaia - Porto (Portugal). At ISLA he aims to leverage the power of modern psychometrics, process mining, and machine learning to applications in banking, education, social media, and personnel selection. In conjunction with Global Psytech (located in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia) - one of the world’s leading FINTECH startups - various projects are currently in progress. Name * E-mailadress * Text * Leave this field empty Submit form © 2021 renselange.com Powered by JouwWeb
work_os5d3nqo5bekdmbt65apcgeeue ---- Ian McHarg’s confident skill Vol.:(0123456789)1 3 Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 https://doi.org/10.1007/s42532-019-00028-0 P E R S P E C T I V E E S S AY Ian McHarg’s confident skill Danilo Palazzo1 · Leah Hollstein1 Received: 15 March 2019 / Accepted: 6 August 2019 / Published online: 13 September 2019 © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2019 Abstract Fifty years has passed since the publication of Ian McHarg’s Design with Nature. With “confident skill,” a quality that Mumford attributed to McHarg in the book’s Introduction, the text intermingled autobiographical notes and philosophical thoughts with chapters on ecological planning case studies and the use of the map overlay technique. Design with Nature provided limited indications about the authors or books that inspired and supported McHarg. The paper, through a literature review, investigates the contingent circumstances that fed the social milieu of the 1960s and 1970s as well as the individuals and ideas preceding or contemporary with McHarg that backed, validated, or substantiated his book and ecological planning. The paper considers the multiple influences that McHarg gathered from scientists and philosophers in the time preceding the preparation of Design with Nature when he created and led his Man and the Environment course and hosted The House We Live In, a CBS television show. It also reflects the multiple ways in which McHarg’s ideas influenced, and were influenced in return, by the development of academic ecology practice and education. McHarg recognized that the book borrowed from the thoughts and dreams of others and that his intention was to divulge his ideas to a wider audience than just academic insid- ers. The paper affirms that Design with Nature and its author catalyzed social, cultural, scholarly, and professional factors, started a chain reaction that had an undeniable impact on academia, practice, and government in the 50 years afterward, and became a central and fundamental academic reference for landscape architecture and planning. Keywords Ecological planning · Landscape planning · Ian McHarg · Map overlay · Environmental planning · Design with Nature · Socio-ecological practice research 1 Introduction The tone that McHarg adopted in Design with Nature can be explained by his “confident skill,” an attribute that Lewis Mumford, in the book’s Introduction, ascribes to the author: “Without the passion and courage and confident skill of peo- ple like McHarg […the] hope [for a better world] might fade and disappear forever” (Mumford 1969, p. viii). McHarg was extremely confident in himself and his capacities, as many of those who have met him in person testify: “McHarg’s rangy mind, colorful mode of expression, and willingness to offend makes him rather unusual as landscape architects go. But behind the extravagant language hums a methodi- cal brain and a fervent, highly developed philosophy about man’s relationship to nature that has propelled him to the forefront of landscape architecture in America” (Holden 1977, p. 379). McHarg himself described his boldness, his temper, and his self-assurance in several episodes of A Quest for Life, his autobiography (McHarg 1996, pp. 75, 111, 118, 166, 190, 238). McHarg’s self-confidence, his interdisciplinary strength in synthesizing and communicating (Holden 1977, p. 379), his acquired knowledge of the topics discussed in Man and Environment and The House We Live In—combined with the intention to “address larger problems and wider audi- ences” (McHarg 1996, p. 201)—prevailed over adopting a more traditional choice of paratextual parts in Design with Nature, such as bibliography, index, and further readings. The book, in fact, intermingles autobiographical notes and philosophical thoughts with chapters on ecological plan- ning case studies and applications, while providing limited indication about the authors or books that inspired and sup- ported McHarg’s theoretical background. In Design with Nature, the nearest McHarg comes to acknowledging the inspirations of others is when he mentions that “a procession * Danilo Palazzo palazzdo@ucmail.uc.edu 1 School of Planning, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, OH, USA http://orcid.org/0000-0002-3029-3452 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s42532-019-00028-0&domain=pdf 348 Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 of great men have [sic] addressed my students and me during the past decade. It is their conceptions that constitutes [sic] the theory of this book” (1969, p. iv). This paper investigates the development of some of the principles that matured just prior to the appearance of Design with Nature, as well as the general milieu that pre- ceded and eventually supported and sustained the affirmation of ecological planning. The paper places Design with Nature within a scenario of thought-leaders, publications, and con- tributions on close topics published during the same period. It will show the way in which McHarg’s lifetime of experi- ences led him to write Design with Nature and how those same experiences influenced the style he chose to employ in its writing. Finally, the paper tracks how McHarg recognized in papers, books, or interviews published in the years subse- quent to Design with Nature’s publication, the gaps in his knowledge of what and who preceded him in the develop- ment of ecological planning. A thorough story of ecological planning has yet to be written; despite the relevant role that McHarg would have in it, we can certainly agree with Ervin Zube (1986a, p. 67) it was through an uneven progress that ecological planning systems and methods matured. 2 Fortune favors the bold Throughout his life, McHarg thrust himself into position after position, always advancing (in the way of a former soldier) to higher aspirations. His bold, take-no-prisoners attitude knocked down walls that would have slowed or stopped others, enabling McHarg to place himself in the “right place” at the “right time” for many opportunities (McHarg 1996, p. 66). After serving in WWII, and being introduced to the field of landscape architecture as a young man, McHarg enrolled in Harvard University’s Graduate School of Design (GSD). Despite not having a bachelor’s degree, or even a high-school certificate due to his having left school at age 16, McHarg brazenly sent a telegram to the chair of the Landscape Archi- tecture Department, informing him of his intention to enroll, and asking him to “make necessary arrangements” (McHarg 1996, p. 66). On summer break in 1949, McHarg and his wife drove across the USA, exploring American landscapes, cities, and projects. They ended their trip in California. Tak- ing advantage of letters of introduction given to them by the chairman of the GSD’s City Planning program, they met landscape architects Thomas Church, Garrett Eckbo, and Lawrence Halprin. Considered Modernist masters today, at the time they were seen as the new guard, the people rein- venting the field. While these “young turks” (McHarg 1996, p. 72) were ignored in the GSD’s curriculum at the time, McHarg’s letter of introduction gave him special access to their “revolutionary” (McHarg 1996, p. 80) work, enabling him to form relationships that later would lead to collabora- tions and exchanges. As he began his academic career, McHarg also charged boldly, taking on momentous tasks, especially for one so new to academia. He tied his employment at the Univer- sity of Pennsylvania’s Graduate School of Fine Arts (Penn) to the contemporaneous departure of Walter Gropius from the faculty, along with “massive sympathetic resignations” (McHarg 1996, p. 132). One of the resulting faculty open- ings was given by Penn’s Dean, and former Chair of city planning at the GSD, to a 34-year-old McHarg, along with the task to develop a landscape architecture program (Miller and Pardal 1992). The Dean then introduced him to the ben- efactor who provided scholarships that made it possible to attract outstanding candidates to this new program. This funding, along with a Rockefeller grant obtained in the pro- gram’s second year, and a subsequent million-dollar Ford Foundation grant (McHarg 1996, pp. 190–192), allowed McHarg to employ distinguished practitioners as visiting faculty and, most importantly, to hire natural scientists to accomplish his commitment to develop and teach human ecological planning (McHarg 1981, p. 109). McHarg’s meticulously choreographed convergence of talented stu- dents, faculty, funding, and the decision to tackle “current and conspicuous social problems” in courses, catapulted both a young McHarg and Penn’s landscape architecture program into national prominence at an early stage (McHarg 1996, p. 135). McHarg’s development and organization of the course Man and Environment at the University of Pennsylvania in 1959 permitted him “to invite the most distinguished speak- ers in the environmental movement for the illumination of students and the development of my own knowledge” (1996, p. 157). The guests invited to talk represented a “Who’s Who of theology and science,” a flabbergasting list that encom- passes almost three pages of McHarg’s autobiography (1996, pp. 159–161). After only 1 year of offering his Man and Environment survey course at Penn, McHarg was contacted by the local CBS affiliate to turn the course into a twelve-part television series—The House we Live In (1960–1961). Despite his hav- ing no experience in television, McHarg was given free rein to select contributors and formulate the topic of each epi- sode. As host, McHarg had the opportunity and privilege to meet and discuss topics with the brightest minds of his time. He invited the leading thinkers in theology, philosophy, and science to discuss the human role on earth—the House in the title is a reference to Oikos, the Greek word for house from which derives the English prefix eco- for ecology. The guest list, again, is long and contains the best and the brightest of that time. Among them were philosophers Erich Fromm and Paul Tillich, anthropologist Margaret Mead (the only woman 349Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 in a male-dominated group), astronomer Harlow Shapley, ecologist Frank Fraser Darling, psychiatrist Leonard Duhl (author of The Urban Condition, 1963), and sociologist and historian Lewis Mumford. McHarg’s steadily increasing profile with cultural and environmental groups hurtled him into ever more elevated circles. Additionally, the lessons he learned from this media experience and the broad exposure it gave to his views on man’s relationship with the environment influenced his evocative writing style in Design with Nature. McHarg acknowledges that when the environmental move- ment emerged, there were not many well-known people who could speak on its behalf, suggesting “that’s one of the rea- sons I became conspicuous” (Miller and Pardal 1992, p. 47). Just as McHarg’s academic reputation influenced his professional contacts and responsibilities, these profes- sional activities, in turn, influenced his academic research. In 1965, the American Institute of Architects (AIA) was invited, at the behest of US Interior Secretary Stewart Udall, to nominate members of a task force to make a model plan for the Potomac River basin. McHarg was confronted with the necessity of acquiring the data needed to investigate the region beyond the urban confines of Washington, DC. In a responding studio, McHarg and his landscape architecture students thus “developed the ecological planning method,” using chronology to organize layers of data, revealing land- scape structure, and determining suitability (McHarg 1996, p. 197). McHarg’s growing prominence and the revolutionary forces at work in the decade came together in 1966 when Russell Train, president of the Conservation Foundation, and his chief scientist Raymond Dasman (McHarg 1996, p. 199) suggested to McHarg that he should write a book on ecology, a book that would become Design with Nature. As discussed in the next section, this suggestion was based on the underlying judgment that the time was right for a book on this topic and that it would find an eager audience. 3 Design with Nature: supportive milieu in the USA When McHarg was persuaded to write Design with Nature, he was professor at the University of Pennsylvania and co- founder of Wallace, McHarg, Roberts, and Todd, and was positioned at a confluence of international, domestic, aca- demic, and disciplinary events that contributed to a milieu primed to receive his message. The 1966–1967 period was a propitious time to write Design with Nature, for a number of seminal ideas were surfacing simultaneously. The book offered the opportunity to assemble, integrate, and present these as a new way of looking at the earth (McHarg 1996, p. 201). At the national level, McHarg was correct that the 1960s was the right time for Design with Nature. The period between WWII and 1969 was a time of turbulence in the US; cities were rocked by demographic changes, and many people were searching for new ways of living. Individual cit- izens were demanding increased responsiveness from their governments and wanted to have more influence over the great issues of the day. Common to many of the tendencies of the time was a growing recognition of the dangers facing our environment. This generated in many people within the environmental movement “an increased awareness of gov- ernment as an environmental culprit. […] Looked at closely, most of the agencies of the state […] seemed driven more by economics than by ecology” (Sale 1993, pp. 12–13). Between 1950 and 1960, more than three quarters of met- ropolitan growth in the USA took place outside of central cities. A common fear was that the increased development pressure on rural and suburban locations could lead to hous- ing being developed in unsuitable or even dangerous loca- tions without advanced planning (Heskin 1980). Even in areas where housing was not being developed, transportation routes and encroaching urbanization threatened the integrity of environmental resources. In Design with Nature, McHarg directly addresses these fears with in-depth case studies of urbanizing regions on the US east coast, at scales ranging from the area known as “The Valleys” near Baltimore and the Philadelphia and Washington, DC metro areas, to Staten Island, New York, and the entire Potomac River Basin. The inclusion of these case studies validates contemporary fears of uncontrolled, misplaced, and/or unplanned suburban growth on the landscape, showing the wisdom of McHarg’s own sensible, alternative process protecting the environment while accommodating inevitable growth (McHarg 1969, p. 83). The national exurban movement was largely facilitated by the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956, which allocated over $16 billion dollars (in 2019 funds) to primary, secondary, and urban extensions of the federal highway system (United States Congress 1956). Promoted as a boon to both indus- try and national defense, it was criticized by many for what was seen as its racist, anti-environmental, and anti-urban orientations (Rose 2003). In fact, McHarg noted that he was lucky to have entered transportation planning in the 1960s: “my first encounter occurred at the peak of this situation. Given the prevailing ignorance, it was not difficult to reveal omissions and recommend improvements” (1996, p. 337). A prime example of this revelation and recommendation is shown in Design with Nature, as McHarg demonstrates how an alternative road design process, one that “provides the maximum social benefit at the least social cost” could be followed in a case study of Richmond Parkway in New York (McHarg 1969, p. 32). 350 Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 Students and activists protested against perceived injus- tices, ranging from segregation and discrimination to the Vietnam War and the House Un-American Activities Com- mittee. Protests were supported by a widespread awak- ening to fundamental inequalities in the USA regarding race (Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s 1963 “I Have a Dream Speech”), gender (the 1963 publication of Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique), and the environment (Rachel Carson’s 1962 release of Silent Spring). In response, a number of organizations were created and laws passed to work toward a more just country, including the 1964 Civil Rights Act, the 1966 creation of both the National Organi- zation for Women and the Black Panther Party, and, in 1967, the Environmental Defense Fund. In conjunction with the perceived need for environ- mental defense were actions indicating a more wide- spread awareness of the environment in many facets of public life. In 1964, the Ford Foundation invited promi- nent actors in ecology and resources, including McHarg, to a four-day conference in New York City to determine whether the field was worth funding (McHarg 1996, pp. 190–192). The next year saw the reprinting of George Perkins Marsh’s Man and Nature, marking the 100-year anniversary of the initial 1864 printing of “the fountain- head of the conservation movement,” as it was called by Mumford in Lowenthal’s introduction to the book (Marsh 1965, p. ix). In 1968, Garrett Hardin published his Tragedy of the Commons, putting voice to concerns about environ- mental pollution as well as overpopulation based largely on environmental reasoning—a theory recently rejected from a scientific point of view and now controversial due to the author’s racist, nativist, and anti-immigration ideas (Mildenberger 2019). McHarg and other leaders of the environmental movement, like Paul Ehrlich, Barry Com- moner, Rene Dubos, and Ralph Nader, were “frontline troops [who] crisscrossed the country giving lectures to enormous and excited audiences” (McHarg 1996, p. 208). Their efforts culminated in the first Earth Day on April 21, 1970. The 1960s and 1970s also represented a real break- through for ecological planning in the USA. The envi- ronmental crises that hit the country in those two decades caused the materialization and development of the envi- ronmental movement (Gottlieb 1993; Sale 1993; Shabecoff 1993; Dryzek 2003; Neimark and Rhoades Mott 2017) and the launch of a “sweeping and intensive array of regulatory regimes at all levels of government” (Ruhl et al. 2007, p. 167), stimulating the emergence of studies on the relation- ship between planning and the environment. Ecological planning in the same period is marked by some significant changes, which, according to Steiner, Young, and Zube, can be summarized in three points: 1) the literature […] has proliferated and its sources have become more broadly based, with more and more planners (and scholars from other disciplines) calling for the increased use of ecology in planning; 2) the movement, if it can be called that, has become more explicit, uses language that is more explicitly ecologi- cal and more clearly mandates that planning be eco- logical; and 3) more of the literature is now oriented toward planning as applied human ecology rather than just incorporating bio-ecology concepts into land-use or landscape planning. (1988, p. 33) In parallel to the evolution toward ecological planning in society at large and in planning literature, regulations were adopted at both the federal and state level, particularly the National Environmental Policy Act of 1969 (United States Congress 1970), denoting an attitude of greater attention toward the impact of human actions on the environment and the emergence of a significant demand for planning. 3.1 Design with Nature: academic ecology, practices, and methods The ecological development of landscape architecture and urban and regional planning also restarted in the postwar period. It was concentrated around the development of methodologies to assess landscapes and the impacts of transformations and was characterized by the attempt to combine—through methodologies applied to design and planning—interdisciplinary contributions and to inaugu- rate the use of computer processing and the first geographic information systems (GIS). Raymond Belknap and John Furtado explain the reasons for the advancement of these methods in a famous document that compared the environmental resource analysis methods of McHarg, Philip H. Lewis Jr., and George Angus Hills: One is the growing concern for the quality of our envi- ronment. […] Over the next two or three decades, bil- lions of dollars and countless man-hours will be spent to protect and develop resources that create and affect the quality of our physical environment. […] Faced with immediate needs, there is no choice but to use existing approaches to resource analysis, planning and development, and to improve them as may be possible. (1967, p. 1) In 1970, as a segue from the Belknap and Furtado report, Carl Steinitz confirmed the strong growth of this type of study comparing fifteen examples of landscape resource analysis to measure their effectiveness. Some of the studies he considered already made use of the first rudimentary com- puters, which gradually began to be used for the analysis and planning of the environment from the mid-1960s (Steinitz 351Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 1993). Throughout the 1960s, landscape architecture and planning were improved through the adoption of new tools, the establishing of new goals, and the recognition of new responsibilities. New tools included new methods (Hollstein 2019) and the introduction of the first computers (Carlsson 2017). New goals envisioned a less intrusive future (Land- scape Architecture Ed. 1967). New responsibilities were rec- ognized in the professional (Eckbo 1966; Gunn 1966), social (Grunwald 1966), historical (Brooks 1966), esthetic (Marx 1964), and ecological arenas (Odum and Davis 1969; Young 1974). In this climate, which was both supportive and com- plex, planning became explicitly and consciously ecological (Cain 1968). Hills, Lewis, and McHarg were the best-known authors among those who accepted the new challenges and new dimensions of responsibility to which planners were called. They provided a strong drive to both technical and ethical elaborations and to a deep reflection on their roles as ecological planners (Hills 1974; Lewis 1996; McHarg 1996). McHarg’s overlay process, as described in Design with Nature, is considered one of the foundational influences upon GIS, establishing a scientific process for land-use suit- ability analysis within the environmental design fields (Mal- czewski 2004). GIS, when used in conjunction with Stein- itz’ decision-making framework (Steinitz 1990), operates today as the field of geodesign. While the concept of spatial thinking and problem solving is not new, as Li and Milburn (2016) demonstrate in the field of landscape architecture, evolving sociocultural concerns within environmental design are changing the field. In common with broader trends away from the rational, positivist approach to planning and deci- sion making, the application of GIS has undergone a transi- tion through contextual, political approaches to communica- tive theories and on to shared-governance approaches to the use and implementation of spatial data and decision making (Malczewski 2004). 3.2 Design with Nature: environmental design education Reflecting the increased attention being paid to the environ- ment and ecology at large, and within the design professions in particular, university programs in landscape architecture and urban and regional planning began to pay more attention to ecological issues in the 1970s, with McHarg’s own pro- gram leading the way. They started to incorporate disciplines related to environmental sciences, showed a maturing multi- disciplinary attitude (Sanoff 1974; Erichsen and Goldenstein 2011), and experimented with interdisciplinary planning techniques (Appleyard 1971; Fein 1975; Gunn 1978; Lyle 1978; Heskin 1980; Lang 1983; Twiss 1986; Zube 1986b; Dalton 2001). Through the 1960s, with the rise of the envi- ronmental movement, “complex problems conceptualized as dynamic conflicts with geographical distribution entered the agenda of the landscape architecture profession” (Carlsson 2017, p. 37). Consequently, landscape architecture began to assume the leading role in the field of ecological planning (Spirn 1997; Conan 2000; Spirn 2000; Meyer 2001; Lystra 2014; Weller 2015). In the same years, urban and regional planning programs began to evidence similar changes, sup- porting wide offerings in the field of environmental plan- ning and management of natural resources (Niebanck 1993; Steinitz 1995) through the introduction of geodesign and GIS (Batty 1994; Muller and Flohr 2016: Li and Milburn 2016; Hollstein 2019.) University programs showed contacts between landscape architecture and environmental sciences, first timidly in the 1950s (Walker and Simo 1994, pp. 261–263) and more openly a decade later. A survey of about twenty landscape architecture programs in US universities, carried out in 1953, showed that courses on plant ecology and geology were already present in at least two universities: Ohio State University and Texas A&M University (White 1953). Other programs already applied tools such as the topographic maps and aerial photographs overlay, an anticipation of the method of map overlay technique that became popular with McHarg fifteen years later (Steinitz et al. 1976; Walker and Simo 1994). McHarg’s explicit approach to landscape architecture and planning education at the University of Pennsylvania is described in his own address to a 1964 Ford Foundation conference on the field of ecology (as discussed earlier): “I was firmly committed to ecology as the scientific foundation for landscape architecture, but I also submitted that it could perform invaluable services if employed in environmental and regional planning” (1996, p. 191). Two years later, when a half-million-dollar grant was approved, McHarg used the money to recruit natural scientists to be integrated “into a holistic discipline applied to the solution of contemporary problems” (1996, p. 192). The grant, as McHarg said, “trans- formed education in environmental problems” (1996, p. 192) and the “evolution of the department [of Landscape Archi- tecture and Regional Planning] over the past quarter century has been from a preoccupation with design in the absence of any scientific prerequisites or training to a continuous increase in the content of both physical and biological sci- ence, integrated by ecology” (McHarg 1981, p. 120). 4 The place of Design with Nature within the unwritten story of ecological planning As demonstrated, Design with Nature was written at an inflection point in US history and arrived at a time of soci- etal change, increasing environmental awareness, and dis- ciplinary reinvention. McHarg was no less a product of the 352 Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 time than was his work. He was influenced by the confluence of events that had brought him to landscape architecture, his professional position in Philadelphia, and his exposure to a diverse set of influential thinkers through his courses and television show. These inspirations, along with his “confident skill,” as succinctly characterized by Mumford (1969), led him to write a book that does not specifically acknowledge those contemporaries and predecessors who provided a wider, yet unrevealed, intellectual framework within the pages of Design with Nature. However, this has not prevented Mumford (1969), from placing the book on a literary shelf with similar or related authors. Mumford listed Hippocrates, Henry Thoreau, George Perkins Marsh, Patrick Geddes, Carl Sauer, and Rachel Carson as similarly influential authors, providing a peek at McHarg’s putative companions. Interestingly, Udall’s Forward to A Quest for Life (McHarg’s 1996 autobiography) also identified “three individuals who provided the philosophical foundation for this [ecological] revolution,” namely Aldo Leopold, Carson, and McHarg (p. xii). In naming these three in this order, Udall is identifying McHarg as a foundational contributor to the environmental revolution but also, in indicating that he came after the other two (Sand County Almanac finished 1948, Silent Spring published 1962), is suggesting that he is one part of a greater tradition, an inheritor of environmental interests spurred by others before him. Steiner et al. (1988) identified a group of visionary think- ers and ideas to whom ecological planning (and presumably McHarg) owes a large debt. These include such figures as George Perkins Marsh, John Wesley Powell, and Patrick Geddes, but also the “Chicago School” so prominent in the history of ecology, and the first urban park planners, Frederick Law Olmsted, Charles Vaux, H.W.S. Cleveland, Charles Eliot, and Jens Jensen. Warren Manning is listed among these individuals for his early use of the overlay tech- nique that involved “the use of ecological information in the planning and design of human communities” (Steiner et al. 1988, p. 32.) To the list Steiner, Young, and Zube also added Lewis Mumford and Benton MacKaye’s Regional Planning Association of America. Palazzo, in a book published in Italian in 1997, speculated that the emergence of ecological planning in the 1960s in North America arose from three main origins. The first was that of landscape architecture, which derived from an origi- nal adaptation of English landscape gardening connected to an appreciation of the American landscape and nature, with protagonists such as Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jack- son Downing, Frederick Law Olmsted, Charles Eliot, and Warren Manning. A similar conclusion is reached by Forster Ndubisi (2002) who placed ecological planning in a histori- cal perspective, confirming that “ecological planning in the United States evolved as a part of landscape architecture in the mid-nineteenth century” (2002, p. 9). Ndubisi extended his exploration into ecological planning, collecting the main contributions to the field in The Ecological Design and Planning Reader (2014). Among the important contributors whose works appeared prior to Design with Nature’s 1969 publication, Ndubisi listed Henry David Thoreau, George Perkins Marsh, Ebenezer Howard, Patrick Geddes, Benton MacKaye, Aldo Leopold, and Rachel Carson. Palazzo identified a second origin of ecological planning in the conservationist period and the management of the vast public domain by various federal land management agencies. Early proponents were George Perkins Marsh and John Wesley Powell. The third origin, as described by Palazzo (1997)—confirming the conclusion reached earlier by Steiner et al. (1988)—connects ecological planning to Lewis Mumford and Benton MacKaye’s Regional Planning Association of America, which ended up influencing some of the New Deal’s programs and initiatives and having a relevant ecological component (Luccarelli 1995). More recently, Palazzo has suggested that, to the three origins, a fourth should be added: that of utopian thinking. Most of these influential utopian thinkers, reacting to the effects of the Industrial Revolution, were of the view that The unities of cities are intricately connected as a sys- tem that functions based on a balance among these unities. To achieve their visions, therefore, meant that these unities - cultural, economic, environmental, insti- tutional, political, social, spiritual, and spatial - must work in harmony to achieve a society devoid of pollu- tion, slums, and blights, where social justice is a key principle that underpins every action. (Palazzo 2016, p. 219) Other authors have mapped the development of ecological thinking in planning and landscape architecture. A brief recounting follows. Steinitz et al. (1976) explore the origin of hand-drawn overlay mapping. Giliomee (1977) describes the ecological planning method taught and practiced in the Department of Landscape Architecture and Regional Plan- ning, University of Pennsylvania, where McHarg was Chair- man. Fabos (1979) shows the emergence of concerns with human impact on landscapes and the evolution of landscape planning principles and the techniques, methods, and proce- dures developed in planning. Steiner and Brooks (1981) offer an account of an ecological planning process that derives from McHarg and others after him. Steiner (1983) presents the “uneven history” of regional planning in the USA, exploring its evolution during the New Deal and its later development into two different orientations: one led by John Friedman and the other by McHarg. Spirn (1985) outlines the roots of historical precedents and traditions connecting nature, human purpose, and city design from Hippocrates to McHarg and Lynch. Seddon (1986) observes the concep- tual—and semantic—relations among landscape planning, 353Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 landscape architecture, and town and regional planning, con- cluding that landscape planning should become more ana- lytical, ecologically based, and a social and political activ- ity. Zube (1986b) presents the history and development of landscape architecture and planning education in America, suggesting enhancement of curricula. Berger (1987) offers an insight into three landscape synthesis methods and mod- els as they evolved from ecological landscape planning and design efforts by Geddes, MacKaye, Hills, Dansereau, and McHarg. Johnson (1990) lists and compares the literature on landscape architecture from the beginning of the twentieth century to McHarg—“lonely prophet of environmentalism” (p. 91)—and beyond. Olin (1990) provides portraits of a dozen figures, from Muir to Wright to Venturi, who brought “an ecological viewpoint to bear upon the physical, social, and ethical worlds about us” (p. 83). William Marsh (1991) briefly describes the milieu in which the environmental cri- sis of the 1960s and 1970s “paved the way for stronger and broader environmental legislation at all levels of govern- ment” (p. 3). Walker and Simo (1994) offer an understand- ing of the evolution of landscape architecture in the twen- tieth century from Olmsted to McHarg to corporate office design. Schott (2004) traces urban environmental history, starting from the 1990s in America and in Europe. Vasishth (2008) proposes an ecosystem approach to planning using cases from ecological science and social theory. Stephen- son (2018) establishes a historical connection among John Nolen’s and Lewis Mumford’s common interests in utopia, garden cities, and the early unveiling of sustainability. These sources establish the existence of a past (or more than one) that led to the emergence of ecological planning in the 1960s and its further evolution. 5 McHarg’s later reflections on his position in ecological planning After the publication of Design with Nature, McHarg became more willing in later papers to acknowledge ecolo- gists, planners, landscape architects, and others whose ear- lier work contributed to his own. In 1970, he publicized an open space study of the Philadelphia Metro Region and spe- cifically placed this work within a tradition of metropolitan open space planning, dating to Charles Eliot’s 1893 plan for Boston. At the same time, he noted other earlier, similar plans, including Benton MacKaye’s 1928 open space plan- ning proposal and Patrick Abercrombie’s 1944 Greater Lon- don Plan, as well as his contemporary Philip Lewis’ state- wide work in both Illinois and Wisconsin (McHarg 1970). Another early influence that McHarg was prepared to credit later in his career was Patrick Geddes. Geddes was noted by McHarg as the first to identify that “each region is believed to comprise unique attributes of place-folk-work,” which McHarg identified as a crucial preliminary step in the ecological planning process (1981, p. 147). Within the field of landscape architecture itself, McHarg credited Brian Hackett with introducing ecology to the field (McHarg 1996) and particularly noted his influence on McHarg’s own department at the University of Pennsylvania. In his own field of expertise, McHarg came to acknowledge earlier indi- viduals who undertook studies of the sort he would come to include in his ecological planning method, including Neville M. Fenneman in the 1930s and Charles B. Hunt in the 1960s (1996, p. 327). McHarg’s willingness to acknowledge the preeminence of others in his chosen field seemed to wax and wane. In the same year that he published an essay stating that “I invented ecological planning during the early 1960s,” (1997a, p. 194), he also wrote an essay for the American Society of Landscape Architects acknowledging that Charles Eliot conducted “the first ecological planning study in the United States or the world” in 1893 (1998, p. 190). Further, he had already acknowledged as much in his own autobiography, published a year earlier, as he complained of having to “reinvent the wheel” (1996, p. 82). Despite some admis- sions of this kind, McHarg remained largely reluctant to concede that anyone who conducted ecological design and/ or planning before him did so in a manner that suggested they had a part in the invention process. A typical semi- acknowledgment along these lines was found in McHarg’s 1966 Ecological Determinism. Discussing the eighteenth- century English landscape artists William Kent, Capability Brown, and Humphry Repton, McHarg noted that while they and their followers were “lacking a science of ecology, they used native plant materials to create communities which so well reflected natural processes that their creations endured and are self-perpetuating” (1966, p. 528). McHarg admired their proto-ecological design ethos (Podolak et al. 2013) but carefully noted that their applied ecology was entirely rural and that a more modern ecology is needed as “the basis for modern interventions particularly at the scale of city, metropolis, and megalopolis” (1966, p. 528). In The Classic McHarg: An Interview, McHarg again sets himself apart from the ecological planners who came before him. He notes that, before he undertakes a planning process, he first studies the process of a place, which includes all of the endemic natural and social factors. With the possible exception of Eliot, McHarg claims to be the first to insist on the “study then plan” process (Miller and Pardal 1992). McHarg was also clear about the limited influence of his contemporaries Angus Hills and Philip Lewis. While very effusive about Hills as a soil scientist and forester, McHarg notes that he “didn’t address himself really to planning” and remained relatively unknown in his native Canada (Miller and Pardal 1992, p. 88). He is again very complimentary of Lewis while simultaneously noting that Lewis was only 354 Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 interested in his particular Midwestern region of the country and in river corridors, and not the environment as a whole. McHarg insists that his own, distinct, contribution to eco- logical planning was the uniting of various environmental scientists, the chronological arrangement of layers of infor- mation into a physical model, and the augmenting of this model with social science input (1981, 1992, 1997b; Miller and Pardal 1992, p. 89). 6 Conclusions Despite McHarg’s ongoing relationships with influential academics and researchers, resulting from his career as a professor and practitioner, the first edition of Design with Nature cites very few books or authors in the manner scien- tific and/or academic books were, and are, usually expected to do. Design with Nature, in fact, does not include a list of references, a bibliography, or an index. The book has 34 footnotes that refer to 14 books, 7 papers, 1 newspaper arti- cle, 1 TV show—McHarg’s own The House We Live In—7 professional reports, 1 research study, and 4 case studies undertaken by graduate students at the University of Penn- sylvania. In his autobiography, McHarg explains this unu- sual formatting choice as reflecting what he saw as a shifting audience for the book: “I had begun writing to landscape architects and planners, but the evidence was pushing me to address larger problems and wider audiences” (1996, p. 201). To reach a wider audience, McHarg embraced a tone that had already been adopted, with slight variations, by Carson’s Silent Spring (first published in 1962), and Leopold’s Sand County Almanac (first published in 1949). Both of these influential books provided the philosophical foundation for “the rise of environmentalism and the falter- ing of Big Technology,” as Udall wrote in the Foreword of McHarg’s autobiography (1996, p. xii). Silent Spring’s com- plete absence of footnotes in the text (Carson clarified that she had “not wished to burden the text with footnotes” 1999, p. vi) was compensated for by a list of principal sources 55 pages long at the end of the book and a 14 page index. Sand County Almanac adopted a similar style—no footnotes and also no bibliography—to reach a more general audience and Leopold’s message of conservation became popular in the 1960s when the book was reissued (Sale 1993). In McHarg’s format choice, we can see the influence of these earlier authors, as well as his strategic decision to tar- get a wider audience. The juxtaposition of ecological science with case studies focused on contemporary topics of inter- est such as land use, conservation, and highway planning, as well as the inclusion of a rare photo of the earth from outer space, are part of this targeting. Additionally, we must remember that McHarg hosted a very successful television show, The House We Live In, which brought esoteric ideas and topics into the mainstream for his audience. In hosting the show, he was exposed to the way his guests were able to communicate complicated subjects to a television audience. This was an education for McHarg in new communication modes and augmented his natural abilities. Design with Nature also was a book that could only have come about, as it exists, at that period of time. There was a palpable desire for change in the USA in the late 1960s, a desire to upset the status quo and question given assump- tions. Truisms about development, transportation, energy, and the environment were no longer accepted. Protests, environmental crises, and the impacts of past choices on development were inspiring new voices and actors. Within the environmental design and planning field, landscape architects and urban planners were becoming more aware of their responsibility to nature and were advocating more forcefully for it in their practice. Ecological values also were appearing within university education in the environmental design fields. The influential educational programs devel- oped by universities eventually would infiltrate the entire discipline. This emerged very clearly in the World Confer- ence on Education for Landscape Planning (Steinitz 1986): “Landscape architecture (and landscape planning) should have—must have—a biological base. This is why I believe it has a significant contribution to make in the future” (Seddon 1986, p. 337). More recent research conducted in 2004— 35 years after the publication of Design with Nature—on the curricula of all 63 accredited, first-professional degree programs in North America (28 offering a BLA, 17 offering an MLA, and 18 offering both) suggests a widespread degree of required ecological literacy (Dalton 2004; Miller et al. 2004.) In 2008, the ASLA Council on Education (ASLA 2008) in a white paper on “Growing the Profession” notes that “sustainability or ecological design was listed by twenty of the twenty-seven (74%) responding master’s programs” (p. 3). While McHarg was reluctant to position his book within a larger arc of thought on ecology and ecological planning, it is clear that Design with Nature does, in fact, belong to that tradition. It has been recognized by other prominent ecolo- gists as a foundational tome. It has also been recognized as the beneficiary of ideas generated by earlier theorists and practitioners. The authors of this paper are inclined to think that McHarg acted as an “enzyme,” a catalytic force for the synthesis of ideas, theories, and realizations that took place in previous decades, as well as contemporaneously, to form what has been known, from that moment on, as ecological planning. His book and larger-than-life personality worked to speed up, bring to maturity, and catalyze a specific reac- tion onto an existing, if scattered and not well known, heritage, supported by a sensitive and responsive soci- ety and by particular contingencies in the history of the 355Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 USA. McHarg was a mostly unconscious product of the proto-ecological and conservationist tradition—and the same can be said of Lewis and Hills. Design with Nature is an unconventional tome—its coffee-table size, its unu- sual academic language format, its use of the NASA earth image as a visual statement on the planet’s finite resources—that communicates to distinct audiences. Scholars, students, practitioners, public officers, environ- mental activists, laypeople—all were eager, for different reasons, to find a way to incorporate nature into human- made changes, to protect, through data-informed design, those most sensitive parts of the earth, to react to the greediness of speculators and urban renewal and highway proponents. This greediness has been perpetrated in spite of some of McHarg’s analysis and planning suggestions— as in Staten Island and The Woodlands—to the point that we can agree with Wei-Ning Xiang (2019) that “history voted many times in Ian McHarg’s favor.” Support for this characterization lies in the reconstruc- tions written in the aftermath of Design with Nature, which shed light on historical precedents that were uncon- sciously parts of the personal, disciplinary, and profes- sional paths taken by McHarg, an obliviousness that he partially recognized later in his life. From 1969 onward, Design with Nature and its author started a pervasive and global disciplinary change due to a peculiar ability to catch readers’ attention, a dialectic-persuasive skill, a quite extensive professional experience to support his writ- ings, and a particular sensitivity to and influence upon the zeitgeist. The reactions McHarg and Design with Nature started 50 years ago have not yet been completed (Steiner 2001; Yang and Li 2016; Wang et al. 2016; Yang and Young 2019) and Design with Nature still remains one of the most influential books on planning (Planetizen 2019; American Planning Association 2019). The same words written in the early 1990s by Kirk- patrick Sale about Carson’s Silent Spring can be adapted perfectly to McHarg’s Design with Nature and its role in the ecological planning revolution: “Such a revolution was not created by a single book, to be sure, however influen- tial forces that lay behind the movement were multiple and complex. 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Landsc Urban Plan 155:21–32. https ://doi.org/10.1016/j.landu rbpla n.2016.04.010 Yang B, Young RF (eds) (2019) Ecological wisdom. Springer Nature, Singapore Young GL (1974) Human ecology as an interdisciplinary concept: a critical inquiry. Adv Ecol Res 8:1–105. https ://doi.org/10.1016/ S0065 -2504(08)60277 -9 Zube EH (1986a) The advance of ecology. Landsc Archit 76(2):58–67 Zube EH (1986b) Landscape planning education in America: retro- spect and prospect. Landsc Urban Plan 13:367–378. https ://doi. org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90054 -X Danilo Palazzo Educated as architect and plan- ner, is director of the School of Planning at the University of Cin- cinnati. Previously, he was at the Polytechnic University of Milan, Italy. He has authored books, books chapters, and papers on ecologi- cal planning, urbanism, u r b a n e c o l o g i c a l d e s i g n , s u st a i n a b l e planning, design pro- cesses, and pedagogy. Leah Hollstein is an assistant professor in the School of Planning a t t h e C o l l e g e o f Design, Architecture, Art and Planning at the University of Cincin- nati. She holds a master of landscape architec- ture degree from the University of Michigan and Ph.D. in commu- nity and regional plan- ning from the Univer- sity of Texas at Austin. https://doi.org/10.1016/0304-3924(83)90038-2 https://doi.org/10.1016/0304-3924(83)90038-2 https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90049-6 https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90049-6 https://doi.org/10.3368/lj.9.2.136 https://doi.org/10.1177/1538513218755498 https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90067-8 https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90067-8 https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/STATUTE-70/pdf/STATUTE-70-Pg374.pdf https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/STATUTE-70/pdf/STATUTE-70-Pg374.pdf https://www.energy.gov/sites/prod/files/nepapub/nepa_documents/RedDont/Req-NEPA.pdf https://www.energy.gov/sites/prod/files/nepapub/nepa_documents/RedDont/Req-NEPA.pdf https://doi.org/10.1016/j.progress.2008.05.001 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.progress.2008.05.001 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.landurbplan.2016.05.019 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.landurbplan.2016.05.019 https://doi.org/10.3368/lj.33.2.85 https://doi.org/10.1007/s42532-019-00013-7 https://doi.org/10.1007/s42532-019-00013-7 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.landurbplan.2016.04.010 https://doi.org/10.1016/S0065-2504(08)60277-9 https://doi.org/10.1016/S0065-2504(08)60277-9 https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90054-X https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90054-X Ian McHarg’s confident skill Abstract 1 Introduction 2 Fortune favors the bold 3 Design with Nature: supportive milieu in the USA 3.1 Design with Nature: academic ecology, practices, and methods 3.2 Design with Nature: environmental design education 4 The place of Design with Nature within the unwritten story of ecological planning 5 McHarg’s later reflections on his position in ecological planning 6 Conclusions Acknowledgements References
work_otjuhve5wjaqfnyzyd4hym5g2e ---- untitled D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Review Cite this article: Perl O, Mishor E, Ravia A, Ravreby I, Sobel N. 2020 Are humans constantly but subconsciously smelling themselves? Phil. Trans. R. Soc. B 375: 20190372. http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2019.0372 Accepted: 4 February 2020 One contribution of 18 to a Theo Murphy meeting issue ‘Olfactory communication in humans’. Subject Areas: behaviour, neuroscience Keywords: body-odour, face-touching, self-sampling, self-sniffing, social chemosignalling Author for correspondence: Noam Sobel e-mail: noam.sobel@weizmann.ac.il © 2020 The Authors. Published by the Royal Society under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/, which permits unrestricted use, provided the original author and source are credited. †These authors contributed equally to this study. Electronic supplementary material is available online at https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare. c.4880268. Are humans constantly but subconsciously smelling themselves? Ofer Perl†, Eva Mishor†, Aharon Ravia, Inbal Ravreby and Noam Sobel Department of Neurobiology, Weizmann Institute of Science, Rehovot 76100, Israel NS, 0000-0002-3232-9391 All primates, including humans, engage in self-face-touching at very high frequency. The functional purpose or antecedents of this behaviour remain unclear. In this hybrid review, we put forth the hypothesis that self-face-touching subserves self-smelling. We first review data implying that humans touch their faces at very high frequency. We then detail evidence from the one study that implicated an olfactory origin for this behaviour: This evidence consists of significantly increased nasal inhalation concurrent with self- face-touching, and predictable increases or decreases in self-face-touching as a function of subliminal odourant tainting. Although we speculate that self-smelling through self-face-touching is largely an unconscious act, we note that in addition, humans also consciously smell themselves at high frequency. To verify this added statement, we administered an online self- report questionnaire. Upon being asked, approximately 94% of approxi- mately 400 respondents acknowledged engaging in smelling themselves. Paradoxically, we observe that although this very prevalent behaviour of self-smelling is of concern to individuals, especially to parents of children overtly exhibiting self-smelling, the behaviour has nearly no traction in the medical or psychological literature. We suggest psychological and cultural explanations for this paradox, and end in suggesting that human self-smelling become a formal topic of investigation in the study of human social olfaction. This article is part of the Theo Murphy meeting issue ‘Olfactory communi- cation in humans’. It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see —Henry David Thoreau 1. Face-touching may reflect unconscious hand-smelling Mammalian smelling largely depends on sniffing [1–5]. This is clearly evident in the stereotypical terrestrial mammalian behaviour of olfactory self-investigation: we look at rodents, canines and felines, and see animals that are often sniffing themselves or their own bodily secretions. Why don’t we see this when we look at humans? The lay person may answer that: ‘well, humans just don’t smell themselves like mice, cats and dogs do’. However, to paraphrase the opening Thoreau quote, we think this lay answer reflects what people choose to see, and if we looked at human behaviour differently, we would in fact see an animal that is often sniffing itself. The primary hypoth- esis that we put forth in this hybrid review manuscript is that the very prevalent human behaviour of face-touching in fact often subserves hand-smelling, and hence, social olfaction. 2. Face-touching in primates Face-touching is a prevalent primate behaviour. In 20 min observations, goril- las, chimpanzees and orangutans touched their own faces an average of http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1098/rstb.2019.0372&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2020-04-20 http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rstb/375/1800 http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rstb/375/1800 mailto:noam.sobel@weizmann.ac.il https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare.c.4880268 https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare.c.4880268 http://orcid.org/ http://orcid.org/0000-0002-3232-9391 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil. 2 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 19.87, 24.2 and 12.12 times respectively, i.e. about once a minute [6]. Moreover, these face-touches were predominantly with the left hand [6]. Whereas the above study failed to observe a similar extent of face-touching in monkeys, a later study found 51.33 face-touches per hour in monkeys as well, i.e. also about once a minute [7]. This later study did not observe laterality in the monkey behaviour, and also argued against the claim on laterality in apes [7]. Regardless of lateralization, primates clearly touch their own faces at high frequency, and this behaviour has been labelled as puz- zling [6]. It has been labelled as such because its function remains unknown. A major hypothesis of this hybrid review article is that the function of face-touching is hand- smelling. We put forth the hypothesis that this is a path to obtaining olfactory information on self and on others. Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 3. Face-touching in humans The above-quoted study that observed primates also observed humans: over a 20 min observation, 18 participants touched their faces an average of 13.33 times, i.e. at a rate similar to orangutans [6]. It was unclear whether participants in this study knew they were being observed, or why. In turn, because of its role as a possible path for disease propagation, face-touching has been incidentally quantified in the study of infectious disease. For example, one study reports on 10 par- ticipants (5 women), each video-observed individually for a period of 3 h seated at a desk performing ‘office tasks’ [8]. The participants knew they were being filmed for later behav- ioural analysis. Even though this knowledge may have increased self-awareness and minimized self-touching, they nevertheless brought their own hand to their faces approxi- mately 16 times per hour [8]. Moreover, approximately five touches per hour were directed specifically at the nostrils. A second study reports on 26 participants, medical students who were videoed while attending two 2 h lectures (i.e. 4 h of group observation) [9]. These participants also knew they were being filmed for later behavioural analysis, but did not know the question being addressed. In this study, face-touching occurred approximately 23 times per hour, and approximately seven touches per hour were directed specifically at the nostrils [9]. In a third study, 79 family-medicine doctors and staff were observed within a clinical setting. Although they knew they were being observed, they did not know that the question of interest was face-touching. Despite iteration of proper contact hygiene in this population, they nevertheless touched their own eyes, nose and mouth approximately 10 times an hour across a 2 h observation [10]. We note that this behaviour of face-touching may be responsible for transferring nearly 25% of respiratory illness [11]. Given this potentially significant con- tribution to disease, simple evolutionary thinking implies there must also be very meaningful advantages to self-face-touching; otherwise, this behaviour would have been minimized in the human behavioural repertoire in light of its price. 4. Is face-touching an olfactory behaviour? Thisquestionwasonlyaddressed inonestudy, conductedinour laboratory [12]. In this study, we used video to observe 160 par- ticipants, each seated alone in the observation room, unaware of the observation process or interest. Participants were observed for 3 min before and 3 min after an experimenter (either same or opposite sex) entered the experimental room to greet them either with or without a handshake. We defined a face-touch for possible hand-sniffing as contact application of the hand to the faces, below the eyebrows, and above the lower lip. The use of video allowed us to not only count face-touches, but also time them. We observed that participants seated alone in a room (before a handshake took place) brought a hand into the vicinity of their nose and kept it there for approximately 22% of the time [12] (figure 1a). In other words, humans are bringing their hands to their nose, and keeping them there, at an astonishingly high rate. But are they sniffing these hands? Perhaps this is all merely face-touching as a form of displacement behaviour. Human displacement behaviour is pronounced, and indeed increased in moments of stress, or in pathological conditions associa- ted with anxiety [13]. To address this important alternative, in a separate control study with 33 participants, we measu- red nasal airflow during such hand-to-face encounters. We typically define a sniff as a greater than 15% change in normalized sniff volume from baseline respiration (increase (as often after pleasant odours) or decrease (as often after unpleasant odours)), and/or a modulation in sniff volume reflecting a shift in standard deviation (s.d.) > 0.35 over ongoing respiration [14]. We found that nasal airflow more than doubled when the hand was at the nose (12 of 17 partici- pants increased (binomial probability p = 0.047), group baseline flow = 112.75 ± 75.56 ml s−1, hand-at-face flow = 237.81 ± 220.82 ml s−1, t16 = 2.37, p = 0.03) [12], or in other words, people are sniffing their own hands (figure 1b). More- over, in a second control described later in more detail, we covertly scented the experimental environment. This signifi- cantly increased or decreased the rate of face-touching in a predictable odourant-specific manner (figure 9a). These two control studies suggest to us that the very prevalent behav- iour of face-touching is driven in part by olfaction. We identified several ‘typical’ postures of what we think is hand-sniffing that consistently reoccurred across participants (figures 2 and 10a). Somehow, we are all looking at this behaviour, but mostly not seeing it. We invite the reader to engage in the following observational experiment: next time you sit at a seminar or an online video meeting, take a moment to look not at the speaker, but rather at your fellow audience. How many people have their hands at theirnose?Typically,youwillobservethatovertimethisaccounts for a large proportion of the audience. Moreover, look carefully, and you will often see the unmistakable action of sniffing. To further illustrate this, we mined YouTube for a seminar audience video and invite the reader to look at the onlyonewe found (orig- inalfull-length version:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_ dpPc-XQ6w). In our view, it is quite remarkable (electronic sup- plementary material, video S1, also available at https://youtu. be/mKpOGdIVjDI) (figure 3). We stress, however, that here this is our interpretation of the behaviour, because unlike in the above-reported experiments where we verified that hand-to- face touching was accompanied by sniffing and modified by odourants, here this merely reflects our speculation. 5. When humans sniff their hands, they are also smelling where their hands touched When people sniff their own hands, they are not smelling their intrinsic odour alone. First, they may also be smelling https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_dpPc-XQ6w https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_dpPc-XQ6w https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_dpPc-XQ6w https://youtu.be/mKpOGdIVjDI https://youtu.be/mKpOGdIVjDI https://youtu.be/mKpOGdIVjDI 800 (b)(a) 0.50 0.45 0.40 0.35 0.30 0.25 0.20 0.15 0.10 0.05 0 right hand fr ac ti on o f co ho rt ba se li ne f ac e to uc he s left hand w om en s ub je ct s m en s ub je ct s 700 600 500 400 300 200 100 ai r fl ow ( m l s– 1 ) –100 –200 0 * baseline hand at face Figure 1. Humans often bring a hand to their nose and sniff it. (a) A heat-map of face-touching in 160 participants. Colour reflects the proportion of the cohort that increased face-touches over baseline at that facial location (red = increase). Most face-touching is directly at or around the nose. (b) Measurement of nasal airflow during face-touching versus non-face-touching periods in the same session in 17 participants. Blue lines reflect participants that increased airflow and pink lines reflect participants that decreased airflow. Face-touching was accompanied by near doubling of nasal airflow, or in other words, a sniff. Adapted from [12]. (Online version in colour.) Figure 2. Illustration of typical postures that may serve subconscious hand-smelling. We reviewed the several hundred participants in our videoed experiments and identified numerous stereotypical postures for placing the hands at the nose. Given that these were often accompanied by a measurable sniff, we propose that these postures subserve subconscious hand-sniffing. This is a staged illustration figure, and the presented postures reflect a typical but not exhaustive set. (See also figure 10a.) royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 3 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 added fragrance such as perfume. Remarkably, such per- fumes may be specifically self-selected so as to amplify the olfactory-related signature of one’s own human leukocyte antigen (HLA) [15]. Moreover, they are also smelling where their hands were previously. A common, if not formally quantified behaviour, is placing the hand at an erogenous body location, and then sniffing it. This behaviour is often seen in public in toddlers or small children who have yet to internalize the associated social taboos. The behaviour likely persists in adults, albeit mostly in private. The reason we describe this behaviour as common is because of its Web presence: a simple Google search for [‘hand sniffing’ Figure 3. Humans who may be sniffing their hands. A screen-shot from electronic supplementary material, video S1 ( also available at https://youtu.be/mKpOGdIVjDI), time: 00:40. In the edited video, we used orange circles to highlight individuals with a hand at their nose, and red circles to highlight those cases where you can literally ‘see’ the action of sniffing (although we think hand-sniffing is occurring in almost all of these cases, albeit less explicitly). The person to the lower left of the individual indicated with the red circle is not highlighted because his hand is not above his lower lip, thus not meeting our criteria for hand-sniffing face-touches. We further turn the reader’s attention to time point 00:52 in electronic supplementary material, video S1 for our favourite instance in this edited video, where despite the lack of any information (it is soundless), it appears that the red-highlighted person is self-consciously embarrassed by something that was said and appears to sniff her own hand in what we speculate might be reassurance. (Online version in colour.) royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 4 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 in children] yields approximately 6500 results. A large number of these are parents describing what they fear is excessive hand-sniffing in their children. In contrast with this prevalence implicated by the common Web search, the phenomenon of olfactory self-sniffing has only minimal men- tion in the medical or psychological literature. For example, the exact same search that yielded approximately 6500 results in Google yielded zero results in PubMed and PsycNet/ PsychInfo. We are hard-pressed to think of a human behav- iour that is so wide-spread, that troubles so many people, that clearly reflects underlying processes with develop- mental, clinical and social relevance, and yet has so little traction in the formal medical/psychological record. To gain a further sense of prevalence of these and associ- ated behaviours, for the purpose of this review, we circulated a brief self-report questionnaire (electronic supplementary material, file S1) (interested readers can still participate at https://forms.gle/A5JK5Aq4LpmM1Gtb7). 6. Questionnaire methods The questionnaire probed for age, gender and country of resi- dence and then went on to ask 11 questions concerning smelling of self and significant others, and one question on behaviour of offspring. Participants reported the prevalence of olfactory behaviours (never/rarely/occasionally/often) and could skip any question. In cases where more than one answer was given for a question, we discarded that entry. There were 33 such deletions, amounting to less than 1% of the data. Whereas most of the report of this effort is descrip- tive, sex-differences were estimated using a Cramér–von Mises (CvM) test [16]. The CvM test compares the cumulative density functions of two distributions and is thus suitable for ordinal variables. The p-value for this statistic was estimated using bootstrap analysis. The group labels were randomly assigned to the ratings 1 000 000 times, and a CvM statistic was calculated for each assignment. By that, a relevant CvM statistic distribution was generated and was used to estimate the p-value. Critical alpha was set at p < 0.05. We finally corrected the p-values for the 10 questions using Benjamini–Hochberg false discovery rate (FDR) correction. We acknowledge that this effort suffers from all the limit- ations associated with self-report: the sampled population is biased (we circulated through our own social media paths), answers are a reflection of self-perceived behaviour rather than behaviour itself, and so on [17]. These limitations are here further accentuated given that we are dealing with a https://forms.gle/A5JK5Aq4LpmM1Gtb7 https://forms.gle/A5JK5Aq4LpmM1Gtb7 https://youtu.be/mKpOGdIVjDI no. participants >100 women men 70 60 50 40 30 20 age (years) 18 24 30 36 42 48 54 60 66 72 10 0 N = 404 N prefer not to say 1% (b)(a) (c) non-binary<1% 64% 34% 51–100 26–50 10–25 <10 0 scan to enter questionnaire Figure 4. Online self-report survey demographics. (a) Respondent proportions by sex. (b) Respondent proportions by age. (c) Respondent geographical distribution. Map by Freepik. (Online version in colour.) royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 5 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 behaviour that is largely subconscious, and often treated as taboo [18]. Nevertheless, this effort sheds initial light on behaviours that otherwise have almost no reflection in the literature. 7. Questionnaire results We obtained 404 responses from 137 men and 260 women (figure 4a), ranging in age from 19 to 74, mean age 35.28 ± 10.39 years old (figure 4b), and who live in 19 different countries (figure 4c) (the complete raw data are available in electronic supplementary material, file S2). We excluded data from five participants; one was underage, and four had five or more uninformative answers (n.a. or blank). Seven respondents did not report gender and were thus unavailable for the gender comparisons. These participants provided self-report on various olfac- tory sampling activities, which they rated as engaging in either never, rarely, occasionally or often (detailed in info- graphic figure 5). Whereas 60.64% of respondents reported sniffing/smelling strangers, an overwhelming 94.34% of indi- viduals reported sniffing/smelling their close relations. Men and women reported sniffing their romantic partners equally, but women reported sniffing their children more than did men (sniffing often: women = 66.67%, men = 45.00%, CvM = 0.80, bootstrap p = 0.025, corrected p = 0.125). A similarly over- whelming 94.31 and 91.58% of respondents reported sniffing/smelling their own hands and armpits, respectively. As to placing hands in either the armpit or crotch, and then sniffing them, while 55.94% of all respondents reported doing this with the armpits, 73.89% of men and 55.69% of women reported doing this with the crotch (CvM = 1.41, boot- strap p = 0.0002, corrected p = 0.002). Finally, respondents also reported high rates of sniffing clothes that they had worn. All of these results are detailed in the infographic figure 5. Finally, 182 respondents (60 M) were parents. Whereas 61.54% of parents reported no awareness of a phase of never rarely occasionally often romantic partner worn shirt armpit armpit hand from hands M W 6719 42 45 10 10 4 3 7 5 5 35 17 43 2 53 13 32 4 4 17 41 38 8 6 4 3024 42 18 30 44 43 20 31 3523 38 44 15 36 9 8 24 24 hand from crotch strangers 44 45 15 31 5 2428 43 2526 42 own children worn underpants worn socks/shoes Figure 5. Humans self-report sniffing themselves and their conspecifics. Distribution of replies to all the questions asked in the questionnaire. The values reflect percentage (rounded) of respondents. M = men, W = women. For questions with a significant sex-difference in replies, each sex is represented separately. (Online version in colour.) 0 0 4 8 12 16 20 N = 116 61.5% ‘no’ (a) (b) 38.5% ‘yes’ fr eq ue nc y 3 6 9 12 15 18 age (years) Figure 6. Parents report increased hand-sniffing in children aged 3–6. (a) Nearly 40% of parents noticed a stage of increased hand-sniffing in their children. (b) The frequency of reported hand-sniffing in children by age. An increase was observed primarily between the ages of 3 and 6. royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 6 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 increased hand-sniffing in their children, 38.46% did report noticing such a period, which peaked between the ages of three and six. Confirming that nearly 40% of parents observe such a phase may here serve to mitigate the concerns of those parents who think their child’s behaviour is aberrant in this respect (figure 6). We further investigated whether there were questions that were rated differently with age. To this end, we grouped respondents into four equally sized age quartiles (ages 19– 28, 29–33, 34–40 and 41–74, denoted here by Q1, Q2, Q3 and Q4, respectively) and asked whether rating distributions for specific questions significantly varied across these age groups, both overall and within-sex. We found significant differences for one question only: ‘Do you ever sniff/smell your romantic partner?’, both within each sex and overall. For women, three out of six comparisons were significant, and for men two out of six comparisons were significant (women Q1 to Q4 CvM = 1.69, bootstrap p = 0.0007, corrected age (years) women Q4Q3Q2Q1 DO YOU EVER SNIFF/SMELL YOUR ROMANTIC PARTNER? *** men often occasionally rarely never 19–28 29–33 34–40 41–74 Figure 7. Self-reported romantic partner-sniffing as a function of age. Whereas in the age-group 29–33, women reported significantly higher partner- sniffing than men, this pattern shifted such that in the age-group 41–74, men reported more partner-sniffing than women. Q1 nF = 9, nM = 30; Q2 nF = 72, nM = 30; Q3 nF = 61, nM = 29, Q4 nF = 48, nM = 40. We have no explanation for this pattern. royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 7 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 p = 0.0057; women Q2 to Q4 CvM = 1.15, bootstrap p = 0.0057, corrected p = 0.023; women Q1 to Q3 CvM = 0.71, bootstrap p = 0.0317, corrected p = 0.0846; men Q2 to Q4 CvM = 1.31, bootstrap p = 0.0022, corrected p = 0.012; men Q1 to Q2 CvM = 0.64, bootstrap p = 0.038, corrected p = 0.087) (figure 7). We finally asked whether there were differences between men and women for each age group and found that for Q2 women sniffed their romantic partners more than men (CvM = 1.75, bootstrap p = 0.0021, corrected p = 0.002) and for Q4 men sniffed their partners more than women (CvM = 0.83, bootstrap p = 0.016, corrected p = 0.016) (figure 7). This is a rather striking dissociation for which we do not have a good explanation. We conclude from all this that although in our view most of olfactory social sniffing is subconscious, upon being asked, humans are nevertheless quite aware of engaging in this behaviour. 8. When humans sniff their hands, they are also smelling who their hands touched After observing the extent of human hand-sniffing, it occurred to us that this behaviour may provide information not only regarding one’s own body, but also regarding the bodies of others. Indeed, in the previously described exten- sive hand-sniffing in primates (figure 10c), the animals typically mix between merely sniffing their own hands spon- taneously, or sticking their fingers within bodily orifices (often the nostrils) of conspecifics and then carefully sniffing their own hand [19]. Humans obviously touch each other within the context of close relationships, but they also touch complete strangers: handshaking is a common introductory greeting ritual in the West and beyond [20,21]. We therefore set out to test in our previous study [12] the hypothesis that handshaking subserves social chemosignalling. We first used gas-chromatography mass-spectrometry (GCMS) to test whether the brief contact of a handshake is sufficient to transfer volatile organic compounds from one hand to another and found evidence for extensive transfer of several molecules from skin (figure 8). We then covertly recorded and quantified hand-to-nose contact before and after handshaking with an experimenter within a fixed paradigm. What we view as the most signifi- cant result of this effort was the astonishingly high baseline rate of hand-sniffing, as reported above (figure 1). However, we also observed that this behaviour was significantly impacted by handshaking. Participants significantly increased sniffing of the shaking hand (right) after within- sex handshakes, yet increased sniffing of the non-shaking hand (left) after cross-sex handshakes. In other words, hand- shaking impacts ensuing hand-sniffing. Moreover, to again verify the olfactory origins of this behaviour, in a separate control experiment with 63 participants, we artificially tainted the body-odour of the experimenter. Here the exper- imenter wore a device on his/her wrist that covertly emitted one of three odourants during handshake. We found that we could selectively increase or decrease hand-sniffing in par- ticipants as a function of the odourant we used to taint the experimenter, and all this despite using subliminal levels of odour (figure 9a). This further verifies the olfactory ori- gins of this behaviour and, in our view, serves not only to mitigate, but potentially to reverse our initial concern regarding this merely being a reflection of displacement be- haviour. In using the term ‘reverse’, we mean that not only do we think that the behaviour we observed is chemosignal- ling and not displacement behaviour, but moreover, we suspect that many of the previous reports of displacement behaviour may in fact reflect chemosignalling. As to the counterintuitive within-sex versus cross-sex dissociation, it was very powerful (ANOVA, three-way interaction: F1,77 = 37.79, p < 0.0001), yet we have no strong theoretical hypoth- esis for it. We speculate that whereas sniffing the shaking hand provides information about the conspecific in question, sniffing the non-shaking hand provides comparative infor- mation on self (more about this in §9). We do not know, however, why one would want to increase this type of infor- mation on same-sex conspecifics rather than on cross-sex conspecifics and can only speculate that the sex interaction 16.3 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 140 glove worn no handshake glove worn with handshake geranyl acetone 16.58 squalene 18.78 hexadecanoic acid 20.3 ab un da nc e (a .u .) × 1 0 00 0 16.6 17.0 17.4 17.7 18.1 18.4 retention time (min) 18.8 19.1 19.5 19.8 20.2 20.6 G 0 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 900 (c) (b) (a) A U C ( a. u. ) × 1 00 00 0 S H *** ** *** Figure 8. Handshaking transfers volatiles from skin. (a) A representative image of our sampling method using a nitrile glove during handshake. (b) An example chro- matogram from one experiment. Note that the ‘clean’ condition is a glove worn by the same hand, but not shaken. The only three peaks that were present following all shakes but never once in the control are those we describe in the following panel. (c) Summated data from 10 individuals (each an average of three shakes) demonstrating three compounds of interest in chemosignalling (geranyl acetone (G), squalene (S) and hexadecanoic acid (H)) that were effectively transferred by handshaking in all instances and never once in the control. Error bars show standard error, **p < 0.01, ***p < 0.001. a.u., arbitrary units. Adapted from [12]. (Online version in colour.) –20–15 –10 –5 5 0 10 clean perfume AND EST 0 20 40 ch an ge i n fa ce -t ou ch in g du ra ti on p os t- gr ee ti ng ( s) 60 TD * ** ** * * right handleft hand ch an ge i n fa ce -t ou ch in g du ra ti on p os t- gr ee ti ng ( s) ASD (a) (b) Figure 9. Humans sniff their hands after handshaking. (a) Change in face-touching duration post-handshake within-sex in 66 women. Different conditions were either untainted, or tainted with odour (either a generic perfume, or one of the steroidal compounds 4,16-androstadien-3-one (AND) or oestra-1,3,5(10),16-tetraen- 3-ol (EST)). Sniffing of the shaking hand (right) increased after handshake, increased even more in the presence of a perfume, but reversed in the presence of the steroids. A mirror-image pattern is evident in the left hand. *p < 0.05, **p < 0.01. Adapted from [12]. (b) Change in face-touching duration post-handshake within- sex in 18 men with autism (ASD) and 18 typically developed men (TD). Adapted from [22]. (Online version in colour.) royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 8 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 may reflect context specificity: although participants increased sniffing the within-sex shaking hand in the context of our experiment, they may opt to increase sniffing cross- sex hands in other behavioural settings. This remains a ques- tion for investigation. Amusingly, the handshake effect has been ‘replicated’ in live recreations on several popularized science television shows around the world (electronic supplementary material, figure S1 and video S2), and we have now replicated the handshake effect in one additional published study. Given royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 9 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 our overarching working hypothesis that social chemosignal- ling is a big part of human social interaction, we therefore hypothesized that social chemosignalling will be altered in disorders of social behaviour. A particularly relevant con- dition is autism spectrum disorder (ASD). With this in mind, we replicated the handshake paradigm in 18 cogni- tively able adult men with ASD [22]. The effect replicated in the ASD cohort as a group, and moreover, four members of the ASD cohort stood out with hand-sniffing behaviour that was inordinately persistent and explicit (figure 9b). After handshake, three of the four practically did not remove their hand from their nose for the duration of the recorded session. Their behaviour reflected explicit careful olfactory investigation. In turn, the fourth participant care- fully sniffed his hand for much of the baseline, but then never brought it back to his nose after handshake. In other words, consistent with other measures [23], the variability in the ASD cohort was higher than in controls. In conclusion, this result in ASD replicates the effect of increased face-touch- ing after handshake, but the limited size of the cohort prevents us from determining whether this increase is greater in ASD than in controls, despite a trend to that effect. This dovetails with reports on excessive olfactory social investi- gation in ASD. In fact, the observation that initially drove us to investigate social olfaction in ASD in the first place was from a newspaper weekend magazine story in the lead- ing Israeli newspaper Haaretz. This was the story of Ayala, a 51-year-old woman, who was one of the first in Israel to be diagnosed with autism (the English translation of the story is currently viewable at: http://www.haaretz.com/ weekend/magazine/eternal-child-1.342756). Ayala is non- verbal, and her primary avenue of social investigation always was, and still is, her sense of smell. Ayala uses her nose to investigate all individuals. The following is a quote from the story: When Ayala was four, her mother took her to preschool and stayed with her there. ‘I thought that if she heard children talking she’d pick something up’, she explains. ‘The children really loved her, but she didn’t cooperate with them. The most important thing to her, even then, was smell. She would smell the children. If she liked the smell, you were her friend. If not, you couldn’t come near her’. This overt pattern of olfactory social investigation, or social sniffing, is repeated often in more detailed case-report depic- tions of behaviour in ASD (e.g. Stephen Wiltshire in [24]). 9. Why do humans smell themselves? As implied from the above, humans sniff their hands in part in order to obtain information on others whom they’ve touched, information that may be processed in dedicated brain networks [25–27] to provide assorted and important information on conspecifics (the types of information shared through human chemosignalling have recently been reviewed in [28–30]). However, given the potentially high frequency of human olfactory self-sniffing (e.g. approx. 20 times per hour), and its persistence in isolation, it is more likely that this behaviour primarily provides information on intrinsic and not external sources. So why do people smell themselves? In answering this question, we first make an important distinction between conscious versus subconscious olfactory self-investigation. To get a sense of this, we can similarly ask why do people consciously look at themselves in mirrors? Most people will probably answer that it is in order to verify that they ‘look good’. Similarly, people may consciously sniff them- selves in order to verify their own odour, although paradoxically, most people will note that it is to verify that they ‘don’t smell bad’. This distinction between want- ing to ‘look good’ on one side, and ‘not smell bad’ on the other, may reflect fears related to the morality of malodour [31], an issue we will return to later in this article. Moreover, people may also consciously sniff themselves in order to detect signs of disease [32]. These reasons for conscious olfactory self-sampling, interesting though they may be, are not at the core of what we think is important in this be- haviour. It is the incessant subconscious action of olfactory self-sampling that we think tells a more important story. To stick with the visual mirror analogy, parents intuitively know to imitate or mirror their developing child’s sounds and actions [33]. This mirroring provides the developing infant with the information that he/she is a separate inde- pendent being that can trigger reactions in others and this gives rise to a sense of self [33]. Similar reflection and reas- surance of self is provided by a glass mirror as well, and this may be one of the inherent incentives for its use [34]. Given that mirrors have not been around since the dawn of humanity [35], a sense of self can likely be formed without one at hand. We propose that the path by which humans could have always observed themselves to get a notion of self is by olfaction. Thus, we think that in sniffing our own body, we are subconsciously obtaining an external reflection and reassurance of self. This is consistent with the increased face-touching in times of stress, previously viewed as displacement behaviour. Just as looking in the mirror can serve to reduce stress and anxiety by reassuring a sense of self [36], so can smelling oneself. It is through this prism that we view most of face-touching behaviour. For example, humans are said to hide their faces in their hand when they sense shame. But why do they do this? We argue that sniffing the inside of the hand provides a reas- suring signal of self that aids in managing such self- threatening emotions (figure 10, electronic supplementary material, video S1, time 00:52). One may argue that humans are not that good at recognizing their own body- odour [37–39]. However, several studies have suggested that humans can in fact recognize their own smell [39–43], and that this ability is evident even in children [44]. More- over, implicit measures typically uncover self-recognition of body-odour in the very same individuals who could not explicitly identify their own smell [37,39]. This dis- sociation may imply that olfaction subserves mostly unconscious contributions to a sense of self, or what has been referred to as a ‘minimal self’ [45]. Mirror behaviour also serves to illustrate a second and critical role we see for olfactory self-sniffing. This illus- tration arises from a somewhat surprising outcome of a behaviour termed mirror-fasting, namely the self-imposed avoidance of looking in the mirror. Although we could not find any formal investigations of this relatively recent behavioural fad, it does have representation online, and in one informal review, it was noted that a rather universal outcome of mirror-fasting is ensuing avoidance of social interaction [46]. For example, in a report on one week of mirror-fasting [47], the fourth of 11 reported effects was as follows: http://www.haaretz.com/weekend/magazine/eternal-child-1.342756 http://www.haaretz.com/weekend/magazine/eternal-child-1.342756 http://www.haaretz.com/weekend/magazine/eternal-child-1.342756 (a) (c) (d ) (b) Figure 10. It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see. (a) An additional typical posture of placing the hand at the nose. (b) The same typical posture, here in Henri Vidal’s 1896 sculpture of Cain after killing his brother Abel. (c) The same typical posture, here in a non-human primate. (d) The same typical posture, here witnessed in Sigmund Freud himself (1935). Although others may see in these images displacement behaviours, what we see in all four images are apes smelling the inside of their hand. royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 10 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 4. I purposely avoided people. I felt insecure, shy, and I wanted nothing more than to just avoid people and avoid wondering what was crossing their minds as they looked at my face. As I mentioned, when I did speak with others, it was a lot of me playing with my hair and staring at my feet. So I began to just avoid seeing people altogether. It made things easier, and I felt more secure. Whereas reduced social interaction is to us a surprising out- come of glass mirror-fasting, a role of olfactory self- sampling in social interaction is in our view highly likely. Many social chemosignalling behaviours rely on comparing self-odour with others. For example, humans may optimize mate selection based on genetic compatibility (particularly in the HLA complex) [48], and this can be inferred from body-odour [49,50]. This process, by definition, entails a com- parison to self-body-odours. Moreover, we speculate that this holds true for dyadic interactions beyond those directed at mating alone. For example, close friends have more similar genetics than expected by chance [51,52]. Assuming friends do not sequence each other before deciding on their friend- ship, this implies that they must compare some traits that inform on genetic makeup. Physical phenotype is obviously a candidate, but we propose that body-odour could, and does, serve as an added effective cue. In other words, we pro- pose that humans are smelling themselves also as part of a matching-mechanism in social interaction. Indeed, we pro- pose that it is the loss of this ability that may underlie part of the social difficulties associated with congenital anosmia [53,54]. Finally, we think that humans sniff themselves also to obtain information on their transient physiological and emotional state. Body-odour reflects general arousal [55] and may specifically reflect emotions ranging from fear [56,57] to happiness [58] and beyond. Thus, self-sniffing may be part of a general mechanism for emotional homeosta- sis [59]. In this, we may be proposing a new arena for contrasting of the James–Lange/Cannon–Bard/Schacter– Singer debate [60]. Do we sniff ourselves, smell fear and then become afraid? Or experience fear and smell it on our- selves at the same time? Or some combination of these? This too is an area for future investigation. 10. Why has olfactory self-sniffing received such scant attention? So humans are sniffing the environment [61], sniffing others, and sniffing themselves (see [8,9,12], and current self-report survey). This behaviour is troubling to people when they become aware of it (e.g. [‘hand sniffing’ children] Google search), yet it has near zero traction in medical and psycho- logical research. Why? We think that self-sniffing has been disregarded for reasons mostly common with the general dis- regard of human olfaction in twentieth–twenty-first century thinking. Much has been written on this (e.g. [62–65]), and from this, we will extract three primary reasons. First, sniffing conspecifics is viewed as animalistic behav- iour. Although we have come a long way since ‘we will hope it is not true. But if it is, let us pray that it may not become royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 11 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 generally known’, scientists nevertheless remain reluctant to consider behavioural parallels between humans and other animals such as meerkats, goats and donkeys, particularly in behaviours related to mating. Sniffing others in this respect is considered ‘undignified’ [63]. Second, odours are associated with filth, and a short path from moral filth [31]. This relatively new (in an evolutionary perspective) and current status of odour is well illustrated by the following example: in 1796, Napoleon famously wrote to Josephine asking her not to bathe before his eminent return home, supposedly so that he would take increased pleasure in her body-odour (attributed to [66]). Today, only slightly more than 200 years later, most Westerners would literally cringe at such a thought. Given that human sensory physi- ology has not dramatically changed over the past 200 years, it is a change in attitude that underlies this shift. This shift in attitude may be attributed to the uncovering of the link between germs and disease [31]. This shifted odours from the position of agents that fight infection (up to about the time of Napoleon) to the position of an agents that signal infection (in our times). Bodily odours became a sign of something unclean and disease prone, and therefore their sampling may also be viewed as a negative action. Finally, there is no escaping the fact that human olfaction is still widely perceived as dull and unimportant, and as such, it is unsurprising that its mechanisms of acquisition within social settings have been largely overlooked. Despite some recent efforts of review manuscripts highlighting the acuity and importance of human olfaction [65,67,68], all of these authors are facing a remarkable power: Sigmund Freud (figure 10d). No single person has had a greater impact on current attitudes towards human psychology and behaviour [69]. Freud, especially in his later writing [64], and aligning with Havelock Ellis in this respect [70], deni- grated the behavioural significance of human olfaction, particularly in healthy sexual behaviour, where he saw no role for it. Freud argued that in the evolutionary transition to bipedalism, olfactory interests shifted away from the sexual organs (that were no longer directly in front of the nose), and that any such current interest therefore reflects a regression into animalism, or in other words, a pathological state [64]. An interesting analysis went so far as to suggest that Freud had a ‘nasal complex’ [71]. In this analysis, Freud’s nasal complex was attributed to the history of the relationship between Freud and Wilhelm Fliess. Fliess, an ENT physician, was a close and influential friend of Freud [72]. Much like the authors of this manuscript, Fliess thought that many aspects of human behaviour, and particularly sexual behaviour, could be attributed to olfaction and the nose [73–75]. Fliess in fact conducted two lots of surgery on Freud’s nose in order to address various conditions [71]. Freud also called on Fliess to assist in treating the ‘sexual neuroticism’ of his patient Emma Eckstein. Fliess proceeded to treat this condition by obvious means: surgery on her nose (…) [75]. Moreover, Fliess proceeded to forget a long string of gauze within Eckstein’s nose, the later surgical removal of which was purportedly a profoundly traumatic event for Freud (and no doubt for her) [71]. According to Howes, this traumatic event was at the heart of the ensuing fallout between Freud and Fliess, and the source of Freud’s ‘nasal complex’. Whatever the reason was, Freud indeed made no allowance for olfaction in his accounts of healthy human behaviour, sexual or other. Given the significant impact of Freudian psychology on current views of human behaviour, if olfaction is indeed not seen as a factor in healthy ongoing human behaviour, it is unsurprising that olfactory sampling behaviour remains unnoticed. 11. Limitations and future research Our account of human behaviour still faces at least one major challenge or limitation: whereas we see the majority of face- touching behaviour as instances of hand-sniffing, others may argue that these are mere incidental touches of the faces, perhaps a form of displacement behaviour [13], with no link to olfaction or social chemosignalling. The current empirical arguments we present in this respect are that people double nasal airflow when they bring their hand to their nose (figure 1b), and that olfactory tainting can increase or decrease face-touching in a predicted fashion (figure 9a). Although both of these are arguments for an olfactory behav- iour, they both come from one study out of one laboratory–– ours. Thus, added verifications, from us and others, as to the olfactory origins of face-touching are absolutely necessary for solidification of our hypothesis. One line of verification depends on technical advance: we desperately need a method to precisely measure nasal airflow from a distance. Our current measurements depend on placing a nasal can- nula at the nose, and this in itself may alter behaviour. Our laboratory has experimented to this end with for- ward-looking infra-red (FLIR) cameras, but we have failed to reach satisfactory results, and this remains a major chal- lenge. A second line of potential hypothesis testing is to measure face-touching in individuals without a sense of smell. Notably, whether anosmia necessarily implies social anosmia also still remains a critical open question in the field [76,77], but if it does, then face-touching behaviour should be altered in anosmia, particularly congenital anos- mia. Finally, if one accepts our thesis on hand-sniffing as a significant component of human behaviour, this opens a field of questions in social sniffing: What are the neuronal mechanisms of this behaviour? How is it related to different ongoing behaviours? Is self-smelling altered in particular pathologies? And finally, can we harness this behaviour towards therapy? Although we again stress the need for additional verification studies on the olfactory origins of face-touching, we end in stating that we think human self- smelling is a significant yet overlooked aspect of human behaviour. Ethics. This study includes an online survey that was approved by the Weizmann Institute of Science IRB committee, in accordance with the conditions of the Declaration of Helsinki. Data accessibility. All the raw data are presented in an electronic sup- plementary material file. Authors’ contributions. All authors analysed data and wrote the paper. Competing interests. We declare we have no competing interests. Funding. Our studies on social chemosignalling are supported by the ERC AdG grant SocioSmell grant no. 670798 and by an ISF grant no. 1379/15. Acknowledgement. We thank Arak Elite and Yaara Yeshurun for suggesting the Thoreau quote, and for comments on the manuscript. 12 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 References royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 1. Mainland J, Sobel N. 2005 The sniff is part of the olfactory percept. Chem. Senses 31, 181–196. (doi:10.1093/chemse/bjj012) 2. 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Face-touching may reflect unconscious hand-smelling Face-touching in primates Face-touching in humans Is face-touching an olfactory behaviour? When humans sniff their hands, they are also smelling where their hands touched Questionnaire methods Questionnaire results When humans sniff their hands, they are also smelling who their hands touched Why do humans smell themselves? Why has olfactory self-sniffing received such scant attention? Limitations and future research Ethics Data accessibility Authors' contributions Competing interests Funding Acknowledgement References
work_otu4ixzxbraiba6asyhe3ir47u ---- Southern African Journal of Environmental Education, Vol. 26, 2009 © 2009 Environmental Education Association of Southern Africa Abstract This think piece elaborates possible research connections between ecocriticism and climate change educational research, addressing the overarching question of what cultural responses to climate change can offer climate change education and climate change education research. It investigates literary critic Louise Rosenblatt’s transactional theory of reading in the context of ecocriticism and suggests a few possible climate change education research questions. Introduction In relation to the accelerating scientific and public concern about climate change and all its related matters, the interest in cultural responses to climate change is increasing. Consider for example the work done by the organisation Cape Farewell founded by the artist David Buckland in 2001.1 Bringing together climate change scientists and various artists such as musicians, painters and authors, it is a good example of a trans-disciplinary and cultural response towards climate change. The belief that cultural responses to climate change have a crucial role to play in increasing knowledge and engaging the public runs through the wide variety of activities performed by scientists and artists connected to Cape Farewell. Another participant in the present climate change and sustainability debate is the exhibition Green Architecture for the Future at the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art.2 The exhibition addresses issues such as sustainable cities, the relationship between city and nature, climate engineering, resource scarcity, population growth and interior design. Created in relation to the United Nations Climate Change Conference in Copenhagen in December 2009, the exhibition Nature Strikes Back, showing at The National Gallery of Denmark, portrays how the relationship between humans and nature has been portrayed in Western art from antiquity to today. The exhibition does not have an explicit focus on climate change as such. Rather, the aim is to give an historical background to present day views of nature and climate change.3 Both Cape Farewell, the Louisiana exhibition and Nature Strikes Back are creative and innovative examples of how climate change and sustainability can be addressed through the creative arts and architecture. As participants in the climate change debate, these initiatives emphasise the importance of finding new ways of addressing and communicating climate change and its related matters to the public in ways that move beyond scientific discourse. However, telling stories of natural disasters, environmental catastrophes and human responses to events such as climate change is nothing new for authors Sigtuna Think Piece 7 Readings for Climate Change: Ecocriticism and Climate Change Education Research Petra Hanson, Uppsala University, Sweden SigTuna Think Piece 7 75 and filmmakers. The theme of human struggle for survival in Robinson Crusoe, the fight against extreme weather conditions in the film The Day After Tomorrow and the struggle for life after the extinction of the planet earth in Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake are just a few examples.4 It was not until quite recently however, that literary scholarship began paying attention to environmental issues. This think piece pays special attention to possible research connections between ecocriticism and climate change educational research, addressing the overarching question of what cultural responses to climate change can offer climate change education and climate change education research. It focuses in particular on the reading of literature and investigates literary critic Louise Rosenblatt’s transactional theory of reading in the context of ecocriticism, and elaborates a few possible climate change education research questions, as discussed in more detail below. Ecocriticism Ecocriticism developed as a response to the modern global environmental crisis in the 1990s and has taken literary criticism to previously unexplored fields. The most commonly cited definition of ecocriticism derives from the first introductory ecocritical reader, The Ecocriticism Reader:, Landmarks in Literary Ecology, edited by Cheryl Glotfelty and Harold Fromm (1996: xviii): Simply put, ecocriticism is the study of the relationship between literature and the physical environment. Just as feminist criticism examines language and literature from a gender conscious perspective, and Marxist criticism brings an awareness of modes of production and economic class to its reading of texts, ecocriticism takes an earth-centred approach to literary studies. Ecocritical scholarship was started through authors primarily interested in non-fiction nature writing portraying ‘wild’ nature involving classical authors such as Henry David Thoreau, Aldo Leopold, Rachel Carson, John Muir and others (Glotfelty, 1996:xxiii; Garrard, 2004:59–84; Lyon, 1996:276–282; Buell, 1995). The genre of nature writing contains a wide variety of approaches and subgenres but can briefly be defined as first-person narratives about the natural environment combining scientific and philosophical observations and reflections of the natural world (Lyon, 1996:276–282). Nature writing often takes on an enthusiastic and admiring attitude towards nature and there is frequently a strong divide between the natural world and the cultural world. Texts portraying the natural world have dominated much ecocritical scholarship. Accordingly, traditional ecocritical issues of interest concern representations of nature and human impact on the environment answering questions such as: ‘How is nature represented in this sonnet? What role does the physical setting play in the plot of this novel? How has the concept of wilderness changed over time?’ (Glotfelty, 1996:xviii–xix). Texts portraying urban and ‘intoxicated’ environments were marginalised within early ecocritical research. However, voices calling for expansions of ecocritical boundaries both regarding research questions and texts have been emerging for quite a while. As a result, 76 PETRA HANSoN modern ecocritical research has moved into the cities, to fiction and other kinds of visual narratives such as films, plays and, albeit to a lesser extent, artworks have also gained recognition around the ecocritical table.5 one aim of ecocritical research and ecocritical teaching is to contribute to an increased understanding of environmental issues in times of environmental crisis and is engaged in questions regarding the promotion of sustainable thinking. For example, on the home page of the main organisation for ecocriticism, the Association for the Study of Literature and Environment (ASLE), the ‘mission’ of the organisation is stated as: … to promote the understanding of nature and culture for a sustainable world by fostering a community of scholars, teachers, and writers who study the relationships among literature, culture, and the physical environment … Thus, there is a clear ambition to increase knowledge and understanding regarding how we relate to and act on natural and cultural environments. Following this, ecocriticism seems to be a potentially valuable theoretical vantage point that can help to investigate what ecocriticism can offer climate change educational research. However, even though ecocritical boundaries have been expanded since its beginning, it seems to me that ecocritical research boundaries need to be even further expanded in relation to the development of climate change educational research. Despite the interest in increasing awareness of environmental issues, few investigations focus on what students of ecocriticism learn while studying literature. Consequently empirical investigations of learning processes and meaning making in relation to the reading of texts are rare within ecocritical research. Therefore, in order to qualify the discussion about the meaning of ecocritical readings for learning about issues related to climate change, I believe that a more explicit research focus on students’ responses to the reading of texts used in ecocritical classrooms would be fruitful and add knowledge to the meaning of reading in climate change education. In the forthcoming section I will turn to Louise Rosenblatt’s theory of reading as a transactional process, which serves as a guide for the forthcoming discussion of research connections between ecocriticism and climate change education research. Reading as a Transactional Process In Literature and Exploration, Rosenblatt (1938/1995) develops a theory of reading as a transactional process regarding meaning as being created in the encounter between reader and text. By using the concept of transaction, rather than interaction, Rosenblatt (1938/1995:xvi) emphasises the constituent relationship between reader and text: Interaction … suggests two distinct entities acting on each other like two billiard balls. Transaction lacks such mechanistic overtones and permits emphasis on the to-and-fro, SigTuna Think Piece 7 77 spiralling, nonlinear, continuously reciprocal influence of reader and text in the making of meaning. In the discussion of the reader as an active participant in the meaning making of texts, Rosenblatt distinguishes between ‘efferent’ and ‘aesthetic’ reading purposes. This line of thought is based on the idea that it is possible for readers to have different stances, or different ‘focus of attention during the reading-event’ (Rosenblatt, 1978/1994:23). The term ‘efferent’ derives from the Latin efferre and implies that ‘the reader’s attention is focused primarily on what will remain as the residue after the reading – the information to be acquired, the logical solution to a problem, the actions to be carried out’ (Rosenblatt 1978/1994:23). Questions such as analysis of characters, summaries of plots and how female and male roles are played out in texts could all demand efferent activities. The same goes for the examples of ecocritical questions introduced in the beginning of this piece focusing for example on how nature is portrayed in particular texts. Contrastingly, in aesthetic reading, the attention is directed to what happens during the reading-event, which means that the reader pays attention to personal associations, feelings, and ideas and ‘the reader’s attention is centred directly on what he is living through during his relationship with that particular text’ (Rosenblatt, 1978/1994:25). Such readings would rather focus on eliciting readers’ personal feelings and opinions in relation to the reading. Instead of focusing on what Thoreau means by ‘to live deliberately’, what he considers be ‘the essential facts of life’ or his style of writing in the famous quote from Thoreau’s Walden: I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. (http://thoreau.eserver.org/walden02.html) Illustrating an ‘efferent’ apporach, an aesthetic reading would gear students’ attention to their immediate responses to the passage giving them the opportunity to express their personal thoughts in relation to the reading. Rosenblatt claims that efferent reading approaches are more common than aesthetic reading approaches within the teaching of literature excluding the possible aesthetic ‘lived through’ experiences that the reading of literature can offer. Rosenblatt (1978/1994:29) is however careful to make sure that an aesthetic reading is something more than just ‘free associations’ and claims that ‘The concept of transaction emphasises the relationship with, and continuing awareness of the text.’ Furthermore, she (1938/1995:3) gives literary and aesthetic experiences special status within education and emphasises their importance for the development of self- understanding. She argues, ‘In contrast to the analytic approach of the social sciences, the literary experience has immediacy and emotional persuasiveness’ (1938/1995:7). From this follows that the same text can be read both aesthetically and efferently (Rosenblatt, 1978/1994:25) depending on which attention, or which stance is adopted. The purpose of the reading will accordingly shape the meaning being made in the reading. For the purposes here, it becomes relevant to investigate what ‘readers do in different kinds of reading’ (Rosenblatt, 1978/1994:23) related to climate change topics. In order to be able to make claims on the place 78 PETRA HANSoN of and the meaning of literature within climate change education, knowing what readers do and what activities they carry out in relation to the reading of various climate change texts may contribute to the development of a climate change education based on empirical research. Adding Rosenblatt’s theoretical perspective to empirical ecocritical research might be a fruitful way of addressing questions relevant to climate change education research. In relation to the uncertainties commonly connected to issues of climate change and Rosenblatt's claims that the reading of literary works would ‘both have an intrinsic aesthetic value and make possible the development and assimilation of insights into human relations’6 and play a pivotal role in developing critical readers, I find Rosenblatt’s transactional theory of reading useful in order to come up with potential research questions in the intersection between ecocriticism and climate change education research. Ecocriticism has by now a well-developed theoretical framework and many ecocritical analyses have been carried out. However, as mentioned above, ecocritical research has not investigated students’ responses to the reading of literature. Questions such as: what can students learn from ecocritical readings?; what happens during the reading process?; and do the readings have any bearing on the students’ actions in every day life? are crucial questions for climate change education research. Expanding the Boundaries: Ecocriticism and Climate Change Education Research empirical studies Turning the attention to empirical investigations of ecocritical practice is my first suggestion of how the boundaries of ecocritical research can be expanded in order to become a fruitful contribution to the development of climate change education research. Due to the lack of empirical studies within ecocritical research, I think one potential area for this research would be to carry out empirical studies of students’ responses to ecocritically relevant texts in order to find out what meanings are produced in these encounters. How do students respond? Empirical studies of students’ responses to ecocritically relevant texts would also make it possible to test the potential of literary investigation for promoting environmental awareness and sustainable thinking. For example, in a forthcoming study we (Hansson & Östman, forthcoming) study students’ responses to the reading of Thoreau’s Walden focusing on how the students use the text to discuss their own views of nature and how they relate the text to their personal nature experiences. Taking Rosenblatt’s ideas of aesthetic and efferent reading stances into account, it would also be relevant to investigate what stances dominate ecocritical teaching. Are the students given the opportunity to ‘live through’ the literary texts and/or are efferent stances more common? Is there equal emphasis on efferent and aesthetic readings within ecocritical teaching? How are literary works related to ‘real’ environmental and development challenges? In relation to climate change education research it would furthermore be relevant to investigate students’ responses to different kinds of texts within the climate change discourse elaborating on different reading stances. For example, in what ways may aesthetic readings of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPPC) reports and efferent readings of climate change poetry and fiction help enhance understanding of climate change issues? SigTuna Think Piece 7 79 asking questions relevant to climate change Another expansion would be to investigate how climate change matters are addressed within ecocritical teaching. Is ecocritical teaching still traditional in the sense that the genre of nature writing dominates ecocritical classrooms? The challenges we are facing when it comes to the future of urban development in a changing climate make texts portraying such issues crucial from a climate change education perspective and therefore highly relevant for climate change education research. Therefore, it becomes significant to continue the critical discussion concerning the identity of the texts in focus for ecocritical teaching in relation to climate change. Issues such as for example adaptation and mitigation, insecurity and conflicting values are all crucial in the climate change debate and for all the people affected by climate change. Whether such issues are addressed in ecocritical classrooms seems another relevant research question to be addressed in climate change education research. The meaning of art and aesthetic experience The emphasis on aesthetic experiences expressed by Rosenblatt and the growing interest in cultural responses to climate change as mentioned above, makes the meaning of the arts and aesthetic experience within educational settings a potential research area in itself. What is the meaning of aesthetics and the arts in climate change education and in students’ meaning making? How are the arts used in education? What aesthetic experiences do students express in relation to the reading of literature? Do artistic expressions automatically lead to aesthetic experiences and emotional expressions and responses to issues related to climate change? Such questions need to be empirically investigated as well. Conclusion In developing the arena of climate change education research, I think it is crucial that the arts do not only become mere appearances in relation to more established fields such as climate change science in the ongoing discussion about climate change in general and climate change education and research in particular. Viewing the arts as an equally important participant in addressing issues related to climate change – with equal status to scientific observations and investigations – will hopefully lead us a bit closer to the goal of a sustainable future in a changing climate. Notes on the Contributor Petra Hansson is a PhD candidate at the Department of Curriculum Studies, Uppsala University, Sweden. She is writing her thesis about the meaning of nature encounters in education for sustainable development. E-mail: petra.hansson@did.uu.se Endnotes 1 http://www.capefarewell.com (accessed 27 November 2009). 80 PETRA HANSoN 2 http://www.louisiana.dk/uk/Menu/Exhibitions/Green+Architecture+for+the+Future (accessed 27 November 2009). 3 http://www.smk.dk/naturestrikesback (accessed 27 November 2009). 4 Editor’s note: It is difficult not to make the links to the Namafe paper in this edition here. 5 See for example Bennet and Teague, Urban Ecocriticism (1999) and Steven Rosendale, The Greening of Literary Scholarship: Literature, Theory, and the Environment (2002), Greg Garrard, Ecocriticism: The Ability to Investigate Cultural Artefacts from an Ecological Perspective, in Arran Stibbe and Heather Luna (eds), The Handbook of Sustainability Literacy, http://www.sustainability-literacy.org/multimedia. html (2009). 6 Interview with Louise Rosenblatt at http://www.education.miami.edu/ep/Rosenblatt/ (accessed 27 November 2009). References Bennett, M. & Teague, D.W. (1999). The Nature of Cities – Ecocriticism and Urban Environments. Tuscon, Arizona: The University of Arizona Press. Buell, L. (1995). Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Garrard, G. (2004). Ecocriticism. oxon and New York:Routledge. Garrard, G. (2009). Ecocriticism – The Ability to Investigate Cultural Artefacts from an Ecological Perspective. in Stibbe, A. & Luna, H. (Eds), The Handbook of Sustainability Literacy. http://www.sustainability-literacy.org/multimedia.html Glotfelty, C. & Fromm, H. (1996). The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press. Hansson, P. & ostman, L. (forthcoming). Reading Thoreau. An Empirical Study of Teacher Students’ Responses to an Ecocritical Classic. Mayer, S. & Wilson, G. (2006). Ecodidactic Perspectives on English Language, Literatures and Cultures. Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier. Lyon, T.J. (1996). A Taxonomy of Nature Writing. In Glotfelty, C. & Fromm, H. (Eds), The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press. Rosenblatt, L.M. (1938/1995). Literature as Exploration. New York: Modern Language Association of America. Rosenblatt, L.M. (1978/1994). The Reader, the Text, the Poem: the Transactional Theory of the Literary Work. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Rosendale, S. (Ed.) (2002). The Greening of Literary Scholarship: Literature, Theory, and the Environment. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press. Thoreau, H.D. (2009). Walden http://thoreau.eserver.org/walden02.html, accessed 27 November 2009.
work_oud6y7inlrg7dclikj6gj6crsm ---- T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T R E V I E W E S S A Y Going Postal Peter J. Wosh News Over the Wires: The Telegraph and the Flow of Public Information in America, 1844-1897. Menahem Blondheim. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994. viii, 305 pp. Index. Bibliography. ISBN 067462212x. Spreading the News: The American Postal System from Franklin to Morse. Richard R. John. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995. xiii, 369 pp. Index. Bibliography. ISBN 0674833384. ® News in the Mail: The Press, the Post Office, and Public Information, 1700- 1860s. Richard B. Kielbowicz. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1989. xii, 209 pp. ISBN 0313266387. © Consumer Rites: The Buying and Selling of American Holidays. Leigh Eric Schmidt. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1995. xvi, 363 pp. Index. Bibliography. Illustrated. ISBN 0691029806. © Handwriting in America: A Cultural History. Tamara P. Thornton. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1996. xiv, 284 pp. Index. Bibliography. Illustrated. ISBN 0300064772. © A Fictive People: Antebellum Economic Development and the American Reading Public. Ronald J. Zboray. New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. xxiii, 326 pp. Index. Bibliography. Illustrated. ISBN 019507582x. © 2 2 0 T h e A m e r i c a n A r c h i v i s t , V o l . 6 1 ( S p r i n g 1 9 9 8 ) : 2 2 0 - 2 3 9 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L • ^ o r my part," wrote Henry David Thoreau in the mid-1840s, "I w^ could easily do without the post office." The railroad, the mill, M and the pace of modern life all disturbed Thoreau, who fretted as Massachusetts rapidly transformed itself into the most urbanized and in- dustrialized state in the Union. Writing from his bucolic vantage point in the woods outside Concord, the twenty-eight-year-old philosopher counseled fel- low New Englanders to resist these modernizing trends, to "stay at home...mind our business" and, above all, "simplify, simplify." Still, as Tho- reau shrewdly realized in 1845, regular mail delivery made such advice vir- tually impossible to follow. He despised the intrusion of postal service into his daily existence: "to speak critically, I never received more than one or two letters in my life...that were worth the postage." Thoreau believed that "very few important communications" found their way into correspondence and that mail recipients would usually be better off emotionally and finan- cially if they avoided paying the postage due. People visited the post office to satisfy a seemingly insatiable craving for news, but they left with mere "gossip." Newspapers, which dominated the mid-century mails, filled their columns with accounts of steamship wrecks, railroad accidents, livestock mis- haps, and the local police blotter. Thoreau trivialized the newspaper as fem- inine and therefore insignificant, sneering that "they who edit and read it are old women over their tea." In the very act of deriding the post office's irrelevance, however, he soberly acknowledged its threatening and transfor- mative qualities.1 In addition to Thoreau, many Americans—reflecting a broad diversity of sociopolitical perspectives—have complained about, critiqued, and wryly rid- iculed the nation's postal policies. From the Post Office Act of 1792 through the creation of the U.S. Postal Service in 1971 and beyond, America's mail delivery system has served as the focal point for intense political wrangling, public debate, consumer controversy, and corporate rivalry. Some of the most extraordinary cultural figures in American history have tied their fame and fortune to postal affairs. Benjamin Franklin used his postmastership to great personal and political advantage in the eighteenth century. "Wild Bill" Hickok honed his gunfighting skills and participated in an early post office shootout while riding the post in Rock Creek, Kansas in 1861. Department store magnate and pious Presbyterian John Wanamaker served as postmaster general during a particularly innovative period in the department's history during the 1890s. Vice reformer Anthony Comstock used his position as a postal inspector to prevent the circulation of birth control information and to stifle radical political movements in late-nineteenth-century America. His attempt to "purify" the nation by banning "obscene" literature from the 1 Henry David Thoreau, Walden, or Life in the Woods (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1929), 102-5. 221 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T mails became inextricably linked with "Victorian" morality in the popular mind. Charles Lindbergh flew the mail between Illinois and St. Louis before achieving celebrity status in 1927 with his New York to Paris flight, and his aerial exploits stimulated a dramatic increase in airmail volume. It thus hardly seems surprising that, when popular showman "Buffalo Bill" Cody sought to recreate his early career and magnify his own significance in his popular 1879 autobiography, he carefully invented an adventuresome series of exploits dur- ing a supposed stint as a Pony Express rider.2 Thoreau recognized the revolutionary potential and cultural significance of the post office. Surprisingly, many historians and most archivists have ig- nored it. Despite the sheer volume of correspondence in most archival col- lections, and the profession's fetishistic obsession with dissecting every minor episode in the new "information revolution," archival theorists have not ad- equately historicized or contextualized current electronic events. A tendency to equate informational advance with technological change, to assume (rather than prove) that the electronic records revolution constitutes some- thing fundamentally new and unprecedented, and to focus on the form rather than the content of archival documentation, pervades much current professional thinking. Paying attention to the post office offers one way to put history back into current debates over information and communication issues. A growing, embryonic scholarly literature has emerged in the past few years that has altered the ways in which historians view mail, correspondence, and public postal policy. The newer works cited at the outset of this essay in particular, when considered alongside some older studies, such as the note- worthy work of Wayne Fuller, and some recent works concerning writing, literacy, and American business, alter our understanding of the history and nature of American communication. By synthesizing these studies, a narrative emerges that points to especially important and archivally interesting trans- formations in American communications culture between 1790 and 1930. Archivists who review and consider this new body of work will gain some important insights into their collections, their craft, and the claims of the new corps of "information specialists" and silicon snake oil salesmen who populate the American landscape in the 1990s.3 2 Franklin's years as postmaster are covered in Ruth L. Butler, Doctor Franklin, Postmaster General (Gar- den City, N.Y.: Doubleday, Doran, 1928); "Wild Bill" Hickok's postal slaying of the McCandless gang is covered in William F. Cody, The Life of Hon. William F. Cody Known As Buffalo Bill the Famous Hunter, Scout and Guide (New York: Indian Head Books, 1991), 127-29; Wayne E. Fuller, RFD: The ChangingFace of America (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1964), 18-25 discusses Wanamaker, as does William Leach, Land of Desire: Merchants, Power, and the Rise of a New American Culture (New York: Vintage Books, 1993), 180-85. On Comstock and vice suppression, see Paul Boyer, Purity in Print: The Vice Society Movement and Book Censorship in America (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1968) and Wayne E. Fuller, The American Mail: Enlarger of the Common Life (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1972), 252-72. Lindbergh's contributions are documented in Carl H. Scheele, A Short History of the Mail Service (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1970), 156. 3 This "review essay" essentially seeks to synthesize this new literature, to draw out its most significant 222 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L B u i l d i n g t h e N a t i o n a l I n f o r m a t i o n I n f r a s t r u c t u r e , 1 7 9 0 - 1 8 4 0 The most intriguing and thorough historical work on this subject con- cerns the early antebellum period, described by historian Richard John as possibly "the single most revolutionary era in the entire history of American communications."4 In fact, it appears that many major elements of America's public communication policy were developed, debated, and at least partially resolved during an era that actually preceded the commercialization of the telegraph, the completion of the national railroad network, and the rise of national corporate capitalism. Subsequent technologies confirmed, rather than created, shifts in the existing informational universe. They supple- mented, rather than subsumed, older forms of communication. Americans incorporated these technologies into a public informational infrastructure that, at its base, centered first and foremost on the mail. Archivists need to keep in mind that several ongoing communication systems complement and compete with each other at any particular historical moment, and that the documentary universe remains richer and more diverse than often appears the case. Early American postal policy catered primarily to newspapers and com- mercial concerns. Both the Federalists who drafted the Post Office Act of 1792 and the Jeffersonians who supported it shared a general goal of increas- ing the flow of "public" information. The Federalists viewed a strong post office as a way to foster a national consciousness, strengthen a centralized state, and, not incidentally, expand their patronage network. Jeffersonians hoped to use the system to propagate their own ideology, provide a counter- point to the Federalist press, and alert Americans to their opponents' shady political machinations. Both sides believed that increasing popular accessi- bility to news sources would strengthen their positions, and the 1792 legis- lation explicitly favored the press. Postal rates for newspapers remained disproportionately low, printers retained the crucial right to freely exchange their papers through the mail, and publishers could even circulate papers archival implications, and to incorporate these more recent arguments concerning mail, corre- spondence, and the post office into the still very useful older literature. The most accessible overview of postal history, written prior to the office's transformation into a governmental corporation, is Scheele's Short History of the Mail Service. The two works by Wayne Fuller cited in footnote 2, The American Mail and RFD, are indispensable starting points for examining United States postal history. There are also a number of interesting works on the Canadian postal system, which have not been included in this review. These include Robert M. Campbell, The Politics of the Post: Canada's Postal System from Public Service to Privatization (Peterborough, Ont.: Broadview, 1994), and Susan O'Reilly, On Track: The Railway Mail Service of Canada (Ottawa: Canadian Museum of Civilization, 1992). Another good point of entry into American postal history is to view the exhibits at the Smithsonian Institution's National Postal Museum, at 2 Massachusetts Avenue, N.E., Washington, D.C. The phrase "silicon snake oil salesmen" is borrowed from Clifford Stoll, Silicon Snake Oil: Second Thoughts on the Information Highway (New York: Anchor Books, 1995). 4 John, Spreading the News, 24. For a classic statement on the antebellum era, see Robert G. Albion, " T h e 'Communication Revolution,' " American Historical Review 37 (July 1932): 718-20. 223 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T outside of established postal routes. Letter-writers remained in a subordinate position and heavily subsidized the system. Best estimates suggest that news- papers generated only about 3 percent of postal revenue in 1792, but com- posed approximately 70 percent of postal weight. Comparable figures for 1814 were 8 percent and 70 percent, while in 1832 the press generated no more than 15 percent of total revenue while composing up to 95 percent of the bulk carried through the mails. Further, the free newspaper exchange privilege meant that printers always had a ready supply of news that could be reprinted to fill empty columns.5 Several important and seemingly contradictory informational implica- tions resulted from these early postal policies. First, the widespread dissemi- nation and subsidization of news through the mails appears to have buttressed the centralizing and nationalizing tendencies that some historians have associated with "modernization." By 1820 the United States boasted "more post offices and newspapers per capita than any other nation in the world," and a national news network centered largely in New York dispensed information to the hinterland. Newspapers, freely exchanging information by mail, tended to reprint the same national and foreign stories. This provided the news with a certain coherence, and created a relatively homogenized informational universe, although local variations existed and multiple politi- cal perspectives certainly were reflected. Up-to-date market information, data concerning new agricultural techniques and practices, significant (and trivial) government documents, and accounts of party debates all flowed from the major seaport cities to more isolated communities. The federal government largely underwrote the cost of this venture by indirectly subsidizing newspa- pers with cheap postage, subcontracting with transit companies (primarily stagecoaches, but increasingly steamboats and railroads as well) to deliver the mail, and using the postal service as a rationale for building a national over- land transportation network. A cozy public/private partnership developed, as the postal system stimulated a wide range of business enterprises and internal improvements.6 Modernization and homogenization, however, constitute only part of the story. The national dissemination of news through the mails also created and fostered the growth of communities of interest that operated outside of tra- 5 J o h n , Spreading the News, 36-42; Kielbowicz, News In The Mail, 32-36, 43-50. 6 The classic statement of modernization theory is Richard D. Brown, Modernization: The Transforma- tion of American Life, 1600-1865 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1976). See also his "Knowledge Is Power": The Diffusion of Information in Early America, 1700—1865 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989). Allan R. Pred, Urban Growth and the Circulation of Information, 1790—1840 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973) remains indispensable in tracing the ways in which information circulated between urban centers and their peripheries. The interpretation in this paragraph is based on Kielbowicz, News In the Mail, esp. 5-6, 31-50. The quote can be found on page 57. For an excellent account of the way in which the post office fostered private transportation, see Oliver W. Holmes and Peter T. Rohrbach, Stagecoach East: Stagecoach Days in the East from the Colonial Period to the Civil War (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1983). 224 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L ditional geographical boundaries. Specialized periodicals, resembling news- papers in order to take advantage of lower postal rates, developed along political, occupational, fraternal, reform, and religious lines. Tensions devel- oped between particularistic local cultures and national "imagined commu- nities" of interest that sought to erase geographical differences and shape public opinion. If the postal system initially supported nationalist sentiments and buttressed the concept of a strong central government, it also divided Americans in new ways. Serious culture wars fragmented the nation in the 1820s and 1830s. Jacksonian politicians, exploiting popular resentment against eastern elites and such large national institutions as the Bank of the United States, rode to power on a platform that promised respect for provin- cial cultures, acknowledgment of regional diversity, an end to large govern- mental public works programs, and hostility toward the national institutions and bureaucratic concerns located in the metropolitan centers. Debates often centered on how "news" and "facts" were defined and how they differed from mere "opinion," and how authority itself might become institutional- ized and recognized in a society of democratic equals.7 The post office figured prominently in two political controversies that especially exposed the fault lines of American culture in the 1820s and 1830s: Sabbatarianism and abolitionism. Movements to eliminate Sunday mail deliv- ery and boycott transportation companies that moved freight on the Sabbath pitted an increasingly aggressive national coalition of evangelical activists against the interests of merchants and businessmen in such smaller commer- cial ports as Rochester and Canandaigua, New York. Religious observance conflicted with the growing need for timely market information by capitalist entrepreneurs in the hinterlands. Significantly, both sides used the national mail network itself to circulate and file petitions, publicize their respective causes, and recruit like-minded national constituencies to advance their in- terests. Although their moral visions for the nation differed, these competing interest groups participated in a national process of coalition building and information sharing that relied heavily on the modern postal system. Both evangelicals and their opponents created "virtual" national communities that sought influence and control over the new transportation and communica- tion revolutions. They acknowledged the reality of the transformation, even if some lamented the message.8 7 John, Spreading the News, 169-80, explores these tensions in detail. On Jacksonianism and the state generally, see Robert Remini, Andrew Jackson and the Course of American Freedom, 1822—1832 (New York: Harper and Row, 1981). J o h n William Ward, Andrew Jackson: Symbol for an Age (New York: Oxford University Press, 1955) remains a critical study for understanding Jacksonian ideology. 8 John, Spreading the News, 169-205, covers Sabbatarianism. For other accounts of the mail issue, see Robert H. Abzug, Cosmos Crumbling: American Reform and the Religious Imagination (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), 105-16; James R. Rohrer, "Sunday Mails and the Church-State Theme in Jacksonian America," Journal of the Early Republic! (Spring 1987): 53-74; and Bertram Wyatt-Brown, "Prelude to Abolitionism: Sabbatarian Politics and the Rise of the Second Party System" Journal of 225 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T Abolitionism presented an even more direct threat to national unity. During the summer of 1835, New York-based abolitionists sent roughly 175,000 pieces of mail to the southern states, in an effort to convince slave- holders that they should abandon their "sinful" practices. The reformers carefully formatted their appeals to resemble magazines so that postal officials would allow them in the mail without question. Abolitionists did not prepay postage, thus offering mailmen an incentive to deliver and collect from the recipients, and they addressed their publications to specific individuals in order to answer the objection that information might fall into the hands of slaves or free blacks. The mail campaign appeared to confirm the worst fears of southerners who operated on the communications periphery: the post office made it possible for outside national interests, unresponsive to regional concerns and opinions, to flood communities with "incendiary" material that violated local norms. Control over the postal system, and the informational universe that it spawned, was critical to maintaining local folkways, customs, and institutions. Southerners won the battle in 1835: a vigilante society known as the "Lynch Men" broke into the Charleston, South Carolina post office and destroyed thousands of abolitionist periodicals. The Charleston and New York City postmasters soon reached a formal agreement that abolitionists could no longer transmit their periodicals through the mails to South Car- olina, since the content violated southern law, tradition, and opinion. Amos Kendall, the nation's postmaster general, adopted an extreme states' rights position and suppressed the periodicals in the interest of buttressing local mores. In the long run, however, the post office helped to redefine the nature of community and undermined local control over information flow. As the events of the 1830s indicated, competing social groups and conflicting inter- ests would continue to batde over postal policy and, implicitly, control over the nation's information network.9 Politicians and postmasters during this formative period also concerned themselves with providing equal access to information. A speculative venture by northeastern capitalists in 1825 illustrated the problem. After receiving notice of a sharp price rise in European cotton markets, these merchants paid a mail contractor to speed a purchase order for large quantities of cotton to southern farmers, and to withhold the news of the market shift until the purchase had been concluded. By controlling the news, they made a quick financial killing and impugned the integrity of the postal system. Information meant money, and postmasters in the 1820s and 1830s devised a series of American History 58 (Sept. 1971): 316-41. In fact, the Sabbatarian issue was not resolved finally until 1912, when Congress voted to close down the few post offices that still maintained Sunday hours. 9 John, Spreading the News, 257-80. Other accounts of the abolitionists' postal crusade include Leonard L. Richards, "Gentlemen of Property and Standing": Anti-Abolition Mobs injacksonian America (London: Oxford University Press, 1970), and Bertram Wyatt-Brown, " T h e Abolitionists' Postal Campaign of 1835," Journal of Negro History 50 (Oct. 1965): 227-38. 226 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L methods to favor public interest over private business concerns. They care- fully laid out postal routes, restricted private expresses, and used special pony riders to transmit timely economic information between northeastern ports and such burgeoning market towns as St. Louis, New Orleans, Mobile, and Charleston. Faith in the federal government as a protector of the public good characterized the antebellum communication pioneers. When Samuel F.B. Morse began commercializing the telegraph in 1844, he hoped that this new invention would be administered as a branch of the general post office, and many merchants agreed. A democratic society and a smoothly functioning capitalist culture required equal access to information and controls over spec- ulative interests. Mounting evidence indicated, however, that information could not be distributed on an equitable basis. Insiders continually sought ways to subvert the postal system, relying on private couriers and bribing public officials. The specter of a society divided into knowledgeable infor- mation "haves" and less sophisticated "have nots," loomed large.10 Most historians and archivists associate America's communication and transportation revolution with a series of technological innovations roughly traceable to the 1830s and 1840s: railroads, the penny press, photography, and telegraphy. The above survey indicates that the major intellectual ques- tions that confront information policymakers today predate technological change. The post office stimulated widespread debate over privileged infor- mation, the creation of "virtual" communities not based on geographical proximity, the relationship between public policy and private enterprise, and the desirability of limiting the free flow of information. Positions were staked out early, and the antebellum experience offers no comforting evidence that conflicting views could be resolved equitably. Individuals and professional associations concerned with information policy in the 1990s need to study and digest these early debates. P r e s e n t i n g O n e ' s S e l f T h r o u g h t h e M a i l s , 1 8 4 0 - 1 8 7 0 Beginning in the 1840s, a series of postal reforms altered the structure and very nature of the American mail system. Legislation between 1845 and 1855 slashed and simplified rates for individual letters. Weight, rather than number of sheets, became the criteria for determining rates, and three cents per half ounce emerged as the standard price for mailing a letter. With some variation, this basic cost endured for nearly a century. Individuals no longer subsidized cheap newspaper postage by paying high rates, and Congress ac- cepted the notion that the post office might run a deficit in the interest of increasing communication and information exchange between American cit- izens. Other reforms also encouraged individuals to make greater private use 10 John, Spreading the News, 83-89; Fuller, The American Mail, 171-78. 227 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T of the post office. Distance zones were largely eliminated, and standard rates applied for letters sent up to three thousand miles. Prepayment of domestic postage became compulsory, the stamp was introduced as a standard item, and the post office even began issuing embossed stamped envelopes in 1853. Other new features guaranteed greater security and convenience. The post office introduced a domestic registry service (1855), second and third class mail categories (1863), free city delivery by carriers in major metropolitan centers (1863), money orders to eliminate transmission of cash and currency (1864), and penny postal cards for convenience (1873)." Cheap postage, convenient delivery, and the new safety features stimu- lated and coincided with what may be termed the golden age of American letter-writing. Prior to 1845, Richard John has noted, "Few Americans ever sent or received a letter through the mail." Between 1840 and 1860, however, the number of letters handled by the post office increased fourfold, to over 161 million items. Merchants still wrote the vast majority of letters, and the commercial northeast still mailed a disproportionate amount of correspon- dence. Other social groups, however, were beginning to put pen to paper as well. Technological change made writing tools much more widely available. Machine-made paper came into common use, with chemically treated wood pulp emerging as an inexpensive alternative to rags as raw material for paper manufacturing. Mass-produced steel pens also decreased in price, as Richard Estabrook opened the first pen company in the United States in Camden, New Jersey, on the eve of the Civil War. A more literate public eagerly con- sumed these writing products. The nation's expanding common school sys- tem, which developed and matured alongside a broad range of private educational institutions from Sunday schools to academies, helped produce nearly universal white literacy by the end of the antebellum period. White women especially read and wrote in unprecedented numbers.12 The postal revolution coincided with, and supported, a transportation revolution and geographical movement that reshaped the North American continent. Depleted soil and declining agricultural opportunities precipitated a mass movement from farm to city in the northeast. Canals, steamboats, and the completion of the transcontinental rail network destroyed traditional no- tions of time and distance, and stimulated the invention of new forms of business enterprise. Americans on the move appeared to be creating new kinds of communities, composed of strangers, young men on the make, and Summaries of the legislation can be found in Scheele, Short History of the Mail Service, 73-76, Kiel- bowicz, News in the Mail, 82-89, and J o h n , Spreading the News, 156-61. ' John, Spreading the News, 156. A good brief overview of writing technology can be found in Edmund Berkeley, Jr., "Writing Instruments and Materials," in Edmund Berkeley, Jr., ed., Autographs and Manuscripts: A Collector's Manual (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1978), 28-39. On literacy, see the instructive essay by Carl F. Kaestle, "The History of Literacy and the History of Readers," Review of Research in Education 12 (1985): 11-53. 228 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L random acquaintances. Correspondence remained the only way to stay in touch with kin and friends left behind. Convenient mail service perpetuated old social ties and in many instances created new forms of virtual community among an increasingly rootless population whose constant mobility threat- ened traditional links to locality and place. The rising tide of German and post-famine Irish immigration in the 1840s also produced a new transatlantic traffic in letters, and the United States accordingly concluded a number of international postal treaties and arrangements. Women began corresponding with women in growing numbers, prompting one historian to discover a "fe- male world of love and ritual" that relied on letters to establish and deepen affective ties.13 The sheer volume of this letter-writing frenzy is staggering. The amount of per capita correspondence traveling through the mails increased from 1.61 pieces per year in 1840 to 5.15 in 1860. Figures for urban centers were much higher: New York and Boston both sent out over thirty letters per person in 1856, reflecting at least in part their emergence as important national and regional business centers. Evidence indicates that mid-nineteenth-century correspondence took on new physical characteristics as well. Historian Tamara Thornton has chronicled the way in which Victorians viewed hand- writing as a presentation of the self and a key element in the formation of character. White women took up their pens and carefully learned elaborate ornamental hands, using the lush roundness and ornate letters of Spencerian script. While writing became the way in which many Victorians invented and physically presented their unique characters in an increasingly anonymous and impersonal society, it also became the way in which they demonstrated their self-control and conformity to external models of achievement. Accu- rately reproducing a perfect script, rather than expressing one's own individ- uality through handwriting, became the desired goal for many. The substance of correspondence, as well as its form, developed in new ways. Few historians have analyzed the actual content of nineteenth-century personal letters, but Ronald Zboray's comments are suggestive. He argues that correspondents strove "to perfect their orthography and grammar be- cause they knew they would be on public display," and that "a stiff formality commonly plays tug-of-war with the conversational tone" in Victorian letters. Observing that personal communication often took on the tenor of popular fiction, he concludes that "the changeover from face-to-face oral communi- cation to the written medium of the letter transformed the very nature of the self, from one defined by total immersion in the community to one self- constructed in the act of writing letters." New lines of commercial products 1S Carroll Smith-Rosenberg, "The Female World of Love and Ritual: Relations Between Women in Nineteenth-Century America," Signs: A Journal of Women in Society and Culture 1 (Autumn 1975): 1- 30. 229 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T communicated the same message. "Letterwriter" books proliferated and went through multiple editions, instructing correspondents on the proper form, technique, and style for communicating messages.14 Perhaps the valentine craze, one of the remarkable cultural creations of the 1840s and 1850s, best exemplifies the new mode of public and private correspondence. Valentine's Day, virtually unknown as a holiday in the United States in the 1830s, was transformed into a major commercial event by the following decade. Both homespun and commercially produced cards, often circulated through the mail, became the hallmark of the February fes- tivities. Ready-made sentiments and verses, composed by professional "val- entine writers," were reproduced both in handmade cards and the mass-printed varieties. Self-expression and originality coexisted and blended with formulaic and often hackneyed sentiment in communicating the most private and personal of thoughts. Comic valentines, which lampooned the recipient and frequently contained at least mildly obscene overtones as well, could also be sent under cover of the mails. As the first American holiday structured around the "greeting card," Valentine's Day reflected the ambiv- alence of a culture on the cusp of a communications revolution, where new forms of structured rituals and heavily stylized correspondence threatened to overwhelm older forms of celebration and talk.15 Most correspondence during this period remained business-oriented, however, and the transformation of corporate culture also contained impor- tant implications for the post office and for America's information infrastruc- ture. Clearly, the telegraph significantly altered the nature of nineteenth- century communications. It permitted the instantaneous transmission of news and information and, in language very familiar to late-twentieth-century Americans who have been schooled in the exaggerated claims of the Internet, was immediately hailed as the "great highway of thought." Still, telegraphic transmission did not replace postal communication in any quick or linear fashion. In the newspaper industry, for example, both the telegraph and the postal exchanges coexisted side-by-side, each serving a very different purpose. The telegraph provided quick, concise, simplified, homogenized information in a reasonably efficient manner. It also cost money, proved difficult for in- dividual newspapers to commandeer for any length of time, and was subject to sabotage by speculators seeking to limit the flow of inside commercial information. Partly in response to these issues, six New York City newspapers com- bined in 1846 to establish the "Associated Press" (AP), a wire service de- 14 Zboray, A Fictive People, 71, 110-21; Harry B. Weiss, American Letterwriters, 1698-1943 (New York: New York Public Library, 1945); Scheele, Short History of the Mail Service, 99-103; Thornton, Hand- writing in America, 43—66. lr> Schmidt, Consumer Rites, 39-104, is an excellent discussion of Valentine's Day that traces the ma- terial culture of the holiday. 230 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L signed to supply consolidated news stories to participating news organs. The AP pioneered a new journalistic style, based on precise, matter-of-fact state- ments that seemingly contained no personal references or opinions. The medium shaped the message in this instance, as the cost of transmission demanded brevity and concise description. A veneer of objectivity masked the real biases and partisanship inherent in the news selection process, and furthered the development of an impersonal, nonlocal and seemingly even- handed mode of discourse. Newspaper exchanges through the post office, by contrast, allowed the circulation of multiple perspectives at a somewhat slower pace. Stories that proved more complex, overtly opinionated, feature-ori- ented, or of somewhat narrower interest could only be shared through the traditional exchanges. Thus the exchanges and the telegraph coexisted for thirty years, until Congress eliminated the privilege of postage-free newspaper exchange in 1873.lfi One additional communication-related business concern that thrived during this period deserves some attention as well: the private express. Wil- liam F. Harnden, a former railroad conductor, established the first private express route between New York and Boston in 1839, and a number of other prominent competitors soon followed suit: the Adams Express Company, the American Express, and Wells Fargo. The western "Pony Express," which ac- tually enjoyed a very short existence between 1860 and 1861, especially cap- tured the popular imagination and received a disproportionate share of subsequent historical notoriety. Most firms made their money carrying par- cels, since the post office limited the maximum weight of any item that could be carried through the public mails, and by serving densely populated areas of the country at a lower cost than the government. Private companies carried money, perishable goods, and other valuable commodities from place to place at a speed that could not be approached by the post office. By ignoring unprofitable routes, taking advantage of transportation routes and companies subsidized by the postal service, and marketing their services aggressively to soldiers in the Mexican War and Civil War, the expresses proved highly prof- itable. The post office responded with cheaper rates, door-to-door service, and tighter enforcement of its monopoly over letters. Not until a subsequent generation invented the parcel post, however, would express companies aban- don their communications interest and move into other even more profitable areas. By that time, however, the relationship between postal service and American business enterprise had been reconfigured in new and unprece- dented ways.17 16 Kielbowicz, News in the Mail, 151-55; Richard B. Kielbowicz, "News Gathering by Mail in the Age of the Telegraph: Adapting to a New Technology," Technology and Culture 28 (January 1987): 2 6 - 41; Blondheim, News Over the Wires. 17 Kielbowicz, News in the Mail, 170-75; Fuller, The American Mail, 162-64; Scheele, Short History of the Mail Service, 71—73. A good corporate history of one of the premiere companies in this area is 231 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T T h e B u s i n e s s o f A m e r i c a , 1 8 7 0 - 1 9 3 0 In 1890, shortly after Benjamin Harrison appointed John Wanamaker as postmaster general, only nineteen million out of the seventy-six million peo- ple in the United States enjoyed mail delivery at their front doors. For vir- tually all small town and country people, postal service proceeded in the time-honored fashion described by historian Wayne Fuller: "The trip to the post office, a mile or so down the old dirt road to the first crossroad, a turn to the right and straight into the village...the methodic process of tying the horses to the rail in front...the call at the window, the slow, unconcerned movements of the postmaster as he shoved a letter or two and the county weekly through the iron grating." The post office, usually located in a country store, served as a place of conversation, informal communication, waiting for the star route rider, and male social club. It also operated, in Fuller's words, in "painfully unbusiness-like" fashion and seemed particularly ill-suited to an age of corporate consolidation, speed, the completion of the national trans- portation network, and the urbanization of America.18 Beginning in the 1890s, Congress, the post office, and rural Americans themselves engaged in a massive campaign to lay out postal routes across the nation: in 1902, there were fewer than eight thousand routes in the nation; by 1905, there were thirty-two thousand. The goal of "everyman's mail to everyman's door" was articulated and largely accomplished by the 1920s. Pol- iticians scrambled to obtain service for their districts, farmers began one of the largest petition-writing campaigns in history, and the rural mail carrier emerged as an important social type in the countryside. Rural Free Delivery (RFD) service often pitted the interests of farmers against small town mer- chants, who feared a loss of business and customer traffic in their post office/ stores, and competition with mail-order houses in the cities. It also divided county road occupants who competed and lobbied for routes that would pass their own houses. And it stimulated support among rural Americans for the "good roads movement" in the early twentieth century, as federal money reshaped the country landscape through the creation of state post roads.19 RFD did not realize its full potential until the establishment of parcel post service in 1913. Prior to that date, postal patrons could not send do- mestic packages weighing more than four pounds through the mails. Express companies handled freight, and six notoriously arrogant businesses exerted almost complete control over this unregulated monopoly at the turn of the century. Excepting a few urban centers, express service ended at the railroad Peter Z. Grossman, American Express: The Unofficial History of the People Who Built the Great Financial Empire (New York: Crown Publishers, 1987). 18 Fuller, RFD, 14-15. 19 Fuller, RFD, 58, 177-98. 232 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L terminal and door-to-door service was virtually unknown. Country people oc- casionally paid postmen a fee "under the table" for delivering packages and supplies, but the post office's inability to compete in this area represented lost revenues and inconvenient service. The parcel post debate proceeded along similar lines to the controversy over RFD. Small-town merchants, ac- cording to Fuller, operated in "the world of the general store and the cracker barrel: still the world of the smooth-talking, flashily dressed drummers who traveled from town to town and store to store, carrying bags packed with samples of their line." Express companies, country storekeepers, small busi- nessmen, and wholesale merchants lobbied heavily against parcel post. Ulti- mately a coalition of farmers, urban consumers who believed that the service would provide cheap farm products direct to their door, and mail-order com- panies prevailed. American business, and the nation's communication infra- structure, would never be quite the same.20 First and most immediately, parcel post accelerated the death and re- birth of the express companies. Few mourned their demise, as they had gained an extraordinary reputation, even by Gilded Age standards, for indif- ference to consumers, inconsistent and shady rate practices, and unscrupu- lous political chicanery. Some, like United States Express, simply closed up shop. Others attempted to compete with the government for a few years but transformed their companies by World War I into very different corporate configurations. American Express, for example, chose to become a worldwide banking organization, concentrating on a full range of shipping, foreign trade, and tourist services. Wells Fargo abandoned its express business and similarly concentrated on its banking functions. The government had the lucrative express business largely to itself, and its representatives often be- came the chief points of contact between federal bureaucrats and ordinary Americans.21 Parcel post proved an enormous boon to another business. Postal his- torians have noted that RFD service did not really increase outgoing mail from farmers to the extent that proponents had anticipated. Per capita letters from rural route patrons did increase somewhat, from fifteen in 1903, to nearly twenty in 1911, and to twenty-one in 1929, but this growth certainly did not coincide with the thousands of postal routes opened during the pe- riod. Further, much of the increase can be attributed to the use of penny postcards, which achieved great popularity with farmers and small-town letter- writers. Incoming mail, however, proved a different story. Each farmer re- ceived approximately thirty-four pieces of mail in 1911, and a staggering 20 Fuller, RFD, 199-227; Scheele, A Short History of the Mail Service, 143-46; Richard B. Kielbowicz, "Government Goes Into Business: Parcel Post in the Nation's Political Economy, 1880-1915," Studies in American Political Development % (Spring 1994): 150-72. 21 Grossman, American Express, 125-87, charts both the abuses and the entrepreneurial rebirth of this organization. 233 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T sixty-one pieces in 1929; and much of this increase can be attributed to vast changes in American marketing, advertising, and business practice.22 Mail-order stores developed shortly after the Civil War, and in 1872 Aaron Montgomery Ward opened the first large retail concern that sold a full range of goods through the post. Ward's business boomed, and other urban retailers discovered a large market of potential consumers in country towns and rural hamlets. Robert W. Sears, capitalizing on his homespun smarts and his ability to communicate with ordinary people, soon entered the field and transformed the industry. Often denigrated as "hayseeds" and far removed from metropolitan centers of influence, farmers and small-town dwellers found that the fashionable catalogues developed by the mail-order giants linked them with a glitzy and seductive world of culture, style, and status. They liked what they saw and voted with their pocketbooks to partic- ipate in this consumer culture in ever-increasing numbers. By the 1890s nearly twelve hundred mail-order companies competed for their patronage and Sears' catalogues became staple items in rural households. Attractively designed, skillfully lithographed, and overflowing with exaggerated yet witty advertising copy, these catalogues distributed dreams and desires throughout the countryside. Urban department stores, including Macy's, Wanamaker's, and Spiegel's, found that they no longer needed to tie sales to showrooms, and that marketing by mail paid. Consumer goods became separated from places, and every living room became a shopper's paradise. For the consolidated corporate entities that dominated the Gilded Age economy, the national mail system became an enormous commercial bo- nanza. The break-up of the express monopoly and the introduction of parcel post offered mail-order houses an important government subsidy, and their profits soared during the 1910s. Direct-mail marketing itself emerged as an important segment of the advertising industry. When the American Heart Association used a series of fund raising appeals penned by Jacob Riis to solicit contributions through the mail, nonprofits discovered a lucrative new way to market themselves as well. With the formation of the Direct Mail Mar- keting Association in 1917, postal solicitation entered a new era of visibility and professionalization. Newspapers, fearful of losing their advertisers, would soon coin the term "junk mail" to derisively describe the enormous flow of sales literature entering American mailboxes and living rooms. Mass mailings became so common that the post office established special mailer permits, metered mailer machines, and automatic cancelers. The merger and subse- quent success of Arthur Pitney's American Postage Meter Company and Walter Bowes' Universal Stamping Machine Company in 1920 testified to the new era of mechanical mail.23 22 Fuller, EFD, 3 1 2 - 1 3 . 23 G o r d o n L. Weil, Sears, Roebuck, U.S.A.: The Great American Catalog Store and How It Got That Way 234 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L Other businesses also grew up during this period to exploit the popular fascination with the mails. Private mailing cards (popularly, if somewhat in- accurately, referred to as postcards) grew into an enormous business and provided future generations with nostalgic collectibles and priceless views of vanished landscapes. Middle-class Americans now vacationed in unprece- dented numbers, and they documented their tasteful travels to family and friends with missives from the seashore, the mountain retreat, and the fash- ionable urban center. Greeting cards best illustrated the link between busi- ness and Victorian sentiment. By the 1880s and 1890s, manufacturers produced cards for a full pantheon of modern American holidays: Valentine's Day, Easter, New Year's, and the most commercially successful of all, Christ- mas. Birthdays also became occasions for exchanging postal wishes. Mass- produced, corporately sponsored sentiments became inscribed with private thoughts and personal signatures. In 1910 Joyce Hall, son of an itinerant Methodist minister, observing that "it's the sentiment that counts" and urg- ing Americans to "care enough to send the very best" founded a mail order postcard business that would eventually evolve into the wildly successful Hall- mark Cards. Merely greeting one's friends and relatives became a series of annual consumer rituals best conducted through the mail, with the benefit of corporate sponsorship and the imprimatur of American business.24 Some American politicians and reformers detected a less benign and somewhat seamier undertone to the private messages and personal thoughts that flowed freely across the continent. Antebellum mail disputes usually cen- tered around political and ideological issues, such as the abolitionist effort to flood the mails. Obscenity appeared as the primary legislative issue troubling Victorian congressmen. Government regulators began scrutinizing the mails with a more discerning eye in the late 1860s. Mail fraud became a problem, as a series of well-publicized confidence games, pyramid schemes, and dis- reputable lotteries operated in the post-Civil War era. The most time-consum- ing debate and effort, however, was directed toward defining and restricting "obscene" material. In 1865 Congress embarked on a long legislative journey designed to outlaw the postal circulation of "lascivious" paperback books, photographs, poems, songs, contraceptive products, and morally suspect ad- vertisements. Anthony Comstock began his notorious campaign to purify America in the 1870s, and the passage of the Comstock Laws in 1873 heralded (New York: Stein and Day, 1977) contains an interesting account of the catalog and the early mail- order years on pp. 21-40 and 61-77. On the transformation of American culture during this period, see William Leach, Land of Desire: Merchants, Power, and the Rise of a New American Culture (New York: Vintage Books, 1993), esp. 42-45, 182-85. See also Alfred Chandler, The Visible Hand: The Mana- gerial Revolution in American Business (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1977), Richard B. Kielbowicz, "Origins of the Junk-Mail Controversy: A Media Battle Over Advertising and Postal Policy," Journal of Policy History 5 (1993): 248-72, and Scheele, Short History of the Post Office, 160- 66, on Pitney and Bowes. 24 Schmidt, Consumer Rites, 94-102. 235 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T a much more restrictive era. In 1888 Congress allowed postal inspectors to open sealed mail in an effort to track down "obscene" material, and a series of well-publicized prosecutions under the obscenity statutes occurred through the 1920s. As businesses received increasing latitude and indirect govern- mental support to use the mails in new ways, Congress took much greater care to restrict the kinds of information being communicated by individuals and to police the content of personal parcels. Denning the limits of free information flow and determining community standards opened a new range of nationally explosive issues.25 Compared to its antebellum predecessor, the post office itself became a very different kind of physical space in Gilded Age America. Local post offices during the early nineteenth century had served as gathering places for mer- chants, tradesmen, and prominent local worthies. Richard John has described the post office as "a bastion of white male solidarity and an adjunct to the racially and sexually stratified world of politics and commerce." Drinking, gambling, and gossiping took place within its walls. Women found it an es- pecially unfriendly place, and postal officials ultimately established both spe- cial "ladies' windows" where mail could be picked up and urban "mail boxes" where patrons could deposit letters without being harassed. Offices themselves proved transient, and no distinction existed between public and private facilities. New York City's main post office in the antebellum period, for example, was located successively in the postmaster's home, the basement of the mercantile exchange, a former museum, and a renovated Dutch Re- formed church. In less urban settings, the post office rarely occupied a sep- arate facility and usually consisted of a small window in some commercial building.26 By the late-nineteenth century, however, a golden age of postal architec- ture had dawned. New York City's relatively modest structure on Nassau Street was replaced by an enormous building located in City Hall Park and designed in the Second Empire style by Alfred Mullet. Brooklyn soon boasted a new Romanesque facility of its own. The monumental style reached its New York peak in 1913, when McKim, Mead and White designed a granite, classical revival General Post Office on Thirty-Fourth Street to complement nearby Pennsylvania Station. Massive interiors, iron gates, concrete pillars, and an image of solid, conservative tradition and reliability characterized the new buildings. As the postal system speeded the transformation of the nation into 25 Fuller, The American Mail, 2 5 1 - 6 0 , 2 6 7 - 7 3 . See also J o n Bekken, ' " T h o s e G r e a t a n d D a n g e r o u s Powers': Postal Censorship of the Press," Journal of Communication Inquiry 15 (1991): 55-71; Jay A. Gertzman, "Postal Service Guardians of Public Morals and Erotica Mail Order Dealers of the Thirties: A Study in Administrative Authority in the United States," Publishing History 37 (1995): 83-110; and Bruce A. Lehman and Timothy A. Boggs, "How Uncle Sam Covers the Mails," Civil Liberties Review 4 (May/June 1977): 20-28. 26 J o h n , Spreading the News, 1 1 2 - 1 5 , 161-67. 236 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L a country of anonymous producers and consumers, the arena for its own commercial transactions became ever more grandiose and spectacular. Shorn of its makeshift and slightly disreputable veneer, the Victorian post office became a properly genteel facility, accessible to the most prudent and pru- rient middle-class patron. Congress cleansed both the content of the mails and the look of the service in its effort to create a businesslike, morally up- right atmosphere. The idiosyncratic quality of earlier service, the cracker- barrel informality of the older facilities, and the modestly anarchic exchange of multiple messages gave way to efficiency, speed, regularity, and cleanliness. Congress and federal bureaucrats had tamed the post office, transforming it into a model progressive era concern. C o n c l u s i o n Several archival conclusions ensue from this brief tour through postal history. First, the much-lamented era of personal correspondence lasted for a remarkably brief historical period. Ordinary Americans wrote very few let- ters prior to the postal reforms of the 1840s, and by the 1870s they functioned largely as postal consumers rather than producers. From the outset, the mails functioned primarily as outlets for business enterprises: mainly for newspa- pers in the antebellum period, and for mail-order houses, stores, and express companies by the turn of the century. Even when large numbers of Americans first put pen to paper in the mid-nineteenth century, they constructed largely formulaic, stylized, and conventional documents that historians have only begun to analyze in any meaningful way. Personal letter-writing has not "de- clined" in any significant manner as a response to the telephone or any other technological cause; rather, the volume of private correspondence itself is a very recent historical phenomenon owing more to the unique demographic, business, and social milieu of nineteenth-century culture than to any roman- tic notions of a kinder, simpler, and more leisurely past. Second, technological change never purely displaces one form of com- munication with another. The commercialization of the telegraph coincided with the greatest age of letter writing in American history. Businesses adapted the telephone to their purposes, but they also invented and expanded their direct mail marketing operations, created new forms of corporate organiza- tion to take full advantage of changing postal regulations, and invested large amounts of money in print advertising during the same period. Communi- cation vehicles exist primarily to transact business, and corporate America makes full use of all possibilities, adapting print, visual, and electronic forms to its purposes. The Internet, once hailed as a source of "information" and alternative cultures, has begun its seemingly inevitable transformation into primarily an advertising and shopping medium, where the most visually ap- 237 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T pealing web sites created by the "hippest" corporate and entertainment conglomerates, receive the most "hits." Its history nicely parallels the trans- formation of the post office, which was originally conceived as a vehicle for transmitting news and was ultimately transformed into a virtual marketplace without walls. Third, the most visible public issues in the information marketplace to- day reflect and rehash timeworn cultural conflicts that have divided Ameri- cans since the introduction and expansion of mail service. Contemporary concerns over "equal access to information" parallel late-nineteenth-century debates over RFD, private express companies, and parcel post service. Un- fortunately, many present-day reformers appear more interested in ensuring that Americans have equal access to advertising, rather than to the educa- tional and social advantages that allow one to navigate the nation's separate and unequal informational universe. Similarly, the notion of "community standards" often dominates current discussion. As national corporate, gov- ernmental, and nonprofit bureaucracies grew to dominate American life in the late-nineteenth century, resentments often surfaced. Many Americans be- lieved, like antebellum South Carolinians, that keeping outsiders' messages from entering their turf might best preserve their way of life. Current debates over obscenity and personal expression have lengthy and well documented historical precedents. The ways in which previous "solutions" failed to achieve their goals should give pause to current policymakers and political panderers. In fact, the concept of community became divorced from locality at some point during the mid-nineteenth century. Americans belong to a broad range of familial, professional, corporate, religious and fraternal com- munities that bear little relationship to place. Recognizing this essential fact, and accepting the notion that our current communication systems simply reflect the fragmented nature of modern life, places contemporary anxieties in a larger context. Finally, the history of American correspondence through the postal sys- tem suggests that the current archival angst over controlling and keeping electronic information represents much ado about some relatively minor al- terations in the nation's informational infrastructure. The critical "speed-up" in America's information flow, after all, occurred early in the nineteenth century. By the late 1840s instantaneous transmission of information became a reality. Henry David Thoreau witnessed the defining historical moment, as he sadly realized. Victorian Americans with superior expertise, personal con- tacts, and leisure manipulated various data resources in order to obtain the insider information that enabled them to better conduct their businesses and gain advantages over their competitors. Their contemporary counterparts continue to do so. Most Americans still consume and discuss "news" gained from multiple sources, including print and electronic media, mail, urban 238 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L . legends, and gossip in order to construct their views of reality. ' 'Virtual com- munities," really a creation of the mid-nineteenth century and its transfor- mation of the physical and mental landscape, remain the primary locus of much social and business activity. Basic informational debates remain unre- solved: equal access to data in a democratic society; the nature of social au- thority; the boundaries between individual expression and community restraint; and the dominance of large, highly capitalized, thoroughly bureaucratized entities over most aspects of modern life. This does not mean, of course, that the current "information revolu- tion" poses no archival challenges and has not affected the way in which most people go about their daily life. New record forms both shape and reflect subtle and significant sociocultural shifts that ultimately create the documentary universe. Putting pen to paper in the mid-nineteenth century, as we have seen, often constituted a very personal and almost ceremonial act. Victorian letter-writers carefully communicated with distant friends and rel- atives using heavily stylized hands and often formulaic phrases in order to document their own characters and invent their own personalities. Writing a letter meant creating a permanent record of the self. Today's listserv lurkers and chatroom addicts also carefully construct virtual personalities for them- selves, albeit with some significant differences. Often cloaked in anonymity, and frequently writing to loosely defined groups that share their personal and professional interests, they create ephemeral and malleable identities that can quickly evaporate. Impermanence itself can become a virtue, and individuals may move easily between a series of tangentially related commu- nities and identities, adapting their styles and discourse accordingly. The vir- tue of brevity, critical to the circulation of information in the telegraphic age, becomes less relevant. Individuals and groups find it relatively easy to flood the informational marketplace with large quantities of undigested, unfiltered, and unedited discourse. Very different notions of authority, self, and com- munication hold sway, and capturing the complexity of the new environ- ment—which coexists alongside more traditional informational avenues— means nothing less than redefining the very nature and reexamining the very purpose of a personal manuscript. Documentary form and informational con- tent share a complex, ever-changing, and unexplored relationship. Unless we begin to acquire some historical perspective on current communication de- velopments, however, we will continue to conclude that what is largely trivial is truly revolutionary. Further, there exists a real danger that our fascination with form will continue to overwhelm more meaningful concern over con- tent. Perhaps, in other words, the moment has arrived to stop asking "what is a record?" and start examining what's in a record. 239 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021
work_ovvmzoksuzbmfasekdsh7g5mua ---- Willis Adventure Therapy for repository Edinburgh Research Explorer Re-storying wilderness and adventure therapies Citation for published version: Willis, A 2011, 'Re-storying wilderness and adventure therapies: healing places and selves in an era of environmental crises', Journal of Adventure Education and Outdoor Learning, vol. 11, no. 2, pp. 91-108. https://doi.org/10.1080/14729679.2011.633375 Digital Object Identifier (DOI): 10.1080/14729679.2011.633375 Link: Link to publication record in Edinburgh Research Explorer Document Version: Early version, also known as pre-print Published In: Journal of Adventure Education and Outdoor Learning General rights Copyright for the publications made accessible via the Edinburgh Research Explorer is retained by the author(s) and / or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing these publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy The University of Edinburgh has made every reasonable effort to ensure that Edinburgh Research Explorer content complies with UK legislation. If you believe that the public display of this file breaches copyright please contact openaccess@ed.ac.uk providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1080/14729679.2011.633375 https://doi.org/10.1080/14729679.2011.633375 https://www.research.ed.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/restorying-wilderness-and-adventure-therapies(87c168da-15c5-407c-b6ad-33c8b5c1be0b).html Re-storying wilderness and adventure therapies: healing places and selves in an era of environmental crises Alette Willis, PhD, University of Edinburgh [Post-print version, for the final published version see: “Re-storying wilderness and adventure therapies: healing places and selves in an era of environmental crises.” Alette Willis. Journal of Adventure Education and Outdoor Learning 11.2 (2011): 91-108. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14729679.2011.633375] Alette Wilis, PhD Counselling and Psychotherapy School of Health in the Social Sciences The University of Edinburgh Medical School Teviot Place Edinburgh, EH8 9AG United Kingdom a.willis@ed.ac.uk 1 Re-storying wilderness and adventure therapies: healing places and selves in an era of environmental crises 1. Introduction Once upon a time, people believed that by acquiring and analysing data about the ecology, biology, geology, physics and chemistry of environmental problems and then passing relevant findings on to policy-makers, these issues would get resolved. However, today we find ourselves in a position where a great deal is known about the science of such potentially catastrophic problems as climate change and yet relatively little is being done. The environmental crises we are currently facing are not simply crises of science and technology, they are rooted in the human condition and as such are also crises of meaning. In order for us as individuals, as societies, and as a species to make the changes that we need to make focus must move beyond the science to look as well at how cultural and psychological contributing causes might best be addressed. As disciplines concerned with meaning-making (Handley 1989), and as practices that often incorporate interactions in and with "natural" places (Beringer 2004), adventure and wilderness therapiesi (as well as certain practices of outdoor education) have much to offer in helping people and societies transform and transcend these crises. At the same time, there is a growing body of research, including but not limited to ecopsychology, that indicates exposure to landscapes that are minimally dominated by human activities and artifacts can be healing (Beringer and Martin 2003). The potential for outdoor practices, including adventure therapy, to contribute to social change in relation to the environment has not gone unremarked. As far back as 1991, Cooper outlined both the opportunities presented by field centres and criticized outdoor and adventure educators for not doing enough to help change students' attitudes towards the environment. In more recent years, his call has been echoed in the allied fields of adventure sport and leisure (Humberstone 1998), outdoor education (Higgins 1996, Loynes 2002, Lugg 2007, Beames 2008), psychology (Stokol et al. 2009), and adventure and wilderness therapies (Beringer and Martin 2003). And these calls are being heeded. Many adventure programs have incorporated the development of people's care for the environment into their goals (Outward Bound Trust 2009, McKenzie and Bleckinsop 2006). At the same time, environmental organizations, which have traditionally concentrated their resources on conservation and lobbying, have begun to turn their attention to effecting change at the level of individual psychology. In their efforts to inspire and motivate people, some of these groups have drawn on practices from outdoor education and adventure and wilderness therapies ii. It is only through such interdisciplinary efforts that we have a chance of affecting the sorts of changes that environmental sustainability requires. However, in this paper I want to sound a note of caution. Through critically examining the language and practices of adventure and wilderness therapies it is possible to see that these fields share many of the same historical and cultural roots as those dominant societal discourses (such as those which separate culture from nature and which reduce all that is not human-made to the category of resource) that have led to the environmental crises we face today. Rather than reifying these old stories, what the world needs now are new stories about selves, about places, and about relationships between people and the more-than-human world. Adventure and wilderness therapies are well placed to help excavate and amplify such stories. 2 This paper begins by examining the therapeutic work of adventure therapy through the lens of narrative counselling and the concept of the narrative-self. The terms wilderness and adventure are unpacked and attention is drawn to the risks of working uncritically with these concepts. Illustrations of alternative understandings of people in relationship to the more-than-human world are offered. In keeping with the principles of narrative therapy (White and Epston 1990), rather than providing definitive answers, which risk foreclosing on alternative storylines, this paper seeks instead to open up new possibilities for being and acting within the field of wilderness and adventure therapies and within Western societies more broadly. 2. Re-storying people's lives through adventurous experiences in the wilderness Russell (1999), in her study of tourists watching whales, observed that simply putting people in natural places and enabling them to interact with non-human others is not enough to make them care for the environment or for wildlife. In their later meta- analysis, covering a wide-range of international research on outdoor learning, Rickinson et al. (2004) similarly concluded that, "[t]here seems to be a strong case for questioning the notion that nature experience automatically contributes to environmental awareness, commitment and action" (6). Their conclusion was specifically derived from only finding weak links between outdoor adventure activities and the development of environmental values and awareness. Russell (1999) hypothesised that what was missing from analyses of relationships between experiences in nature and environmental values was the concept of stories. This paper takes her intuition further, proposing, through the concept of the "narrative self", that story is what links experience, identity and ethics. People give meaning and value to their lives, to their selves, to the places where they dwell, and ultimately to the choices that they make, through stories. One of the limitations of wilderness and adventure therapies in relation to instilling environmental values lies in some of the stories that are often unwittingly invoked. All practitioners need to ask themselves whether the stories they are drawing on and working with open up useful possibilities for selves and societies in an era of environmental crisis or merely propagate and reify ways of thinking and living that will contribute to further declines in the health of our shared ecosytems. Over the last two decades, the concept of the "narrative self" has been gaining ground in psychology (Gergen and Gergen 1988, Bruner 1990 and 1996), sociology (Somers 1994, Maines 1993, Gubrium and Holstein 1999, Frank 2004), education (Clandinin and Connolly 2000), bioethics (Brody 2002), environmental ethics (Willis 2009 and forthcoming), philosophy (Nelson 2001), counselling (White and Epston 1990, Speedy 2008, McLeod 1997), and even in adventure therapy (Stolz 2009). In brief, the concept of the narrative self proposes that on a very fundamental level people understand their experiences, give meaning to their lives, make decisions about what to do and come to identify their very selves with the stories they and others tell about who they are. One of the most appealing aspects of the this concept is that it allows for a certain degree of agency, while at the same time conceiving of individuals as fundamentally embedded in relationship and in social context. People always tell stories about their selves to an audience, even if that audience is only imaginary (embedded in relationship) and in order to render their storied-selves intelligible, people must draw on narrative resources that circulate more broadly within society (embedded in a social context). 3 Because the stories people tell concern their experiences, changes can be facilitated both by assisting people in finding new plotlines and by enabling people to have novel experiences. Counselling and psychotherapy can be understood as particular practices of meaning-making to which people turn when they need assistance in re- storying their lives (White and Epston 1990). While counselling and therapy in general accord primacy to the relationship between practitioner and client (audience and teller) as a medium for reflecting on experience, wilderness and adventure therapies go further, providing opportunities for people to have new experiences: to learn new, neglected or forgotten skills, to work within an inter-subjective group context, and to forge relationships with earth others--by which I mean beings profoundly other than human-- in places more clearly marked by geological, biological and ecological processes than the urban locales where most people dwell. At their best, therefore, wilderness and adventure therapies intervene in people's lives through providing unique experiences that challenge the limiting stories they may hold about who they are and how they ought to live. However, the experiences wilderness and adventure therapies facilitate can only be transformative to the extent that people use them to create new stories. Evidence indicates that if experiences are not incorporated into stories, they are quickly forgotten (Bruner 1996). Because individual lives and individual self-stories are so deeply embedded within relationships and cultures, when individual lives change, societies change.iii It is this possibility for social change through helping individuals that is the central hope of this paper. Many of the stories that bring people to therapy, stories that they have found to be limiting, are part of broader discourses that dominate societies as a whole (Nelson 2001). In so far as they enable individuals to challenge such dominant narratives, wilderness and adventure therapies may help to bring about social change. However, if wilderness and adventure therapists are not critically attentive to the stories that their language use and practices invoke, they may instead end up reproducing and reinforcing the very narratives that have generated the crises we face today. To illuminate how wilderness and adventure therapies might unwittingly reproduce and reinforce dominant and ultimately damaging narratives, the following two sections of this paper examine some of the language and cultural geography that they often invoke. Specifically, the terms wilderness and adventure are critically unpacked, demonstrating that they are associated with very specific cultural stories and that they carry very specific concepts about places. These terms, therefore, support certain plotlines while silencing others. In this critical examination, I echo the perspective of Michael White and David Epston (1990) who advocate that the first and most crucial thing any therapist needs to do in order to contribute to social change is to ensure that his or her own practices do not inadvertently reinforce those narratives that limit people's options for meaning-making and, therefore, for living and acting in the world. 3. Troubling wilderness If experiences outdoors are going to usefully contribute to social change in relation to environmental sustainability, then it matters which stories are told about the places where those experiences happen (Stewart 2008). In their critical history of the development of modern "nature-based" adventure sport in the U.K. and Norway, Humberstone and Pedersen (2001) point out that "[h]ow ‘nature’ and a specific place, a landscape or ‘natural’spaces/environments are conceptualised, is…always historically and socially constructed" (22). Following on from their work, this section of the paper 4 briefly examines the construction of a particular category of place, "wilderness", which is often implicitly or explicitly referred to in adventure therapy literatures. The term “wilderness” is popularly understood to refer to environments minimally modified by human activity. However, truly pristine landscapes untouched by human activities do not exist anywhere on Earth today. Air and water currents have spread toxic pollutants throughout the world, anthropogenically induced climate change affects every square inch of the globe, and most of the places that have been designated by Western societies as wilderness have been traversed by, used by and often inhabited by people for hundreds if not thousands of years. “Wilderness” is not a clearly definable geographical category, but rather a concept. The current usage of the term "wilderness" can be traced to a very particular context: that of the rise of industrialization. Prior to this period, the label “wilderness” was the equivalent of “wastelands” and “worthless” (Cronon 1995). With industrialisation, the term came to be constructed as other to urban, while cities came to be constructed as other to wilderness.iv The two concepts are opposite sides of the same modernist dualism (Plumwood 1993). As a concept, therefore, wilderness is dependent for its construction on ideas of civilization in its industrial, urbanized form. Consequently, in order to change stories about civilization and its relationship to the more-than-human world we must also change stories about wilderness. In his critical history of “wilderness”, primarily in the context of the U.S.A., William Cronon (1995) draws attention to the role played by the Romantic movements of the eighteenth century. Through such words as the poems of William Wordsworth, the philosophizing of Immanuel Kant, and the prose of Henry David Thoreau, wilderness was rediscovered as the place of the “sublime”. That is, certain landscapes came to be valued as holding the promise of revealing the face of God. The Romantics searched for the sublime “on the mountaintop, in the chasm, in the waterfall, in the thundercloud, in the rainbow, [and] in the sunset” (Cronon 1995, p. 73), places that wilderness and adventure therapy programs often seek out. Besides being sublime, wilderness also came to be understood as the other of civilization in more material form. This was reflected in the Romantic idea of primitivism from Jean-Jacques Rousseau onward, culminating in American myths of the frontier (Cronon 1995). Cronon argues that the national myth of the passing frontier led to the founding of national parks in the US: wilderness had to be preserved so that the nation's men (I will return to gender in due course) could retreat there and forge themselves anew. These places became the recreational destinations of choice for those who could afford it, marking the birth of wilderness as both boundable place and as commodity. Cronon (1995) argues that the twin narratives of wilderness as sublime and of wilderness as frontier—narratives that are products of the urban-wilderness dualism-- underpin contemporary environmentalism—and I would add wilderness and adventure therapiesv. It is no coincidence that the predominant history of wilderness is also the predominant history of outdoor education (Higgins 2002) as well as nature-based sports and adventure recreation (Humberstone and Pedersen 2001).vi The following description of wilderness that Cronon (1995) ascribes to many contemporary environmentalists applies equally to much of wilderness and adventure therapy: “[wilderness is] the natural, unfallen antithesis of an unnatural civilization that has lost its soul. It is a place of freedom in which we can recover the true selves we have lost to the corrupting influences of our artificial lives. …Combining the sacred grandeur of the sublime with the primitive simplicity of the frontier, it 5 is the place where we can see the world as it really is, and so know ourselves as we really are—or ought to be.” (80) These are stirring words. Part of their power comes from how embedded these notions are in the narratives that circulate through Western society, narratives that we routinely draw on in giving meaning to our experiences and in storying our own lives. They resonate with us because wilderness has been produced by the same discourses that have produced our selves. But what is so problematic about this concept of wilderness? If wilderness is where God is, then the rest of the world, those other places, the fallen ones, become nothing more than wastelands; God has turned his back on them, or been forced to leave. If wilderness is pristine, then the other places of this world are tainted. If wilderness is to be preserved then the rest of the world may be sacrificed. This is the trap of dualistic thinking, things are black or white, no room is left for mingling, for grays, and only one side can be the right side, the ascendant side, all the rest is thrown in the wastebasket of the Other. This is not to deny that there are places where perhaps there has been less human impact on the landscape than elsewhere and which elicit strong reactions in people who encounter them. However, such encounters need to be understood as continuous with experiences in other places as Cameron (2003) writes: "the capacity to be receptive to country and be moved out of habitual states may be easier to develop in wild places, but it can and must be brought to fruition in our everyday places. Otherwise, it becomes rather an elitist exercise, giving certain people a special experience in a special place that cannot be brought home." (106) To tie this back to therapeutic process, to the extent that the doctrine of wilderness stories our true selves as existing in wilderness places and not in urban ones, it makes it difficult, if not impossible, for participants to continue to perform the preferred selves they may have developed in therapeutic programs once they return home.vii Moreover, the doctrine of wilderness as separate and special and located in specific places, allows for those places to be enrolled in the very ethos of consumption that is fuelling environmental crises. If wilderness is valuable and boundable, then monetary value can be extracted from it. A price can be put on it in terms of the costs and benefits of its preservation, the base it provides for tourist and leisure industries, and the impact on exchange-values for land, goods and services, including therapy (see also Loynes 2002), with which it is associated. If wilderness and adventure therapies are going to play a role in helping individuals and societies move towards greater sustainability, they will need to ensure that the discourses they invoke and the practices they engage in do not reinforce those dominant cultural geographies that foreclose on stories of relationship, interpenetration and hybridity between humans and the rest of the more-than-human world, but instead open up new possibilities for being and acting.viii 4. Troubling adventure If there ever was a word that demanded a story, “adventure” is it. The word cannot be uttered without conjuring up a plotline, and more often than not that plotline takes people to the wilderness. Indeed, practitioners themselves have reflected that 6 wilderness and adventure therapies, particularly when structured around an expedition, seem particularly well suited to stories (Loynes 1999) and to storytelling (Gray and Stewart 2009). The critical question is, what stories are being propagated through these discourses and practices and what stories are being silenced? Historically, Europeans went on adventures to discover and conquer other parts of the world, which were retrospectively constructed as pristine wilderness. These sets of stories about the places of adventure were exercises of power that denied the presence of and inhabitation by non-European peoples (Stewart 2008). Subsequently, Romantic artists, writers and poets, such as Wordsworth and Thoreau, also went on adventures into the wilderness, this time bringing back art and ideas. Cronon (1995) argues that although these two groups were motivated by different goals, they were both drawing on the same discourses which put culture over nature and which justify colonialism and the commodification of the more-than-human world. Today's dominant representations of adventure in the fields of wilderness and adventure therapies continue on from these historical roots (Humberstone and Pedersen 2001), emphasizing physical risk, uncertainty, remote locations and overcoming challenges posed by nature (Little 2002). They also generally involve masculine protagonists (Humberstone and Pedersen 2001 and Little 2002) and often draw on masculine military traditions (Loynes 2002).ix In these dominant cultural understandings, adventures involve traveling across space and overcoming obstacles, and are usually undertaken by people who, while they might start out as ordinary, end up becoming heroes, at least of their own lives. It is a storyline whose mythical status has been famously outlined by Joseph Campbell as the Hero's Journey (1973 [1949]). In this “monomyth” an ordinary person receives an invitation to leave the everyday world and embark on a journey or quest. On this journey the hero-in-the-making meets and must overcome many trials. If he or she is successful, a boon of some sort is granted, often to do with self-awareness. If the hero manages to bring this boon back home, it may be bestowed on the society he or she came from and enrich or restore it in some way. Joseph Campbell's impact on contemporary storytelling has been enormous. George Lucas famously used the Hero's Journey to structure his original Star Wars movie. Subsequently, Hollywood producer Christopher Vogler published a book (now in its third edition, 2007), which outlines the monomyth and advocates its use in movie- making and fiction writing. The Hero's Journey has also made its way into adventure therapy (Gray and Stuart 2009) adventure education (Loynes 1999) and adventure coaching (Gray 2004). Part of the popularity of the Hero's Journey is that it provides a template for a story that is already deeply embedded within the narratives that dominate Western societies, including wilderness and adventure therapies (see for example, Walsh and Golins 1976).x At first glance, enabling disempowered people to have experiences that allow them to story their selves with heroic plotlines may appear to be a good thing. It might seem to equalize opportunities between genders, classes, races, ages etc., and it might seem to provide motivation to disaffected members of society. Mary Gergen's (1992) analysis of biographies of prominent Americans at first appears to support such a use of the Hero's Journey. Her research finds that men tend to structure their stories along the lines of the Hero's Journey, while women's biographies tend to emphasize relationship and connection and to be more diverse, more complex and less straightforward. She argues that part of the reason women are under-represented in positions of power is because of the gendering of the hero story. However, while Gergen acknowledges that enabling women to story themselves along the lines of the Hero's Journey may help give them access to positions of power, it does so at the cost of reinforcing the dominance of 7 the monomyth and of further marginalizing other stories of what it is to be human. Men also suffer by not being able to access plotlines about connection and relationship in storying their lives.xi From a narrative therapy perspective, what is particularly troubling about the Hero's Journey is it's “mono” moniker. In its aspiration to be the one true pathway of human development, it reduces people's options for being and living. The introduction of the Hero's Journey to adventure therapy participants is useful when it provides them with a new option in storying their lives and thereby opens up a new possibility for being and acting in the world. However, it becomes problematic to the extent that its use becomes dogmatic, dominant, and reduces the range of plotlines available for people to use in giving meaning to their experiences and to their lives. From the perspective of environmental issues, the Hero's Journey is problematic for other reasons. The Hero's Journey emphasises movement across space and separation from home and from others as necessary and desirable. In this monomyth, in order for a hero to make a journey, wilderness must be clearly separate from and at a distance from home. It therefore reifies the dualism created between urban industrial society and wilderness. It also reifies a worldview in which the more-than-human world (including other people) may be judged according to whether they help or hinder the achievement of personal, individualized goals. As evidenced by the current crises, the exploitation of people and earth others in the pursuit of personal goals does not necessarily bring about happy endings for all. For just these reasons, author and literary critic Ursula K. LeGuin has re-named the hero story the “killer story” writing, “It is the story that hid my humanity from me, the story the mammoth hunters told about bashing, thrusting, raping, killing, about the Hero… The killer story. It sometimes seems that that story is approaching its end. Lest there be no more telling of stories at all, some of us out here in the wild oats, amid the alien corn, think we'd better start telling another one, which maybe people can go on with when the old one's finished." (LeGuin 1989: 168). In such hero stories the hero requires an other to be superior to, whether that be woman or nature. In Caroline Merchant's (1980) classic work, The Death of Nature, she traces the links made between women and nature throughout historyxii. In this history men are the heroes, they are the explorers, the scientists and the adventurers who manage through cunning, through violence and through leaving home, to cajole, seduce and sometimes even rape nature, forcing her to give up her secrets and treasures. This is the old story of man versus nature and ultimately of man as superior to nature (Plumwood 1993). It is also the story of the objectification of nature, which brings us back to the currently dominant story of the commodification of the more-than-human world and the reduction of earth others and places to resources and to their value in terms of monetary exchange. As Humberstone and Pederson (2001) demonstrate, this gendered story of man overcoming nature, and later of man exploiting the resources of nature, runs through the history of outdoor education and adventure sports as well. While the Hero's Journey is a story of obstacles overcome, as Gergen (1992) demonstrates, alternative and equally compelling stories may be constructed around individuals' desires and struggles to connect with and relate to others (see also Burroway 2000). Boniface (2006), in her study of gender in relation to adventurous activities, found that women tend to emphasise relationships rather than separation or accomplishments in the stories they tell about their adventures. More broadly, research 8 into wilderness and adventure therapies has shown that for many participants it is not risky activities or physical achievements—activities that might be associated with adventure narratives—that they perceived to be most beneficial, but rather the relationships they formed with other participants, with facilitators, with landscapes and with earth others (Berman and Berman 2008).xiii Indeed, this central role of relationship may be a crucial aspect of wilderness and adventure therapies' affinity with other kinds of therapies. The Hero's Journey requires an elsewhere to journey to. Being at a distance from home and being associated with nature and the feminine, wilderness is that place of the other and, therefore, the place of adventure. It is no coincidence that wilderness and adventure therapies are often elided: in the logic of dominant narratives we cannot have one without the other. In this way, wilderness and adventure therapies are incorporated into dominant narratives of wilderness as separate and opposite to cities, of landscapes and earth others as resources and commodities, and of healthy self-stories as involving gendered adventures of physical journeying in which ties are severed, obstacles are overcome and opponents (including nature) are defeated. If wilderness and adventure therapies wish merely to aid the status quo by disciplining disruptive bodies into docile, well-behaved citizen-consumers, then this argument need go no further.xiv However, if these therapies wish to contribute to the re-storying of societies in relation to the more-than-human world, then more work needs to be done. While the Hero's Journey dominates Western stories about adventure, it is not the only plotline that people use. Participants in adventurous activities, particularly women, are often already actively engaged in contesting dominant narratives about what adventure is, where it happens and who might undertake it (Little 2002). In the final sections, I offer further inspiration for opening up a range of plotlines for re- storying lives in relation to place, in relation to adventure, in relation to therapy and in relation to the more-than-human world. 5. Excavating, amplifying and mobilising alternative narratives Thus far, this paper has focused on unraveling old stories in order to examine the historical and discursive roots that wilderness and adventure therapies inadvertently draw on. This is in keeping with one of narrative therapy's most important tenets: that therapists must "be constantly vigilant in their ongoing critical examination of their practices" so that they do not end up reproducing those same universalizing discourses that dominate modern societies and their citizens (White and Epston 1990, p. 29). However, critical examination alone cannot point us towards the sorts of alternative plotlines that would reconnect us to the rest of the more-than-human world and help us transition to more environmentally sustainable ways of living. Attention must also be paid to excavating, amplifying and mobilising alternative "life stories". The plural on "stories" is crucial here. Given White and Epston's warning about unitary universalizing discourses, and the dangers associated with the currently favoured monomyth of the Hero's Journey, we must beware of replacing one "correct" story with another. Rather than reductively analysing narratives to find key elements for a monomythic Life Story, we should instead seek out the moral impulses in a diversity of stories (Frank 2002) and through openness and resonance, thicken our understandings (White 2000) of how to relate to the more-than-human world. These two contrasting orientations of reductive analysis and thickening are often portrayed in terms of thinking about stories versus thinking with them (Frank 2004). 9 Narrative therapy--with its focus on deconstructing, co-creating and thickening people's self-stories--offers useful insights for those wilderness and adventure therapists concerned with reconnecting people with the more-than-human world. In narrative therapy, the first task of the therapist is to help their client separate their sense of self from the problematic dominant narratives that are told about who they are, and to show them that there are other possible stories to tell. This is done through helping them to identify "sparkling moments" that contradict limiting stories and point towards new ones (White 2000). Because wilderness and adventure therapies provide clients with new experiences, thought should be given to creating opportunities that increase the chances that clients will experience "sparkling moments" of reconnection, care and relationship with the-more-than-human world. These opportunities might be facilitated in a range of places from the wild to the urban in order to challenge those dualistic stories that separate culture from nature. However, "sparkling moments" on their own will not be enough to facilitate change. Attention must also be given to helping people integrate these experiences into new stories. Examples of themes for such stories include the comedic (Griffiths 2008, Hickory 2003), focussing on relationships with earth others (Bleckinsop 2005, Willis forthcoming), stressing the feelings of being for another (Jones 2000), or even caring for those elements of the more-than-human world that provide challenges (Warren 1990). People do not tell stories in a vacuum. They learn what types of plots can be told in particular contexts by being exposed to other stories (Bruner 1990, Nelson 2001). The plotlines available in any culture or institutional context can be understood as narrative resources. Diversity is as useful in storytelling as it is in ecosystems and the Hero's Journey is just one possible narrative resource, there are many other resources that programme leaders and clients can draw on. There are other traditions within folklore that emphasise relationship. These are often associated with indigenous traditions in specific places (Cameron 2003; Stewart 2008; Hickory 2003).xv Programme leaders can also cue participants as to what constitutes an intelligible story through the ways in which they story their own experiences. It is therefore critical that leaders cultivate their own self-stories in ways that are compatible with an ethic of reconnection and care in relation to the more-than-human world. One easily accessible way leaders might begin to do this is to explore their lives and experiences with the published life stories of those who have already come to provisional answers to the question: how ought I to live in relation to the more-than-human world (Willis in press).xvi Since the early 1980s, there has been a noticeable re-focusing in the way many published writers story their selves in relation to nature (Sauer1989). As Shauffler (2003) explains, this new type of writing is profoundly relational: “Because nature writers have traditionally focused primarily on the external environment, those who describe the dynamic interplay between inner and outer ecology are more accurately termed ecological writers, which suggests an integration of human and natural realms and helps dissolve the traditional divide between them...The reflective personal accounts of ecological writers can best be seen as a form of natural autobiography, a memoir of their evolving relation to the more-than-human world” (11-13). This new "ecological writing" (Shauffler 2003) provides a useful narrative resource to the rewriting of selves in relationship to the-more-than-human world. Such writing fundamentally challenges dominant narratives about the separation of culture and 10 nature, urban and wilderness, and self and earth other. Ecological memoirs offer alternative plotlines by which to re-story the selves of wilderness and adventure therapy leaders and participants. In the last section of this paper, I offer brief summaries of two memoirs in which authors tell stories of healing their selves through healing their relationships with the more-than-human world (see also Willis 2009). Following practices of narrative therapy (Polkinghorne 2001), as you read these and other stories of being in relationship with the more-than-human world I invite you to ask yourself the following questions: 1. What captures my attention and imagination? 2. To which areas of my life, identity, relationships and practice as a wilderness and adventure therapist do these captivating elements relate? 3. Are there any experiences in my past that resonate with these elements? 4. What new possibilities for being, relating and acting in my life and in my practice of wilderness and adventure therapy are opened up through engaging with these stories? 6. Thinking with memoirs about healing in place The two memoirs I have chosen to introduce concern people in crisis who achieve some degree of healing through their interactions with specific places and with the earth others whom they encounter there. Their personal narratives challenge both dualistic representations of culture as separate from and ascendant over nature and the cultural geography that results. 6.1 The Hopes of Snakes, Lisa Couturier (2005) Lisa Couturier's collection of autobiographical essays is largely set in New York City. In her opening chapter, she writes that she moved to Manhattan to become a magazine writer, believing that in doing so she would have to sacrifice her connections with the more-than-human world, connections central to her identity. Though she chose this move, she still enters into a personal crisis that can only be resolved through challenging the story of Manhattan as a place bereft of earth others. Of this crisis and its resolution she says: “For someone like me who has desired little except a closeness to animals, and who craved this so strongly that without them I often felt fractured and lost, then the creatures of New York City, once discovered, became healers in a way” (xii). In her essays, Lisa journeys into the parks and wastelands of the cities where she finds herself living. In one essay she writes about watching a gull chick hatch on a heavily polluted tidal strait that separates Staten Island, New York, from New Jersey. The nest is surrounded by old tires, plastic dolls' heads and pools of iridescent, oily water, and yet here she experiences something akin to the Romantics' sublime. She writes, “I realize that after traveling through the Arthur Kill for two summers, I have given up trying to hate it. It both stuns and offends me. I cannot describe the chick’s place of birth as ugly or beautiful: such labels seem too simple. I walk away from the chick knowing only that I feel deeply for this wasteland, where through the births of birds I’ve witnessed a kind of magic” (7). In order for Lisa to develop a satisfying story for her self, she seeks out experiences that provide her with the connections to earth others that she craves. In 11 turn, these experiences lead her to challenge dominant discourses about the landscapes she inhabits and the stories she tells about her self in a way she finds healing. 6.2 The Cincinnati Arch, John Tallmadge (2004) In his memoir, John Tallmadge also writes about moving to a city. John was living in a small town where he taught environmental studies and took students on trips into the wilderness, when he suddenly found himself out of work with his first child on its way. Out of necessity, he took an administrative job in downtown Cincinnati. Like Lisa, he arrived in the city believing that as a city dweller he would no longer be able to live out his preferred storyline of being connected with the natural world. This belief depressed him. However, through a series of "sparkling moments" ranging from watching his partner give birth to noticing a weed growing through a crack in the pavement, he comes to realize that he can hold onto the story he prefers by rejecting dominant narratives that separate wilderness from urban areas and nature from humans. While John continues to spend the majority of his time in Cincinnati, he feels it is important for his wellbeing to periodically journey to landscapes that are less dominated by human activities than cities. However, he stories these journeys as continuous with his urban experiences. These pilgrimages to places that could be labeled as wilderness help John to stay awake to the presence of earth others in the city and help him to strengthen his vision of what Cincinnati could be like if “the wild” was allowed to further interpenetrate and co-exist with the urban. By understanding the urban and wilderness as interpenetrating, rather than separate, John is able to bring insights gleaned from time spent outside of cities back home to Cincinnati. These memoirs provide a tiny sample of a growing genre of literature that offers counter-narratives to those that dominate our selves and our landscapes. Rather than story some places as pristine wilderness, untouched by human activities, the protagonists of these tales seek out hybrid places where humans and other elements of nature mix. Once there, they ask themselves how they might heal through healing those places and how they might heal those places through healing themselvesxvii . These protagonists do not merely consume places, they help restore them. The best of such memoirs are also ecological in the sense of being explicitly located within physical, biological, social, cultural, economic and political contexts (Dixon 2002, Hogan 2001, Williams 2001 [1991], Grover 1997). These authors are as aware and reflexive of their position in society as they are of their place within ecosystems. As Cameron (2003) points out, in order for work on the scale of individuals to have broad implications within society, it is important to provide people with the means to contextualize their experiences both environmentally and socially. As narrative resources, thinking with ecological memoirs offers one creative starting point for rewriting wilderness and adventure therapies. Final thoughts One of the many unfortunate consequences of our current stage of globalized industrial capitalism is the reduction of diversity in the places we dwell in and the stories we tell about who we are. While I have critically unpacked the notion of wilderness and highlighted the potential importance of urban places, I do support the conservation of places which may be out of the ordinary, particularly places in which hints of plotlines that exceed the span of individual human lives and societies may be read (Rolston 1998). In landscapes such as these, often but not always the ones 12 designated as “wilderness”, our chances of experiencing the otherness of other organisms, the sense that they neither need us nor exist for our purposes, may be enhanced. Also, in such landscapes our own sense of wellbeing may be improved through our experiences of connection with earth others (Buzell and Chalquist 2009). However, in order to avoid commodifying and exploiting these landscapes and the organisms that dwell there, the stories that are told about such experiences need to acknowledge that the territories of these earth others do not end at national park boundaries but interpenetrate our own homes. We must take responsibility for all the places that are impacted by our activities. Instead of rehashing old stories of adventuresome men overcoming all the obstacles that nature puts in their way, new stories must be told, stories that challenge what adventure is and who heroes are, stories that open up possibilities for being and acting and that bring renewed meaning to people's lives and to the more-than-human world. 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Endnotes i I acknowledge that the fields of adventure and wilderness therapies are diverse and occasionally contested, I also acknowledge that some outdoor education interventions, while not specifically therapeutic, may aim to effect changes in behaviours and values through adventurous and/or wilderness experiences. However, because of word limits and my interest in the concept of wilderness, I refer throughout to this paper only to adventure and wilderness therapies and I refer to them as a group. ii See for example, the Scottish branch of the World Wildlife Fund's Natural Change program: www.naturalchange.org.uk/research. iii Sociologists Gubrium and Holstein (1999), for example, trace the influence that informal storytelling in meetings of local chapters of a self-help organization for care- givers of people with Alzheimer's disease has on the story that the national organization tells. iv Given the interrelationship between the concept of nature and wilderness, it is not surprising that their modern usage shares a common history (see Humberstone and Pedersen 2001). v For the purposes of this paper, my engagement with the literature concerning the social construction of "nature" is necessarily limited. However, those with an interest in 16 this area might wish to consult Braun' (2001) book Social Nature or the work of Haraway on naturecultures (see for example Haraway 2003). vi See Loynes (2002) for a review of some alternative historical influences upon these fields. vii For an example of a programme that incorporates an "Urban Expedition" component see Norton (2010). viii For an example of stories about relationship see Willis 2009. Hybridity and interpenetration between culture and nature are discussed academically by Latour (1993) and Haraway (1991, 2003). ix Although there are a growing number of alternative representations of adventure being articulated (see for example Loynes 2002), it has been difficult to bring these into practice because of the continued dominance of those same distructive discourses that reduce everything to instrumental value and commodified relationship (Beames 2006). x I am indebted to one of my anonymous reviewers for pointing this out to me. xi Mary Gergen, along with Kenneth Gergen, was influential in introducing the concept of the narrative-self to psychology. Their 1988 paper is still widely cited today. Her 1992 solo-authored piece discusses the misgivings she began to have over this earlier work--work that attempted to define one overarching plot-line that all self-narratives ought to have. She finds in Joseph Campbell's monomyth the source of the overarching narrative she and her husband were trying to define and concludes that it is the "major manstory" (130) dominating western culture. Contrary to the goals of her previous collaborative work, in her 1992 paper Mary Gergen concludes that having only one plot to follow imprisons people and instead advocates for a diversity of plotlines, for playfulness, and for improvisation in the storying of lives. xii For a more detailed discussion of gender and nature in relation to "nature-based" sports, including adventure-type activities, see Humberstone (1998). xiii This is not to say that there is no perceived benefit from adventure activities. In her analysis of interview narratives Norton (2010) found that they did story "challenge and adventure" as important to their experience of the programme she studied. However, in her quantitative research she also found that "positive peer group interaction" was the most statistically significant component in helping the participants therapeutically. From the perspective of this paper it is also interesting to note that "connection with nature" was also highlighted as important in participant interviews. xiv For a thought-provoking discussion of how the broader field of counselling and psychotherapy is implicated in serving the status quo and working against social change see Masson (1997). xv In working with children in North America, Caduto and Bruchac's "Keepers" series of books, which link environmental lessons to traditional native tales, could be quite useful (see for example 1989). xvi The approach of thinking with literature is already being used in the field of healthcare in an effort to bring an ethic of care, respect and generosity to relationships between healthcare providers and patients (Charon 2002 Frank 2004). xvii For more on healing selves through healing places see Willis (2009).
work_owgfo6yvfnblniet222tqdz6ay ---- !1Novi zvuk 40_DEO1i2_FINAL.indd 161 Abstract: This paper focuses on the relationship between pop culture, i.e. pop music, and ideology. The main thesis of the text is that the works of pop culture are the product of the social-historical context in which they emerge, but that the same works can also function as a criticism of that very context. As an example, we took Bob Dylan’s media phenom- enon and the elements of utopia as a narrative genre in his work. As a theoretical-interpre- tative context we relied on the propositions of American analytic philosopher Stanley Cavell: through his ethical theory on ‘moral perfectionism’ an analysis was made of the way in which pop culture functioned as the necessary internal corrective of a democratic community. It is assumed that texts on pop culture cannot be truly revolutionary, but they can certainly be critical. Keywords: pop culture, pop music, moral perfectionism, utopia, ideology, democracy. Апстракт: Рад се бави односом између популарне културе, односно популарне музике и идеологије. Основна теза текста јесте да су дела популарне музике продукт друштвено-историјског контекста у коме настају, али да та иста дела могу функционисати и као место критике тог контекста. Као пример узети су медијски феномен Боба Дилана и елементи утопије као наративног жанра у његовом раду. Као теоретско-интерпретативни оквир искоришћене су поставке америчког аналитичког филозофа Стенлија Кавела: кроз његову етичку теорију о „моралном перфекци- онизму“ анализира се на који начин популарна култура функционише као нужни STUDIES Article received on 13 February 2013 Article accepted on 15 February 2013 UDC: 78.067.26(73)"19" ; 316.72(73)"19" PLEADING FOR UTOPIA: AMERICAN PASTORAL IN BOB DYLAN’S MUSIC Nikola Dedić* University of Niš Faculty of Philosophy * Author contact information: dedicnikola@yahoo.com New Sound 40, II/ 2012 162 унутрашњи коректив демократске заједнице. Претпоставка је да текстови популарне културе и музике не могу бити револуционарни у јаком смислу те речи, али могу бити критички. Кључне речи: популарна култура, популарна музика, морални перфекционизам, утопија, идеологија, демократија Ralph Waldo Emerson in the postmodern context The starting point of this paper is the analysis of the relationship between Bob Dylan’s music and the broad tradition of the ‘inclination’ towards uto- pia, which was most clearly anticipated by Ralph Waldo Emerson within the American romanticist tradition. This kind of Emersonian progressive heritage is determined by the philosopher Stanley Cavell as ‘moral perfectionism’; moral perfectionism implies the reflection on ethics that begins with Plato and Aristo- tle, and ends with thinkers such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Friedrich Nietz- sche in the 19th century, i.e. Martin Heidegger and Ludwig Wittgenstein in the 20th century. In its modern form, moral perfectionism implies the principle of ethical progress of the subject, i.e. the transcending of the moral and material conditions of existence, but through the denial of the external guarantee of this transcending. In that sense, moral perfectionism represents the first manifesta- tion of criticism of Western metaphysics: the process of moral progress is not attained through interaction with the external instances of God, absolute spirit, ruler’s authority, religion, etc., but through the process of individual transfigu- ration that Stanley Cavell, taking Emerson’s philosophy as central, labels as ‘the process of individuation’. Moral perfectionism, in that sense, is the system of the reflection of subjectivity, along with the denial of the possibility of the external representation of that same subject; this process is, perhaps, the most consistently conveyed in Emerson’s essay ‘Self-Reliance’, where the self is de- fined as the process of continual individual progress, the revolutionizing of that same self towards transcending the current conditions of living, but through the anti-metaphysical denial of the subject’s involvement by representation1. Ac- cording to Cavell, 1 Ralf Valdo Emerson, „Samodovoljnost“, Ogledi, Grafos, Belgrade, 1983, p. 48–77; on Emerson cf. Tiffany K. Wayne, Critical Companion to Ralph Waldo Emerson. A Literary Reference to His Life and Work, Facts on File, New York, 2010; Harold Bloom (ed.), Bloom’s Classic Critical Views: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Bloom’s Literary Criticism, New York, 2008; Harold Bloom (ed.), Bloom’s Modern Critical Interpretations: Emerson’s Essays, Chelsea House Publishers, New York, 2006. 163 Emerson’s problem of representativeness, or exemplification (‘imitation’), or perfec- tion, thus begins earlier than Plato’s, both in lacking a sun and in having no standing representative man (anyone is entitled, and no one is, to stand for this election) and he warns that we have to – that we do – elect our (private) representative(s). In a sense his teaching is what we are to see beyond representativeness, or rather see it as a process of individuation.2 Thus, Cavell relates the philosophy of Ralph Waldo Emerson to the con- temporary criticism of metaphysics; Emerson is, in that sense, the anticipa- tion of Heidegger’s philosophy that supports the doubt in Cartesian rationality, where there is a denial of the possibility of absolute completeness, the totality of thinking (Emerson, due to Heidegger, is also the anticipator of the thesis about ‘the not-whole’ of thinking and the subject, which post-modernism most con- sistently inherits). The anticipation of knowledge, not mediated by any external guarantor, is also the basis of Wittgenstein’s philosophy: his main thesis is that all traditional, metaphysical notions and judgments should be considered in the context of the structure of everyday speech: knowledge, truth, the subject are the forms of linguistic definition, the proposition whose meaning is determined by context (by the rules of ‘linguistic games’) within which this proposition becomes used. So, Stanley Cavell comes to conclusions close to postmodern philosophy; the basis of his theory is, relying on Emerson – the deconstruc- tion of Western metaphysics and the devastation of the assumption about the complete, ‘whole’ subject. However, the point where Cavell, i.e. the doctrine of ‘moral perfectionism’ and post-modernism disband are political implications of these two theoretical systems; the relativistic positions of Lyotardian post-mod- ernism, through an assumption that manifestation, sense, meaning, value, or any other effect of signifying a product, are relative or arbitrary, necessarily lead to a sort of political, ethical and existential nihilism.3 Contrary to this, Cavell associates Emersonian moral perfectionism to the emancipating principle of the utopian transformation of the subject and the world; utopia is, thus, not seen as an ideal place (which would be a ‘metaphysical’ determination of utopia), but more like a non place, as an on-going and never finished process of the progres- sive improvement of the self: Emerson’s invoking the world he thinks is at once to declare what I am making as the perfectionist’s address to Utopia as to something somehow here, whose entrance is next to us, hence persistently just missed, just passed, just curbed, and so to declare that the world in question inspires or requires a particular mode of thinking. 2 Stanley Cavell, Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome: The Constitution of Emersonian Perfectionism, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London, 1990, p. 10. 3 Miško Šuvaković, „(Post)moderna i nihilizam“, Projeka(r)t No. 11–15, Novi Sad, March 2001, p. 276–282. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 164 (…) But suppose that the intelligible world is ‘the city of words’, say Utopia; and suppose that the world of that city is not a ‘something’ that is ‘outside’ (i.e., ‘beyond’ ‘the world of sense’ – what is the process Kant figures as taking a standpoint?), but is, as it says, ‘no place’, which perhaps suggests no place else, but this place transfig- ured(…) You cannot bring Utopia about. Nor can you hope for it. You can only enter it(…) In this way the imaginability of Utopia as a modification of the present forms a criterion of presence of good enough justice.4 Having all this in mind, it is possible to come up with more precise con- clusions about the ‘nature’ of Dylan’s politics: Dylan’s utopism is not leftist- Marxistic (although Dylan mostly comes from the American Leftists’ heritage and leftist-oriented folk music); his abandoning of leftist positions of folk re- flects ‘the spiritual climate’ that announced post-modernism; however, Dylan’s distancing from folk is not nihilistic (in the way Lyotard’s or Baudrillard’s is): Dylan’s abandoning of folk, his distancing from the left wing will retain a uto- pian character; this kind of utopism is in its base Emersonian, and hence anti- collectivistic, i.e. highly individualistic. Utopism of the Midwest and ‘The North Country’ Dylan’s utopism can be regarded, as David Pichaske points out, in the context of the grand heritage of the American ‘pastoral’, with the two central moments within: the motive of nature and the motive of travel. The American pastoral vision starts from the praising of rural life and it binds it with the at- tempts of the ethical defining of the ‘right’ and the ‘authentic’ way of living; within the Anglo-Saxon tradition, pastoralism becomes visible already in the works of the early British romantic poets such as Oliver Goldsmith and Thomas Gray, and later in the works of William Wordsworth, William Blake, and John Keats.5 The American pastoral, thus, has a triple foundation: aesthetic, religious and philosophical. The aesthetic frame finds its origin in the tradition of Brit- ish and American Romanticism, while the religious aspect finds its inspiration in the labour ethics of Lutheranism and later – Calvinism. The philosophical foundation of the American pastoral will allow, first of all, the representatives of transcendentalism, such as Henry David Thoreau and Ralf Waldo Emerson; their direct antecedent is Jean Jacques Rousseau’s philosophy, who praised na- ture as the source of good in the ethical sense, considering that nature and ‘the 4 Stanley Cavell, op. cit., p. 19–20. 5 David Pichaske, Song of the North Country: A Midwest Framework to the Songs of Bob Dylan, Continuum, New York, 2010. 165 authentic’ human community are contaminated by contradictions and complexi- ties, i.e. by the progress of human history. The utopian vision of nature is, thus, at the very centre of Emersonian idealistic philosophy, which begins from the assumption that the manifesting, material world is only a kind of reflection of that which Emerson will denote as ‘over-soul’ in the manner of Neo-Platonism. Emerson views nature in the context of reflecting the universal world of ideas.6 For Emerson, nature is one of the elements for attaining the ethical principal of self-reliance, i.e. the element of the progressive improvement of the subject and the critical transcending of the current conditions of existence, which is ‘con- taminated’ by the apparatus of a mechanical civilization. The reinterpretation of the Emersonian vision of nature as an element of criticism of the consumerist culture, mostly became the basis of the American counter-culture during the 1950s and 1960s – from literature (the writers of that period in their criticism of American capitalism often started from the dialectic tension between ‘the freedom’ of the revelation of nature and ‘the alienation’ of the big cities – this is the main conflict in the novels such as Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, Jack Kerouac’s On The Road and Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest), then in the movies (Laszlo Benedek’s The Wild One, Dennis Hopper’s Easy Rider, John Boorman’s Deliverance), to pop music (the whole folk revival from the be- ginning of the 1960s was founded on the fascination with the rural musical tradition of ‘the old’ America, while Emersonian pastoralism would mostly be integrated into the heritage of American psychedelic rock and country rock; typical examples are songs such as ‘Goin’ Up the Country’ by Canned Heat, ‘Woodstock’ by Jonni Mitchell, ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ and ‘Wild Montana Skies’ by John Denver, numerous songs by The Byrds, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, etc.). Such a dialectic between the criticism, i.e. the alienation of the urban and the projection, i.e. redemption in the rural, is the basis of Dylan’s utopian pastoralism: places of alienation mostly are the big cities of the East Coast (especially New York), while the utopian vision is reserved mostly for the territory of the American Midwest or ‘the North country’ (Dylan’s homeland Minnesota). This pastoral vision was present already in Dylan’s earliest songs – on the first album, in the songs such as ‘Talkin’ New York’ or ‘Song to Woody’, nature is the place of literal, but also spiritual escape from the destructiveness of the great megalopolis, which is directly sung about in ‘Desolation Row’, ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues,’ and ‘Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again’. As Pichaske points out, 6 Ralf Valdo Emerson, „Priroda“, Ogledi, Grafos, Belgrade, 1983 Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 166 Usually, Dylan finds nature, whether sunny or stormy, to be a source of sanity, res- toration, escape, grace... and the right kind of girl, what Andy Gill calls ‘the unpreten- tious, undemanding earth-mother type’. Nature is an antidote to insanity, decay, confinement, corruption, and the wrong kind of girl. ‘Time again in Love and Theft’, writes Andy Muir, ‘it seems that “majesty and heroism”, if it is to be found anywhere, is to be found in or of country roots...’ The agrarian world is depicted as the authen- tic alternative to all that has ‘gone wrong’.7 So, Dylan’s vision of nature is a symbol of deliverance and renewal, in his love songs it is a space of emotional escape from a bad relationship (e.g. ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right’), and very often a place of fulfilment of the religious ideals of the Judeo-Christian myth, where nature is related to Biblical reinterpretations (e.g. ‘11 Outlined Epitaphs’, ‘When the Ship Comes In’, ‘In the Garden’, etc.). The second important segment of American utopian pastoralism is the mo- tive of travel: Pichaske minutely explains the archetypal structure of this motive, which has been present since classic American literature, to western movies, to country music and rock and roll. Dylan’s songs on this issue reflect three basic ‘stages’ of pastoral myth on travelling: the ‘preliminary’ stage, or departure; the ‘liminaire’ stage, or separation from home on a road fraught with dangerous adventures in marvelous environments; and the ‘postliminaire’ stage, or return. This is the ideal scheme, and within American pop-culture some of these stages (as the third stage, or return) can be left out. In that sense, the road, in the utopian spirit, is experienced as a sign of individual freedom (travelling as a rejection of materialism, social hypocrisy, as well as an invitation to reject the conventional, routine way of life); finally, the metaphor of the road signifies the place of individual development, i.e. ‘In terms of personal, individual develop- ment (...) individuals are woefully incomplete if they fail to go on the road’. American authors, like Dylan, ‘proclaimed other attributes of the American open road, including health, freedom of choice, heroic deeds and art, above all the expanded consciousness’.8 The motive of travel is essentially related to the dialectic tension between criticism and projection; the frequent absence of the third phase implies the Protestant ethics which insist on the linear, progressivist view of history and consideration of America as a utopian project of constant expansion towards the West. On the other hand, the absence of the motive of return implies the issue of alienation of the subject which is in the process of 7 David Pichaske, op. cit., p. 117. 8 Cecelia Tichi, High Lonesome: The American Culture of Country Music, The University of North Carolina Press, 1994. 167 ongoing internal transformation. Here lies the ambiguity of American utopism which is still necessarily connected to the feeling of loss (a typical Dylanesque bond between travel and problematic emotional relationships), and thus, to the motive of nostalgia. As Pichaske points out, You can’t go home. Nat Hentoff once wrote of Dylan, ‘You can only go home for a visit, unless you’ve stopped growing’, but that’s not it, really. You can’t go home again because the person returning home is not the person who left home, and home is not the way you remember it. Actually, in the Midwest these days, home is prob- ably falling apart. (...) Thus develops the sense of bewildered nostalgia which colors so much of the depar- ture-return literature of the Midwest, including the late songs of Bob Dylan. You remember why you left, you know that what you found away from home was in many respects no better than what you had at home, you know that home is even deader now than it was when you left, you know you no longer fit in at home, so you might as well be away.9 Such a description fits perfectly into the determination of ‘moral perfec- tionism’ that Stanley Cavell provides, and which, again, agrees with the post- modernist thesis about the non-whole subject, i.e. the subject in the process, but from over-antinihilistic positions. According to Cavell, Emersonian moral perfectionism describes a progressive process of signifying a ‘still not attained, but attainable self’: To recognize the unattained self is, I gather, a step in attaining it(...) I do not read Emerson as saying(...) that there is one unattained/attainable self we repetitively never arrive at, but rather that ‘having’ ‘a’ self is a process of moving to, and from, nexts. It is, using a romantic term, the ‘work’ of (Emerson’s) writing to present next- ness, a city of words to participate in.10 Utopism of romantic love One more element that follows, and practically derives from Dylan’s utopian pastoralism is the image of the romantic relationship; it is even possible to say that in the whole of Dylan’s opus, along with the motive of politics, the motive of romantic love takes a dominant position. What is typical of Dylan is the fact that the image of this romantic relationship is always related to a broader vision of the critical perception of social reality, i.e. to an attempt of transcending it; accord- 9 David Pichaske, op. cit., p. 157. 10 Stanley Cavell, op. cit., p. 12. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 168 ingly, a few motives are integrated into Dylan’s perception of romantic love: (1) criticism of urbanized consumerist society, (2) the praising of individualism and (3) searching for ‘authentic’ life, in keeping with the pastoral vision of the world. The frequent method that Dylan uses in the criticism of modern consumer- ist society is the representation of the allegedly ‘inauthentic’ way of life through female characters, in songs like: ‘Like a Rolling Stone’, ‘Just Like a Woman’, ‘To Ramona’, ‘Bob Dylan’s Blues’, ‘Love Sick’, etc. What connects all these songs is the bond between the ‘bad’ woman and the alienation of life in a con- sumerist megalopolis; a paradigmatic case is ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ in which Dylan portrays the ‘fallen’ woman from high society. The song famously opens: ‘Once upon a time you dressed so fine / You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn’t you?’ The suggestion here is that the female ad- dressee held a high position in the social hierarchy, from which she behaved conde- scendingly towards others lower down the ladder. The idea that she is further developed in Dylan’s remark that: ‘You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and clowns / When they all come down and did tricks for you.’ This woman was clearly the center of attention, and used those around her for her own pleasure and entertainment. Further, Dylan seems to accuse the addressee of the song – and presumably others like her – of being not only callous towards others lower down on the social ladder, but also guilty of the crime of wasting their own time (...) Those at the top of the consumerist culture ladder fritter away their lives by trading with each other the tokens of their success. All of us who are familiar with this song will no doubt agree that Dylan’s bitterness at such societal workings is hard to over- estimate.11 For Dylan, material wealth and status symbols mask weakness, and they are not able to offer maturity, ‘depth’, or strength. As an answer to the ‘lies’ of consumerist society and ‘inauthentic’ life, Dylan offers the need for the individ- ualistic, spiritual transformation of the subject. This is why the second dominant theme of Dylan’s love poetry is the criticism of possessiveness, emotional re- lationships, i.e. an escape from a bad relationship; typical examples are: ‘Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right’, ‘I’m Not There’, ‘It Ain’t Me, Babe’, ‘It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue’, ‘If You Gotta Go, Go Now’, etc. These motives derive from a typical Emersonian view on interpersonal relationships; the base of Emersonian philosophy is searching for the state of self-reliance of the subject; anyway, this does not imply a life in isolation, but reaching for mental self-reliance, where 11 Kevin Krein and Abigail Levin, ‘Just Like a Woman: Dylan, Authenticity, and the Sec- ond Sex’, Peter Vernezeze and Carl J. Porter (eds.), Bob Dylan and Philosophy: It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Thinking), Open Court, Chicago and La Salle, 2006, p. 54–55; also cf. Bar- bara O’Dair, „Bob Dylan and Gender Politics“, Kevin J. H. Dettmar (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Bob Dylan, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2009, p. 80–86. 169 no social relationship is experienced as given, but as an assumption that all so- cial relations are prone to constant questioning and the free decision of an indi- vidual; loneliness is often a basic element of self-acceptance of the subject, and a precondition for reaching emotional independence. Only with this acceptance of the self is it possible to enter into social relationships on an equal basis. Such a relationship implies a radical rejection of possessiveness: In two essays on love and in other pieces on domestic life, Emerson tries to look at love – even at personal love – from the perspective of mental self-reliance. It is not always easy to say whether he is being unsettlingly radical or just prudish or cold. Maybe the line between the two is indistinct: the radical individualism of Emerson’s sort is in a principled opposition to possessiveness and exclusiveness in human rela- tions because these qualities are interwoven with the vices of envy, jealousy, and spite. What binds too tightly also blinds: exclusive love presumptuously defines the lover and the loved.12 This does not mean that Dylan, especially in his poetry of the 1960s, re- jects the possibility of a harmonious, almost ideal emotional relationship; this relationship is, however, bound to his pastoral utopian criticism of capitalism. The ‘ideal’ woman in Dylan’s imagination is always related to the rural and preindustrial archetype of the ‘authentic’ America; such an idealized image of the woman is in opposition to the inauthentic life in the big cities – the ‘ideal’ woman is a synonym for nature, i.e. for the rural territories of the Midwest and ‘The North Country’ (projection), while the ‘bad’ woman, i.e. bad emotional relationship, is related to urban (criticism): Dylan’s pastoralism causes him to associate good women with benevolent nature, and bad women with the city (...) The association of the good girl with country life is not unusual in American thought, and might have religious origins. In his study of the American pastoral, Mark Peter Buechsel notes, ‘The conflation of the Virgin, Woman, Midwestern nature, and sac- ramentalism in opposition to an ideological cluster centered around the Dynamo (mechanical culture), abstraction, industrialism, literalism, and the New England tradition can be traced in any number of Midwestern works.’ Dylan is in this regard a typical Midwestern pastoralist.13 Such examples of the idealized, rural archetype of woman are more than numerous: ‘Girl of the North Country’, ‘Tomorrow is a Long Time’, ‘Ballad in Plain D’, ‘Mama, You Been on My Mind’, ‘Love Minus Zero/No Limit’, ‘Sad- 12 George Kateb, ‘Friendship and Love’, Harold Bloom (ed.), Bloom’s Modern Critical In- terpretations: Emerson’s Essays, Chelsea House Publishers, New York, 2006, p. 208. 13 David Pichaske, op. cit., p. 124. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 170 Eyed Lady of the Lowlands’, ‘I’ll Remember You’, ‘One More Cup of Coffee (Valley Below)’, and among albums, Dylan’s most ‘pastoral’ one is Nashville Skyline (1969), which is, by no means accidentally, a true country album, both in the musical and in the poetic sense; it is dominated by songs where the visions of idealized love are interwoven with pastoral visions of nature (‘To Be Alone With You’, ‘I Threw It All Away’, ‘Lay, Lady, Lay’, ’Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here With You’). The album represents one more of many ‘turnovers’ in Dy- lan’s work – the lyrics are reduced, fit into the traditional structure of country music, without any allusions to post-modernist experiments from his rock’n’roll phase; in the moment of its creation, the album caused numerous controversies: immediately after the revolutionary 1968, at the moment when the American counter-culture and the new left wing reached their peak, Dylan, outside every stream, recorded an apolitical album in Nashville about love relationships and the idyllic country pastoral. However, through a retrospective reading of the album, in the context of Emersonian utopism, it is possible to recognize that Dylan’s apoliticality is in this case also illusory, and that one of the most ‘apo- litical’ of Dylan’s albums is possible to read in the clearly ideological key. However, it should be emphasized that Dylan’s pastoral, idealized vision of the romantic relationship is simultaneously one of the most disputable segments of his work: the ‘ideal’ woman is reduced to the level of an archetype, not rarely of even typical male phantasm; an active woman is bound to the alienation of the machine-like, consumerist culture, and in Dylan’s verses she frequently becomes criticized. Dylan’s goal is self-reliance, individual freedom and tran- scending the current conditions of existence, but it seems that this transcen- dence is reserved only for the male hero. The woman in Dylan’s verses is rarely an individual in the real sense, and even less ‘the heroine’, i.e. the protagonist. She’s more a passive mythical image that offers ‘shelter from the storm’ (as the song of the same name says) to the male, active hero: The women he praises are almost all ones who have given him shelter from the storm, who are there to allow him to go someplace that is innocent and in which he can escape from the harsh realities of a competitive social world that contains deceit and injustice. But they can do that only by completely removing themselves from the modern world. The way Dylan describes them, the most active thing they do is grow- ing their hair. Beauvoir complains of such women that, ‘The curse that is open woman as vassal consists, as we have seen, in the fact that she is not permitted to do any- thing; so she persists in the vain pursuit of her true being through narcissism, love, or religion’. Of course, Dylan feels safe and relaxed in the company of women who do little else but lie across his big brass bed.14 14 Kevin Krein and Abigail Levin, op. cit., p. 61. 171 In addition, what distinguishes Dylan from the typical machoist perception of the world, which dominated the rock’n’roll in the 1960s, despite the first hints of feminism, is the perception of the romantic relationship in a broader political and social context, with a tendency towards a renewal of the utopian way of thinking.15 Also interesting is Dylan’s period from the mid-1970s when he was gradually leaving the idealistic and pastoral view of romantic love (in order to exchange it for a religious view, by the end of the 1980s): Blood on The Tracks from 1975 is a paradigmatic album where the dominant motives in the songs are devastated love, loneliness, misunderstanding and separation, instead of the complete utopia of a realized love relationship; in this case, Dylan associ- ates personal themes with a broader social and ideological context – alienation, instability, and contradictions of historical development have an impact on the complexity of emotional relationships. Despite the evident machoism, Dylan came close to feminist practice at least in one segment: for Dylan, as well as for feminism, the personal is always political. Utopism of the Judeo-Christian myth The third segment in which Dylan’s utopism can be recognized is the tradi- tion of the Judeo-Christian myth; this religious aspect of Dylan’s pastoral can be recognized from the beginning of the 1960s, but it would culminate at the end of the 1970s – on the album John Wesley Harding (1967) and partly on The Basement Tapes that was recorded during 1967 and published later in 1975, and then on the albums from Dylan’s ‘Christian phase’ from the late 1970s and the beginning of the 1980s. The starting point of this religious utopism is the con- struction of the prophet figure as the basis of Dylan’s media image: the prophet is the man chosen by God in order to spread the revelation and to advocate God’s will before the people. The prophet is thus a strictly individualized char- acter, who speaks for and on behalf of the community; the prophet is the symbol 15 According to this, until the emergence of punk, the greatest female names were mostly related to strong, great male authors, and later they were recognized as ‘authentic’ authors: Wanda Jackson had been standing in the ‘shadow’ of Elvis Presley (in the context of rocka- billy), Joan Baez in the ‘shadow’ of Bob Dylan (in the context of folk), Emmylou Harris in the ‘shadow’ of Gram Parsons (in the context of country rock). These female artists had opened a road to female emancipation within rock’n’roll that would really take place in the mid-1970s with punk; in that sense, the key position was taken by Patti Smith’s album Horses, which seemed to be the first great, truly ‘female’ rock album. Also see: Simon Frith and Angela McRobbie, „Rock and Sexuality“, Simon Frith and Andrew Goodwin (eds.), On Record: Rock, Pop and the Written Word, Routledge, London and New York, 2006, pp. 371– 389; Mark Paytress, Patti Smith’s Horses and the remaking of Rock’n’Roll, Piatkus, London, 2010. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 172 of truth, and he stands for the feeling of continuity, i.e. a utopian projective relationship between the present and the future. In other words, the prophet acts within the dialectical tension and between criticism of the present moment and projectivity, i.e. the prediction, that is to say, between sin (alienation) and salva- tion. For his audience, since the earliest days, Dylan has been some kind of po- et-prophet: the audience has always experienced his music as a form of almost mystical knowledge that reveals the truth about the corruption and alienation of America, suffering, class and racial inequality; all this implies the presence of a strict, almost moralizing perception of the world. The sources of Dylan’s ‘pro- phetic’ utopism are, firstly, the Hebrew tradition, and then a specific heritage of the American Christian-oriented Romanticism. According to Stephen Scobie, The Hebrew prophet took on a public role, speaking about the moral and political health of a whole community. ‘A constant characteristic of Hebrew prophecy’, writes Peter Southwell, ‘was its concern with matters of national morality and social justice, with the character of God and his purposes for Israel and mankind.’ At various stages in his career, Dylan’s prophetic stance has been inflected in different ways: through his involvement with the civil rights movement of the early 1960s; through his ex- plicitly Christian preaching of the late 1970s; and through the tradition of American music which gives him the words to proclaim, in 1994, that we live in a ‘world gone wrong’. Always, however, the concern is public and, in a broad, nonpartisan sense, political.16 In that sense, the basis of the whole of Dylan’s work is the movement be- tween a projective and a critical ‘analysis’ of the current social order; his image of society is simultaneously utopian and apocalyptic, and it exists between the vision of the ideal, but still not attained future, and the dystopian present. On the other hand, the figure of the prophet is also a part of the specific American heritage, founded primarily on the Christian tradition of the 17th century American Puritans, as well as the poetic tradition of Anglo-American Romanticism, outlined by 19th century writers such as William Blake, Walt Whitman, and Henry Thoreau, and taken over in the 20th century by Allen Gins- berg, Woody Guthrie and Dylan himself. However, at the very centre of this tra- dition is, again, Ralph Waldo Emerson and his individualistic, anti-institutional views on religiousness, which are some kind of non-canonical reinterpretations of the utopian philosophy of St. Augustine. This relationship between Emerson and Augustinian utopism, that can directly be applied to the understanding of Dylan’s pastoral, is underlined by Harold Bloom; the Emersonian vision of the world rests upon the duality between the apocalyptic vision of reality, i.e. the individualized vision of sin and messianism, i.e. the progressive improvement 16 Stephen Scobie, Alias Bob Dylan Revisited, Red Deer Press, Alberta, 2003, p. 27. 173 of the self. For Emerson (as well as for Dylan), the apocalypse and utopia are the constituent elements of the ‘American sublime’: Augustine’s vision of the Fall, as Brown also shows, had changed from an early, quasi-Platonian belief, which was that Adam and Eve had ‘fallen’ into physicality: ‘that the prolific virtues they would have engendered in a purely “spiritual” existence had declined, with the Fall, into the mere literal flesh and blood of human families’. In the mature Augustinian doctrine, the dualizing split in human consciousness is no technical descent to a lower degree of being, but is the most willful and terrible of catastrophes. How does this compare with the catastrophe theory in Freud, and in Emerson? Do all three doctors-of-the-soul, Augustine, Emerson and Freud agree fundamentally that consciousness, as we know it, cannot inaugurate itself without a catastrophe? (...) This, I now assert, is the distinguishing mark of the specifically American Sublime, that it begins anew not with the restoration of rebirth, in the radically displaced Prot- estant pattern of the Wordsworthian Sublime, but that it is truly past even such dis- placement, despite the line from Edwards to Emerson that scholarship accurately continues to trace. Not merely rebirth, but the even more hyperbolic trope of self-re- begetting, is the starting point of the last Western Sublime, the great sunset of self- hood in the Evening Land.17 For Bloom, this tension between alienation and salvation is not only a part of Emerson’s political vision of society, but a much more typical, Emersonian conception of subjectivity that Bloom associates with Freud’s ‘catastrophe’, i.e. ‘the Fall’ is an element in constituting the subject, which is split between the process of repression and sublimation. In other words, the dialectic of ‘apoca- lypse’ and ‘deliverance’, criticism and projections, but within the process of individuation, are the constituent elements of the Emersonian vision of transfor- mative subjectivity, i.e. the vision of the ‘attainable, but still not attained self’, in keeping with the principles of ‘moral perfectionism’. That is how it is relatively easy to understand the changes in Dylan’s po- litical program; Dylan’s utopia moved from a traditionally, Marxist political utopism that was cherished in the American folk revival from the beginning of the 1960s, to the utterly individualized, anti-collectivist, Emersonian utopism from the late 1960s, resting upon the rejection of all grand, collectivist, politi- cal projects, that were cherished in both folk and the American new left-wing and counter-culture, on the whole. His early folk songs have a clear program 17 Harold Bloom, ‘Introduction: The American Sublime’, Harold Bloom (ed.), Bloom’s Modern Critical Interpretations: Emerson’s Essays, Chelsea House Publishers, New York, 2006, pp. 4, 8. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 174 structure, and one can comment that they are often examples, in the true sense of the word, of ‘engaged’ political song; social criticism in them is almost never satirical, but Dylan binds the apocalyptical vision of modern America with poli- tics, i.e. with the social role of the poet and the musician. The dominant themes he deals with are universality of individual freedom, i.e. the themes of political, class and racial equality. A turnabout followed in the mid-1960s, and his rejec- tion of the ideology of the American New Left culminated in the albums after his ‘electric phase’, when he came nearer to the tradition of American country music. Utopism in John Wesley Harding is more religious than political, more individualist than collectivist, more mystical than programmatic. However, John Wesley Harding, perhaps, has the ‘cleanest’ structure where the mentioned dia- lectics between the critical and projective aspect of Dylan’s music are in ques- tion: the album is not directly political, but it is ideological criticism transposed into the language of biblical parables – the A side of the album is dominated by songs with motives of sin, alienation, temptation and death, while the B side offers the motives of deliverance and projection. Seth Rogovoy points out this individualistic character of Dylan’s utopism from the end of the 1960s, on the example of The Basement Tapes: Beginning with the songs on The Basement Tapes, Dylan’s interests around this time shift from the merely prophetic toward the mystic. It’s hard to separate the two, as the prophetic experience is at heart a mystical one – a Prophet, inspired by the divine, has undergone something of a mystical experience. And much of the basis of Jewish mysticism comes in the form of prophetic visions of the Godhead, for example, Ezekiel’s chariot, and in vivid descriptions of the end of days and the Messianic era. It is precisely this aspect of the prophetic tradition – call it prophetic mysticism – which now engages Bob Dylan intensely, more so than, say, that of social criticism. This corresponds with a sense that with time and maturity Dylan has grown con- cerned with personal matters and less with social critique, although, as we shall see, the pendulum will swing back before settling somewhere in between the two polari- ties. 18 Between utopia and nostalgia: The Basement Tapes The Basement Tapes is a 1975 album that consists of a series of record- ings which were released during 1967 by Dylan and the members of the-band- to-be The Band; the recordings had been circulating as bootleg, and later the album comprised dozens of recordings that had originally consisted of covers of traditional folk songs, improvisations and completely new songs, many of 18 Seth Rogovoy, Bob Dylan: Prophet, Mystic, Poet, Scribner, New York, 2009, p. 123; cf. also: Christopher Ricks, Dylan’s Visions of Sin, ECCO, New York, 2005. 175 which would remain unfinished ‘sketches’. I shall not go into a close reading of the mentioned recordings, but I am going to focus on the interpretation offered by Greil Marcus, one of the most significant American interpreters of Dylan’s work, in the book entitled Invisible Republic, which was created from the ‘side notes’ for the mentioned Dylan album. Generally speaking, Marcus’s approach is certainly unique when it comes to the interpretation of rock music: he is a critic with nomadic principles who functions on the border of musical jour- nalism, musical criticism, and literature, but also ‘serious’, i.e. philosophically grounded cultural theory. Marcus treats pop phenomena as symptoms within Western culture, putting them into inter-textual relations with painting, art, so- cial movements, i.e. material practices within a certain historically given so- ciety. In his book, Markus does not offer ‘the analysis’ of the album released by Dylan and The Band, but the writing that steps into the already mentioned inter-textual relationship with music, practically complementing it in its own medium; the book functions almost as a paraliterary ‘stream of consciousness’ that has related Dylan’s album to phenomena such as American folk music, Cal- vinist Christianity, mining trade-union movements from the early 1900s, and the American politics of the second half of the 20th century. So, this book is on the edge of criticism, literature and theory; in its very centre dwells the notion of utopia.19 In Marcus’s interpretation of Dylan’s album it is possible to recognize the double determination of the notion of utopia – first of all, the determination of utopia as a pastoral vision of the ideal city; in that sense, utopia is viewed as an ideal place, or non-place, i.e. ‘a place without the place, we see ourselves where we are not, in the imaginary space that opens up, potentially, from the other side of its surface, we are there where we are not, and what is more important, we see ourselves where we do not exist’.20 Marcus uses the metaphor of an ideal city in order to describe Dylan’s relationship towards the vision of a better, more perfect society, that emerged through the musical and cultural dialogue with the folk heritage that was collected by Harry Smith in his famous Anthology of American Folk Music; Dylan’s world, i.e. the vision of the world presented in The Basement Tapes is some kind of experimental reflection of the social pas- toral that Smith’s anthology sketches. In the paraliterary, parasurrealistic key, Marcus sketches two ideal cities, two possible visions of a better, more humane community, which society constructs as the answer to the antagonisms of the current order. The view of Smith’s folk world (which Marcus describes with the 19 Greil Marcus, Invisible Republic: Bob Dylan’s Basement Tapes, Picador, London, 1998. 20 Branislav Dimitrijević, „Heterotopografija“, Irina Subotić (ed.), Umetnost na kraju veka, Clio, Belgrade, 1998. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 176 metaphor of a city under the imaginary name of Smithville) is a nostalgic view of an idealistic, rural community uncontaminated by industrialization and me- chanical civilization; Dylan’s world (a new ideal city named Kill Devil Hills) is the actualization of the utopian impulse in the moment when American society, under the wave of the Vietnam War, imperialism and consumerism, has departed from the principles of universal freedom and equality. The two ideal cities are related to each other as the head and tail of the same utopian vision; the view of the past gives directions for an emancipating vision of the future: Each time a new key opened a door, America opened up into both the future and the past – and it is perhaps only a progressive notion of time that leads one to presume that when Dylan spoke of an America that was wide open, he meant open to what was to come, not to what had been, open to the question of who and what Americans might become, not to the question of who and where they came from. There is no nostalgia in the basement recordings; they are too cold, pained, or ridiculous for that. The mechanics of time in the music are not comforting. In the basement, the past is alive to the degree that the future is open, when one can believe that the country re- mains unfinished, even unmade; when the future is foreclosed, the past is dead. How the future depends on the past is more mysterious. (...) in the basement you could believe in the future only if you could believe in the past, and you could believe in the past only if you could touch it, mold it like the clay from which the past had molded you, and change it. (...) Like the records Smith collected, the known and unknown basement tapes together make a town - a town that is also a country, an imagined America with a past and a future, neither of which seems quite as imaginary as any act taking place in the pres- ent of the songs.21 The vision of the ideal city that functions as a corrective narrative within the current historical moment is related to the vision of utopia as a transitory instance, as a project of incessant transformation, i.e. the perception of utopia as a processuality: at this point, Marcus associates The Basement Tapes, i.e. the fragmented, unfinished structure of the tapes from Woodstock, their bond with the past, and their critical relationship towards the present (where ‘art, religion, and politics’ are parts of the same process), with a great utopian project that was sketched by Walter Benjamin in his unfinished work Passagen-Werk. It is one of the most ambitious, in the true sense, utopian theoretical essays of the 20th cen- 21 Greil Marcus, op. cit., pp. 70, 128. 177 tury: Benjamin starts from the motive of the 19th-century Paris, around which he arranges a critical image of the whole bourgeois culture, building a synthetic analysis of the capitalistic relations of the production. During a long period of time, Benjamin complemented his work with a series of fragmented images, depictions, the accompanying texts that very often had only distant matching points with the main ‘theme’ of his monumental study. Benjamin’s ‘magnum opus’ between 1927 and 1940 became some sort of personal obsession with collecting, archiving and collaging, which would, in the end, as a utopian ten- dency for the ‘total’ work of philosophy, remain unfinished. This is a typical, modern work of philosophy with processuality in its centre; similarly, Smith’s anthology and the monumental collection of poems, improvisations, sketches, and covers that include tapes from Woodstock, are examples of ongoing, never finished, Utopian-progressivist projects; like Benjamin’s work, The Basement Tapes remained an unfinished album, which is more a sketch, a draft that binds the past with the utopian vision of the future, and not a complete unit that would attain at least a pseudo-ideal form. Conclusion: Dylan, pop culture and the criticism of American democracy Finally, one must ask a question considering Dylan’s radical individual- ism and pastoral utopism, regarding the social and historical context in which it emerges, and that context is a project of American liberal democracy of the second half of the 20th century. Dylan’s work rests upon the idea of perma- nent criticism of all the ‘official’ institutions of the liberal capitalistic soci- ety – starting from the university, the political institutions, political parties, to the capitalistic economic order: in Dylan’s poetry, the institutions of American liberalism are presented as essentially corrupt and incapable of guaranteeing the individual, the principles of freedom, equality and the individual develop- ment of their personality. Dylan’s utopism is an answer to a sort of ‘contami- nation’ of the American democratic order. However, if Dylan’s utopism is not leftist-collectivist, if Dylan changes the language of the materialistic analysis of equality, within the American capitalistic system, for the idealized language of the rural pastoral, should it be written off as naive idealism, or as a form of radical individualist elitism, in which a contempt for all collective emancipat- ing projects is built? This is one of the central questions that Stanley Cavell asks with regard to Emerson’s individualistic moral perfectionism: can we use Emerson, in the current postmodern environment, as a relevant reference for critical reflection on modern democracy? Here Cavell enters a dialogue with the American liberal theorist John Rawls, who treats Emerson as a form of elitist, i.e. teleological Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 178 philosophical and ideological platform. Radical individualism, at worst, im- plies the demand to reject all the institutions of the liberal order, i.e. there is a platform which demands the totalitarian suspension of all democratic principles (the extreme form of individualism); at best, in its moderate, Emersonian op- tion, individualism is a teleological political platform that rests upon the ideal idea of maximization of the potential of the individual, or certain (often privi- leged) classes in keeping with the concept of ‘high culture’: ‘In the moderate version, it is merely one principle amongst others and directs society to arrange institutions and to define the duties and obligations of individuals so as to maxi- mize the achievement of human excellence in art, science and culture.’22 On the other hand, Cavell rejects such a teleological interpretation of Emerson, and puts his moral perfectionism into the centre of democratic debate, i.e. of what Rawls determines as ‘the debate on justice’. For Cavell, moral perfectionism is the individualist, but not the atomist, i.e. the elitist ethical position: Emerson also takes over Plato’s assertion, according to which, in order to constitute real democratic social relationships, it is necessary to walk the path from the prin- ciple of ‘being one’ to the system where the individual is a representative of society as a whole: I might at once declare that the path from the Republic’s picture of the soul’s journey (perfectible to the pitch of philosophy by only a few, forming an aristocratic class) to the democratic need for perfection, is a path from the idea of there being one (call him Socrates), who represents for each of us the height of the journey, to the idea of each of us being representative for each of us – an idea that is a threat as much as opportunity.23 In that sense, moral perfectionism is the practice of criticism of democracy within democracy; the freedom of practicing radical individualistic utopism is possible only within the democratic order: If there is perfectionism not only compatible with democracy but necessary to it, it lies not in excusing democracy for its inevitable failures, or looking to rise above them, but in teaching how to respond to those failures, and to one’s compromise by them, otherwise than by excuse or withdrawal. To teach this is an essential task in Rawl’s criticism of democracy from within.24 Emerson’s moral perfectionism and his thesis on ‘self-reliance’, i.e. Dy- lan’s pastoral utopism as the objectification of Emerson’s thesis within the cur- 22 Stephen Mulhall, Stanley Cavell: Philosophy’s Recounting of the Ordinary, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1998, p. 267. 23 Stanley Cavell, Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome: The Constitution of Emerso- nian Perfectionism, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London, 1990, p. 9. 24 Ibid, p. 18. 179 rent postmodern pop culture are in the very centre of what Cavell determines as the ethical debate on justice and the just society, i.e. democracy. Cavell ap- proaches the reflection on democracy through reflection on morals and morally correct action, in Wittgenstein’s spirit, from radically anti-essentialist positions; for Cavell, there is no transcendental, metaphysical foundation of moral values; ethics is founded in language, and as such, it rests not upon the universal ethical imperatives, but on grammatical rules defined by the community, through the process of communication. The question of ethics is thus the question of proce- dures and not conclusions; ethics is a dynamic debate between the members of a community, and not a static and unchangeable facticity. Thus, for Cavell, there is no morality by itself, but the conditions of ethically correct action are defined through the relationship with another: ‘In effect, participation in this practice involves declaring something about oneself and discovering something about others; moral discussion is an arena for the revelation of oneself to another.’25 Or as Cavell puts it, the point is to determine what position you are taking, that is to say, what position you are taking responsibility for – and whatever it is, one I can respect. What is at stake in such discussion is not, or not exactly, whether you know our world, but whether, or to what extent, we are to live in the same moral universe. What is at stake in such examples as we’ve so far noticed is not the validity of morality as a whole, but the nature or quality of our relationship with one another.26 In other words, to act politically within a certain social context means to speak on behalf of others, and to leave the possibility for others to speak on behalf of us; the constitution of a political identity is the practice of self-knowl- edge through a relationship with other members of a community. However, the moment when the ideals of the community, defined through the practice of moral debate between their members are abandoned, the individual is left with the possibility to ‘withdraw consent’ in terms of political participation in that community. This is exactly the practice of Dylan’s utopism that appears in the moment when the ideals of universal equality become abandoned; this is in fact a demand not for the elitist privatization of political speech, but a demand for the redefinition of the ‘polis’, i.e. of society as a whole. The ‘withdrawal of consent’ in the process of political participation is a demand for the reconstruc- tion of the principle of universality, and not its deconstruction, it is a criticism of democracy within democracy, and not a demand for its abolition: Dissent is also an attempt to speak for others, and if it involves rebuking some who claimed to speak for the dissenter, it is intended to bring them back to a position in 25 Stephen Mulhall, op. cit., p. 41. 26 Stanley Cavell, The Claim of Reason, quoted from Stephen Mulhall, ibid., p. 41. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 180 which they can continue to do so; it is an attempt to restore or redefine the nature and extent of the polis, not an attempt to move beyond its bounds. (...) When citizens such as Thoreau resort to civil disobedience, they are not attempting to privatize their political voice, to transform it into something non-political, but are rather using it to rebuke their fellow citizens in the name of something to which they are jointly committed.27 This is exactly Dylan’s position: the pastoral, utopian withdrawal from the political community is a tendency towards the reconstruction of the original ideals of equality and egalitarianism that the community abandoned, as well as the tendency to define the position from which the individual speaks on be- half of others; i.e. withdrawal from the political community, in keeping with the principles of self-reliance and moral perfectionism, means defining a new form of universality which is founded on the exception. In that sense, Dylan’s individualistic utopism is not the elitist rejection of democracy, but exactly the opposite – Dylan is an example of how pop culture functions as the necessary internal corrective of a democracy. In other words, Dylan is a typical product of the American liberal project, but also the place of its radical utopian criticism. Translated by Ivana Marjanović 27 Stephen Mulhall, ibid., p. 63.
work_oza2zvb6ujbplmgcyjo2qwueai ---- Cultivating an Academy We Can Live With: The Humanities and Education for Sustainability1 religions Article Cultivating an Academy We Can Live With: The Humanities and Education for Sustainability1 Lucas Johnston Department for the Study of Religions, Wake Forest University, 118 Wingate Hall, PO Box 7212 Reynolda Station, Winston-Salem, NC 27109, USA; johnstlf@wfu.edu Academic Editor: Evan Berry Received: 16 March 2016; Accepted: 7 September 2016; Published: 28 September 2016 Abstract: Many facets of the university system in North America are fundamentally unsustainable, developing and perpetuating knowledge practices that not only do not sustain the biospheric conditions in which our species evolved, but actually defray them. This analysis proceeds in three ways: (a) highlights the historical entanglement of religion and sustainability discourse and the now global concern over climate disruption; (b) it interrogates assumptions regarding whether, when, and to what extent scholars of religions should advance politically significant arguments; (c) explores problem-based learning and integrative curricular development, which may be fostered by focusing on complex wicked problems such as climate disruption. Keywords: sustainability; climate change; religion and sustainability; higher education; education for sustainability; problem-based learning 1. Introduction Although there are a variety of ways that one can interpret the concept of sustainability, by almost any definition much of the knowledge the contemporary academy produces contributes to an unsustainable civilization. As the Vice Provost of St. Mary’s College Richard Carp put it, “the network of institutions that make up ‘the academy’, which includes not only colleges and universities, but also (at least) professional and disciplinary organizations, its sources of funding, and its methods for distributing economic and status rewards, predominantly defray rather than support resilience” ([1], p. 224). Some educators have long been aware of this fact, but because that ultimately unsustainable academic network of interests and individuals has its own inertia, it has been slow to change. The environmental educator David Orr wrote in 1991 that “sustainability is about the terms and conditions of human survival, and yet we still educate at all levels as if no . . . crisis existed. The content of our curriculum and the process of education . . . have not changed, the crisis cannot be solved by the same kind of education that helped create the problems” ([2], p. 83; quoted in ([3], p. 79). Unfortunately many of these shortcomings remain in the academy in general, particularly within the humanities disciplines, and I want to link climate change and education for sustainability together by wrestling with some of the obstacles which prevent change—some of the things which contribute to the inertia of the status quo. I do so first by highlighting that contested terms like sustainability and climate disruption are themselves deeply entwined with religious and spiritual narratives, and have been part of the political economy of the sacred since they became widely deployed in the public sphere.2 The religion scholar 1 My thanks to Richard Carp, Todd LeVasseur, Bernie Zaleha, and several anonymous reviewers who provided helpful feedback on early drafts. 2 Chidester [4] uses the phrase “political economy of the sacred” to refer to the now global trafficking in popular symbols, metaphors and tropes which have their origins in or take their power from their exploitation of the religious or spiritual Religions 2016, 7, 120; doi:10.3390/rel7100120 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2016, 7, 120 2 of 16 David Chidester does not specifically refer to the term sustainability in his meditations on popular religiosity in America [4], but sustainability discourses certainly fit his definition of forms of religious cultural production which are contested and disseminated through economic and political means, helping to negotiate what it means to be human. Second, I interrogate a question raised by the scholar of religions Ivan Strenski in his criticism of the “climate change” theme for the 2014 meeting of the American Academy of Religion: “can religion professors save the planet?” [5] Both Strenski and I would answer “no”, but for very different reasons. Strenski and others often worry that organizing academic work toward real-world problems instrumentalizes the humanities, potentially evacuating it of the really important sort of research that should be the hallmark of the humanities. In contrast, I think the very notion that humanities scholars ought to aim for that sort of “pure research” is one of the outmoded types of thinking that drives unsustainability by training students who are unable to solve complexly related problems at multiple scales. Third, then, I note that one of the hallmarks of education for sustainability has been problem-based education. Far from merely instrumentalizing these disciplines, it makes them more relevant than they have been in some time. Fourth, I suggest that one of the ways in which scholars, particularly scholars of religions might engage in problem-based learning without becoming “activists” is to treat the normativities and ontologies that inhere to social contestations over discourses of sustainability and climate change, and the political policies implicated in them, as data. Fifth, I suggest that one form of problem-based learning, engaged learning, where students interact with and impact the communities in which they live, work, and play, can be both a worthwhile learning experience for students, and a window through which we can re-envision the shape of the Academy in general. I will conclude with some specific examples of problem-based and engaged teaching and learning from my home institution. Re-shaping pedagogical approaches, encouraging problem-based learning, and acknowledging that terms like sustainability and climate disruption are currencies in the global political economy of the sacred are good starting points for owning the disciplinary past of religious studies and related areas of study, and for providing some positive ways forward. If we cannot re-vision the work that takes place in the academy, we cannot solve the global crises under discussion here. And we cannot re-vision that academic work without exposing the often patriarchal and erroneous assumptions which underlie the exercise of academic power in the twenty-first century. First, however, it is important to get clearer about the terms under analysis here. 2. Climate Disruption and Sustainability Have Religious Dimensions Which Run Deep Climate disruption is often used as a shorthand to refer to an interlocking set of biophysical and social problems, but generally it refers to the destabilization of the planet’s climate system caused by anthropogenic disturbance of the carbon cycle. The physicist John Tyndall first noted that carbon dioxide warmed the atmosphere in the 1850s. The science related to climate disruption, then, is old, but perhaps only more recently connected with religious ideation as climate disruption has quickened. In the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries climate disruption took on important apocalyptic dimensions, in the sense that it was portrayed as bringing about a radical reduction in human populations, if not a dramatic reduction of biodiversity generally.3 For instance, the film baggage they carry, and which do religious work (whether they are authentically religious themselves) by binding communities of people together, focusing desire, and channeling exchange relations in particular directions. 3 One reviewer suggested that I tease out theological ideas related to the term apocalypse, noting that in some theological contexts (particularly in Jewish and Christian texts produced around the turn of the Common Era) the term often referred to a sort of revelation, or unveiling. While this is certainly one use of the term, unpacking this more theological usage would not further any argument I make here. The most common understanding (and indeed the first one in most dictionaries) refers to extreme disasters which bring destruction and loss. Religions 2016, 7, 120 3 of 16 The Day After Tomorrow (2004) depicted the world passing a climatic tipping-point, entering a new ice age nearly overnight. Populations across the world were decimated, and survivors flocked south, toward warmer climes. Although not overtly religious, such apocalyptic films fueled a religious brand of apocalypticism in the United States grounded in the quasi-religious belief that “peak-oil” and climate destabilization would precipitate the end of the world as we know it. In one important study, Christian apocalyptic narratives clearly conditioned concern about and behavior change related to climate disruption [6]. Defining sustainability is somewhat trickier. The term sustainability is rather like Joseph Campbell’s famous “hero with a thousand faces”, a slippery term that that means many things to many different people. Some imagine that the best measure for sustainability is biodiversity, while others focus on social factors and metrics (equity and justice, for example), while still others are more centrally concerned with “greening” industrial technologies and promoting technical solutions. In all cases, though, they are related to the survival of the human species within certain biophysical limits. The scholar of religions J.Z. Smith influentially argued that religion is a second-order, generic category ([7], p. 269), that there is no data for religion: “Religion is solely . . . .created for the scholar’s analytic purposes by his imaginative acts of comparison and generalization” ([8], p. xi). Elsewhere I have argued that the same is true of sustainability [9]: it should not be imagined in an essentialist way, as a fixed goal, or endpoint, but as a function of the imaginative acts, interests, and values of the individual or group deploying the term. When individuals or groups utilize the term sustainability, they give a glimpse into their core values, those things (whether cultural practices, economic development, social equity, and so on) that they wish to see persist into the foreseeable future. In this sense sustainability is analogically related to religion, but there is also a strong genealogical relationship between the two terms. The first uses of the term sustainability, at least as early as the mid-1800s, referred to wise human use and preservation of natural resources ([10], p. 146; [11], p. 347). It was typically related to some supposedly universal set of “goods”, for instance its usefulness in preventing social chaos, or promoting patriotism, or in some cases encouraging counter-hegemonic values. The first resource management regimes in the US drew directly on these European usages of the term, but the religious dimensions of such universal goods became much more obvious. The spiritual sympathies of nature writers such as William Bartram, Thomas Morton, and the Transcendentalist authors and those they influenced, including Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, and many others are well known. The first official federally mandated resource manager, however, was Gifford Pinchot, who was significantly influenced by the Social Gospel movement, a widespread and influential stream of Christianity which deemphasized the transcendent dimensions of the religion and sought to apply its ethical principles to the alleviation of the social ills that resulted from the so-called industrial revolution [12]. Pinchot believed the application of Christian ethical norms to the management of the commonwealth was the solution to maximizing individual utility and national well-being ([9], pp. 46–49; [13], pp. 95–96, 115). He is but one exemplar, but broader international political experiments with “development” and later the term “sustainable development” were ultimately grounded in Western religious values and norms [9,14,15]. The religious dimensions of these movements have played important roles in both the 20th and 21st century outgrowths of the concern for nature first spurred by the ethic of scarcity which emerged first in Europe and then the US in the 19th century. In the post-World War II period a host of new international organizations were created. The Bretton Woods institutions (the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, and the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade) represented the financial and economic powerhouses that would prevent the sort of poverty that many imagined had driven the world into a second global war. The United Nations (UN) and its affiliated bodies represented the liberal-democratic response to an increasingly global political culture, responsible for development, and by the 1970s, sustainable development. The UN and its affiliated bodies have paid particular attention to the religious dimensions of development. To a lesser extent, those who defended economic growth and their attendant institutions have also utilized Religions 2016, 7, 120 4 of 16 spiritualized ideation and metaphor to further their aims ([9], pp. 50–71). Although a narrower notion than “sustainability”, sustainable development was nonetheless grounded in Western, often Christian values related to individual economic freedom, and access to wealth generation ([9]; [14], p. 70). Narrower still is the phrase “education for sustainability” (EfS), which began as an effort among Western European and North American institutions of higher learning to create synergistic relationships between life sciences, social sciences, humanities disciplines, and professional schools ([16], p. 1): “The most pressing problems across the globe—famines, armed conflicts, demographic transitions—are the result of dynamic biophysical, social, and psychological processes. Solving such wicked problems requires an educational system that trains students to be adaptive learners who can anticipate disruptions and envision their solutions and attendant opportunities at multiple scales—from the local to the geopolitical. Most classroom experiences do not reflect this general need” ([16], pp. 1–2). Organizing principles, such as problem-based learning, were developed to facilitate this cross-disciplinary work and illustrate the interdependence of usually disparate fields. These ideas are discussed in more detail below. My concern here is primarily with EfS, although even this narrower exercise of the notion of sustainability is beholden to the religious ideation inherent in the foundations of sustainability, and to interrogating and overcoming the received Western mode of education. But some of my suggestions toward the end indicate ways in which even this relatively ethnocentric model can be usefully decolonized. Both sustainability and climate disruption, then, carry religious baggage, and recognizing this can help to clarify cultural responses to these terms, and also help to illustrate how humanities scholars in general can contribute to public debates about them. As the religion scholar David Chidester put it something—a social movement for instance—is doing religious work when it facilitates particular economic exchange relations, acts as a sort of social glue by promoting sets of shared languages and values, and focuses collective desire ([4], p. 5). This is certainly true of sustainability and climate change discourse, whether they are deployed to support existing hegemonic powers or to subvert them. But the religious dimensions of sustainability and climate change are not merely superficial. Sustainability movements are religious from roots to shoots, and climate change activism and public portrayal has long been linked to apocalyptic ideation [6]. Climate disruption and sustainability have elective affinities with the explosion of monitory agencies in the post-World War II period and the new technologies and media of the late 20th and early 21st centuries [17]. International political coordination proceeds along at least three fronts: the social-democratic bodies related to and derivative of the UN; the manipulation and channeling of markets through the Bretton Woods Institutions; and civil society organizations, which come in a panoply of forms and work at multiple scales, and which may subvert hegemonies, or promote them. Sustainability and climate change discourses and advocacy are increasingly central concerns of groups in all of these categories, and whether at the local or international scale these narratives, metaphors and tropes have significant religious dimensions, even in supposedly secular organizations [9]. It will be illustrative to look more closely at how these religious dimensions of climate disruption and sustainability, and specifically education for sustainability, play out in the always-political context of education. 3. Can Religion Professors Save the Planet? In 2014 Laurie Zoloth, then President of the American Academy of Religion (AAR), declared that the yearly conference theme, a choice that is the prerogative of the sitting President, would focus on climate change. Scholarly interest in the nexus of religion and environmental issues goes much deeper, however, with an AAR Sustainability Task Force active from 2007–2012 [18], and a Religion and Ecology Group which dates back to 1993 [19]. Moreover, scholars in other disciplines have long attended to the nexus of various religious traditions and their biophysical contexts (just to name a few [20–29]). Despite a rich tradition of scholarly exploration of religions, cultures, and their perceptions of and behaviors related to nature, Zoloth’s theme prompted some derisive reactions. Religions 2016, 7, 120 5 of 16 For instance, in a piece in Religion Dispatches titled “Can Religion Professors Save the Planet?” scholar of religions Ivan Strenski proposed that such problem-based scholarship might compromise the “open-ended questioning, unbridled curiosity and pursuit of understanding” that is characteristic of humanities-oriented research [5,30]. Strenski is not alone in his critique. But such a critique is the classic example of the academic default to Western, patriarchal values, assuming that the value of pursuing knowledge for its own sake is self-evident. In fact, such an idea is reasonably new, and worth interrogating.4 At my home institution I was asked to respond to a talk by a visiting critical theorist on climate change. I suggested that there were responsible and productive ways in which education could be more problem-focused. She fretted that such an approach could “instrumentalize” the humanities, making them little more than useful tools. With Strenski, she worried this would truncate the power of creativity that characterized humanistic inspection. As Strenski put it, the AAR’s focus on climate change amounted to hitching itself “to the latest star in the universe of social causes”, evacuating it of any research or teaching that “have an integrity of their own”. But climate change is not simply a faddish “social cause”, it a robustly defended and described mass of scientific data. There is a scientific consensus [31] even if significant portions of the general populace in the US still do not assent to the notion that it is human-caused.5 This is all the more reason that scholars of any ilk, who should be savvy enough to do their homework, should not refer to matters of such profound scientific consensus as faddish social causes. Moreover, religious studies has long embraced problem-oriented scholarship, from work on pluralism, to postcolonial studies, to queer theory, to critiques of racism and ethnocentrism. To defend the work of the academy as the disinterested and objective pursuit of knowledge about the world is to recapitulate the worst crimes of the academy. That religious studies developed constituencies which deploy the tools developed in their own peculiar training and areas of expertise to some of the most pressing problems that all carbon-based life faces seems unsurprising. What is surprising is that some scholars continue to advocate for the view that humanities scholars should engage in open-ended questioning which masquerades as value-neutral, apolitical, but which in reality reifies obvious failures in the academy. Why celebrate the “freedom” to engage in open-ended inquiry if the understanding it aims at has little or no relevance to the lives of individuals or groups? The traditional disciplinary boundaries that have divided the academy are withering, and preserving their rotting remains does little to hide, as the author and provocateur Edward Abbey once noted, that formal education can be broadening, but more often merely flattens our purview. 4. Is “Instrumentalizing” the Humanities All Bad? What does it mean to instrumentalize the humanities? It seems that it would be a negative development if engineered by, say, national or state governments. For example, the humanities could be used to generate propaganda, or research favorable to particularly powerful social actors. But at least in my department, and in the academic habitats of many with whom I have spoken, humanities and even social scientific scholars consistently struggle with staying “relevant” as their departments lose majors and minors to the increasing numbers of students who flock to business schools, engineering programs, and finance or computer science departments (even at liberal arts universities, like my own). Perhaps part of the solution is to engage in scholarship that is relevant, and to more intentionally explore the methods by which we gather research data, and how we transmit it to students. I do not view Strenski’s argument as evidence that we ought to leave the debates over climate disruption and 4 My thanks to Richard Carp for pointing out just how recent such assumptions are. 5 The Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) noted that 50% of US citizens surveyed characterize themselves as somewhat (29%) or very unconcerned (21%) about climate change. Interestingly, however, 74% of respondents reported that people in developing countries will suffer moderate (20%) or great (54%) harm. Yet climate disruption still ranks as the lowest priority among environmental issues to voters, with only 5% noting that it is the most important issue facing the US (jobs (22%), the gap between rich and poor (18%), health care (17%), budget deficit (13%), immigration reform (10%), and cost of education (9%) are all much greater concerns among US citizens [32]. Religions 2016, 7, 120 6 of 16 sustainability out of humanities courses, but rather as an invitation to draw them into the conversation. Can the humanities save the ice caps, as Strenski put it? No, particularly since several studies indicate that the rate of warming essentially locks us in to climate patterns that will ensure the dissolution of both ice caps, the northern one within this century, and the southern one within a few [33]. What, then, can humanities scholars offer to the broaden debate, and to transform the academy? Stephen Prothero claimed in a popular book that religion was one of the key identity markers of the twenty-first century [34]. I would agree, but terms like “climate disruption” and “sustainability” are also key identity markers, as global leaders (from Pope Francis to Prince Philip, and from Presidents Barack Obama to Evo Morales) link their own religious and national interests and religious convictions to them. One way humanities and human science scholars can contribute to the conversation is by first acknowledging that public deployments of these terms provide a window into the values, practices, and beliefs of other humans. In other words, public invocations of particular understandings of “sustainability”, and their relation with religion, are inherently political. One approach, then, is to imagine that the task of the scholar of religions is not to advocate for a particular political position, or somehow rise above the public debate by deploying critical theory to deconstruct the scientific consensus, but rather to treat this consensus, and the effort of some senior scholars to retreat from these cultural debates, as data. Strenski notes that most of the empirical research related to such questions occurs within the confines of the Society for the Scientific Study of Religion (SSSR), while the AAR is a home for non-empirical theologians and humanists. This was certainly largely true three decades ago, and indeed on its public face the trend continues. For instance, taking the President’s prerogative to set the theme for the annual conference, Serene Jones declared 2016’s focus to be the theologically inflected theme “revolutionary love”. In her call, Jones suggests this sort of love occurs in a “state of grace” [35]. Perhaps this theological framing is merely a reminder of the theological roots of the AAR and the Society of Biblical Literature, which meet concurrently each year. Even today perhaps the bulk of papers and workshops bend toward the theological and confessional rather than the analytical or critical. Nonetheless, there have been strong genealogical critiques of such ethnocentric and theological understandings of the category religion [36–39], and a turn toward what Robert Orsi ([40], p. 8) referred to as a “radically or phenomenologically empiricist” approach in his call for the study of “lived religion”. The emergent contributions from a more empirical or analytical bent have rightly been critical of this persistent theological inflection of the largest membership body in our field. As Naomi Goldenberg put it, “Aren’t there already enough ecclesial and ecumenical venues that justify themselves through an ideology of love? Shouldn’t the AAR be promoting something else—say, for example, the critical analysis of institutional power and pretense?” [41]. I concur, and climate change and sustainability-oriented social movements seem like prototypical cases in which various forms of capital (financial, political, social, and ecological) are exchanged in power-laden relationships, and which are ripe for analysis and commentary. But deeper problems remain, namely that these modes of inquiry are so often imagined as separate. We might endeavor to explore the ways in which climate disruption is linked with the exercise of power, the shaping of information technologies and access, as well as tied up with important questions about what it means to be a human in a world populated by other-than-human persons. For example, what does it mean to inhabit a world in which broader ecological, atmospheric, and bio-geochemical cycles also have some agency [42], at least in the sense that they can impact the size, shape, and character of social groups and their behaviors? Asking what relevance our discipline has to the most important questions our species is faced with—namely how we can persist, and even thrive, and more importantly, what are the values that particular individuals and groups envision as measures of success or “thriving”—seems to me to be legitimate exercise of the analytical tools at our disposal. There is a difference between using critical analytical and even empirical methods to answer such questions—what I am advocating—and pushing all scholars to be sustainability activists who advance a prescriptive response to issues such as climate change. Imagining an intellectual terrain in which Religions 2016, 7, 120 7 of 16 there are academics and there are activists and nothing in between is one of the tired, old dichotomies that should be put to sleep. 5. Ontologies and Normativities Are Data In an introductory text for students of religion and ecology, Bauman, Bohannon, and O’Brien note that religious and scholarly responses to environmental problems can be grouped as efforts at recovery, reformation, or replacement [43]. The ecologist and evangelical Calvin DeWitt would be an example of one who advocates recovery, exploring the roots of his own tradition to reinterpret it in light of contemporary issues. The ecofeminist Rosemary Radford Ruether, who has suggested that the patriarchal and oppressive development of her Christian tradition have resulted in a parallel exploitation and oppression of earth systems, was one who forcefully tried to reform her tradition. The religion scholar Bron Taylor is offered as one whose analyses suggest that in the very long term institutionalized global religions will become less influential as they morph into more relevant forms, perhaps disappearing altogether in some cases, as new forms of global green spirituality emerge [44]. Such scholarship can be engaged in different ways, but in some cases may be dismissed by critics as inappropriately activist. For instance, DeWitt is a conservation biologist, which means that he stands within an academic discipline that is, from its inception, committed to particular values, namely the preservation and utility of biological diversity. He is also engaged with communities of evangelical Christians, and is himself an evangelist for Christian “creation care”. Indeed, several leaders among the evangelical communities in which I conducted field work cited DeWitt as one of those who had convinced them that climate change was a religiously relevant issue (interviews conducted 2008).6 Is he, then, an activist and not a scholar? Ruether exercised influence within Catholic theology, feminist studies of religion, and a now widespread ecofeminist movement. Is she, too, an activist? Taylor, who openly discusses his activist roots, was the founding President of the Society for the Study of Religion, Nature, and Culture, an organization that explicitly states in its by-laws that it is not an activist or advocacy organization [45]. Yet Taylor’s scholarly work on “dark green religion” is inspirational for many practitioners and purveyors of green religions. So where does one draw the line between “activist work” and “scholarly work”? If entwined, are they both compromised? One could answer that they are all activists, and therefore their scholarly work is suspect, since they are only half-scholars (and half-activists). These chimeras of the contemporary academy should not all be lumped together, however, for their methods and message are distinct, allowing some analysis regarding their efficacy but also their supposed “place” in the academy. Among those who study the nexus of religion, nature, and culture, there are those who engage in (a) constructive or normative explorations; (b) social scientific and cultural investigations; and (c) natural scientific studies [45]. The sort of research that worries some scholars falls into the first category. In short, the worry is that the 2014 AAR conference made the study of religion about combating climate change. Certainly there are scholars who have imagined the study of religion and environment as an opportunity to advocate for particular interpretations of the so-called world religions [46–52], and others attempt to forge an entirely new type of green religion that is amenable to a number of different religious traditions. The former group represents a type of revitalization movement (parallel to the recovery or reform platforms listed above), the latter is itself a new religious movement which blends latent or under-scrutinized resources in the world’s religions with scientific understanding of earth systems [53]. These are different modes of study with different aims, but both could be characterized as advocating for specific, and in some cases politicized changes within the academy and society in general. But all of these modes of scholarship and engagement can also be 6 In 2008-2009 I put together a case study of evangelical creation care movements, participating with members of a megachurch in central Florida, and interviewing several prominent evangelical advocates, as well as a number of congregants. This work was published in Religion and Sustainabiltiy [9]. Religions 2016, 7, 120 8 of 16 the primary data for empirically-minded scholars of religions who analyze the ways in which the normativities and ontologies that are the focus of commitment among those constituencies impact social and political processes. To illustrate, the religious studies scholar Kocku von Stuckrad [54] noted that Roger Gottlieb’s introduction to his book This Sacred Earth [55] contains “a cornucopia of ontologically laden expressions” ([54], p. 43), including “‘our love of God’s creation’ or ‘our simple joy in the divinity of the earth’ ([55], p. 13). ‘Making nature sacred’ thus is a strategy that underlies not only products of literature . . . but products of academic literature, too. From a critical scholarly point of view, these affirmations and admonitions are not an argument. They are data” ([54], p. 43). Likewise, normativities underlie some religious and scholarly argumentation, suggesting that religions and spiritualities that are environmentally positive are “better” than other religions. As von Stuckrad put it, “That is why we have to put these normativities on the table and regard them as data of scholarly research” ([54], p. 43). Climate disruption need not necessarily be an “action” issue. When it is framed as such, the ontologies and normativities which support such claims should be interrogated. But it may also foster the sort of open-ended questioning and rumination that many who fear the instrumentalization of the humanities actually want [56]. For instance, climate disruption should be acknowledged a fact of existence for the next generation (those who are currently my students). How will they plan for their futures in an increasingly unpredictable world? Certainly one of the tools they will need at their disposal is the capacity to reflect on their own individual and collective values, and to be able to articulate a vision of a desirable future, a skill that the humanities supposedly excel in cultivating. They might be able to compare such visions with the likely outcomes if other current hegemonic visions of the future should continue to predominate. Such exercises can expand the horizon of ethical reflection by wrestling with the limits of the human moral imagination against a backdrop of truly global-scale change [57]. In short, there is a distinction between advancing normative positions with the affectively powerful category of religion, a project in which many scholars are actively engaged [46–52,58], and the analysis and the empirical study of the academic and popular constituencies they target [9,44,59]. In other words, there is a difference between making religion about climate change, and thinking about the academic study of religion, the academy, and its usefulness (or lack of it) through the lens of climate change. To borrow an analytical frame first deployed by the scholar of religions Russell McCutcheon [37], some are caretakers of the fields in which they work and the categories that are central to them. Others are critics of them and attempt to analyze the ways in which they either challenge or reinforce the enactment of specific power-laden social arrangements. In reality, only the former are participating in the worrisome project that Strenski and others object to. If anything the latter group should help to clarify the values (both explicit and implicit) which drive ideological public debates. Admittedly, though, both Strenski and McCutcheon have in mind a somewhat binary perception of the problem, imagining that one can occupy only one or the other camp (academics vs. activists, critics vs. caretakers). There is a certain amount of privilege (intellectual, social, and ecological) behind such assumptions, as though we could view these oppositional approaches from a god’s-eye perspective. In fact, I suspect that many, even most scholars (and this is true of those who work in any discipline) more likely have their own normative presuppositions, and particular interests which drive their research and scholarship. I argue that engaged scholarship can be good scholarship, and I aim here to provide some examples of how grounded, problem-based scholarship can cultivate more integrated communities, and provide rich data for humanities scholars who are interested in the nexus of values and spiritual sensibilities. Religions 2016, 7, 120 9 of 16 6. Can Engaged Scholarship be Good Scholarship? Alongside the always political posturing that bounds the field of religious studies, there are also some “social facts”, as Durkheim would have it [60].7 These can and should be integrated into explanatory (and not just descriptive) research. Today, many of those social facts have to do with climate disruption and sustainability. There are quantifiable ecological, social, and economic impacts of climate disruption, and sustainability movements and discourses which offer various solutions to these interwoven crises. Important questions bubble up: Is it possible to study cultures, as anthropologists do, without noting that there has been a dramatic erosion of indigenous cultures across the globe in the past few centuries? Or is it possible to study biological organisms and ecosystem services without noticing that there has been a dramatic drawdown in biological diversity in the past century? Is it possible to study religion in an age of climate disruption and not inquire whether and/or to what extent religious individuals, groups, and ideologies contribute to this global problem? No, these developments are predictable outcomes of what we might now call socio-ecological facts. Problem-based and engaged teaching and learning is one valuable strategy that is common across contexts which aim toward education for sustainability, and one of the ways in which we can imagine that education might actually foster more a sustainable civilization. To elaborate, “activist anthropologists” emerged at least as early as the 1960s, advocating the rights of indigenous people to sovereignty and self-determination in an era when globalizing trends were obviously eradicating them at an alarming rate [61]. Few would argue that this was a faddish development, or that it distracted from some essentialized mode of pure research at the real heart of anthropology. Likewise restoration ecology, while practiced rather informally through a handful of projects since the early 20th century became in the mid-1980s a robust discipline with a scholarly society and affiliated journal [62,63]. This was spurred by “the growing recognition of the value of restoration as a conservation strategy, a technique for basic ecological research, a way of experiencing about landscapes and ecosystems” ([63], p. 1379). It had both normative value (as a conservation strategy), and scientific value (as a lens for “basic” research).8 Far from compromising this discipline, these developments provided new avenues for exploration, enlivening it and encouraging connections with others. Conservation biology emerged in similar fashion, with an academic society and affiliated journal arising in 1986, driven by concerns that humans might be forcing a mega-extinction across trophic levels. Importantly, some have even argued that some of its foundational characters, scientists such as Michael Soulè and Reed Noss, were motivated by some form of nature spirituality [64–66]. Again, this helped the science of biology develop in new directions, spurring new lines of inquiry, and opening new lines of communication with others, including scholars of religion. Currently many conservation biologists are on the frontlines of the fight against both biodiversity collapse and displacement of marginalized peoples, since the causes of both of these symptoms are often the same, namely agricultural or industrial usurpation of resources and land for profit generation. In these other disciplines there seems to be very little hand-wringing regarding whether or not they were appropriate developments in those fields. David Orr once wrote that all education is environmental education. To the extent that education either ignores, downplays, or dismisses ecosystems and habitats, or suggests that such things should be examined by only scholars in this or that discipline, then this is itself a lesson in the ways in which we imagine and relate to the environment. Richard Carp, quoting the psychologist Mihaly 7 As Durkheim put it, social facts are “external to individual minds considered as such, in the same way as the distinctive characteristics of life are external to the mineral substances composing the living beings” ([61], p. 70). Durkheim’s goal was to differentiate these from mere psychological facts. I would add that some social facts are also “ecological facts”, since the biophysical limitations of the planetary system are obviously also recognized by both civil society, governments, and corporate entities across the globe. 8 While I quote Jordan approvingly here, I think that the distinction between “basic” and “normative” research should be jettisoned. Religions 2016, 7, 120 10 of 16 Csikszentmihalyi, noted that material culture “‘compete[s] with humans for scarce resources’; our survival depends on establishing a relationship with material culture that builds, rather than frays, resilience. The antidote to an ‘addiction to objects’ is ‘a genuinely rich symbolic culture . . . poetry, songs, crafts, prayers, and rituals.’ If he is right,” Carp continues, “the doorway to resilience opens in a revised practice of the academic backwaters of art, music, theatre, religion, and philosophy” ([1], p. 228). Bringing a concern for the ecosystems in which we participate is neither a fad, nor does it necessarily compromise the rigor of any discipline or scholarly approach. Quite simply, all scholarship is interested scholarship. To declare certain areas of inquiry or modes of study out of bounds for religious studies scholars is to participate in political contestations over the “authenticity” of our discipline. Russell McCutcheon discussed such contestations related to public understandings of Islam, but his point is germane to other public contests over authenticity: the task of the cultural critic is to pick up the faint waft of dung that remains after we try to “sanitize the unsightly and the unruly by means of binary distinctions portrayed as nature. For it is the faint odor of rhetorical bullshit that provides evidence that the world of cultural artifacts [in which we might place the study of religions] is infinitely more complex” than the representations of those who generate such oppositions would have us think ([67], p. 58). The odor becomes especially pungent when people who study religions attempt to bound their studies by declaring certain explorations off limits, or beyond the edge of some always political disciplinary map. The jargon of authenticity is one of the sharpest weapons that can be forged with the category “religion”, and it is wise to cast our critical gaze toward how such sharp edges are deployed in the public sphere. To let those edges cut humanities and social science scholars out of particularly relevant cultural questions is itself one of the primary drivers of unsustainable educational outcomes. When it comes to knowledge practices, Carp insisted, “There is nowhere ‘outside’ from which to know. There are not two zones, one of ecology (nature) and one of culture (human), so that the question is of the impact of the culture on the ecology. Rather, cultural landscapes and their components participate fully in the developmental system of which they are a part” ([1], p. 224). The academy, therefore, is not only complicit in climate disruption and the fraying of resilience across multiple scales, it is one of the primary drivers of these trends: “The ecological crisis is not an ‘accident’ of cultural development; it is a necessary correlate of our knowledge practices” ([1], p. 225). The solution is to re-evaluate the ways in which scholars and their bodies create knowledge practices, to recognize that good knowledge practices should be less concerned with “accuracy” and centrally concerned instead with practices that enable communities to live well ([1], p. 225; [68], p. 73). An example from the well-known anthropologist Darrell Posey will be illustrative. He recalled that once while staying with his host family in the Xingu River Basin in the Brazilian Amazon he disposed of a significant quantity of tapir meat after finding that it was infested with maggots. He also recalled the apparent delight of passing neighbors when they observed him, and the surprise and anger of his hosts when they returned. Posey was unaware that the maggots’ saliva contained an enzyme which cured the meat, preserving it for future consumption ([20], p. 232; [69], p. 54). This is an example of traditional ecological knowledge, wisdom tied to particular places and contexts, which is not always easily or directly translated into western or other cultural contexts. But it’s valuable knowledge, nonetheless. Sometimes it’s good to let the maggots eat. And sometimes it’s good to encourage new modes of inquiry in an educational system that has largely lost its way. 7. Strategies for Integrative Learning across Disciplines Indeed, attending to what he calls “indigenous education” is one of the strategies Carp suggested for creating more relevant educational systems. Why are things like traditional ecological knowledge important for education for sustainability? Because they weave together empirical knowledge, normative propositions (including rumination about other-than-human entities with whom we co-habitate), and practical action aimed at solving specific societal needs. It is a more embodied form of knowledge production and deployment. “Embodied scholarship”, Carp noted, is another Religions 2016, 7, 120 11 of 16 strategy for promoting change, and it is of course related to modifying the ways in which scholars imagine their vocation, and the strategies by which they pursue their learning outcomes. The science writer Nicholas Wade noted that “a person should really be considered a superorganism . . . consisting of his or her own cells and those of all the commensal bacterial. The bacterial cells also outnumber human cells by 10 to 1, meaning that if cells could vote, people would be a minority in their own body” ([70]; quoted in [71], p. 85). Viewing our scholarly bodies as ecosystems, along with imagining how we tack toward indigenous education requires rejection of the traditional siloed approach to education by refusing to recognize a distinct divide between knowledge and action, and by prioritizing wisdom and values in both lifeways and in policy deliberation [3]. Similarly, professor of Chinese Studies James Miller has elucidated a plan for what he calls education from the outside-in, which “means that students’ learning will be oriented towards the problems of the real world, not the problems as conceived and articulated within the historic university disciplines” [72]. Like Carp’s examples of embodied and indigenous education, this includes thinking about learning outcomes by putting values, wisdom, and skills first, and by increasing educational breadth, not specialization. As Miller put it, “outside-in education means learning how to know what facts are important in which contexts (valuing), how to deploy knowledge to achieve practical results (skills), and how to decide what goals are truly worthwhile (wisdom).” The ethicists Anthony Weston and Jim Cheney [73] influentially argued that Western ethical reflection typically depends on an epistemology-grounded ethics—the assumption that the world is readily knowable, and that ethical action is a response to knowledge about the world. In this approach, ethics is an incrementalist and extensionist business: the task is to sort the world ethically, to articulate the nature of things in ethical terms. In contrast, an ethics-based epistemology, the sort employed by indigenous and traditional cultures, considers ethical reflection an exercise in relational exploration, an attempt to open up possibilities and enrich the world by engaging both with what is known, and what is unknown. In this model, ethics is not a response to an already known world, but draws on wisdom and encounter, and aims at perceiving a pluralistic, dissonant, and discontinuous world rather than attempting to incrementally extend epistemology-based ethics to other entities. To move from these more theoretical examples toward the practical, it will be helpful to review some data which further illustrate that sustainability is not simply a faddish social movement. At this writing 772 institutions of higher learning are registered as using the Sustainability Tracking and Rating System (STARS), a program designed and deployed by the Association for the Advancement of Sustainability in Higher Education (AASHE) to measure sustainability outcomes. Well over 600 college and university presidents have signed on to the President’s Climate Commitment, a statement of purpose which obligates these institutions to pursue a carbon action plan. These are high-level commitments which simply illustrate the breadth and depth of concern about these issues. But what do they mean in the context of creating a more sustainable academy? Some concrete examples will be illustrative. Two of my colleagues in the Department for the Study of Religions found their research growing enmeshed with some of their other interests. Ulrike Wiethaus was working with youth from the Eastern Band of Cherokee, in North Carolina, helping them train to take the MCAT exams, and also on a literacy program with inmates at a maximum security prison. Steve Boyd was working with the San Carlos Apache to halt construction of large telescopes on Mount Graham, a sacred site, and increasingly found himself entangled in a murder investigation in Winston-Salem. They began to drawtheir lessons into the classroom, using them of examples of how, and under what circumstances, religious individuals and groups could be impactful. Beginning with pilot internships which reflected both community needs and the interests of individual students, they created a Religion and Public Engagement Concentration, open to students from any major. The concentration was approved by the full faculty in 2011, and graduated its first true concentrators in 2012. To date, forty-seven students have completed the requirements. It was from its inception not merely another internship program, but coupled engaged learning with a community partner with academic work relevant to student Religions 2016, 7, 120 12 of 16 interests. Students meet with the faculty director once a week, along with composing weekly journals, several book reviews of relevant works, and an integrative final paper. The concentration is both academically rigorous, and fundamentally about problem-based, engaged knowledge [74]. Boyd helped to develop an interfaith group who lobbied a district attorney to end his defense of a wrongful conviction, after which the defendant was exonerated by DNA evidence after being wrongfully imprisoned for nineteen years [75]. He continues to work on similar projects in the Winston-Salem area, including the case of Kalvin Michael Smith, imprisoned for eighteen years (so far) in an improperly prosecuted and likely racially-charged case [76]. Wiethaus’s work with the Cherokee aims to preserve traditional knowledge (which is significantly related to spirituality) with Western medical knowledge to increase their success on standardized tests. Like broader understandings of sustainability, education for sustainability fundamentally depends on social equity and justice, and trustworthy monitory and enforcement agencies. These are exercises, then, in building community capital and resilience which leverage spiritual and religious knowledge. These are but a few examples specific to our campus, but ones that are easily generalizable to others. Any university or college of any size can facilitate engaged and service learning opportunities for students. At least at my own institution, the results in terms of impactful student learning speak for themselves. Opportunities for engagement have shaped career and further educational choices, and actually helped to contribute to cultivating a more resilient and transparent local community. 8. Conclusions and a Look Ahead Other approaches might be more site-specific, drawing on local resources. For instance, in collaboration with Wiethaus, we have also begun to cultivate the “Cherokee Meditation Garden” in collaboration with campus landscape services, the indigenous students’ organization, and in consultation with the Eastern Band of Cherokee. The “garden” is really the land around a retention pond built to control storm water runoff. But it has become a quiet corner of the campus where, with no formal funding, we have been able to begin to replace invasive plant regimes with traditional medicinal varieties. Wiethaus uses it each year for her MCAT training class with Cherokee youth. It is a work in progress, but it is also a classroom tool for discussing restoration ecology (one of the other normatively-grounded disciplines noted above), and an exercise in place-making. Wake Forest’s motto is Pro Humanitate, for the human good, and at least ideally our curriculum is designed not just to facilitate student learning, but educational outcomes that contribute in some meaningful way to the communities in which people live, work, and play. To that end, our university has sponsored the creation of a new Pro Humanitate Institute, designed to facilitate such public engagement and exposure to non-profit organizations that help build sustainable communities. These examples are, of course, not generalizable to any campus, but the values that drive them may be. Strategies for bringing sustainability education into the classroom vary, from the “infusion model”, in which integrative education permeates curricular offerings, to the “unique discipline model”, in which sustainability becomes its own holistic area of study. Examples of both abound [77], but common to all of examples of best practices is dispensing with tired old assumptions about certain types of questions and research being the proprietary terrain of one or another discipline or set of disciplines. The toolkits of religious studies scholars vary widely. What I am suggesting is that there appears to be an increasing emphasis on training related to empirical methods, whether the push toward the study of lived religion, or the increasing importance of field work methodology in advanced graduate training, or in the emerging importance of explanatory (rather than merely descriptive) research pioneered by those in the fields of cognitive science of religion [78–83], evolutionary psychology [84–86]; cognitive ethology [87,88], and even primatology [89–91]. Religious studies scholars engaged in these modes of explanatory research take as some of their primary data the ways in which humans are shaped by biological inheritance, ecological constraints, and psychological predispositions. Among the factors which shape all three of these today are the complex and multi-scalar effects of climate disruption, the Religions 2016, 7, 120 13 of 16 increasing urbanization of human social life, demographic shifts (both voluntary and involuntary), and attempts to rethink social life within these dynamic constraints. Climate disruption and sustainability are important global trends and highly influential in the global political economy of the sacred. One of the tasks of humanities scholars is to discern the consonances and divergences between different deployments of these terms in the public sphere. They are well suited for this since sustainability discourse has at its roots religious individuals, metaphors, and concepts, and climate change traffics in highly affective narratives of ecosystem decline if not apocalypse. Moreover, teaching and research can bend toward a more problem-focused, grounded theoretical stance, and methodologies that view religious behaviors and ideologies, and the ontological and normative assumptions that accompany them, as data for analysis, not starting points for reflection. It is time that scholars of religions and our students shouldered our religious baggage, owning it for what it is, and carrying it toward the future. Understanding which way to go, which maps to follow, can only be the result of processes of rethinking our modes of knowledge production, and the knowledge practices which legitimize them. Our models of what happens if we sally forth with existing knowledge practices are unequivocal: there are unpredictable and catastrophic consequences which will undoubtedly yield great suffering for humans and for many of the species with which we have co-evolved. 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This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC-BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://www.jamesmiller.ca/teaching/outside-in-education/ http://college.wfu.edu/rpe/ http://www.innocenceproject.org/cases/darryl-hunt/ http://freekalvinnow.org/ http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction Climate Disruption and Sustainability Have Religious Dimensions Which Run Deep Can Religion Professors Save the Planet? Is “Instrumentalizing” the Humanities All Bad? Ontologies and Normativities Are Data Can Engaged Scholarship be Good Scholarship? Strategies for Integrative Learning across Disciplines Conclusions and a Look Ahead
work_ozhp4f72oveknmcewdyjd62zre ---- Out of Mind, Out of Sight: Unexpected Scene Elements Frequently Go Unnoticed Until Primed Out of Mind, Out of Sight: Unexpected Scene Elements Frequently Go Unnoticed Until Primed George M. Slavich & Philip G. Zimbardo Published online: 18 September 2013 # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2013 Abstract The human visual system employs a sophisticated set of strategies for scanning the environment and directing attention to stimuli that can be expected given the context and a person’s past experience. Although these strategies enable us to navigate a very complex physical and social environment, they can also cause highly salient, but unexpected stimuli to go completely unnoticed. To examine the generality of this phenomenon, we conducted eight studies that included 15 different experimental conditions and 1,577 participants in all. These studies revealed that a large majority of participants do not report having seen a woman in the center of an urban scene who was photographed in midair as she was committing suicide. Despite seeing the scene repeatedly, 46 % of all participants failed to report seeing a central figure and only 4.8 % reported seeing a falling person. Frequency of noticing the suicidal woman was highest for participants who read a narrative priming story that increased the extent to which she was schematically congruent with the scene. In contrast to this robust effect of inattentional blindness, a majority of participants reported seeing other peripheral objects in the visual scene that were equally difficult to detect, yet more consistent with the scene. Follow-up qualitative analyses revealed that participants reported seeing many elements that were not actually present, but which could have been expected given the overall context of the scene. Together, these findings demonstrate the robustness of inattentional blindness and highlight the specificity with which different visual primes may increase noticing behavior. Keywords Visual attention . Selective attention . Perception . Inattentional blindness . Figure-ground perception . Aschematic blindness . Priming . Expectations . Transformational teaching Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 DOI 10.1007/s12144-013-9184-3 G. M. Slavich (*) Cousins Center for Psychoneuroimmunology and Department of Psychiatry and Biobehavioral Sciences, University of California, Los Angeles, UCLA Medical Plaza 300, Room 3156, Los Angeles, CA 90095-7076, USA e-mail: gslavich@mednet.ucla.edu P. G. Zimbardo Department of Psychology, Stanford University, Stanford, CA 94305-2130, USA Philosophers and psychologists have long questioned whether humans have access to an objective reality. One possibility is that we are capable of seeing the physical and social world as it actually exists. This perspective has been termed naïve realism, or direct realism (Ross and Ward 1996), and it posits that our eyes function like cameras or sensors that collect information and then send it back to our brains, where it is represented accurately and objectively. Underlying this approach to seeing the empirical world “as it is,” in terms of its database of information, is bottom-up processing. In this mode of processing, visual attention is deployed based largely on the inherent saliency of different objects in a visual scene (Itti 2005; Itti et al. 1998). Objects that are highly salient are readily noticed and perceived by observers, while less salient objects are not. Another possibility is that our experience of the physical and social world is inevitably influenced by subjective mental processes. This perspective was described in Bruner’s (1957) classic treatise on perceptual readiness. In that landmark paper, Bruner argued that some people are readier to expect, and therefore quicker to perceive, the least desirable event among an array of expected events; for others, in contrast, it is the most desirable event that stands out. From this perspective, for some people at least some of the time, we see the world “as we think it is,” in terms of our expectations, values, goals, and personal history. Underlying the process of seeing the world in this way, as influenced by cognition, is top-down processing. In this mode of processing, detection and perception of visual information is inherently shaped by observers’ differing histories, motivations, and tendencies, leading people to perceive different aspects of the visual scenes they encounter. A large body of research has recently attempted to evaluate the respective contri- butions of bottom-up and top-down processing to visual search, and this work has renewed the debate about how real-world scenes are perceived and remembered (e.g., Chun 2003; Henderson and Hollingworth 1999). Arising from this research is evidence that bottom-up processes affect attention at a localized level, especially in the absence of top-down or contextual cues (Chen and Zelinsky 2006). When contextual information is present, however, it appears to heavily guide visual search behavior (Hsieh et al. 2011). This means that under most natural viewing conditions, top-down processes likely play a prominent role in guiding visual search, insofar as these processes provide information about the likely presence and expected location of various elements within a given scene (Torralba et al. 2006; Wolfe et al. 2003). Central to top-down processing are conceptual frameworks, or schemas, that encode complex generalizations about one’s experience of the structure of the surrounding environment. We have schemas for virtually all aspects of our experience, including objects, people, and situations. Ultimately, it is through these schemas that we perceive, attend to, evaluate, understand, and remember experiences of the physical and social world (Cantor and Michel 1979; Levy et al. 1999). Schemas simplify the extremely complex task of identifying and classifying the innumerable things in our visual world by grouping instances into more readily-accessible wholes, or gestalts. By doing so, schemas greatly enhance the speed and accuracy of processing the enormous amount of information to which we are exposed everyday (Stryker and Burke 2000). The obvious utility of schematic perception is based on the swift processing of the familiar. However, what about the novel event, or unfamiliar or unexpected stimulus (Beiderman et al. 1982)? Do perceptual objects of this sort require greater time or mental energy to process? Or, are such objects simply not perceived if they are sufficiently 302 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 incongruent, or aschematic, with our personal expectations, or with their general context or background (Wolfe et al. 2005)? Early answers to these questions were offered by social philosopher Henry David Thoreau (1860/1906), who wrote: A man receives only what he is ready to receive, whether physically or intellectually or morally, as animals conceive at certain seasons their own kind only. We hear and apprehend only what we already half know… The phenomenon or fact that cannot in any wise be linked with the rest which he has observed, he does not observe (pp. 77–78). Thoreau argued that perception is guided in part by previously-established schemas that provide categorical assignments for new stimuli based on their inherent meaning. This process, in turn, influences our expectations for the probable appearance of different stimuli within different contexts. According to this view, stimuli or changes that violate our expectations, or that rarely occur, should be less likely to be seen than those that are schematic or expected given their context or background. A large body of research has documented effects that are consistent with this view, and this phenomenon has generally been referred to as inattentional blindness (Becklen and Cervone 1983; Mack 2003; Mack and Rock 1998; Most et al. 2001; Neisser and Becklen 1975; Simons 2000). Updating Thoreau takes us to a social-constructionist view of perception. This perspective posits that we see only what we have learned to see and that we are psychologically prepared to see. This perceptual preparation comes as a consequence of a complex personal history of perceiving events, actions, and people in certain ways, within certain contexts that are socially and culturally appropriate. Each individual’s personal history creates a set of powerful perceptual expectations about the way the world is and ought to be. As a result of these expectations, we most readily see what we expect to see and interpret incoming visual information in ways that are highly congruent with preexisting schemas. This notion that perceptions of the external world are shaped in this way have long been recognized by cognitive and gestalt theorists (e.g., Beck 1967; Perls 1969), and have been elaborated on in many ways over the years (e.g., Attneave 1954; Axelrod 1973; Becker 1973; Greenberg et al. 1986; Henderson and Hollingworth 1999). The present study was designed to examine this general perceptual phenomenon by testing how frequently individuals report seeing contextually expected and unex- pected objects in a visual scene. The study idea originated from an experience of one the authors (PGZ). Specifically, while looking through photos in the book, LIFE: The First 50 Years, 1936–1986, PGZ expressed surprise and distress at a photo that depicted a woman in midair, who had been photographed seconds after having leapt from a hotel window (See Fig. 1). A companion who was also looking at the photo over his shoulder noticed nothing unusual. Indeed, his recognition of the reality of the shocking scene came only after seeing the photo caption, which read: “The camera caught the 1942 plunge toward the Buffalo pavement of despondent divorcee in the last dreadful split second before death” (Kunhardt 1986, p. 64). To examine whether this failure to perceive the suicidal woman was a unique experience or an instance of a more common phenomenon, we conducted a series of eight studies in which more than 1,550 students viewed the photograph in a controlled classroom setting under fifteen different experimental conditions. Each study was Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 303 conducted under the auspices of an experiential activity on “visual perception,” which is consistent with a transformational teaching approach to classroom instruction (Slavich 2005, 2006, 2009; Slavich and Zimbardo 2012; see also Slavich and Toussaint 2013). First, we examined the generality of the phenomenon of failing to see an object that is unexpected, but which should otherwise be readily apparent given its dynamic centrality in a static stimulus array. Based on previous research demonstrating the failure of individuals to detect rare objects (Wolfe et al. 2005) and unlikely or unexpected events (Simons and Chabris 1999), we hypothesized that most viewers would not report having seen the suicidal woman. Next, to extend the existing literature on this topic, we examined the extent to which a series of very specific priming and structural manipulations of the photograph enhanced participants’ detection of the woman and other peripheral scene elements. Across these experimental manipulations, we predicted that reporting of particular scene elements (including the woman) would increase greatest for participants Fig. 1 Original suicidal woman stimulus photograph, published in LIFE: The First 50 Years, 1936–1986 304 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 who received primes aimed at making these elements more schematic with the scene, and thus more expected given the visual context. Method Overview The suicidal woman photograph previously described was shown to students in introductory psychology courses over eight years. The photograph was presented on a projection screen for multiple exposures (2, 3, or 4 exposures) of increasing duration (2–10 seconds per exposure). Before each viewing, participants were instructed to extract as much information as possible from the photograph. After each viewing, participants were asked to report on a standardized response form every scene element that they could remember from the photograph. As described in Table 1, eight replications utilizing this basic study design were conducted in all. Each replication occurred in a classroom format with 106–305 students per class (M=197.1, SD=73.6). The default study instructions prompted participants to “notice all that you can in the photograph” or to “extract as many details as possible from the scene.” In some replications, participants were randomly assigned to different groups and then primed with a specific visual search instruction (e.g., notice as many animate, inanimate, or unusual aspects as possible). In other replications, the photograph was modified in some way in sequential presentations of the test scene (e.g., the suicidal woman was deleted but then added to the scene, or vice versa; see Table 1). Given that the methods, stimuli, and procedures were essentially the same across the eight different studies (i.e., with the exception of structural changes and focus primes in some studies), we report the results of the studies together below. Participants A total of 1,577 students at Stanford University, the majority (74.9 %) of who were freshman, participated in the eight replications that comprised this overall program of research. Participants were of college age (M=19.2 years old; SD=1.03) and approx- imately equal in sex representation (56 % were female). Participants received re- search credit for their time. All participants provided written informed consent prior to participation, and all study procedures were approved in advance by the Institu- tional Review Board at Stanford University. Stimulus Materials The central element of the test scene is a woman in the act of committing suicide, who was photographed just seconds after she jumped from a top-story window in the Genesee Hotel in Buffalo, New York, in 1942 (See Fig. 1). The photograph was published in the oversized LIFE Magazine book called LIFE: The First 50 Years, 1936–1986 (Kunhardt 1986). The woman is located approximately in the center of the scene. Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 305 T a b le 1 O v er v ie w o f ch ar ac te ri st ic s o f ea ch st u d y S tu d y T ri al s S ti m u lu s d u ra ti o n IS Ia E x p er im en ta l co n d it io n n 1 2 6 s/ 6 s 2 m in N o ti ce al l th at y o u ca n 2 4 3 2 4 2 s/ 4 s/ 6 s/ 8 s 2 m in E x tr ac t as m an y d et ai ls as p o ss ib le 1 0 6 3 3 2 s/ 4 s/ 6 s 2 m in D et ec t n am e o f b u si n es se s an d an y th in g u n u su al 3 0 5 4 4 3 s/ 4 s/ 7 s/ 1 0 s 2 m in D et ec t n am e o f b u si n es se s an d an y th in g u n u su al 11 7 5 2 2 s/ 6 s 2 m in N o ti ce al l th at y o u ca n 1 0 9 N o ti ce as m an y an im at e o b je ct s as p o ss ib le , su ch as p eo p le 4 5 N o ti ce as m an y in an im at e o b je ct s as p o ss ib le , su ch as st o re s o r si g n s 5 0 N o ti ce th in g s th at ar e u n u su al 4 2 6 2 2 s/ 6 s 2 m in N o ti ce as m an y an im at e o b je ct s as p o ss ib le , su ch as p eo p le 8 3 N o ti ce as m an y in an im at e o b je ct s as p o ss ib le , su ch as st o re s o r si g n s 8 4 N o ti ce as m an y th in g s th at ar e u n u su al 6 4 7 2 2 s/ 6 s 2 m in S u ic id al w o m an st o ry p ri m e 1 2 1 8 2 2 s/ 6 s 2 m in W o m an p re se n t→ W o m an ab se n t 6 7 W o m an ab se n t→ W o m an p re se n t 6 8 B ar b er p o le p re se n t→ B ar b er p o le ab se n t 7 3 N = 1 ,5 7 7 a T h e IS I, o r in te rs ti m u lu s in te rv al , is th e ti m e b et w ee n o ff se t o f o n e st im u lu s an d o n se t o f th e n ex t. D u ri n g th is ti m e, p ar ti ci p an ts w er e as k ed to li st w h at th ey sa w in th e p h o to g ra p h . 306 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 Priming Manipulations The stimulus photograph was presented after a classroom lecture that discussed perceptual violations of expectations. This overall procedure thus constituted a “meta prime” for noticing scene elements that do not fit one’s schema for such scenes. Schematic perception and violations of expectation had also been defined and discussed prior to presenting the photograph. As described above, we primed participants in a number of different ways across the different studies. We also altered the structure of the test scene in several ways to examine the effects that these experimental manipulations had on participants’ reporting of the different scene elements. The number of trials, stimulus duration, interstimulus interval, and sample size for each study is summarized in Table 1, and a brief description of each of the experimental manipulations is provided below. Focus Primes In two separate replications, participants were given more specific instructions on what to focus on in the scene (i.e., “focus primes”). These instructions were printed on the standardized response forms, which were randomly assigned to students in the classroom. As summarized in Table 1, the focus prime in Study 3 and Study 4 was to “Detect the name of businesses in the scene and anything else that is unusual.” In Study 5 and Study 6, participants were asked to “Try to notice…” (a) “as many Animate Objects as possible, such as people,” or (b) “as many Inanimate Objects as possible, such as stores or signs,” or (c) “as many things that are Unusual.” Despondent Woman Story Prime The most direct schema-congruent prime with respect to the suicidal woman was a brief vignette that participants in this priming condition read immediately before viewing the test scene. This vignette was presented to students in Study 7. The vignette, introduced as “background information that might be useful to you,” read as follows: Joan was usually a happy person until she suffered a series of setbacks following graduation. Her mother died in a car crash, and soon after she lost her job that she really liked because the company was downsizing. She has had difficulty getting another job. Her boyfriend recently told her he was breaking off their engagement because he found a woman better suited to his values. Joan was despondent enough to seek help, but her depression worsened anyway. She felt her future was bleak when she checked into that downtown hotel… Structural Manipulations Finally, in one replication of the study (Study 8), we systematically altered the structure of the scene to examine how this manipulation influenced participants’ reporting of the different scene elements. In two experimental conditions in this study, the suicidal woman was airbrushed out of the scene to compare perceptions of the photograph on sequential viewings in which the central figure’s presence was manipulated as either present or absent in counterbalanced presentations (i.e., woman present then absent, or woman absent then present; See Fig. 2). In a third experimental condition in Study 8, the barber pole was added to and removed from the scene in counterbalanced presentations to test for differences in noticing scene elements as a function of altering a peripheral detail of the scene. Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 307 Procedure In each replication of the study, the test scene was projected onto a large screen using a Kodak CAROUSEL slide projector. The room was lit with low, ambient lighting. Participants were told that they were about to see a scene presented multiple times, for a few seconds each time. They were instructed to scan the scene as quickly and carefully as possible, and to then report every scene element that they could recall. When reporting on subsequent presentations of the scene, they were told to list elements that they had not noticed previously, as well as any modifications of previously reported items. Participants were given two minutes to record their responses after each viewing. Prior to this testing procedure, students recorded their age, sex, college year, quality of corrected vision (excellent, good, fair, poor), and viewing/sitting position in the classroom (center or side, and front, middle, or rear) on their standardized Fig. 2 Altered suicidal woman stimulus photograph, with woman airbrushed out 308 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 response form. This enabled a comparison of the reports of participants with the best vision in ideal viewing positions (front, center) with the reports of those in other viewing conditions. Participants were also asked to write their names on the response form to increase their motivation to perform the task well, given that one of the experimenters was also their course instructor.1 Results Effects of Visual Acuity and Viewing Position on Reporting of Scene Elements Analyses were conducted on data from an early replication of the study (Study 1, N=243) to test whether quality of vision (excellent, good, fair, poor) or viewing position (center-front, center-rear, sides) were related to the frequency of reporting elements in the scene. Viewing position was unrelated to reporting frequency, and quality of vision was only associated with reporting of the small “Coffee Shop” sign, χ2(6, N=243)=23.61, p=.001. Among those with excellent/good vision, 85 % of participants saw “Coffee Shop” compared to 52 % of those with fair/poor vision. Because noticing the central figure was unrelated to quality of vision and viewing position, we collapsed the data across these categories for all subsequent analyses. Perceiving the Central Figure A summary of seeing the central figure and several peripheral scene elements across all studies is presented in Table 2. Across all priming and structural manipulations, and averaged across repeated exposures (of 2, 3, or 4 presentations) and total exposure times (of 8, 12, and 24 seconds), only 2.2 % of participants reported seeing the target stimulus as a suicidal woman and only 3.9 % of participants reported seeing a suicidal person in the central position of the scene. Nearly half of all viewers (46 %) failed to report seeing anything or anyone in or near the position of the woman. Additional viewing opportunities and increased total exposure time did not significantly increase reporting of the target stimulus. Perceiving Peripheral Elements of the Scene These data may be contrasted with what participants did report. For example, a majority of participants (65.7 %) reported seeing “Garage,” “Hotel” (83.0 %), and “Coffee Shop” (94.0 %). Perhaps even more remarkable, 24.2 % and 26.1 % of participants accurately reported seeing the small signs announcing “Sandwiches 10¢” and “Milk Shakes,” respectively, in the hotel window. 1 Asking students to identify themselves could have led to less complete reporting of elements about which students were uncertain. However, given that students were explicitly instructed to list as many elements from the scene as possible, reporting elements about which students were uncertain was associated with doing better, not worse. This, we believe, decreased the likelihood of omitting uncertain scene elements. Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 309 Priming Effects Focus Primes In Study 5 (N=246) and Study 6 (N=231), participants were primed by having been asked to notice animate, inanimate, or unusual elements of the scene immediately prior to viewing the photograph. These manipulations did not significantly affect the likelihood of seeing the woman as a central figure in the scene. As summarized in Table 3, however, these primes did influence seeing peripheral elements in the scene in predictable ways. For example, participants who received the Inanimate focus prime were more likely than those in the Unusual and Animate conditions to report seeing “Hotel,” χ2(2, N=231)=7.07, p=.03, and “Coffee Shop,” χ2(2, N=231)=7.07, p=.03. Participants who received the Unusual focus prime were more likely than those in the Table 3 Percentage of participants who reported seeing scene elements after two seconds of exposure by type of prime Type of prime Scene element Neutral Animate Inanimate Unusual Story Central element Saw suicidal woman 0.0 % 0.0 % 0.0 % 0.0 % 12.4 % Saw suicidal person 0.5 % 0.0 % 0.0 % 0.0 % 1.7 % Saw falling person 0.6 % 15.7 % 9.5 % 9.4 % 2.5 % Saw target stimulus 11.1 % 39.7 % 27.2 % 31.4 % 25.0 % Peripheral elements Saw people in doorway 3.4 % 19.3 % 6.0 % 3.1 % 10.1 % Saw “1.00 Up” 14.0 % 15.7 % 23.8 % 40.6 % 26.7 % Saw “Garage” 18.2 % 13.3 % 20.2 % 20.3 % 33.1 % Saw “Hotel” 53.1 % 47.0 % 66.7 % 51.6 % 91.6 % Saw “Coffee Shop” 77.0 % 45.8 % 70.2 % 53.1 % 83.3 % Table 2 Percentage of participants who reported seeing the target stimulus and comparison peripheral stimuli across all studies, trials, and experimental conditions Scene element N % of participants Central element Saw suicidal woman 34/1,577 2.2 % Saw suicidal person 62/1,577 3.9 % Saw falling person 76/1,577 4.8 % Saw target stimulus 852/1,577 54.0 % Peripheral elements Saw “Sandwiches 10¢” 382/1,577 24.2 % Saw “Milk Shakes” 411/1,577 26.1 % Saw “Garage” 1,036/1,577 65.7 % Saw “Fountain” 1,145/1,577 72.6 % Saw “Hotel” 1,309/1,577 83.0 % Saw “Coffee Shop” 1,482/1,577 94.0 % 310 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 Inanimate and Animate conditions to report seeing “1.00 Up,” χ2(2, N=231)=12.05, p=.002. Finally, participants who received the Animate focus prime were more likely than those in the Inanimate and Unusual conditions to report seeing people in the doorway of the hotel, χ2(2, N=231)=12.88, p=.002. Despondent Woman Story Prime We hypothesized that seeing the suicidal woman would be enhanced for participants who read an account of a despondent woman with reasons to commit suicide immediately prior to viewing the stimulus photograph. This prediction was validated in Study 7. Of the 121 participants who received the despondent woman story prime immediately prior to viewing the scene, 15 individuals (12.4 %) reported seeing a suicidal woman, compared to 2.2 % of individuals across all samplings and manipulations in this research program, χ2(1, N=1577)=36.34, p<.001. Structural Manipulation Effects Woman Present or Absent In Study 8 (N=135), we altered the structure of the scene by either adding or removing the woman from the photograph in the second of two consecutive presentations of the stimulus. Participants in this study were asked to detect anything that changed in the scene between the first and second viewing. Participants in the condition where the woman was present and then removed differed significantly from those in the condition where the woman was absent and then inserted into the scene with respect to whether they noticed a change on the second viewing, χ2(1, N=135)=55.66, p<.001. Specifically, when the woman was absent and then added to the scene, no one noticed that something was added. However, when she was present and then removed from the scene in the second viewing of the photograph, 58.2 % of participants reported that something had been deleted. Barber Pole Present or Absent To test for differences in noticing central scene elements (i.e., those involving the woman) as a function of altering the scene’s peripheral details, the barber pole was added to and removed from the scene in counterbalanced presentations with a sample of 73 participants (Study 8). However, addition and removal of the barber pole did not affect the frequency of reporting any central scene elements. Qualitative Aspects of Scene Perception A content analysis was subsequently conducted on the written perceptual accounts to qualitatively examine how participants processed the photograph. When noticed, the central figure was described in 42 different ways – for example, as a woman, man, person, object, and figure. The animate individual was seen as flying, hanging, leaping, diving, and committing suicide. The static object was a statue, mannequin, sculpture, gargoyle, and fixture. When perceived as a figure, it was an angel, cherub, fairy, nymph, and mermaid. Remarkably, the hotel was frequently (and accurately) recalled as the “Genesee Hotel,” but it was also called the “Genesee Motel” and “Genesee Drugs.” The garage sign was described in 18 ways – for example, as free Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 311 garage and free parking. The people in the window and the doorway were described as a bellboy, doorman, crossing guard, customer, waiter, and policeman (the person in the doorway was actually a policewoman who was responding to the scene). Participants also frequently reported seeing things in the scene that were not actually present. For example, some participants reported seeing a marine kissing a girl, two people dancing, a fire hydrant, car, bench, tree, alley, overcast sky, and foggy weather. Some of the remembrances involved assimilation to the familiar, extensions of seen objects to related ones, and the mention of elements that were not present, but which would be schematic with the scene. Examples of this included seeing a “car parked out front” immediately after reporting “garage.” Given the setting, fire hydrants and colored neon signs could be expected and were reported, although none are actually present in the scene. In three instances a “red and white barber pole” was reported as being present in this black and white photograph. Finally, several participants dealt with the uncertain, perhaps distressing sight of the suicidal woman by transforming her into a static object, such as a “thing on the roof,” even though the roof is not visible in the photograph. Discussion Human visual recognition processes are usually quite robust and effective even when viewing conditions are degraded (Cox et al. 2004). When information about an element or figure in the visual field is insufficient or incomplete, though, we rely heavily on contextual cues to determine how to best understand and interpret the stimulus (Bar and Ullman 1996; Beiderman et al. 1982; Palmer 1975). In such instances, the personal expectations that we bring to a given perceptual task – for example, as a result of our histories, motivations, and disposition – dramatically influence what we see and remember. This is the essence of top-down processing: Humans see what they are psychologically prepared to see and are generally blind to what they are not prepared to see in a particular visual context, given their preexisting schemas and associated expectations for that context. Data from the present study provide robust evidence in support of this phenomenon. Across eight studies, 15 different experimental conditions, and more than 1,550 highly motivated, educated viewers, a large majority of participants failed to see the most significant event in a scene: a woman in the act of committing suicide. This occurred despite giving participants specific instructions to detect as many elements as possible from the scene, which was presented repeatedly with increasing duration times. Frequency of detecting the suicidal woman did not improve with additional exposure to the photograph and, in fact, was increased (from 2.2 % to 12.4 %) only among participants who read a paragraph-long priming story just prior to viewing the test scene. The story told of a despondent woman entering a hotel and was intended to increase the woman’s schematic congruency with the scene. Although some participants reasonably interpreted the central figure to be something other than a suicidal woman, nearly half of all participants (46 %) across all study replications and experimental manipulations failed to see anything or anyone in the general location of the woman. In contrast, participants exhibited remarkably accurate and detailed recognition of many other elements in the scene. Across all replications and experimental conditions, 312 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 for example, 65.7 % of participants saw “Garage,” 83 % of participants saw “Hotel,” and 94 % of participants saw “Coffee Shop.” These scene elements are arguably easier to perceive and recall than the suicidal woman. Importantly, though, they are also more schematically congruent with the scene. Coffee shops are frequently seen on street corners and garage signs are often posted near hotel entrances. More remarkable is that 24.2 % and 26.1 % of participants reported seeing “Sandwiches 10¢” and “Milk Shakes,” respectively. These two elements are incomplete and remain difficult to decipher even after prolonged exposure to the photograph. They are similar to the woman in this way, but differ in that they are schematically congruent with major elements of the scene, like “Coffee Shop” and “Fountain,” which were reported by more than 70 % of all participants. These two sets of results permit one of the more interesting comparisons of the study: Approximately one-fourth of all viewers made complete sense out of two highly degraded window signs, presumably by using their expectations to fill in the visual information they needed but which was not present; in the same amount of time, only 2.2 % of participants were able to make sense out of the woman given the visual information provided. Accurate detection of the window signs and not the suicidal woman is made more remarkable by the fact that the signs are approximately one-tenth the size of the woman. These results can be interpreted in several ways. One interpretation is that given the limited amount of time participants had to view the photograph, they simply reported the scene elements that had the greatest bottom-up saliency, such as “Hotel,” “Garage,” and “Coffee Shop.” These elements could arguably require less time to interpret than the suicidal woman. Although the present data do not speak to this interpretation, if tenable, we believe more participants would have reported basic stimulus elements of the central figure as well, such as the woman’s arms or legs. However, frequency of describing the woman’s basic features was relatively low. Indeed, half of all participants across all eight studies did not perform a bottom-up analysis of the suicidal woman. Taken together, these findings demonstrate that while visual schemas can enhance the detection of expected stimuli, they can also significantly hamper the perception of aschematic stimuli. We hypothesized that several different priming and structural manipulations would improve participants’ detection of the central figure and various peripheral elements, and this prediction was validated. Compared to a neutral condition, for example, participants primed to search for something animate were more likely to see a falling person (15.1 % more) and some central figure (28.6 % more), and they were less likely to report seeing “Hotel” (6.1 % less) and “Coffee Shop” (31.2 % less). Although neither the Inanimate nor the Unusual primes impacted reporting of a suicidal person, both increased the likelihood of seeing some central figure. These findings are novel insofar as they demonstrate the high degree of specificity with which a variety of priming manipulations may influence what individuals see in a complex visual scene. As expected, the largest priming effect was the significant increase in seeing a suicidal woman among participants who had just read a brief vignette about a despondent woman entering a hotel. In this condition, 12.4 % of participants reported having seen the suicidal woman, compared to 2.2 % across all conditions and replications. Participants who had just read the priming story were also much more likely to report seeing “Hotel” (91.6 % in the story condition, compared to 83 % Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 313 across all conditions and replications). We interpret these effects based on the formula- tion that the despondent woman story made the suicidal woman schematic with the photograph, at least temporarily. Interestingly, removing the woman from the scene in the second of two sequential presentations caused 58.2 % of participants to notice a change in the scene, but it did not increase reports of having seen the suicidal woman. Without these primes, a large majority of viewers failed to notice the woman in any form, suicidal or not. At the same time, participants saw much that was not really there. Indeed, although schematic processing of the scene interfered with participants’ accurate recognition of the aschematic figure, it also contributed to their tendency to invent a series of very reasonable elements to accompany the composite. For example, the barber pole becomes colored, neon signs flash, cars are parked on the street, and fire hydrants, trees, benches, and chairs are all introduced in schematically-congruent fashion. The perceived overcast sky (which is not even visible in the photograph) is enlivened by noticing a Marine kissing a girl, a man pulling a woman by her hair, and two people dancing in the street in front of the hotel. The central figure, when seen, takes on more than forty different forms across various perceptual accounts that all make sense given the context of the scene. Such is the stuff of vivid imaginations at odds with a simpler, more accurate visual account of the scene. A reasonable question is whether participants’ inability to detect the suicidal woman is simply a failure of proper perceptual grouping (i.e., seeing an arm or leg and the hotel sign, but not grouping the elements so as to perceive both the sign and woman). This would be akin to the classic R. C. James (1973) photograph of a Dalmatian, where viewers can stare at the photograph for minutes but not see the Dalmatian… until it is labeled as such, at which point it becomes obvious. The label, it seems, helps to organize the otherwise random dots into a meaningfully-grouped representation of a dog. Although somewhat similar, the present findings differ from this demonstration in at least two ways: first, participants viewing the suicidal woman photograph were not required to decipher the general context of the scene (in fact, they were told they were going to see an urban scene); and second, participants viewing the suicidal woman photograph were not asked to code a seemingly random visual array of elements (i.e., both the suicidal woman and the setting were “conceptually whole” to begin with). Relation to “Inattentional Blindness” Considered more broadly, these effects are consistent with a growing body of research on “inattentional blindness” (Becklen and Cervone 1983; Bredemeier and Simons 2012; Hyman et al. 2010; Mack 2003; Mack and Rock 1998; Most et al. 2001; Neisser and Becklen 1975; Simons 2000; see also Varakin and Levin 2008). This work has demonstrated, for example, that when an experimenter stops to ask a pedestrian for directions and is interrupted by workmen walking between them, one of whom then replaces the experimenter, only half of participants notice the change (Simons and Levin 1998). And when a person in a gorilla suit or a woman with an umbrella enters a visual scene, 46 % of participants fail to notice the event, despite its prominent placement in the scene (Simons and Chabris 1999). Remarkably, these effects occur even among “expert observers” who look directly at the target (e.g., the gorilla), as confirmed by eye tracking (Drew et al. 2013). The present findings extend the results of 314 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 these studies by showing that many objects in complex scenes (e.g., “Fountain,” “Hotel,” and “Coffee Shop” in the suicidal woman photograph) are actually easy to see and readily reported by participants, assuming they can be reasonably expected given the general context of the scene. This suggests that inattentional blindness cannot simply be the result of poor visibility. In addition, the data from the eight studies reported here show a far lower incidence of noticing (2.2 % for the suicidal woman) than in earlier studies, in addition to high rates of misidentification and schema-congruent replacements. In addition, the present results are consistent with research on figure-ground perception, including Davenport and Potter (2004), who found that objects and their settings are processed interactively, with general knowledge about an object’s appropriateness in a particular scene influencing the perception of that object (see also Beiderman et al. 1982; Boyce and Pollatsek 1992; Boyce et al. 1989). Our findings extend this work by highlighting the remarkable acuity that people exhibit when deciphering objects that are schematically-congruent with their context or setting. The present study also highlights the effects of a variety of priming and structural manipulations on reporting accuracy. In many cases, these effects are highly specific, improving recognition of prime-congruent elements while decreasing recognition of prime-incongruent elements. Limitations and Future Directions Several limitations of these studies should be noted. First, our main comparisons relied on frequencies of noticing the unexpected woman versus frequencies of noticing other more schematic elements of the scene (i.e., a within-scene compari- son). Future research would benefit from utilizing scenes in which it is possible to systematically modify the extent to which elements are schematically congruent with the scene by, for example, moving or altering the target object so as to make it either congruent or incongruent with the context of the scene while keeping constant the scene’s other characteristics. In addition, given the design of the present study, it was not possible to determine why participants failed to report the woman. For example, the present data do not speak to whether the unexpected visual information was ignored or distorted at the sensory-perceptual level or at the encoding or retrieval stages of remembering and reporting. This begs the question, were elements not reported because they were not seen in the first place (i.e., “inattentional blindness”) or rather because they were seen but not remembered (i.e., “inattentional amnesia”; see Wolfe 1999)? Future work could employ a gaze-tracking device to identify participants who look at the woman but who do not report seeing her. In addition, researchers could monitor arousal levels in this context (e.g., using measures such as the EEG P-300 “surprise wave,” heart rate measures, or fMRI indices) to identify participants who respond emotionally, but who still do not report seeing the woman. Concluding Remarks In conclusion, the human visual system is remarkably good at helping us navigate a very complex physical and social world that, more often than not, is highly predictable. Partly because of the dynamics that underlie this efficiency, however, we are also surprisingly Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 315 bad at noticing rare or unexpected events, even when they are central elements of a scene (Wolfe et al. 2005). When confronted with scene elements or situations for which we have no established (or active) schema, such information appears to fall into a visual “black hole” – a conceptual blind spot. This is the take-home message from the present data. When perceptual expectations are violated, even our most basic visual recognition processes may fail, as we look but do not see. Acknowledgments Preparation of this report was supported in part by National Institutes of Health grant R01 CA140933, by the Cousins Center for Psychoneuroimmunology, and by a Society in Science – Branco Weiss Fellowship to George Slavich. We thank Lauren Anas, Waki Gamez, and Connie Turcott for assisting with data management. 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Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 317 http://www.teachpsych.org/ebooks/eit2005/eit05-11.html http://dx.doi.org/10.1002/smi.2523 Out of Mind, Out of Sight: Unexpected Scene Elements Frequently Go Unnoticed Until Primed Abstract Method Overview Participants Stimulus Materials Priming Manipulations Structural Manipulations Procedure Results Effects of Visual Acuity and Viewing Position on Reporting of Scene Elements Perceiving the Central Figure Perceiving Peripheral Elements of the Scene Priming Effects Structural Manipulation Effects Qualitative Aspects of Scene Perception Discussion Relation to “Inattentional Blindness” Limitations and Future Directions Concluding Remarks References
work_p4s2jwsyczatdac5xdbo2i7pzq ---- Heddon, D., and Turner, C. (2012) Walking women: shifting the tales and scales of mobility. Contemporary Theatre Review, 22(2), pp. 224-236. There may be differences between this version and the published version. You are advised to consult the publisher’s version if you wish to cite from it. http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/29877/ Deposited on: 16 June 2016 Enlighten – Research publications by members of the University of Glasgow http://eprints.gla.ac.uk Walking Women: Shifting the Tales and Scales of Mobility Deirdre Heddon and Cathy Turner The art of walking has become a significant mode of practice and subject of critique in recent years. Festivals, events, networks and publications attest to the popularity of walking as art, including Will Self’s Psychogeography and Psycho Too, Merlin Coverley’s Psychogeography, Roberta Mock’s edited anthology, Walking, Writing and Performance, Phil Smith’s Mythogeography: A Guide to Walking Sideways, Geoff Nicholson’s populist The Lost Art of Walking, AntiFestival’s Walking festival, Deveron Art’s Walking Festival, Plymouth’s Perambulations and the Walking Artists Network.1 Reviewing contemporary writings about and reflections on current walking practices, we have found that this practical and critical interest in walking is cast in a much longer history. In this essay we first of all suggest that earlier theories and interpretations of walking continue to exert influence on cultural understandings of aestheticized walking, informing and shaping current knowledge. We argue that the reiteration of a particular genealogy – or fraternity – which includes Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Henry David Thoreau, Andre´ Breton and Guy Debord generates an orthodoxy of walking, tending towards an implicitly masculinist ideology. This frequently frames and valorizes walking as individualist, heroic, epic and transgressive. Such qualities are not exclusive to men of course; however, as we go on to suggest, a lack of attention to gender serves to fix the terms of debate, so that qualities such as ‘heroism’ and ‘transgression’ are understood predominantly in relation to a historically masculinist set of norms. It is our proposition that a persistent iteration of these features marginalizes other types of walking practices and the insights they might prompt, a marginalization that this essay seeks to address. The invisibility of women in what appears as a canon of walking is conspicuous; where they are included, it is often as an ‘exception’ to an unstated norm, represented by a single chapter in a book or even a footnote. Coverley’s populist Psychogeography proves illustrative. Treading a path through urban pedestrianism from the seventeenth to the twenty-first century, he introduces the reader to Daniel Defoe, William Blake, Thomas De Quincey, Robert Louis Stevenson, Arthur Machen, Alfred Watkins, Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Baudelaire, Walter Benjamin, Andre´ Breton, Louis Aragon, Guy Debord, Michel de Certeau, J. G. Ballard, Iain Sinclair, Peter Ackroyd, Stewart Home and Patrick Keiller.2 The only woman represented in the entire book is the eponymous prostitute of Surrealist Breton’s Nadja (herself a re-presentation of a woman stalked through the night time streets of Paris).3 1 Will Self, Psychogeography (London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2007); Will Self, Psycho Too (London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2009); Merlin Coverley, Psychogeography (London: Pocket Essentials, 2006); Walking, Writing and Performance, ed. by Roberta Mock (Bristol: Intellect, 2009); Phil Smith, Mythogeography: A Guide to Walking Sideways (Axminster: Triarchy Press, 2010); Geoff Nicholson, The Lost Art of Walking (Chelmsford, Harbour Books, 2010); Kuopio AntiFestival, www. antifestival.com4 [accessed 31 January 2012]; Deveron Arts www.deveronarts.com [accessed 31 January 2012]; Walking Artists Network, http:// walkingartistsnetwork. org/ [accessed 2 February 2012]. Perambulations was part of the Hidden City Festival held in Plymouth 2008 www. hiddencityfestival.org.uk [accessed 12 April 2012]. 2 Coverley, Psychogeography. 3 Andre´ Breton, Nadja, trans. M. Polizzotti (London: Penguin Books, 1999 [1928]). While this particularly male-centred chronology may be an extreme example, it seems to represent a general trend.4 It is this surprising absence of women and the persistent cultural and ideological narratives attached to walking – the former connected to the latter – that has prompted our research project, ‘Walking Women’. Having established, with relative ease, that many contemporary women artists use walking as an integral material to their art, during 2009 we walked with and talked to thirteen artists based in the UK, discussing in some detail their practices, motivations, and experiences, including their sense of walking as a woman.5 Our project always and consciously treads a difficult line between the risk of essentialism and that of understating the real differences in experience that may be produced by cultural expectations of gender performance. We do not seek to identify a way of walking specific to women; given that there is no singular ‘woman’, there can be no such practice. Nevertheless, we do recognize that the body that walks potentially makes a difference to the experience of walking. As geographer Tim Cresswell writes, ‘ways of moving have quite specific characteristics depending on who is moving and the social and cultural space that is being moved through’.6 Here, we set out to ask whether women’s work, itself under-represented, might draw attention to invisible, under-estimated or unexamined aspects of walking performances, thus serving to challenge the dominant discourses that remain attached to walking practice. We argue that setting the work we have encountered thus far beside persistent narratives of walking prompts a necessary and renewed attention to the relative and contextual – mobile – nature of concepts of freedom, heroism and scale, on the one hand, and to the relational politics that make up the spatial on the other. Walk Like A Man . . . Before introducing practices which variously trouble our perceptions of scale, we must first expand on our opening suggestions concerning the predominant and influential narratives attached to walking. The represented landscape of walking as an aesthetic practice is framed by two enduring historical discourses: the Romantics and Naturalists, tramping through rural locations; and the avant- gardists, drifting through the spectacular urban streets of capitalism. Irrespective of historical or geographical location, two related imperatives recur: seek out adventure, danger and the new; and 4 For instance, Rebecca Solnit’s Wanderlust: A History of Walking (London and New York: Verso, 2002) references specific male walkers approximately four times as frequently as it identifies female walkers, despite her consciousness of questions of gender, feminism and the history of prostitution. The list of men to whom she devotes most space bears some similarity to Coverley’s genealogy, and to the lineage we suggest in our opening remarks: Jean-Jacques Rousseau, John Muir, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, William Wordsworth, Thomas De Quincey, Charles Dickens, Charles Baudelaire, Søren Kierkegaard, Walter Benjamin, Andre´ Breton, Louis Aragon, Guy Debord. The only women given comparable space are Jane Austen, Dorothy Wordsworth, Virginia Woolf and Ffyona Campbell. 5 ‘Women Walking’ was funded by the British Academy. We completed peripatetic interviews with Emma Bush, Hilary Ramsden, walkwalkwalk, Tamara Ashley and Simone Kenyon, Elspeth Owen, Rachel Gomme, Linda Cracknell, Sorrel Muggridge, Misha Myers, and Ana Laura Lopez de la Torre. 6 Tim Cresswell, On the Move: Mobility in the Modern Western World (New York, London: Routledge, 2006), p. 197. The recent statement by a representative of Toronto Police that ‘women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized’ is a stark indication of the ways in which the occupation of space remains gendered. Responding to such patriarchal ideology, the ‘Slut Walk’ was founded by four women in Toronto. At the time of writing, satellite Slut Walks have been proposed in Canada, the USA, Australia, New Zealand, Europe, South Africa and Mexico. See 5http://www. slutwalktoronto. com/4 [accessed 1 September 2011]. release oneself from the relations of everyday life. While both discourses tend to presume a universal walker, whose experience is uninflected by gender, explicitly and implicitly the walker is typically male. Rousseau’s late-eighteenth-century assertion that he could only meditate when walking is much cited as a founding moment in the history of walking understood as a cultural act, as a means in itself.7 It is not walking, per se, that enables Rousseau’s deep contemplation but the sense of freedom engendered by walking alone. Walking serves to erase ‘everything that makes me feel my dependence, [. . .] everything that recalls me to my situation’.8 The specificity of the body that is able to walk alone in the eighteenth century is worth remarking. Henry David Thoreau, writing a century later, figures the walker as a crusader and errant knight, traversing the wild; as such, the domesticated walk is critiqued: ‘When we walk we naturally go to the fields and woods; what would become of us if we walked in a garden or mall?’9 In his treatise, the independent walker is explicitly coded as male: If you are ready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife and child and friends, and never see them again; if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man; then you are ready for a walk.10 This might be dismissed as belonging to nineteenth-century chauvinism, and yet contemporary artists acknowledge a debt to such past walkers. For instance, Wrights & Sites cite Thoreau’s words in their ‘Manifesto for a New Walking Culture’11 with a modicum of approval. This is despite the fact that all members of this mixed gendered group are frequently involved in walking with children, partners and friends. Wrights & Sites also take a bearing from the avant-garde tradition of the twentieth century, citing in the same Manifesto Andre´ Breton’s command to ‘Leave everything’ – including Dada, wife, mistress, children and ‘easy life’.12 While their citation of manifesto-within-manifesto offers multiple viewpoints by which to engage such statements, something of this longing to be ‘a free man’ appears to remain. Though Thoreau and Breton are not expected to be taken literally, their words are associated with a political freedom that is desirable. This construction of walking as an act of heroic resistance to norms reappears in the postmodern figure of the rhizomatic nomad, pitted 7 See Solnit, Wanderlust, p. 14; and Joseph A. Amato, On Foot: A History of Walking (New York: New York University Press, 2004), pp. 110–11. 8 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Confessions (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1953 [1782]), p. 382. 9 Henry David Thoreau, ‘Walking’, in Waldo R. Browne (ed.), Joys of the Road: A Little Anthology in Praise of Walking (Chicago: Browne’s Bookstore, 1951), pp. 56–75 (p. 64); originally published in Atlantic Monthly, June 1862. 10 Thoreau, ‘Walking’, pp. 57–58. 11 Wrights & Sites, ‘Manifesto for a New Walking Culture: Dealing with the City’, Performance Research, 11 (2006), 115–122. Also available at 5http://www.misguide.com/ws/ documents/dealing. html4 [accessed 26 May 2011]. Wrights & Sites, founded in 1997, is a group of four artist-researchers (Stephen Hodge, Simon Persighetti, Phil Smith and Cathy Turner) committed to producing experimental, siteorientated work. See 5http://www.misguide.com/4 [accessed 2 February 2012]. 12 Andre´ Breton, ‘Leave Everything’, in Dawn Ades, Dada and Surrealism Reviewed (London: Arts Council of Great Britain, 1978 [1922]), p. 166. against the State and stasis.13 As Cresswell notes, this nomad ‘is a remarkably unsocial being – unmarked by the traces of class, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, and geography’.14 Nicolas Bourriaud’s idea of the ‘radicant’ artist is close to this Deleuzian conception: such art is characterized by ‘wandering practices’ and journey-structures, refusing stable identity or location, introducing ‘precariousness into the very heart of the system of representations by means of which the powers that be manage.15 Despite Bourriaud’s claims to ‘altermodernity’, we hear echoes of Rousseau and Thoreau in his celebration of ‘a principle of nonmembership: that which is constantly moving from place to place, which weakens origins or destroys them’, where the artist journeys through a ‘new altermodern archipelago’.16 A parallel legacy is revealed in the popularization of the term ‘psychogeography’, which is testament to a continuing debt to the practices of the anarchic Situationist International (SI), founded in Paris in the late 1950s, who shared with the Romantics the same notions of ‘adventure’, ‘newness’ and ‘freedom’. The artist, set apart from the crowd, aims to shock us out of our commonplace perceptions into a revaluation of the everyday, reality itself. Of all the movements engaged in reflexive walking practice, the SI would seem to hold out the most promise for an awareness of embodied experiences of space, the very term ‘psychogeography’ alluding to the subjective combined with the scientific. However, situationist renderings of space, though complex, seem to fix it, as if space exists separate to its occupations. For example, founder Guy Debord asked that those committed to one SI tactic, the dérive, ‘drop [. . .] their relations [. . .] and let themselves be drawn by the attractions of the terrain and the encounters they find there’.17 There is a presumption that ‘letting-go’ engenders access to some pure space. And yet, how can one abandon one’s relations, if the concept of ‘relations’ extends to the diffuse, culturally inscribed relations that exist between all people – and indeed the relations through which space is constructed? That relations (albeit multiple and shifting) are attached to bodies and travel with them, affecting space, is made blatant in the experiences of SI member Abdelhafid Khatib. In the summer of 1958, whilst attempting to produce a psychogeographical report for the SI on the Les Halles area, Khatib was twice arrested for breaking the curfew imposed on Algerian residents (which prohibited them from being outside after 7.30pm).18 Such incidents rather question Simon Sadler’s proposition that Bernstein and Khatib 13 Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari are key critics here. See Deleuze and Guattari, Nomadology: The War Machine (New York: Semiotext(e), 1986) and A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1987). 14 Cresswell, On the Move, p. 53. 15 See Nicolas Bourriaud, The Radicant, trans. James Gussen and Lili Porten (New York: Lukas and Sternberg 2009), pp. 94, 99. It would be possible to extend this discussion by looking at Bourriaud’s notion of ‘relational art’ and its aspirations, as well as Grant Kester’s related concept of ‘dialogic’ practices (see Conversation Pieces: Community and Communication in Modern Art (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004)). Such an analysis deserves more space, however, and a thorough discussion is beyond the scope of this article, though see our comments below. 16 Ibid., p.185. 17 Guy Debord, ‘Theorie de la derive’, Internationale Situationniste, #2 (Paris, December 1958) ed. and trans. by Ken Knabb in Situationalist International Anthology, (2nd Edition, 2006) pp. 62–66 available to download at 5www. bopsecrets.org/SI/2. derive.htm4 [accessed 30 November 2010]. 18 Stewart Home, The Assault on Culture: Utopian Currents from Lettrisme to Class War (Stirling: A.K. Press, 1991), p. 34. could use the psychogeographic drift to ‘reclaim the night’ and momentarily defy ‘the white patriarchy of urban-space time’.19 Iain Sinclair, associated with the recent resurgence of psychogeography, describes his own discovery of walking as ‘a means of editing a city of free-floating fragments’. Rather than being directly influenced by the Situationists, he comments that he recognized that he had been a ‘disenfranchised psychogeographer’ all along. He characterizes himself as stalking ‘a defining urban narrative’, and this idea of the walk as cinematographic narrative of images became ‘a model for future projects’.20 Sinclair’s vision of psychogeography again echoes the need for detachment and proposes the possibility of being able to read the city as a text, looking ‘down on the glittering Thames’, without much concern for the specificity of one’s own body and cultural position. Psychogeography’s pitching of the individual against a monumentalized and static space is an opposition echoed in the often-quoted writings of philosopher Michel de Certeau. His suggestion that the city is a language to be spoken by the walker is resonant in relation to Sinclair’s notions of editing and narrating a city.21 Doreen Massey, however, rejects this notion of space, understanding it instead as a ‘sphere of relations’. She thus calls for a ‘relational politics of the spatial’, concerned with the multiple ‘engagements’ with which space ‘challenges us’ and which emphasizes our implication in the construction of spatial relationships.22 Following Massey, we might suggest that the detachment implicit in Romanticism, Naturalism and avant-garde practices (and after them, contemporary psychogeography) refuses to recognize or take any responsibility for its implication in the construction of asymmetrical spatial power relations.23 The historic and contemporary landscapes of psychogeographical practices are mostly devoid of women.24 The fiction produced by one of the few female situationist members, Miche`le Bernstein, while unreliable as a historical source,25 offers a rare insight into her imaginative response to the situationist derive. In Toutes les Chevaux du Roi (All the King’s Horses) the character Geneviève (based on Bernstein), is the long-term partner of Gilles (based on Debord).26 In describing her attempts to walk alone in Nice, Geneviève comments on the unwelcome attention she attracts as a woman alone, finding it all ‘rather sad and discouraging’.27 Bernstein evokes the way that the solitary female walker may be made painfully aware of her own body as spectacle. She does not experience the city as ‘a free man’. Perhaps, however, her experience of having her own identity reflected back to her by the city makes her acutely aware of the constitution of space as a constant, ongoing activity in which bodies are active and implicated. Geneviève also suggests that hers is a more circumscribed Paris than that of her partner: ‘Alone [. . .] the streets [. . .] always lead me to 19 Simon Sadler, The Situationist City (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999), p. 81. 20 Iain Sinclair, ‘An Introduction to Lights Out for the Territory’, Telegraph, 1 February 2010, 5http://www. telegraph.co.uk/ expat/expatlife/ 7140533/LightsOut-for-theTerritory.html4 [accessed 27 May 2011]. 21 Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984). 22 Doreen Massey, For Space (London: Sage, 2005), p. 147. 23 Ibid., p. 103. 24 See Coverley, Psychogeography. 25 Bernstein’s writing in Tous les Chevaux du Roi is unreliable because of its fictional nature; its status as an historical record of Situationist activities is therefore unclear. However, it is evidently based on Bernstein’s personal situation and Situationist practices. 26 Bernstein was married to Debord. 27 Michele Bernstein, Tous les Chevaux du Roi (Buchet-Chastel, 1960; trans. John Kelsey as All the King’s Horses (Paris: Semiotext(e), 2008]), p. 65. the same parts of the city [. . .]. For me, the Left Bank consists of a few cafe´ tables.’28 Accepting the excitement of a night walk that might ‘reinvent Paris’, she does not suggest that her own, more constrained perspective might itself prove revealing, an idea that we propose remains a further possibility. Walking As A Woman . . . In her fiction, Bernstein reveals something of what it is to walk as a woman in 1960s Paris.29 She locates her gendered self within the landscape – her experience as a woman standing in stark contrast to the masculinist presumptions so often iterated within the historical and contemporary explications of walking art. These presumptions, alongside a noticeable invisibility of women in publications about walking art, prompted our exploration of the work of female artists. The space available here does not permit a deep analysis of individual performances – though that is certainly a task our initial findings suggest is necessary. Rather, in the remainder of this article we seek to introduce the various ways in which this work offers possibilities for – and suggests the necessity of – revising and widening the discourses attached to walking, challenging critical orthodoxies. If our original intention was to bring women’s work into the frame of reference, pointers within the work indicate that the frame itself might be productively unsettled. The spectacular reception that Bernstein encountered as a walking woman remains reflected in more contemporary experiences, suggesting the need for further research on the ‘reception’ of walking bodies. Two of the women artists we interviewed, Simone Kenyon and Tamara Ashley, walked the long-distance Northern England route, the Pennine Way, in 2007. Framing their walk as a durational art project, for the 429 kilometres traversed over 31 days they attempted to stay attuned to the way the changing landscape made their (trained, dancers’) bodies feel; and to the fact that they walked as a duo.30 The artists’ intention was to walk the path as dancers, noting relationships between space and movement and each other. Notably, certain acts of spectatorial inscription brought other relations into the foreground, making Ashley and Kenyon at times acutely conscious of their gender – of walking as women. Interpellated by the occasionally hostile male walker/spectator as lesbians (intended as an insult), Ashley and Kenyon were exposed to – and in their reflections revealed – the persistence of certain ideological assumptions about appropriate places for women to walk, alongside appropriate types of walking for women. For this reason, we would propose that women’s ‘heroic walking’ – walking that takes place on long- durational and geographical scale – is performative, claiming equal right for women to traverse the ‘wild’, the open spaces. However, the ‘heroic’ attributes might also resonate doubly here, since the 28 Ibid., p. 37. 29 Cited in Elizabeth Wilson, The Sphinx in the City (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), p. 52. 30 Unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). Tamara Ashley and Simone Kenyon are dancers committed to creating work that engages with aspects of ecology and environment. They have created solo pieces and collaborative performances. At time of writing, Ashley is Artistic Director of DanceDigital whilst Kenyon is a producer with Battersea Arts Centre. The Pennine Way walk was blogged: http:// ashleykenyonwalk. blogspot.com [accessed 15 July 2011]. An illustrated book was subsequently published, offering a poetic and diaristic reflection of their experiences – The Pennine Way: The Legs That Make Us (London A Brief Magnetics Publication, 2007). The dancers presented a performative account of their walk at RADAR, Loughborough University (‘Roam: A Weekend of Walking’), 15–17 March 2008. perceived risks of the ‘wild’ are gendered; part of the assumed threat for women is generated by still-dominant cultural perceptions of the implicit threat of men; this is the ‘wild man’ who, unable to control his sexual urges, preys on (vulnerable) women.31 Ashley and Kenyon’s work prompts us to ask the difficult question of whether women who walk in the ‘wild’ are considered especially heroic; difficult, because an affirmative answer reiterates cultural presumptions about gender (in opposition to the ‘wild man’ is the vulnerable, victimized and incapable woman). The differently gendered presumptions attached to the wild are explicit in the experience of writer Linda Cracknell. During 2007, supported by a Creative Scotland Award, Cracknell undertook a dozen walks to gather material for a writing project, completing a variety of excursions which included a 200 mile Scottish drover’s road and a seven day hike on the Mozarabic trail in south-eastern Spain.32 Cracknell recalls a phrase she heard repeatedly throughout her project: ‘God, you must be so brave.’ Significantly, she did not hear this when she climbed an Alp – the only walk that, in her opinion, exposed her to real, objective danger.33 On this walk, though, she was accompanied by two men. Rather than suggesting a greater scale of heroism for the female walker, it may well be more useful politically to draw attention to the many women who do undertake walking on this scale and emerge unscathed. This might generate reassurance that the wild is neither more nor less dangerous to women than it is to men, which in turn may serve to rewrite the inscriptions of space and gender, as well as presumed walking competencies. Walking Women, Troubling Scales We must, however, go beyond simply asserting that women, too, walk in difficult and remote places and consider whether their work troubles our conventional understanding of ‘heroic’ walking. Though recognizing the political imperative of acknowledging women artists’ presence in the ‘wild’ (women have always been as attracted to ‘risk’ or ‘adventure’ as men), at the same time we wish to resist simply adding women to a landscape from which they have been absented. To do so would leave other norms unchallenged. In exploring the work made, and in listening to artists’ reflections upon it, it is evident that values of scale are problematized rather than simply inverted; the mobility and relationality of scales are exposed. For example, though Ashley and Kenyon have walked the Pennine Way, they also point out that on the long durational journey, walking becomes underscored as a repetitive and familiar action – simply one foot after another. The next move is defined. As they state, the long-distance path provided them with a long-term purpose and focus, a choreographic or action-score that guided and pulled them along each day. In this way, Ashley and Kenyon represent the epic and heroic as in-step and co-incidental with the habitual and the known. 31 As Rebecca Solnit writes, ‘Having met so many predators, I learned to think like prey’, Wanderlust, p. 168. 32 Linda Cracknell is the author of collections of stories including Life Drawing (Glasgow: 11/9, 2000), edited anthologies (A Wilder Vein (Ullapool: Two Ravens Press, 2009)), and radio plays (including The Lamp, R4, December 2011). Her walks from 2007 are informing a series being published in Cracknell’s pocket book imprint, ‘best foot books’ which includes Whiter than White (2009), The Beat of Heart Stones (2010) and Following Our Fathers (2012). See http://www. lindacracknell.com [accessed 2 February 2012] and http:// walkingandwriting. blogspot.com [accessed 25 May 2011]. 33 Unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). Similarly, though Cracknell completed a number of long distance walks, she also walked the everyday paths of a Kenyan village, and the Birks of Aberfeldy – a short daily walk behind her home. Contrasting with the narratives of discovery that are attached to the new and unfamiliar, she reflects that this walk is ‘like the process of revision’.34 It is through rewalking, like rewriting, that original stories emerge. Each of Cracknell’s walks has an equally valuable story to tell no matter their status as familiar or unfamiliar, or their scale of distance covered. Further, irrespective of where Cracknell is walking, her attention is drawn to the details of the micro-landscape nestling close by; for example, encountering a rock with scratch marks on it she imagined it as a vast landscape unto itself. Such microscopic attention makes the smallest landscape gigantic. Attending to detail in this way again equalizes walking practices as the focus is the nearby – not the distant horizon (an open space to be conquered). Wherever one is walking, one is right here, on this foot of land. Artist Elspeth Owen’s walking events similarly trouble assumptions of scale. Undertaking long- distance, long-duration projects, Owen typically walks for hundreds of miles throughout the UK, rarely knowing, in advance, where she is going. This unpredictability is built into the structure of her works. In Looselink (2005), for example, she invited ten people – all but the first a stranger to her – to present her with a message to be hand-delivered to another person. The recipient of that message would then be invited to give her another message to deliver to another person, and so on. In this way, Owen criss-crossed Britain, walking from her home in Cambridgeshire, to Newcastle, to South Wales, to Norfolk, and finishing some three months later in Cornwall. Her walking served to create a network of eleven people.35 Whilst Owen is undeniably engaging with the epic, she simultaneously challenges notions of the heroic, solitary walker by inserting a gesture of intimacy into her work, becoming a ‘link’ between people. Her inordinately personal touch reduces the epic to a local scale – one human to one human: one sender, one messenger, one recipient. This simple gesture serves to remind us that, irrespective of distances between, we are connected to each other. But here lies the paradox of her work too, because it is the distances between, the effort required to cover them, that lends her work its impact, making the gesture of delivery profoundly committed rather than banal. The small scale gesture (the detail) depends on, is entangled with, the large scale action (the monumental).36 It would be disingenuous not to admit to a sense of admiration and awe in the face of Owen’s practice, even if that comes dangerously close to patronizing; Owen is in her seventies. Resisting this idea of heroism, however, she is adamant that her walking is not in any way related to endurance or suffering. She willingly accepts the kindness of strangers when offered (spare rooms and hospitality) and admits to carrying a large golfing umbrella tucked into her rucksack (useful for shelter, to scare cattle, and as a walking stick). There seems an everyday pragmatism to Owen’s practice that deflates overblown concepts of the heroic – the single walker pitched against the enormity of the open lands – rescaling it in the process. Owen is simply going for a walk. 34 Unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). 35 Though an established ceramicist, Elspeth Owen also embraces time-based, live practices. Since 2005, under the guise of a persona, ‘Material Woman’, Owen has completed a number of long-distance, durational walks: Looselink (2005), Orbit (2007), Grandmother’s Footsteps (2009) and In the Dark (2009). See www. elspethowen.net [accessed 1 May 2012]. 36 See Rebecca Schneider, ‘Patricide and the Passerby’, in D. J. Hopkins, Shelley Orr and Kim Solga (eds), Performance and the City (Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), pp. 51–70. Women Walking . . . ‘The Familiar And Forgotten’ Whilst artists such as Kenyon, Ashley, Cracknell and Owen simultaneously engage and trouble conceptions of the ‘heroic’, other artists consciously locate their practice in their local vicinity, but here too they problematize categories. In spite of a notable cultural shift towards valuing the local (largely prompted by environmental sensitivity and appeals to sustainability), the ‘local’ remains tainted with notions of the parochial (a place of borders and boredom), marked by the same cultural conceptions that enabled Thoreau to frame his ‘wilderness’ walks as more valuable than walks around a landscaped garden. Perceptions of ‘local’ and ‘wild’ seem related to rhetoric of scale. Susan Stewart notes in her study of the miniature and the gigantic that the miniature is overcoded as the ‘cultural’, whilst the gigantic is overcoded as the ‘natural’: ‘Whereas the miniature represents closure, interiority, the domestic, and the overly cultural, the gigantic represents infinity, exteriority, the public, and the overly natural’.37 Such codings, like those attached to mobility (mobile/immobile, active/passive), are ideologically gendered and whilst both scales are equally overcoded, they are differentially valued. The small scale comes to represent the constraints of culture, rather than its achievements, while the large scale aligns public man with the unmediated vibrancy of the natural world. The devaluing of the ‘local’ is strikingly evident in Debord’s ‘Theory of the Dérive’, where he quotes a study of Paris by Chombart de Lauwe. De Lauwe illustrates the ‘narrowness of the real Paris in which each individual lives’ by systematically plotting the movements of a student over the course of a year. As Debord represents it: ‘Her itinerary forms a small triangle with no significant deviations, the three apexes of which are the School of Political Sciences, her residence and that of her piano teacher.’38 Debord goes on to profess ‘outrage at the fact that anyone’s life can be so pathetically limited’, a limitation to be overcome by the development of the dérive.39 The limits of Debord’s own perspective are apparent within the work of many contemporary artists who value the local and habitual, while other work makes evident the ways in which specific roles and bodies shape the geographies of our lives. For example, partners Dan Belasco Rogers and Sophia New of plan b, based in Berlin, have both recorded their every journey on GPS since 2007 (Belasco Rogers had done so since 2003).40 The resulting project, You, Me and Everywhere We Go,41 a visual exhibition of these recordings, offers unique data concerning not only their habitual, everyday walking practices (the repeated routes appear as thicker markings on the printed GPS recordings), but the differences between their movements while collaborating as artists, partners and parents. Though the broad picture appears similar to the outsider, there are moments of telling disjunction, 37 Susan Stewart, On Longing: Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection (Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, 1993), p. 70. 38 Debord, ‘Theory of the Derive’ unpaginated. 39 Ibid. 40 Daniel Belasco Rogers and Sophia New have been performing together under the name plan b since 2001. Residing in Berlin, they make solo and individual works, across a range of forms, including video installation, drawings, and performance. Since 2003, Belasco Rogers has been recording his outside journeys with a GPS (The Drawing of My Life). In 2007, New began to record her movements. See http:// planbperformance/net[accessed 21 May 2011]. 41 Exhibition, Peacock Visual Arts, Aberdeen (2008). as when Rogers sets out alone for Japan, leaving New at home with their small daughter: ‘Not only was I seeing something extraordinary without you and missing you both like an amputated limb, the jet lag had made me extremely emotional.’ New, on her part, recalls: I was very aware of the lines I was making on the first walks with Ruby, as she led me ever so slowly on a twisty turny journey by the canal in Kreuzberg. She was not going from A to B but exploring the world from moment to moment, side tracked by small stones, acorns, bottle tops and dogs. My GPS made a lot of points that day and distance was condensed into a dance of back and forth rather than from here to there.42 Rather than celebrating the heroic trajectory, plan b’s reflections here suggest the loneliness of global travel, set against the fascination of a child’s first walks through her locality, where the small, uncertain body leads her mother in a walk that resists cutting across the territory but twists, turns, redoubles, side-tracks and dances in its exploration of minutiae. A similar comparison is suggested in Wrights & Sites’ split-screen video-recording that accompanied their performance-lecture, ‘Simultaneous Drift: 4 walks, 4 routes, 4 screens’.43 In the video, the three male members of Wrights & Sites are seen on the streets of Exeter, Bristol and London respectively; walks characterized by spaces of sterility and frustration, as sites in the process of redevelopment are frequently barred, blocked or monitored. Against these three experiences, Turner is seen attempting to drift inside the house with her baby daughter: I had imagined it as a sort of celebration of the domestic: You can drift in the house; I will drift in the house [. . .] and actually when I looked at [the video recording], it’s quite sad [. . .] I hadn’t realized that the extent of my ambivalence is very obvious [. . .] you can see it. Because I was feeling slightly kind of trapped and I was trying to sort of celebrate it, but also you can see there is also a frustration there.44 Turner both transgresses the usual rules of the house (dressed for the outdoors; pushing the buggy upstairs; attempting to pitch a tent in the bathroom) and yet experiences frustration. On the other hand, the other walkers experience the frustrations of the public sphere. In these examples, plan b and Wrights & Sites deliberately set the local/domestic and wide- ranging/public side by side. Other artists have specifically turned their attention to the apparently local and small scale. For instance, the London based triumvirate, walkwalkwalk (Clare Qualmann, Gail Burton and Serena Korda), consciously de´tourne Debord’s expression of outrage by specifically mapping their own daily routes to define a triangle: ‘rather than diverging from it we decided we would explore relationships within it’.45 The trio organized their first night walk around this triangle of the East End of London in 2005, and have continued to mount these participatory, public walks twice a year, often coinciding with midsummer and midwinter nights. The walks are free, and walkers range in ages from toddlers to senior citizens. Subtitling the work ‘An Archaeology of the 42 42. Rogers and New, 5http://www. planbperformance. net/meandyou.htm [accessed 6 January 2010]. 43 43. Wrights & Sites, performance-lecture performed at Arnolfini, Bristol as part of Situations’ Material City programme on 11 October 2006. Documented at http://www.misguide.com/ws/ documents/situations. Html [accessed 30 May 2011]. 44 Unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). 45 Qualmann, unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). Familiar and Forgotten’,46 and acknowledging the precedence of Dada and Iain Sinclair, the artists recognize the value of their local, habitual and everyday practice, seeing it as filled with immanent potential. Since all places are in a perpetual state of flux and reconstruction, physical as well as cultural, they are also, to some extent, new. The East End, a site of urban regeneration coinciding with the 2012 Olympics, has experienced seismic shifts. walkwalkwalk literally map these material changes by producing bespoke maps for each event, marking the change of space through time. However, their walks connect not only with details of material changes in the fabric of the environment but with spectral selves. The local is scored through with autobiographical traces, place and identity mutually informing. As Gail Burton comments, I am constantly crossing my path, as everybody is, and so it reconnects me with how I felt at different times, when I did that, and what was happening then, and what I saw and what I am seeing now and it is a whole web of my history and other people’s.47 This vision of the walk as part of a web, rather than as a single trajectory, suits a walking philosophy that values the familiar, local, temporal and socio-cultural, as well as the unknown, immediate, solitary, wild – and indeed, finds them entangled with one another. Such entanglement and its potential is also revealed in the work of Emma Bush, whose Village Walk (2008), based in her own village, Harbertonford, in Devon, was notable for the way it opened up unexpected spaces and connections within this village environment.48 Walking as a focus for this work emerged out of Bush’s desire to connect with place. The research process for Village Walk was slow, extended over months and involved repeatedly walking the route with elders from the village, and alone. The final walk linked a series of the elders’ autobiographical stories. Each of these revealed an unexpected, hidden relationship to space. For instance, Pam’s story told of a period of agoraphobia, in which she took up landscape painting, based on photographs her husband brought to her. Eventually, her desire to see the places she had painted brought her out of the house once more. In our interview, Bush expressed an interest in ‘spatiousness’, a quality that she associated with giving space, paying attention, opening up. The walk introduced us to the imagined excursions of the agoraphobic, to the Samurai ‘past life’ of an elderly woman and allowed us to glimpse, through a window, a father dancing with his daughter. Such unexpected perspectives allowed us to become aware of the multiple spaces within spaces that a village affords. This sense of the entanglement of expansive and local, familiar and unknown prompts us to recognize that we cannot assume comfort and safety within the local and familiar. Indeed, Bush admitted to her timidity in talking to people and the putting up of poster invitations around the village as something that felt ‘really subversive, really uncomfortable’.49 Misha Myers’ Way from Home (from 2002), created for refugees living in Myers’ city of Plymouth, reminds us of the always contextual nature of risk. Myers constructed a framework for walking, with the work actually being 46 www. walkwalkwalk.org.uk [accessed 5 September 2011]. 47 Unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). 48 Emma Bush is a member of propeller (along with Neil Callaghan, Augusto Corrieri, Pete Harrison and Timothy Vize-Martin). Founded in 2003 and based in Harbertonford, propeller’s work is focused on explorations of place and social ecologies, and is committed to collaboration, dialogue and exchange. They utilize a variety of performance modes (including walks and performative lectures). See http:// propellernews. blogspot. com/?zx¼ d6aad53070 ae114c4 [accessed 2 February 2012]. 49 Unpublished interview with Turner (2009). made by collaboration between a single refugee and a single Plymouth resident. Refugees were invited to map a route from the place they considered home to a special place they often visited. They used these maps to then walk the city of Plymouth (their new ‘home’), accompanied by a city resident, transposing one set of landmarks onto another.50 Myers has come to realize that such a seemingly simple formulation is not empty of risk, adventure or hazard to everybody. In particular, women refugees are frequently unable or unwilling to participate in a walking partnership, finding it easier to participate in group walks among women of their own cultural group.51 Myers’ and Bush’s work serves to instruct us that rather than presuming a safety in the ‘local’, we might usefully acknowledge and consider the value of risk attached to differently embodied experiences of place, to intimacy, to working in one’s own back yard, to finding oneself in someone else’s everyday. Walking With . . . In addition to the complex revisionings of scale encountered in these examples we are struck by the fact that, contra their walking-artist predecessors, the work seems actively to solicit, indeed build relations rather than escape them (relations with strangers, relations with others walking the Pennine Way, relations with refugees, relations with those in the locale . . .). Owen’s strategic use of strangers to provide her with unpredictable direction certainly sets her route alongside her avant- garde predecessors, but her path also deviates by its conscious setting up of relations and of her embeddedness within these. Furthering and underlining the importance of creating relations, Owen linked Looselink to a more recent, long distance walk, Grandmother’s Footsteps (2009). For this, the artist crossed fifteen counties in England, travelling from the end of May to mid-July, hand delivering messages from first time grandparents to other first time grandparents. She began her journey by collecting a message from the couple to whom she had delivered the last message in Looselink. Grandmother’s Footsteps thus both cemented old relations and created new ones. It also afforded a meditation on becoming and performing a literal family relation – that of the grandparent – giving it cultural value in turn. The risk of representing insular family relations is avoided by the network of grandparents connected through Owen’s footsteps. The evidence of relationship-building in these works might lead us to conclude that women’s walking is predicated on relationships to a significantly greater degree than that of their male colleagues, and yet such an idea must be treated with caution, given the danger of essentializing and the complexity and range of contemporary practice. The idea of walking as a convivial practice has recently been reflected upon by Misha Myers, who identifies it in the work of Graeme Miller, PLATFORM (in this instance in work directed by John Jordan and James Marriot) and Tim Brennan. Myers is right in her assumption that conviviality is not necessarily a gendered propensity.52 While it may be easier to place men within histories and conventions of epic walking, discovery, and colonization and to place women within conventions of the companion, the domestic, the vulnerable and socially dependent traveller, both men and women are engaged in both sites and actions. And yet, if these convivial walks indicate a wider cultural shift towards relational or dialogical aesthetics, 50 See Misha Myers and Dan Harris, ‘Way from Home’, Performance Research, 9 (Summer 2004), 90–91; and DVD supplement. 51 Unpublished interview with Turner (2009). 52 As Myers’ article proposes, there is a certain ‘conviviality’ among many performance works by men. In addition to the works mentioned there, the walking practices of Lone Twin and Mike Pearson, for example, often involve engaging with people. by no means exclusive to women, their preponderance draws attention to a need to consider what we mean by ‘relationship’ and ‘dialogue’, rather than using these terms generically. As art critic Claire Bishop has advised, in response to the apparent increase in the field of ‘relational work’, ‘if relational art produces human relations, then the next logical question to ask is what types of relations are being produced, for whom, and why’.53 We might, for example, and just for starters, place the work of Elspeth Owen beside that of male artists’ Lone Twin and their repeated refrain ‘Walk with me, Walk with me . . .’, that occurs within the framework of works structured around heroic endeavour.54 While their meeting with local inhabitants certainly provides welcome incidents, it is not the impulse for movement. Meanwhile, the walking practices of Bush, Owen and Myers encourage us to consider the ‘relational politics of the spatial’, as the artists engage and examine spatial relations, including their own position within those relationships. In contrast to Thoreau’s appeal to the ‘ideal walker’, in the work of these women artists we repeatedly encountered an embracing of ‘obligations’ rather than their abandonment. This suggests, at the very least, the necessity of rethinking the relation of walking to relationships. Further, a willingness to acknowledge and exploit entanglement in community and coalition often locates the artist as mediator for communication between people and places, begging the question of whether this role is one reason these walkers are less visible? It is evident that in setting up convivial events, these artists are not the flâneurs, nor yet the Situationists, within, yet separate from the ambulating crowd. They consider the crowd as their fellow walkers and companions. Some also recognized freedom in companionship – walking in a group, as walkwalkwalk does, opens up night time spaces that may otherwise be considered off-limits (certainly to many individual walkers). While many of our female walkers employ a rhetoric that, like Michel de Certeau’s (and before him, Benjamin’s) suggests the political force of attention to detail, there is also consistent awareness of the ways in which walking itself is framed, compromised and directed by what Rebecca Schneider refers to as ‘monumentality’, the fixity of a patriarchal culture.55 Walking might be a way of taking issue with constraints – with cultural assumptions about who can walk where, in what way, and with what value – but such constraints are never entirely absent. However uncompromising the walker, she is aware of the ways in which her body is complicit in maintaining the monumental, whether through an internalized fear of transgressing boundaries, whether through domestic constraints that keep her ‘local’, whether through the coding that makes her own body attract unwelcome attention or whether through cultural norms that constrain or alienate her geography. Many of our interviewees acknowledge anxiety as something that infiltrates their practices, either through the suggestions of others, or through their own internalization of perceived dangers. Bush, for example, explains that personal anxieties are a factor in her choice of location and route: ‘I’m not that comfortable in walking in places that I don’t know, on my own’.56 Kenyon and Owen, meanwhile, both admit that part of their motivation for walking is to resist being debilitated by cautiousness and 53 Claire Bishop, ‘Antagonism and Relational Aesthetics’, October, 110 (2004), 51–79 (p. 65). For ‘relational aesthetics’, see Nicolas Bourriaud, Relational Aesthetics, trans. by John Howe (Paris: Presses du Re´el, 2002). 54 Lone Twin are the duo Greg Whelan and Gary Winters, who began collaborating in 1997. ‘Walk With Me Walk With Me Will Somebody Please Walk With Me’ was the title of Lone Twin’s 2002 performance lecture, which drew on their repeated use of walking in their work. In one piece, for example, they walked for eighteen hours back and forth across a bridge spanning the Glømma river in Norway, with people choosing to join them. 55 Schneider, ‘Patricide and the Passerby’, pp. 52-56. 56 Unpublished interview with Turner (2009). fear. Despite the political optimism of these women, theirs tends towards a practice that does not offer wholesale alternatives or absolute freedoms (not even from representation and recuperation), since it observes the tensions within spatial practice and within subjectivity – our simultaneous resistance to and entanglement within macro structures. We do not claim that the problematizing of binary scales and the values attached to them, or the use of walking as a practice of relations, of social making, are features exclusive to the work of women artists. But we do propose that they are recurrent within the practices we have researched, and they are not recurrent or even much in evidence in the existing critical evaluation of walking art. What this work prompts, then, and what we have attempted to begin here, is the construction of new frames of reference that allow for different engagements with walking art, and for different types of walks to be critically approached. Our research on women walking artists draws attention to a set of possibilities that have not been sufficiently analysed or acknowledged, wherever they occur – the political potential of a walking that mobilizes social relationships, without aspiring to an idealized notion of the free man, or free-footed nomad, without the abstract freedom of the epic task, and without prioritizing or opposing distance and dislocation over locality and rootedness. Such walking troubles the values we continue to attach to singularity and to spatio-temporal scale, confirming that the former is illusory and the latter entirely relative.
work_pcsm6sv2rvh5vhsgwc3u4h3awa ---- untitled u n i v e r s i t y o f c o p e n h a g e n Roland Boer, In the Vale of Tears. On Marxism and Theology V. Pallesen, Carsten Published in: Critical Research on Religion DOI: 10.1177/2050303215593153 Publication date: 2015 Document version Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Citation for published version (APA): Pallesen, C. (2015). Roland Boer, In the Vale of Tears. On Marxism and Theology V. Critical Research on Religion, Vol.3(2), 217-221. https://doi.org/10.1177/2050303215593153 Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1177/2050303215593153 https://doi.org/10.1177/2050303215593153 Book Reviews Roland Boer, In the Vale of Tears. On Marxism and Theology V. Historical Materialism Book Series 52, Leiden: Boston, Brill 2014, 167.00$/ 129.00E, hbk, ISBN 978-90-04-25232-5, 337 pp. Reviewed by Carsten Pallesen, University of Copenhagen, Denmark In the Vale of Tears is the fifth and concluding volume of the project The Criticism of Heaven and Earth: On Marxism and Theology. The first volume appeared in 2007. The author Roland Boer is professor of literature at Renmin (People’s) University of China, Beijing, and research professor at the University of Newcastle, Australia. The series on Marxism and theology undertakes a reading of Marxist philosophers from the perspective of their critical or affirmative engagement with biblical and theological traditions. Roland Boer reads and comments on an immense amount of material in the archives of Marxist thinkers and relates his findings to contemporary theological debates over politics and religion. The first three books cover twenty-four Marxist theorists from Rosa Luxemburg to Antonio Negri while the fourth volume is engaged with Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. Roland Boer’s primary field of academic expertise is biblical studies and theology and he aligns his project with nineteenth century German biblical criticism. The title of the book refers to Marx’s statement: ‘‘The criticism of religion is therefore in embryo the criticism of the vale of tears, the halo of which is religion’’ (154–155). Boer’s ambition is to raise the level of today’s political and theological debate to a dialectical standard similar to that which Marx found in contemporary German biblical criticism. In the Vale of Tears is structured around a number of core topics: atheism, myth, history, Kairos, ethics, idols, secularism, transcendence, and death. The first part, ‘‘Atheism,’’ addresses the debate over the academic status of theology versus religious studies. Theology and Marxism are often viewed as normative and ideologically biased disciplines that should be relegated from the public sphere of academic sciences. Proponents of ‘‘new atheism’’ like Daniel Dennett and Richard Dawkins, who emerged around 2005, perceive religion as a primary source of evil and distortion and a sign of mental degeneration. The target of this critique is forms of theism that are just as undialectical as the naturalistic evolutionary criteria that the new atheism adopts. According to Boer, this debate fails to live up to the critical potential of theology as well as to Christian atheism in the Marxist perspective (35). New atheism and the scientific criteria of religious studies lack the tools to distinguish between protest atheism and an atheism ‘‘of the status quo,’’ between religious protest and religion of ideological submission to the given (63–67). In The Holy Family (1845), Marx dismisses Bruno Bauer’s atheistic program as the last stage of theism, ‘‘the negative recognition of God’’ (50). Boer advocates a ‘‘materializing theology’’ instead of the ahistorical naturalism embraced by the proponents of ‘‘new atheism’’ but also as an alter- native to postmodern ‘‘atheology’’ (38). A primary inspiration of Boer’s Christian 2015, Vol. 3(2) 217–230 ! The Author(s) 2015 Reprints and permissions: sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav DOI: 10.1177/2050303215593153 crr.sagepub.com at Copenhagen University Library on June 13, 2016crr.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://crr.sagepub.com/ communism, Ernst Bloch, phrased the chiasm ‘‘only an atheist can be a good Christian; only a Christian can be a good atheist’’ (49). Boer’s uncovering of theological roots of the Marxist Left moves from Marx to G.W.F. Hegel and to the Reformers where he sides with Jean Calvin and Thomas Müntzer, while he is more reluctant with Martin Luther. In recent works such as Jean-Luc Nancy’s deconstruction of Christianity (2008: 143) and Giorgio Agamben’s (2005: 99–103) Hegelian reading of St Paul, the relation between Luther, Hegel, and Marx has become increasingly clear as a significant transformation of biblical faith and Christian atheism. In Hegel’s Philosophy of Religion, Christian atheism is the ‘‘organ point,’’ the speculative Good Friday, where the representation of agony is read as the agony of repre- sentation in the interpretation of the Passion of Christ. Boer’s project participates in this ‘‘theological reversal’’ as an independent voice and offers valuable historical and systematic background for contemporary theological and Marxist thinking. In three subsequent chapters on Myth, Ambivalence, and History, In the Vale of Tears engages in a discussion of utopia, between myth and history in Karl Kautsky and Ernst Bloch, and reflects iconoclastic approaches in Th. W. Adorno and Roland Barthes. Myth is a deeply ambivalent category suspected to be a repressive inscription of anthropology in an eternal cosmic order. However, inspired by Bloch, Boer sketches a reading of the Torah, the books from Genesis to Joshua, as a poli-gonic counter myth, i.e. a narrative of the emergence of political order in a community of liberated slaves (71–75). Boer addresses the relevance of the second commandment (You should not make any graven image of God) in the political iconoclasm of Adorno who is one of the weightiest impulses in the whole project (86–89). Against an undialectical political iconoclasm, Boer rehabilitates Bloch, Adorno, and other Marxist utopians who resume the mythical religious discourse to encourage revolutionary action. Myth, hence, revolts against weak logos and rehabilitates the event and the eschato- logical narrative of the moment, the kairos or rather a-kairos when the kingdom of God breaks into this world and makes everything new (233). This section recalls the topic of eschatology and grace in a critical examination of Walter Benjamin and Agamben and discusses the status of the event in Antony Negri, Slavoj Žižek and Alain Badiou as a secularized political counter of the Pauline notion of grace. In Chapter Six, ‘‘Ethics as Immorality,’’ Boer addresses the postmodern turn to eth- ics and alterity in Judith Butler, Terry Eagleton, and Michel Foucault in a critical examin- ation inspired by Badiou’s critique of Lévinasian ethics of alterity. Boer perceives ethical subjectivity and alterity as regressions to the most bourgeois form of self-repression. The ethical category of other and otherness is ironized in an eloquent page (260). A similar but less polemical critique is targeted against any theology (or politics) of love like in Marx’ Christian predecessor, Wilhelm Weitling (138) and against the invocation of love of neighbor in Eagleton’s combination of Marxism, Lacanian psychoanalysis, and theology (261). In Chapter Seven, ‘‘Idols, Marx on Fetishism,’’ Boer calls for a fresh reading of the Marxian dialectics between idol and fetishism. This section is where the dialectical tension of Boer’s project is most profound and fertile for contemporary debate. While the critique of idols and idolatry is an approach adopted by many figures from the prophet Isaiah to Marx and Latin American Liberation theologians, the shift from idol to fetish is Marx’ decisive breakthrough in the criticism of capitalism (313). In this move, Boer perceives a political and theological potential (289) that has been lost in the Marxism of Latin American Liberation theology from the seventies (310–313). In Adorno’s utopian iconoclasm and Boer’s own Calvinist stance, the Marxian analyses are taken further (309; 314–320). 218 Critical Research on Religion 3(2) at Copenhagen University Library on June 13, 2016crr.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://crr.sagepub.com/ Theology is suspended in the gap between myth and history. The dialectical questioning goes in both directions, when it questions the blind spots of both Marxism and theology. Materializing theology is the name chosen for a dialectical understanding of theism/atheism (48–49). Despite all his sympathies, Boer de-materializes Friedrich Engel’s (and by implica- tion Thomas Müntzer’s) crass undialectical materialism stating that religion is nothing but an ideological overcoat (169). Boer’s sensitivity for marginalized utopian or Christian communist positions such as the Protestant socialist Diggers and Levellers in 17th century England, Thomas Müntzer and the revolt of the German peasants in 1525, and modern Marxist Liberation Theology in Latin America makes his analysis persuasive and provoking. On Boer’s reading, the Marxist per- spective of the global capitalist world is foreshadowed in the early Christian community depicted in The Acts of the Apostles as a relinquishing of private property and redistribution of all goods (Acts 2: 44–45) (112). These references are inspired by thinkers such as Ernst Bloch, Walter Benjamin, and Th.W. Adorno and a host of other less well-known writers that are given a voice in Boer’s project. He presents not only their radical ideas but also inspiring biographical fragments of some of these figures. The book gives a wide range of historical accounts of the relation of political power, economics, and religious responses in the theo- logical tradition from the earliest biblical times to the history of the church as well as the heretics. The Chapter on History (171–206) offers a historical materialist argument for the thesis that early Christianity should first of all be understood as a political movement and explains why it produces a myth of Christian communism (171). In Marx, Lenin, and Engels, however, the biblical and religious aspirations are more problematic as sources of revolutionary action. Marx and Engels reject such religious uto- pianism as bourgeois ideology in the French movement of Christian Communism inspired by Saint-Simon. In the section, ‘‘Old Timber and Lovers,’’ Boer depicts his method of writing and thinking with heterogeneous material as an art of combining and constructing bookshelves, furniture, and useful products from discarded items and found objects (2–5). From the prophet Isaiah chapter 44, Boer quotes the passages where the prophet scorns the blacksmith and the carpenter who use their craft to make images and sculptures of God (290). Isaiah, like Marx, distinguishes between unalienated work and its products and the alienation of this work when the carpenter makes an idol and worships the work of his hands. This points to a Puritan motive in Boer’s analyses that is reminiscent of literary heroes of liberalism (and even of the Tea Party movement) – figures such as Henry David Thoreau or Robinson Crusoe. Marx would probably have dismissed this motive as nostalgia for simple living. According to Marx, the religious socialist stance nourishes a regressive longing for a primordial lost communism of consumption that will never reach a modern developed state of a ‘‘communism of production’’ at which mature Marxist theory aims. On Marx’ account, capitalism and its technological achievements are indis- pensable preconditions for the communist end. Yet, according to Boer, Marxist critical theory seems to live from a disowned religious and humanistic conviction that motivates revolutionary engagement. Boer lingers between this religious mythical impulse and the genuinely scientific claims of Marx’ economic theory. The role of state bureaucracy and state power is downplayed in Boer’s Marxist focus on economics on the one hand and utopian anticipation on the other. Marx seems to imply that the question of political power and the state in his predecessors Hegel, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, or Thomas Hobbes, will be surmounted as soon as economic alienation and fetishism of commodities are overcome. Book Reviews 219 at Copenhagen University Library on June 13, 2016crr.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://crr.sagepub.com/ The appeal to religious utopianism underestimates the challenges that modern state bur- eaucracy and democratic politics should be able to meet in terms of institutional structures and systems of redistribution. Political theology tends to go with either the sublimated Messianism of Walter Benjamin or the authoritarian theology of the state as described by Carl Schmitt. However, in his account of Paul’s political theology in the Letter to the Romans, Jacob Taubes strongly states the absolute necessity to distinguish between the worldly political and the spiritual and divine which is lacking in Benjamin as well as in Schmitt. ‘‘You see now what I want from Schmitt—I want to show him that the separation of powers between worldly and spiritual is absolutely necessary’’ (Taubes, 2004: 103). In a certain respect, Marx sides with Paul and Taubes on the question of religious utopian politics, but Marx dismisses the Pauline recognition of the (Roman) state, the katechon (Thessalonians II, Chap. 2, v.6) as an absolutely indispensable deferral of the reign of anarchy and terror. This conclusion is not drawn in Roland Boer’s work, but the ambiva- lence and tensions are worked out. Boer lingers between a utopian Christian communism and Marx’ denunciation of the latter to the benefit of rational and scientific economic ana- lyses of the capitalist system and its contradictions. The residual romantic anthropology from Rousseau and Ludwig Feuerbach makes Marx’ own appeal to a human rationality vulnerable. ‘‘Ambivalence,’’ the title of the third section, lingers between a strictly historical materi- alist dialectic of Marx and Engels and a visionary, mythical, literary, and biblical approach to the utopian community. The drama of the project is an internal debate between Christian communism and Christian atheism on the one hand and an atheistic non-Christian ‘‘scien- tific’’ communism (Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin) on the other. This tension is fleshed out in Marx’ relation to his early predecessor, the layman Wilhelm Weitling for whom Boer has a soft spot (135–138). Weitling argued for a violent and direct overthrow of the state and the immediate establishment of communism on the model of the first Christians in the New Testament. In 1846, Marx rejected all that as ‘‘sentimental, back-ward looking rubbish’’ (136). A modern communism would need a full development of capitalism and bourgeois democracy if it were to be solid. The development of these modern structures is an unfinished project. But Boer does not like compromising and every sort of Hegelian mediation is sus- pected to be social-democratic or worse forms of betrayal. Yet it seems that only some form of a Hegelian analysis of modernity will prevent the Marxist and the Christian communist stance from sliding into sectarian violence. The era of Stalin revealed a specific alienation of power, an inherent ambiguity that pertains to the rationality of the political regardless whether the economic system is capitalist or communist. This point was made by Paul Ricoeur in an article in 1957 that became a linchpin for the debate over politics and the political traced by Oliver Marchart (Marchart, 2007; Ricoeur, 2007: 247–270). The Pauline kathecon (Agamben, 2005: 111–112; Taubes, 2004: 103) reminds us of a political realism that the enthusiastic utopian understanding of civil society, market, and religion tend to neglect in a certain liberal tradition that Marx in some respects prolongs. Hegel did not ignore the potential self-destructive powers of the market and of religion, and therefore he tried to give a philosophical, non-theological account of the modern secular state as an independent counter power to the forces of civil society. Boer has dedicated his exegetical and theological skills to the now completed series of commentaries on Marxism and theology. The genre of commentary on canonical texts is the common way of working consistently with complex linguistic, historical, and sys- tematic questions. In the Vale of Tears, Boer sums up some of the findings from the 220 Critical Research on Religion 3(2) at Copenhagen University Library on June 13, 2016crr.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://crr.sagepub.com/ previous volumes. The final volume, however, is presented as an autonomous piece of work where the author to a larger extent distances himself from the texts and develops his own views and arguments in a thematic approach. Scripture should be the ‘‘bad conscience of the church’’ as Boer phrases his protest Protestantism (82). A similar self-critical relation is a result of Boer’s account of Marxism and its many internal tensions. Marxists and theologians will find something to learn about each other, and readers who do not consider themselves as members of these groups will discover a neglected dimension of modern intellectual and political history, which is more relevant than ever. References Agamben G (2005) The Time that Remains. A Commentary on the Letter to the Romans. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Marchart O (2007) Post-Foundational Political Thought. Political Difference in Nancy, Lefort, Badiou and Laclau. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Nancy JL (2008) Dis-Enclosure. The Deconstruction of Christianity. New York: Fordham University Press. Ricoeur P (2007) History and Truth. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Taubes J (2004) The Political Theology of Paul. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Author biography Carsten Pallesen, Doctor of Theology, is Associate Professor of Ethics and Philosophy of Religion at the Department of Systematic Theology at the Faculty of Theology, University of Copenhagen, Denmark. His primary fields of study are hermeneutics and philosophy of religion in Paul Ricoeur, Søren Kierkegaard, and G.W.F. Hegel. Matt Tomlinson, Ritual Textuality: Pattern and Motion in Performance, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014, (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-19-934114-6, xii þ 169pp. Reviewed by Paul-François Tremlett, The Open University In a previous review of mine about Hilary B. P. Bagshaw’s Religion in the Thought of Mikhail Bakhtin: Reason and Faith (2013) I argued that Bagshaw had offered a rather one-sided account of Bakhtin’s oeuvre and drastically misconstrued the notion of ‘‘dialogism’’ and its value for the study of religions. Serendipitously, the next book in the scattered and rather disorderly pile on my desk is interested, with Bakhtin, in language in motion and perform- ance or, in Bakhtin’s terms, in ‘‘dialogue’’ (3, 8–10, 92–93, 103, 111). More precisely, Matt Tomlinson’s interests are in speech and speech patterns and their capacities for illocutionary and perlocutionary affect. In the preface he states that his main ethnographic research method is ‘‘to record and analyse speech’’ concentrating particularly on ‘‘textual patterns’’ (ix). Elsewhere, he summarizes his approach as one concerned with ‘‘understand people’s expectations of ritual effectiveness,’’ paying close attention ‘‘to the distinct patterns people create as they articulate signs and texts in performance’’ (1). Tomlinson specifies four such Book Reviews 221 at Copenhagen University Library on June 13, 2016crr.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://crr.sagepub.com/
work_pfenuyfn6zcu5gan4z4bnl27ia ---- It’s Never Too Late to Learn Ronald G. Driggers Downloaded From: https://www.spiedigitallibrary.org/journals/Optical-Engineering on 05 Apr 2021 Terms of Use: https://www.spiedigitallibrary.org/terms-of-use It’s Never Too Late to Learn – It’s never too late to fall in love. Sandy Wilson – It’s never too late to start over, never too late to be happy. Jane Fonda – It’s never too late to be what you might have been. George Eliot – It’s never too late to give up our prejudices. Henry David Thoreau One thing for sure, it’s never too late to learn or to get an edu- cation. It’s certainly never too late to pursue a doctorate. I had an experience with this when my roommate and I were going through the engineering doctoral program. His mother was about 55 at the time, and she signed up for a doctoral program in business. I was in a rush to finish, but my roommate joined the Navy and flew jets for a few years in the middle of his pro- gram. His mother not only finished her business degree, but also obtained a tenure track-position at Ole Miss and retired as an associate professor of business a number of years later. Over the past 30 years, I have had great fun with my friend that his mom kicked his butt in school. Although, I have to admit, my friend ended up being very successful in both the Navy and as a high-level engineer with many research and development successes. In the mid to late 1990s, I went to work for Rich Vollmerhausen, a well-known infrared physicist, to investigate the performance of infrared imagers. It was one of the greatest 5 years of my life as I learned from Rich, and we published around 100 papers, a few of them groundbreaking. Rich had done more significant research than any of the PhDs I had ever known. We both learned a great deal and enjoyed the research that included theory, field experimentation, and laboratory measurements. After a long successful career in government, Rich retired and consulted for a few years. One day, he decided he was going to go get a PhD, and in short order, he was accepted at the University of Delaware. In his 60s, he moved to Newark and completed comprehensive examinations, conducted a research disserta- tion, defended his research, and became Dr. Vollmerhausen. I have always been proud of Rich, but nothing makes me more proud than to see someone like Rich pursue a program with the attitude of “when” they become Dr. Vollmerhausen, not “if,” as many of us younger people in a program experienced. I am now proud to call Dr. Vollmerhausen my business partner. My girlfriend, Juliet, who currently works at the White House in the area of counter proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, has had a career of 25 years in government in both the State Department and the intelligence community. She has a master’s degree in international studies from Georgetown and is very accomplished. She just recently decided to enroll in the University of Central Florida’s doctoral program for international security studies, and in the fall she will be a full-time student. I can tell she is a little nervous about going back to school, but I can also tell you she is really excited about it. University of Central Florida is very fortunate to be getting someone with her experience and knowledge on the subject, and it should make the program stronger for the other students. Juliet is still young, but she is not the typical age of doctoral students who went through school continu- ously. It is only a matter of short time that she will be called Dr. Smith, and she will be onto her next adventure. I strongly encourage anyone who wishes to go back to school to do so. Education not only makes your life better, but also improves the lives of the younger students around you. Having someone around with experience helps the others learn in a more robust way. Rich will tell you it is not easy, but it is rewarding. Ronald G. Driggers Editor in Chief Optical Engineering 030101-1 March 2014 • Vol. 53(3) Editorial Downloaded From: https://www.spiedigitallibrary.org/journals/Optical-Engineering on 05 Apr 2021 Terms of Use: https://www.spiedigitallibrary.org/terms-of-use
work_pfsw2z2ibzaubdktrk6atf3leu ---- A Transcendental Education Transcendental Learning: The Educational Legacy of Alcott, Emerson, Fuller, Peabody and Thoreau We shall one day learn to supersede politics by education. What we call our root-and-branch reforms of slavery, war, gambling, intemperance, is only medicating the symptoms. We must begin higher up, namely, in Education. -Emerson In antebellum America, a group of individuals living mostly in Concord Massachusetts, have had a continuing influence on our lives. Daniel Walker Howe in his Pulitzer Prize winning history of the antebellum period in America, What Hath God Wrought, writes about the “extraordinary outburst of genius” which was comparable to fifth century Athens or sixteenth century Florence. He (2007) also writes of their continuing impact: The writings of the Transcendentalists affirm some of the best qualities characteristic of American civilization: self-reliance, willingness to question authority, a quest for spiritual nourishment. Their writings, even today, urge us to independent reflection in the face of fads, conformity, blind partisanship, and mindless consumerism. (p.626) It is somewhat ironic that a movement that focused on the individual could impact social and political movements including the independence of India and the civil rights movement in the United States. In Blessed Unrest Paul Hawken argues that 1 Emerson’s ideas formed a seed that grew through the work of Thoreau, Gandhi and Martin Luther King. Hawken writes that when Emerson came to France in 1832, he was moved by his visits to the Jardin des Plantes and the Cabinet of Natural History in Paris. Walking in the Jardin des Plantes and seeing how animals and nature were connected led Emerson to his insight of how life was deeply interconnected. He wrote later, “Nature is intricate, overlapped, interweaved, and endless.” (2003, p. 433) Hawken (2007) writes, “It was Emerson’s first encounter with the web of life.” (p.73) This insight led Emerson to write his essay Nature which became one of the key works in Transcendentalism. Emerson “planted seeds that would develop into what were, and continue to be, two disparate concepts that animate our daily existence: how we treat nature and how we treat one another-the foundations of environmental and social justice.” (p.73) Thoreau picked up these two strands which bore fruit in Walden a book that continues to inspire the environmental movement and Civil Disobedience which Gandhi read in 1906. When Gandhi was first arrested in South Africa in 1908, he took Thoreau’s writings with him so he “could find arguments in favor of our fight.” (p.79) It was Thoreau’s integration of ideas and practice that appealed to Gandhi. For Gandhi, Thoreau was someone who “taught nothing he was not prepared to practice himself.” (Gandhi, p. 113) This was something that Gandhi took to heart and when asked once about giving some words of wisdom he said that “my life is my message.” In 1956 during the Montgomery bus boycott a colleague gave Martin Luther King three books: Gandhi’s Autobiography, Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience, and Richard Gregg’s The Power of Non Violence. When the boycott was finished and King was asked what books influenced him the most he mentioned all three of these works. Today the 2 Dalai Lama and Aung San Suu Kyi in Burma continue to echo the original message of Emerson and Thoreau with their non-violent ethic. As Paul Hawken (2007) has so ably documented, this vision has continued today particularly through the non-violence ethic but also through what he refers to as the “movement without a name”. This is a movement that includes perhaps two million grass roots groups around the world working for constructive change. The core ethic that unites these groups is rooted in the ethic of non-violence and a sense of the sacred. In education, this movement includes a diverse group including Waldorf, Montessori, Reggio Emilia schools, home schooling, democratic schools, and variety of alternative approaches to education. These educators tend to embrace a vision of educating the whole child and reject the mechanistic models that currently dominate the educational scene. In Toronto, for example, a group of parents, community members, and teachers have come together to initiate a school for the whole child within the Toronto District School Board (www.wholechildschool.ca) that started in September 2009. (Miller, 2010) This school is now called Equinox Holistic Alternative School and incorporates some of the features of Transcendental Learning. Transcendental Learning The Transcendentalists were interested in education but unlike the work I have just discussed, we have ignored their vision of learning. It is high time that we looked more closely at their view of teaching and learning. Alcott and Peabody devoted their lives to teaching and learning but Emerson, Fuller, and Thoreau also taught and shared many thoughts on education. The thesis of this paper is that they left an important legacy 3 http://www.wholechildschool.ca/ that can help us move beyond today’s narrow view of education that focuses on preparing students so that they can compete in the global economy. What we have today is education that centers on job creation and high stakes testing that is part of a corporate view of schooling. Emerson’s (1966) critique of education still holds today. He wrote about what we fail to give students. We do not give them a training as if we believed in their noble nature. We scarce educate their bodies. We do not train the eye and the hand. We exercise their understandings to the apprehension and comparison of some facts, to a skill in numbers in words; we aim to make accountants, attorneys, engineers, but not to make able, earnest, great-hearted men. (p.211) For the past 25 years educational reform has focused on testing as the way to improve student achievement. No Child Left Behind has been the culminating legislation of this movement in the United States. Education systems have reinforced fragmentation rather than connectedness. They have become part of a world where there is corporate corruption, deep distrust of politicians and the political process, environmental destruction, and an empty lifestyle based on materialism and consumption. The obsession with test results rather than a sensible approach to accountability has only led to deeper and more pervasive forms of fragmentation and alienation. In 2011 we learned of wide spread cheating and false reporting in the Atlanta schools. 4 In contrast to the current vision schooling, the Transcendentalists offer an inspiring vision of education that focuses on wholeness and wisdom. Its aim, as Emerson states, is to produce “great-hearted” individuals. It does not deny the spiritual and provides a language and approach to spirituality that is inclusive. The Transcendentalists offer a redemptive vision of education that includes: -educating the whole child-body, mind, and soul, -happiness as a goal of education, -educating students so they see the interconnectedness in nature, -recognizing the inner wisdom of the child as something to be honored and nurtured, - a blueprint for environmental education through the work of Thoreau, -an inspiring vision for educating women of all ages through the work of Fuller, -an experimental approach to pedagogy that continually seeks for more effective ways of educating children, -a recognition of the importance of the presence of teacher and encouraging teachers to be aware and conscious of their own behavior. - a vision of multicultural and bilingual education through the work of Elizabeth Peabody. The Transcendentalists challenge us to provide an education that inspires or, in Emerson’s words, sets “the hearts of youth on flame”. Transcendental education recognizes what Thoreau (2002) said that “ Surely joy is the condition of life.” (p.5) Transcendental learning engages the child fully; of course, not every moment in a Transcendental classroom is an epiphany but ultimately students look forward to coming to schools that employ the principles outlined by the Transcendentalists. 5 TRANCENDENTAL EDUCATORS I have chosen to describe the work of the following five individuals because they all taught at one time and held a view of education that was essentially holistic. Ralph Waldo Emerson Ralph Waldo Emerson was the intellectual leader of the Transcendentalists and mentor to the others described in this book. His lectures and essays inspired many individuals connected with Transcendentalism. Buell comments that for the Transcendentalists it was more important to “inspire than explain.” (p. xxiii) Emerson did not lay out a systematic philosophy but wrote and spoke in a manner that moved the reader and the listener. James Russell Lowell wrote “I have heard some great speakers and some accomplished orators, but never any that so moved and persuaded me as he.” (Cited in McAleer, p. 493) Many of Emerson’s ideas resonate with a holistic perspective. He wrote (1990), “Nothing is quite beautiful alone, nothing but is beautiful in the whole. A single object is only so far beautiful as it suggests this universal grace.” (p.26) Henry David Thoreau Henry David Thoreau lived in Concord and would stay in Emerson’s home while Emerson was away lecturing. Thoreau was the earthy face of Transcendentalism. He loved nature and could be viewed as the father of the American environmental movement 6 with his book Walden as one of its seminal texts. Thoreau was also a teacher; he and his brother, John, started and ran their own school that incorporated principles of holistic learning. Margaret Fuller Margaret Fuller can be viewed not only as one the foremost Transcendentalists but as one of the most important women in 19th Century America. Her book, Woman in the Nineteenth Century, explored the intellectual and social position of women and argued against women’s second class status. She also was the first editor of the journal of Transcendentalism, The Dial. Fuller was also an elementary school teacher but is most known for the “Conversations” that she ran for women in Boston. She led discussions with women that covered a wide range of topics that were designed to intellectually engage the women who participated. Howe (2007) writes that “From our standpoint in twenty-first century, the Transcendentalist who looks the most “modern” is Margaret Fuller. Versatile and passionate, she made her impact felt on journalism, feminism, criticism (literary, music, and art) and revolution.” (p. 621) I would add education as well to this list. Bronson Alcott Bronson Alcott was interested in education throughout his life. He founded the Temple School in Boston where he engaged the students in discussions and inquiry that differed radically from the recitation and drill approach so common in most schools at that time. Alcott believed children held an inner wisdom that could be drawn out through 7 Socratic questioning. Elizabeth Peabody Like Bronson Alcott, Elizabeth Peabody devoted her life to education. Bruce Ronda (1999) in his biography of Peabody states that “education was her great calling and her grand passion.” (p.7) She taught in several schools and helped Alcott in the Temple School, which she wrote about in Record of a School. Her crowning achievement was being an advocate for kindergarten. Influenced by the work of Freidrich Froebel, Peabody argued that emphasis in kindergarten should be on play rather than academic work United States. She also developed vision of bilingual education with her work with native Americans. Gruenewald (2002) in an article on “Teaching and Learning with Thoreau” writes: I believe that the troubled profession of teaching could benefit greatly from taking seriously the kind of dissent, experimentation, and holistic living-in-place that Thoreau’s legacy embodies. We may need him today more than ever before. So let us consider the ways in which we spend our lives, and let that reflection shape the kind of education we make possible for ourselves, and our students. (p.539) I would argue that not just Thoreau but the Transcendentalists discussed in this paper deserve a more detailed exploration of their views on education. In our day of factory-like models of schooling and it would be wise to reflect and re-imagine education 8 from their ideas. This could help us today develop a broader view of education that focuses on the development of whole human beings that can think, feel and act. REFERENCES Buell, L. (2006). “Introduction” in The American transcendentalists: Essential writings. L. Buell, (ed.) New York: Penguin. pp. xi-xxiii. Emerson, R. (1966). Emerson on education: Selections. H.M. Jones (Ed.) New York: Teachers College Press. Emerson, R.W. (2003) Selected writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson. New York: Signet Gruenewald, D.A. (2002). Teaching and learning with Thoreau, The Harvard Educational Review. 72, 515-539. Hawken, P. (2007). Blessed Unrest: How the largest movement in the world came into 9 being and why non one saw it coming. New York: Viking. Howe, D.W. (2007). What hath God wrought: The transformation of America, 1815- 1848. New York: Oxford. McAleer, J.J. (1984). Ralph Waldo Emerson: Days of Encounter. Boston: Little, Brown. Ronda, B. A. (1999) Elizabeth Palmer Peabody: A reformer on her own terms. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Thoreau, H. D. (2002) The essays of Henry D. Thoreau. L. Hyde (Ed.) New York: North Point Press. 10
work_ppehauixvbcmxjutoucjfzmb3y ---- pf40chap01 NEW DIRECTIONS FOR PHILANTHROPIC FUNDRAISING, NO. 40, SUMMER 2003 © WILEY PERIODICALS, INC. 5 The definition and analysis of capacity building in this chapter provides a foundation for under- standing how capacity-building expectations and practices are fulfilled by organizations represented in the rest of this volume. The authors also address organizational change through their discussion of catalytic mechanisms. 1 Capacity building: A primer David J. Kinsey, J. Russell Raker III WHAT DOES IT MEAN to build capacity? Dozens of organizations say they are doing it, droves of CEOs and board members are attend- ing seminars to learn how, and hundreds of consultants are offer- ing to reveal the secrets of capacity building at the next board retreat. But what is it? Fortunately, dictionary definitions of capacity are quite broad— perhaps even ambiguous. This diversity of definitions helps to make the case that capacity and capacity building are complex, multi- faceted concepts that embrace an organization’s mission, history, style, commitment, organizational architecture, leadership, and more. The liberality and diversity of the definitions, however, con- tinue to beg the questions, “What is capacity building?” “How might it apply to my organization?” and “How does it work?” 6 CAPACITY BUILDING FOR NONPROFITS Conceptual foundations of capacity building Although the process of capacity building can take many forms, can be applied to many types and sizes of organizations, and can be implemented in an endless variety of ways, its conceptual founda- tions are always present. Validate mission A question commonly posed to governing boards by board offi- cers, constituents, community leaders, and parent organizations is, “How well is the organization fulfilling its mission?” The capacity- building process begins by posing a much deeper, and often more troublesome, question: “Are we pursuing the right mission?” Does the organization fill a real need? Could another organization do the job better? Is the organization moving forward with a clear sense of purpose or simply continuing to exist through bureaucratic momen- tum? Particularly when the organization has a long history, was begun by an organizational champion, or supports a large workforce, all sorts of pressures may prevent this question from emerging. Reconsider the vision Vision statements, often regarded as “pie in the sky” by adminis- trators and directors, are not often revisited once the board and staff have completed the task of constructing the first one. If the vision statement was, and perhaps still is, regarded as obligatory and fanciful—and therefore meaningless—it will not do much to encourage organizational growth and development. Vision state- ments may not always be within the immediate grasp of the orga- nization to achieve, but they must at least be feasible, realistic, and possible, at least at some point in the foreseeable future. Reaffirm values Values do not often get the attention they deserve in the mission- vision-values triad. If the values read like pabulum tastes (bland—to everybody but babies), they are probably not worth much. When board members confront important issues, do the value statements make an appearance? If not, they may be absent, weak, or forgotten. 7CAPACITY BUILDING: A PRIMER If the values do not pop up when tough decisions are on the table, it is likely that they no longer reflect the thinking of the leadership. Develop resources It is almost always true that resources do not simply materialize. Most often, they must be developed. That is, the board must iden- tify all possible sources, evaluate the potential of each source, set strategies for capture, and then do the necessary work to ensure that the resources become available to the organization. There must be alignment between sources and strategies. If the organization will be depending on philanthropy for a large share of its operating rev- enue, does the board express a willingness to be engaged in fundrais- ing? Do they expect the staff to raise funds without their assistance? Are the projected revenues realistic when considering the time allo- cation, experience, and the relationship with constituencies? Are government sources dependable over the long term? Are parent organizations willing to maintain or even increase their financial commitments? Answers to questions such as these will determine to what extent increases in organizational capacity are reasonable. Set strategies Capacity building demands experience in thinking and working strategically. If the organization has not been engaged in annual strategic planning, the unfamiliar process of enlarging capacity could create an organizational collapse. If the fellow who cuts the grass focuses on the lawn just ahead of the mower, the cut is crooked and the job is performed inefficiently. Keep your eye on a distant point and the mower swath is straight. Strategic planning is just like that. The shortsighted organization wastes time and energy by working with no plan or a day-to-day “plan.” Ensure productivity Frequently monitoring performance and analyzing and correcting deviations is fundamental to capacity building. Faulty assumptions, environmental changes, and other unexpected barriers to planned performance must be dealt with quickly and decisively. Let a prob- lem languish for a bit, and the error may be unrecoverable. It is not 8 CAPACITY BUILDING FOR NONPROFITS a sin to encounter obstacles to performance; not devising a timely alternative plan is. How the mission is defined and how mission fulfillment is deter- mined influence the possible outcomes when these fundamentals are applied to the process of organizational governance. For a few organizations, the process will reveal obsolete or faulty missions or expose a halfhearted board commitment that may contribute to extinguishing the organization. Most organizations, however, will discover that the capacity-building process reveals new possibili- ties, stimulates renewed leadership commitment at both the staff and board levels, and expands the universe of potential resources. A few organizations (probably a very few) will be inspired to reinvent their organizations. For these organizations, the effect can be thoroughly transforming, and the transformation will take place in both the organizational structure and in many members of the board and staff. The McKinsey Capacity Building Assessment Grid (McKinsey & Company for Venture Philanthropy Partners, 2001) provides an eloquent framework for an in-depth, thorough evaluation. The matrix can subsequently be the basis for acting on the opportuni- ties that the assessment initiative revealed. For the group of organizations whose boards make the judgment that their organization should define the standard by which that type of organization is measured, yet more initiatives may come into play. Some of these will always be manifested in organizations that are thriving, growing, validating mission, and staying on mis- sion. To thrive, however, the level of commitment on the part of board, volunteer leadership, and staff must be very high. Once begun, the process can continue for as long as the organization wishes to identify as a high-performing organization. The monster called BHAG In their research for Built to Last (2002), Porras and Collins iden- tify the “monster” many organizations fear most and avoid at all costs: the BHAG (Big Hairy Audacious Goal). Their description 9CAPACITY BUILDING: A PRIMER of a BHAG includes three defining characteristics: it has a long time frame (ten to thirty years or more); it is clear, compelling, and easy to grasp; and it connects to the core values and purpose of the organization. Examples of BHAGs are Starbucks’ goal of becom- ing the world’s best recognized brand name, Sony’s 1950s BHAG to change the world’s opinion about the quality of Japanese-made goods, and Nike’s effort to eclipse its competitor, Adidas. The BHAG is unique, say the authors, in that it is able to blend continuity with change. Employing it requires a bold approach. One powerful way of doing that, they assert, is to employ what they call catalytic mechanisms—engines for change. Catalytic mechanisms: Engines for change The nature of catalytic mechanisms, says Jim Collins (1999), is illustrated at the conclusion of Walden (1992), in which Henry David Thoreau writes, “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be: Now put the foundations under them” (p. 82). Collins goes on to describe BHAGs as a “company’s wildest dreams” and catalytic mechanisms as their foundations. “Build them both,” he advises (p. 82). Collins (1999) identifies five characteristics of a catalytic mech- anism. Our brief review of these characteristics and some examples of how they are articulated in organizations will provide a helpful introduction to them: • A catalytic mechanism produces desired results in unpredictable ways. Traditionally designed management systems tend to strengthen bureaucracies. Bureaucratic systems can be productive, but they are always lim- ited by predictability and conformity. Organizations excel when people are allowed to do unexpected things—to show initiative and creativity and to “throw away the script.” • A catalytic mechanism distributes power for the benefit of the over- all system, often to the great discomfort of those who traditionally hold power. 10 CAPACITY BUILDING FOR NONPROFITS Catalytic mechanisms force the right things to happen, even when those in leadership (power) benefit from another outcome. The impact of this characteristic, says Collins (1999), is that “it subverts the default, knee-jerk tendency of bureaucracies to choose inaction over action, status quo over change, and idiotic rules over common sense.” Distributing leadership power is largely unfamiliar in most organizations, but when this happens, “vast reservoirs of energy and competence flow” (p. 76). • A catalytic mechanism has teeth. The process of creating and implementing catalytic mechanisms carries a number of built-in properties that push the organization toward mission fulfillment. When catalytic mechanisms are func- tioning, nonproductivity is literally squeezed out. Productivity is rewarded on both an individual and a team basis, and there are strong incentives not to let the team down. • A catalytic mechanism ejects viruses. Collins (1999) asserts that the old adage that “people are your most important asset” is wrong. The right persons, that is, those who share the core values and naturally express the character and atti- tude of the organization, are its best assets. Finding those individ- uals, and creating catalytic mechanisms that so strongly reflect core values that those who do not share them will not be hired or will leave, is the real challenge. • A catalytic mechanism produces an ongoing effect. Collins (1999) is careful to contrast catalytic mechanisms with a close relative, the catalytic event. Speeches, rallies, and campaigns— all can be useful, but if their effect is short term, they are merely catalytic events. Staffs have become immune to programs that are built around buzzwords and fads. If there is a probability that a change initiative cannot produce high productivity over a period of years, it does not qualify as a catalytic mechanism. Catalytic mechanisms can exist in multiples, should evolve over time, and are best created with broad employee input. Because they have transformational potential, organizations should develop and implement them with serious thought and extreme care. 11CAPACITY BUILDING: A PRIMER Quality: Capacity building’s yardstick Whether it is a shirt, a bell pepper, an automobile, or a service, we all want quality. Most of us believe that we can define quality, but depending on what the organization is, what the product or service is, or what our expectations are, the definitions can be quite differ- ent. Good construction, freshness, flavor, durability, dependability, style, customer delight: all these and dozens more relate in one way or another to what we call quality. If the combination of these fac- tors also comes with low price, we are even happier (witness the popularity of off-price retailers T. J. Maxx, Marshalls, Ross, and the “wholesale club” retailers Costco and Sam’s Club). For organizations that wish to build capacity, concerns about quality are among the most important considerations. In some organizations, quality improvement opportunities come knocking. For Florida’s children’s services agency, a current quality improve- ment opportunity is to find dozens of children the system has lost. But most organizations’ own perceptions about their quality, and the perceptions of clients or the public, will be considerably less dramatic. Nevertheless, in the long run, they may be just as impor- tant in that they may have a profound effect on the organization’s future through a catastrophic failure or a slowly building collection of client dissatisfactions. The organ transplant debacle at Duke University Hospital in which the young recipient died is a sad but powerful example of a catastrophic outcome in the absence of a simple, glaringly obvious verification of donor-recipient blood type matching. Until the 1980s, quality management was rare in all except product-driven organizations, and even there the scope of what should be considered in the “quality” column was limited. The work of Joseph M. Juran, founder of the Juran Institute, led to the concept of Total Quality Management and created a formal approach to defining, managing, and improving quality in a range of settings, from manufacturing to service organizations to educa- tional and health care institutions. The idea that doing a thing well could be substituted for culling out the substandard—that is, 12 CAPACITY BUILDING FOR NONPROFITS achieving built-in quality—is a better approach that is easy to accept but harder to achieve and maintain. The Juran Institute, among others with a similar focus, offers progressively more sophisticated training in quality management for CEOs and board leaders committed to building organizational capacity and effectiveness. For executives who wish to lead their organizations through a capacity-building transformation, this type of training is an imperative. Integration and collaboration When a youngster whom I know formed her first sentence, it was, “I can do it myself.” Her early predisposition for fierce indepen- dence persisted as she went into the first grade and will no doubt be an asset to her as she moves through the grade levels and some- day enters a career field. Especially for youngsters with these traits, lessons about teamwork and the benefit of collaboration must begin in the early grades. Many institutions—perhaps even most institutions—however, have not gotten the message that there is strength in being out- wardly focused. Self-reliance can easily become egotism; “main- taining values” can turn into isolationism; an obsessive pursuit of “excellence” can eventually create an elitist organization. Orga- nizations interested in building capacity will need to find ways to engage others in partnerships. Transforming an organization is difficult, if not impossible, to achieve without collaboration and integration. Becoming and staying a high-performing organization Doing all that we have already outlined here will automatically include the essential ingredient for success as a high-performing organization—listening. This element of capacity building cannot 13CAPACITY BUILDING: A PRIMER be emphasized enough. The answers to many critical questions that the organization needs to know are frequently overlooked. Boards often despise the idea that staff members’ experience and training could be valuable; it would not occur to managers in many organi- zations to solicit an opinion from the rank and file; and seeking opinions from constituents or the public might reveal that the orga- nization lacks adequately prepared leadership. It almost seems silly to see these admissions in print, yet they are too common in many organizations today, even leading ones. The bottom line Organizations that wish to engage in the process of capacity build- ing and transformation—those that decide to experience the per- sonal and corporate satisfaction of building and achieving the status of a high-performing organization—will find that there are many pathways leading to that destination. It may seem paradoxical to suggest it, but organizations moving toward that goal will proba- bly use many of those pathways. The directors, staff, and others will not march along in perfect cadence on a single path. The talents, time, experience, education, and degree of commitment to the mis- sion, vision, and values of the organization on the part of those who would undertake the journey will bring diversity to the effort, along with some wrong turns, conflict, and dropouts. Organizations whose leadership chooses to work toward supe- rior performance must realize that both reward and risk will emerge in the process. Management staffs that have difficulty coping with anything less than perfection in the capacity-building process will face many disappointments along the way. Individuals whose need for validation and approval extends much beyond the satisfaction of leading an organization that is delivering maximum benefit to its constituents should think twice before triggering the capacity- building process. 14 CAPACITY BUILDING FOR NONPROFITS References Collins, J. C. “Turning Goals into Results: The Power of Catalytic Mecha- nisms.” Harvard Business Review, July-Aug. 1999, pp. 71–82. Collins, J. C., and Porras, J. I. Built to Last: Successful Habits of Visionary Com- panies. New York: HarperCollins, 2002. McKinsey & Company for Venture Philanthropy Partners. Effective Capacity Building in Nonprofit Organizations. [http://vppartners.org/learning/reports/ capacity/capacity.html]. 2001. Thoreau, H. D. Walden. Boston: Charles E. Tuttle Co., 1992. DAVID J. KINSEY is an advancement officer at Loma Linda University and Medical Center in southern California. J. RUSSELL RAKER III is an advancement officer at Loma Linda Univer- sity and Medical Center in southern California.
work_ptfphkepobfn5cquxfjitjtelm ---- area(15)_794.fm Area (2008) 40.2, 265 – 277 Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 Blackwell Publishing Ltd Gathering in Thoreau’s backyard: nontimber forest product harvesting as practice Paul Robbins*, Marla Emery** and Jennifer L Rice* *University of Arizona, Department of Geography and Regional Development, Tucson, AZ 85721, USA Email: robbins@email.arizona.edu **US Forest Service, Northern Research Station, South Burlington, VT 05403, USA Revised manuscript received 6 November 2007 Understanding of the gathering of nontimber forest products (NTFPs) in woodlands has focused heavily on politics surrounding public lands and harvester communities. Yet forest gathering may be far more universal. This paper reports the results of a survey of residents in New England, querying whether people gather wild things and for what purposes. The results suggest that gathering in New England, and elsewhere in the developed world, is not restricted to a unique type of community or economy, but instead is a form of practice. Those analytical approaches to NTFPs that seek to produce ‘alternatives’ to the dominant economy may therefore ironically work to reinforce a capitalocentric view of daily life. Key words: New England, nontimber forest products, alternative economy, natural resource management, usufruct, land policy Introduction It is increasingly apparent that forests are more than trees. The recognition that forest materials, other than timber, are extracted from forests has led to a belated shift in the attention of managers and scholars. That such harvesting is widespread and includes gathering in places as far-ranging as temperate United States (Richards and Creasy 1996), tropical Ecuador (Svenning and Macia 2002), Amazonia (Hecht and Cockburn 1989), Canada (Duchesne and Wetzel 2002) and arid India (Robbins 2001) has come to be viewed as non-remarkable. Nontimber forest product (NTFP) research is now an academic and policy regime in its own right, fuelling a rethinking of the uses, diversity and function of forested lands. Challenging the tree- centred and industrially-oriented management regimes of forestry professionals, gatherers of mushrooms, fuelwood, medicinal bark and other biotic products have become progressively more prominent (Emery et al. 2004). But the motivation and political and economic implications of all this gathering remains unclear. What is the position and role of gathering wild things on and within the wider population and economy? How do NTFPs matter to the larger polity, if at all? In Great Britain, interest in NTFPs grows in part out of interest in the potential for supplemental income for rural communities, coupled with con- cerns about the ecological sustainability of forestry. Thus, uses of native plants and fungi have been catalogued and assessed in Scotland (Dyke and Newton 1999; Dyke 2001; Milliken and Bridgewater 2001 2004), Wales (Wong and Dickinson 2003), and England (Sanderson and Prendergast 2002). An emerging secondary emphasis stresses the social values, ethics, benefits and policy of gathering NTFPs (Emery et al. 2006b; Dyke 2006). In the United States, investigations and characteri- sations of NTFP harvesting have focused predominantly on the conflicts that emerge where large numbers of harvesters enter and use public lands to harvest 266 Robbins et al. Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 economically valuable goods. This has meant a focus on large public land areas, especially in the West, upon populations in these regions that gather products on a large scale, and upon well- organised trade networks. These communities fre- quently find themselves at odds with conventional forest management regimes that stress industrial production systems, specifically large tree felling (Hirt 1994). In short, in the United States, a picture is forming of nontimber forestry as being defined by communities of harvesters, participating in an alternative economy , engendering conflicts between state and individual uses and values, and between global industry and local needs, especially in the Pacific Northwest. As valuable as such work has been, far less is known about the gathering of forest materials more generally. Specifically, NTFP research has not yet examined harvesting as an activity amongst larger populations, especially the highly urbanised popula- tions of the United States north and east, where people live further from vast public lands. As a result, key questions remain unanswered. Does NTFP gathering exclusively or predominantly take the form of ‘product’ gathering for economic use and exchange, rather than personal, religious or social purposes? At what rate does it occur in the larger population? And what is the demographic profile of gatherers in general, relative to non-gatherers? Behind these questions lie more fundamental ones. To understand the way we together negotiate the nature/society interface, itself increasingly understood to be an imaginary modern boundary (Latour 2004), examining environmentally-related behaviours of post- industrial people becomes essential. This paper reports the results of a random-sample, general-population survey of residents throughout the New England states of Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine, querying whether people gather wild plants from the environment around them and for what purposes. Rather than studying harvester communities, therefore, or using a case study approach to a specific context, the study seeks to answer the questions described above by assessing the rate, demographics and purposes of harvesting. The study builds on and complements previous sur- veys, which suggest that significant proportions of many populations gather NTFPs. Studies in Scotland (Emery et al. 2006b; Hislop et al. 2006) and across Great Britain (Forestry Commission 2005) have reported gathering of NTFPs at rates between 23 per cent and 27 per cent of the total population, including a range of socioeconomic and employ- ment groups, and a vast majority (~83%) reporting collection for strictly personal use. A number of previous surveys in the United States have included questions about informal harvesting of berries and mushrooms (Cordell et al. 2004), wild foods (Palmer 2000) and other products (Palmer 1998), on both public and private lands (Butler et al. 2005). A recent nationwide survey revealed that some 14 per cent of lawn owners consume wild plants (e.g. dandelions) from their own lawns (Robbins and Sharp 2003; Robbins 2007). These results suggest that participation in gathering activities is common to many populations outside of the more active interest communities associated with economically valuable NTFPs, spanning popu- lations from urban to rural. However, the rate of participation and socio-demographic characteristics of gathering within the larger US population remain obscure. This study, funded by the US Forest Service to help understand diverse forest constituencies, provides the first attempt to survey the general popu- lation of a region in the United States about their harvest and use of all types of nontimber materials. We refer to these plant parts and fungi throughout the work as ‘nontimber forest products’ (as com- monly used among Anglophone researchers and policymakers), but also use the term ‘plant materials’ (following Turner 1998), which we feel removes stress on the economic connotation of ‘products’ and so more adequately accommodates the actual range of gathering practices. The next section reviews the body of research on nontimber forest product gathering in the United States, stressing the way efforts of previous research have been directed at revealing alternatives to industrial timber economies. In the third section, we review our methodology, describing its inherent strengths and limitations. Part four reports the results, which suggest that participation in the gathering of nontimber materials by the general population of New England is not uncommon. Furthermore, while some differences are evident, the demographics of gatherers are similar to the population in many regards. Finally, only a tiny fraction of the total number of harvesters participate (as harvesters) in anything that might be described as an organised economy. These results, we suggest in our discussion, raise questions about how researchers and managers think about gathering and ‘alternative economies’ Nontimber forest product harvesting 267 Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 more generally. Drawing on the work of Michel de Certeau (1988), we argue that gathering is not a unique type of community or economy, but instead a form of practice . So too, we argue that traditional analytical approaches to NTFPs, though extremely valuable, may ironically work to reinforce a capitalo- centric view of daily life (following Gibson-Graham 1996), specifically because they seek to produce ‘alternatives’ to the dominant economy. In the process, they may overlook the non-capitalisms that are so much a part of life all around us. Characterising US nontimber forest product harvesting The genealogy of US NTFP literature can be traced to a moment when conflict in the Pacific North- west (the states of Washington, Oregon, northern California and Idaho) dominated national forest policy, constructing it as a contest between regional economy and ecology. During the 1990s, increas- ingly visible harvester communities in commercial NTFP industries pressed for access to forests (Schlosser and Blatner 1995; Hansis 1996; Richards 1997). Grounded in this context, the US NTFP literature has been driven by the hopes and fears inspired by commodification of plant materials and fungi. Although some research is ongoing elsewhere in the United States (Emery 1998; Jahnige 1999; Chamberlain et al. 2002; Emery et al. 2003 2006a), a majority of the literature and national policy on NTFPs is a direct response to late twentieth-century developments in the Pacific Northwest (Love and Jones 2001; Carroll et al. 2003). Public lands constitute 31 026 000 acres, or approximately 60 per cent of the 51 612 000 acres of forests in the Pacific Northwest (Smith et al. 2001), and are a key source of NTFPs in the region. The US Forest Service and Bureau of Land Manage- ment, which manage 22 352 000 and 3 365 000 acres, respectively, began to concern themselves with commercial NTFP harvesting in the early 1990s. Echoing developments in international con- servation a decade earlier, NTFPs appeared to offer the prospect of reconciling two goals that seemed pitted against each other in the prevailing crisis – forest conservation and rural development (Hagen et al. 1996; Crook and Clapp 1998; Hagen and Fight 1999; Love and Jones 2001; Emery 2002). As environmental opposition to logging increased, NTFPs seemed to represent a sustainable livelihood for com- munities whose economies traditionally depended on extractive forestry (Thomas and Schumann 1993; Wetzel et al. 2006). NTFPs also represented a management challenge. As federal policy shifted from production-oriented sustained yield management to science-driven ecosystem management (Love and Jones 2001), the dearth of scientific literature on NTFPs was seen as an impediment to sound policy. Forest Service scientists, buttressed by academic scholars, began to undertake studies of the ecologies and economies of commercial fungi (Molina et al. 1993; Liegel et al. 1998), medicinals (Vance 1995) and floral greens (Blatner and Alexander 1998; Freed 2001; Lynch and McLain 2003). These studies often emphasised tensions between gatherers and land managers (Wang et al. 1996; McLain 2000) and conflicts between gatherers along lines of residence and ethnicity (Richards and Creasy 1996). Whether serving a public agency client or taking an openly critical approach (and more than a few studies have attempted to do both), this literature has been over- whelmingly focused on public lands in the region. In keeping with rural development themes, NTFP commodities and gatherer economies have been the substantive focus for nearly all of this research. Motivated by environmental justice concerns (McLain 2002) and responding to the paradigm crisis in temperate forestry (Love and Jones 2001), researchers have been concerned with rendering visible the economic contributions of NTFPs. The- ories of livelihood and the informal economy have been mobilised to establish the legitimacy of pro- ductive activities outside the scope of traditional forest economics (Emery 1998 1999; Alexander et al. 2002), using detailed ethnographic case studies to emphasise the importance of NTFPs to household incomes (Emery 1998; Hinrichs 1998). Several researchers have noted that economic calculations are inadequate to capture the full range of values that NTFPs play in gatherers’ lives (Dick 1996; Emery 1998; Hinrichs 1998; Carroll et al. 2003). However, the relative attention to NTFP commodities versus that accorded to nonmarket uses suggests that exchange values have a privileged standing in the literature. Defining gatherer communities and defending their rights of access to NTFPs has been another common effort. Identification and categorisation of gatherers, while recognised as a strategy of state dis- cipline (McLain 2000), has been used to challenge public forest management, create solidarity between actors and influence management deliberations 268 Robbins et al. Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 (Brown and Marin-Hernandez 2000; McLain and Jones 2001). Avoiding a strict place-based approach for labelling gatherers (in part owing to their mobility, see McLain and Jones 1997), classification systems largely have been structured along the axes of gatherer economies and ethnicities ( Jones and Lynch 2002; Carroll et al. 2003). In sum, US NTFP literature, like all scholarship, is a reflection of the conditions under which it was produced: in this case, political struggles in the management of public forestlands in the Pacific Northwest in the late 1980s and early 1990s. In the process, the literature usefully focused on commercial NTFP economies and autonomous NTFP communities . The predominance of a literature grounded in the forestry crisis has left both theory and policy imprinted by this very particular moment (Love and Jones 2001). In focusing on commercial NTFP ‘movements’ in the Pacific Northwest, whole other ecologies and cultures may be overlooked. From both a theoretical and policy standpoint there is a need to widen the conceptual scope for understanding how people use forests. What proportion of the larger population draws upon materials from woodlands? Who are they and do they differ from the general population in their places of residence, ethnicities or income? And what is NTFP gathering like in places far from federal forests? Method For purposes of this study, we define the population of interest to be all residents of Maine, Massa- chusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont, a region that includes the Concord, Massachusetts home of Henry David Thoreau – that paramount and emblematic transcendental philosopher credited with some of the earliest articulations of American environmentalist ideals (Merchant 1989). To investigate gathering in this broader population, the authors surveyed New England residents in December 2004. This region was selected specifically because it is home to dense urban populations and has a minimum of public lands. The sample was intended to represent a profile of New Englanders generally, rather than forest user groups specifically. The technique selected was a random-digit dial telephone survey. This assures access to those with unlisted telephone numbers and allows full spatial randomness. The survey was conducted by the Scripps Survey Research Center at Ohio University, using standard techniques for scientific and political polling (Hauck and Cox 1974). Non-responses and partially completed surveys were not counted and were eliminated from subsequent analyses. Surveys were administered by telephone inter- viewers using a fixed script. The questions and range of responses covered probable forest materials and uses in New England discovered through pre- vious ethnographic research (Emery et al. 2003). The survey instrument was pre-tested to determine the comprehensibility of questions and revised to make its language more precise. The survey began with a recruitment script describing the purposes of the study as being to determine people’s use and enjoyment of forested lands in New England. Following recruitment, survey participants were asked whether they had gathered anything from forested areas during the previous five years. Those answering affirmatively were also asked whether they had done so during the past 12 months. Information was then collected from respondents regarding how often materials were gathered, the type of item gathered and the use of item(s) gathered. The concentration on questions regarding materials, frequency of gathering and usage, rather than amounts of materials, is based on the investigators’ previous experience and studies suggesting limited ability of respondents to accurately estimate quantities, in contrast to more reliable recall of types of materials and frequency of activities. Table 1 provides the possible responses for type and use of nontimber forest products. This was followed by a demographic query for all survey participants, whether they gather materials or not. All surveys were conducted in English. We define gatherers as those responding affirma- tively to the question ‘during the last five years, have you collected any tree or plant materials around woodlands; for example, mushrooms, berries, cones, or moss?’ Our previous ethnographic experience with New Englanders from both urban and rural areas suggests that the terms used here (e.g. wood- lands) are widely understood, though some variability in interpretation is inevitable. Our interpretation of affirmative respondents as ‘gatherers’ refers specific- ally to the behaviour (or practice, as per below) in a material sense, rather than self-identification as a type of person (Emery et al. 2003). The survey had a total n of 1650 participants who completed full surveys. The demographics of that survey population were compared to the census demographics of the New England states in question to determine the degree to which the total respondent Nontimber forest product harvesting 269 Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 population was a reliable sample of the New England population. Table 2 provides the demographic characteristics for the 1650 survey participants in comparison to 2000 census data for the entire population of Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont. The results suggest that the total survey population is a good, though not perfect, sample of the larger population; participants in our survey were more likely to be female and tend to have higher education levels than the population of the survey area. The key limitations of the survey technique are rooted in the structured biases of non-respondents. Given the screening question, non-respondents are less likely to be forest visitors. Thus, the results may be slightly biased towards over-counting gatherers. Table 1 Survey choices for type and uses of NTFP item gathered Types of items Examples provided by surveyor Uses of items Edibles Berries, Fiddleheads, Maple Sap Personal and family use Medicinal and dietary supplements Ginseng, St John’s Wort, Willow Bark Gifts or trade Decorative floral or craft products Boughs, Birch Bark Used it to make something to sell Cultural or religious products Sweetgrass, Woodland Sage, Sauna Switches Sold it as is ‘Other’ or ‘no choice’ ‘Other’ or ‘no choice’ Note: Positive respondents were allowed to provide more than one response for both ‘type’ of item collected and ‘uses of items’ Table 2 Summary of respondents and general populationa General population (NH, VT, ME, MA) All respondents in survey Sex Male 48.4% 39.2% Female 51.6% 60.8% Educationb Elem/High School 43.9% 30.2% College 43.9% 40.0% Graduate School 12.2% 16.1% Refuse n/a 13.7% Racec Non-white 11.5% 7.3% White/Caucasian 88.5% 89.5% Other n/a 3.2% Total n 9 468 633 1 650 a Survey data regarding income was collected using ordinal categories (such as $25 000 to $40 000), which cannot be compared with 2000 census data for income (which is provided as an actual median value, such as $44 516). Furthermore, there is no comparable census characteristic for the ‘city size’ variable which was collected in this survey. Age was not compared because survey respondents must be old enough to answer the phone and participate in the survey, while census data provides age information for the entire population b Education data for NH, VT, ME, MA was calculated based on 2000 census variables for educational attainment in the population 25 years and older. Categories were aggregated so that individuals that completed some high school up to high school graduation are included in the ‘Elem/High School’ category, while all individuals that have at least some college, an associates degree, or Bachelor’s degree are included in the category ‘College’ c ‘Non-white’ survey responses consist of: Alaskan, Native American, Asian, Black, Hispanic, Pacific Islander 270 Robbins et al. Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 Conversely, because non-English speakers have elsewhere been shown to be more likely to gather, the results may be slightly biased towards under- counting gatherers. Further limitations include an inability to perfectly distinguish forest gatherers who collect large quantities of materials versus those who collect small quantities. Thus, a positive response could include practices from picking and eating a single handful of berries to the harvest of buckets of berries over a single collection event. Who gathers? The results of the survey begin to dispute the characterisation of gatherers as part of a culturally and economically unique community by showing that the incidence of participation in NTFP har- vesting is by no means uncommon. Furthermore, the demographic characteristics of NTFP gatherers in the northeastern United States are broadly similar to those of the general population in New England. Rates of participation in gathering Of the 1650 total survey respondents, 434 respondents provided a positive response to the question, ‘during the last five years, have you collected any tree or plant materials around woodlands; for example, mushrooms, berries, cones, or moss?’ Our study reveals, therefore, that more than one-quarter (26.3%) of the population in Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont can be considered gatherers. Further, nearly one- fifth (17.9%) of people had gathered NTFPs during the previous 12 months. Thus, we can segment our positive respondents into two mutually exclusive groups as occasional gatherers , or those people who answered ‘yes’ to gathering in the past 5 years, but ‘no’ to collecting in the past 12 months, and recent gatherers , those that answered ‘yes’ to harvesting in the past 5 years and ‘yes’ to gathering in the past 12 months. From these data, we can imply that of the 26.3 per cent of the population that gathers, a majority (17.9% of the overall population) perhaps harvest NTFPs regularly, while a smaller portion (8.5%) gather NTFPs less frequently (Table 3). This level of participation contrasts with that of many commonly recognised land-based outdoor activities. Table 4 shows results from the National Survey on Recreation and the Environment (Cordell et al. 2004) relative to our survey results. Gathering is more common than most sports and, more tellingly, more common than traditionally-defined ‘wilderness’ activities, including rock and mountain climbing, backpacking and caving. In keeping with the main argument of this paper, we hasten to add that in making this comparison we do not mean to classify gathering as a strictly recreational activity or to suggest it is ubiquitous, but the results do suggest an activity more common than many other outdoor practices. Demographic characteristics of gatherers Demographic information from our survey shows that gatherers are by no means a homogenous group Table 3 Per cent of general population that harvests NTFPs During the past 5 years During the past 12 months Have gathered 26.3 17.8 Have not gathered 73.7 83.1 Note: By nature of the survey questions, people that have collected in the past 12 months are a subset of the group which has collected in the past five years Table 4 Rate of participation in outdoor activities in last 12 months as percentage of population Activity Ratea NTFP collection 17.8 Golfing 16.7 Primitive camping 16.0 Basketball outdoors 14.0 Hunting 11.4 Tennis outdoors 10.5 Volleyball outdoors 10.4 Backpacking 10.3 Softball 10.0 Horseback riding 9.6 Football 8.1 Soccer outdoors 7.5 Baseball 6.4 Mountain climbing 6.3 Rock climbing 4.3 Caving 4.2 a NTFP collection as percentage of New England population, based on survey described above. All others as percentage of national population, based on National Survey on Recreation and the Environment, average for years 1999–2002 (Cordell et al. 2004) Nontimber forest product harvesting 271 Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 (Table 5), although a comparison with 2000 census data for the four states in our sample area shows that survey respondents (gatherers and non-gatherers alike) are not a perfect reflection of the general population. Respondents have higher levels of educational attainment than those in the region as a whole and NTFP gatherers appear to be still better educated. Twenty-six per cent of NTFP gatherers have attended graduate school, compared to only 12.2 per cent of the general population of Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont and 18.7 per cent of the total survey population. In addition, amongst those who responded to the question about income, gatherers reported higher values, with the greatest difference in those earning less than $25 000 per year (20.2% for all res- pondents and 14.1% for gatherers). More people who gather NTFPs identify themselves as White/ Caucasian than the general population of New England or the entire survey population (94.0% of gatherers are White/Caucasian, while 88.5% of the general population of Massachusetts, Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont and 89.5% of the entire survey population are White/Caucasian). The total of ‘non-white’ and ‘other’ in our sample is nearly comparable, however, to the non-white census figure, suggesting this is neither a disproportionately white or minority practice. However, given the high number of respondents who declined to provide information on their education and race, the sample must be considered conservative in its estimation of participation by less formally educated and non- white populations. A higher proportion of NTFP gatherers are rural residents as compared to the entire survey population, but a majority of NTFP gatherers are urbanites (55.6%). These results show that, notwithstanding some divergence from the general population, NTFP gatherers come from diverse backgrounds, including wealthier and poorer populations, white and non- white populations, a variety of education levels, and both rural and urban areas. This broad participa- tion in the practice of NTFP gathering is distinct from many other uses of nature, which tend to be dominantly the province of more affluent white males (Interagency National Survey Consortium 2002). Indeed, socioeconomic characteristics are poor predictors of those who collect materials from Table 5 Demographic characteristics of the general population, survey population and NTFP gatherers Census data (MA, ME, NH, VT) All respondents in survey Have collected in the past 5 years Educationa Elem/High School 43.9% 35.0% 26.0% College 43.9% 46.3% 48.0% Graduate School 12.2% 18.7% 26.0% Race Non-white 11.5% 7.3% 4.2% White/Caucasian 88.5% 89.5% 94.0% Other n/a 3.2% 1.8% Incomeb $47 949** Less than $25 000 20.2% 14.1% $25 000 to $60 000 39.0% 41.6% More than $60 000 40.7% 44.3% City size City 67.8% 55.6% Rural area 32.2% 44.4% Notes: Age and sex are not compared because we have identified a skew toward women and older populations in the methods section a Education and income percentages were calculated excluding those respondents who answered ‘refuse’ b Median income levels for MA, ME, NH and VT, respectively, are: $50 502, $37 240, $49 467, $40 856. Average median HH income (weighted by state population) is $47 949 272 Robbins et al. Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 woodlands and those who do not. This is not a distinct demographic group, but is typical in many regards, crossing class, gender and race lines. What do we gather? In addition to examining exactly who gathers NTFPs, we are also interested in identifying what types of NTFPs are being gathered and how people use them. Based on previous research, we employed a four category classification for the survey: edible, medicinal/dietary supplement, decorative/craft and cultural/religious. We found that the majority of NTFP gatherers harvest edible items (61.5%) and decorative/floral items (58.8%). Table 6 shows, however, that all categories of NTFPs are gathered with some frequency and that no one type of product is particularly unusual to harvest. Furthermore, the results show that NTFP gatherers are overwhelmingly harvesting items for their own use (88%), and only occasionally use the items for gifts, trade or to sell. Only a tiny fraction of harvested materials enter the formal economy. The use of NTFP items provided in Table 6 indicates that NTFP gathering in New England is primarily a nonmarket activity. The items that NTFP gatherers harvest possess value that rarely is realised on the market, and the gatherer’s relationship with nature is not necessarily mediated through the buying and selling of natural products. Instead, people in New England enter their surroundings to directly interact with and utilise found materials without mediation by the capitalist economy or its informal alternatives. Discussion: a practice and not a type of people In sum, people from a range of socio-economic backgrounds are entering environments around them to gather products for their own purposes, directly using and consuming plants. These gatherers operate well off the path of the formal economy, indeed even the ‘alternative’ economy of farmers’ markets and craft fairs. In the absence of significant federal lands in the New England region, moreover, this body of gatherers is harvesting from private lands, roadsides, city parks and other areas. Our findings hold with those reported in other contexts (Emery et al. 2006b) and we suspect that they are indicative of general rates of gathering in the postindustrial world. Simply put, wild plants are normal parts of many people’s lives. Why has this set of practices largely been ignored in the critical literature on the topic? In part, of course, the problem is methodological. Previous research has sought out case studies of conflict and investigation into the character of alternative ‘networks’ and ‘economies’. This focus necessarily excludes surveys of the diffuse population of casual harvesters. Such research has been a politically useful and analytically necessary step since most such work has sought to help validate NTFP harvesting (Duchesne and Wetzel 2002). Investigation of that end of the problem also helps to explore more general ques- tions about the nature of federal land management and the phenomenon of agency capture in the face of industrial power. Such important work necessar- ily depends on the classic tropes typically used to narrate the North American economy, however: pri- vate ‘economies’ and local ‘communities’ versus state and industrial power. As a result, gathering by the broader population is largely overlooked, especially where it is non- commercial and carried out in places with lower federal presence. The implications of this silence are threefold. First, the relationship of contemporary consumers with nature is somewhat different than the ‘alienated’ consumer picture offered in critical analysis. Such litera- ture tends to associate contemporary ‘environmental’ Table 6 Type and use of NTFP item gathered Type of item gathered Edibles Decorative floral or craft products Cultural/religious needs Medicinal/dietary supplements Other/no choice 61.5% 58.8% 16.4% 7.8% 12.9% Use of NTFPs gathered Personal and family use Gifts or trade To make something I sold Sold it the ways it was when picked Other/don’t remember 88.0% 5.3% 2.1% 1.2% 3.5% Note: Respondents could provide more than one answer to the question, meaning that percentages of NTFP collectors that collect each type of item add up to over 100% Nontimber forest product harvesting 273 Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 activities as, in the words of Neil Smith (1996, 42– 3), ‘steeped in bourgeois modernism’ which replicates ‘the uncritical and unreflected treatment of nature as social sanitarium, space of recuperation, Thoreauvian anti-social retreat’. These romances, critics suggest, further mask the way subjects in capitalism are actually forced to reconsume alienated nature through commodities marketed back to them by corporations and commercial outlets (following Price 1995). While this view of consumption activities is by no means uncontested, critical approaches to ‘daily’ environmental behaviours continue to focus on market-mediated environmental experience (Bryant and Goodman 2004). Yet here we observe interactions with wild plants, put to a range of uses, all outside the market, and none mediated by other formal economic actors. Almost all of these uses, it can be argued further, are intimate ones, whether the harvesting of aesthetic items or the harvesting of things for personal dietary, religious or medicinal needs. People are surrepti- tiously and personally involved in something very different from capitalist nature. For many, nature ‘out there’ seems connected to daily practice ‘in here’ in a relatively unproblematic way. Secondly, this suggests that the gathering of NTFPs is not carried out by a ‘type of people’ by any means. While it is certainly true that important gatherer groups exist, the vast majority of gatherers are likely disassociated individuals coming from a wide range of socio-economic circumstances. Harvesting might therefore be better looked upon as a type of practice. Simply because this practice is part of many people’s daily lives, however, does not mean that harvesting is politically neutral. As Michel de Certeau (1988, 37) has observed, such practices constitute tactics , actions within, and not on the fringes of, the larger society and polity, which actively remake people’s experiences in the face of hegemonic efforts to control, partition and define such behaviours and experiences. Such tactics are spatially and categorically diffuse. They muddy the distinctions between the taken-for- granted divisions of public and private, nature and society, which commonly dominate and define modern life. This is in contrast to the officially sanctioned spatial partitions of the modern world: ‘a break between a place appropriated as one’s own and its other’ (de Certeau 1988, 36). Where powerful agents have attempted to rationalise and delimit natural and social spaces (e.g. forests versus cities), the casual daily use of wild plants subverts any such clean partitions. This is especially true if we con- sider the potentially vast sources of these NTFPs in backyards, parks, state forests, private lands, fallow fields, etc. Wild and domestic spaces are crossed along with a potentially large number of property configurations. In this sense, not only has the carving of the world into modern categories been a strategic approach of capital and the state, it may have been reinforced ironically, if inadvertently, by the very critical literature that espouses an alternative. For while NTFP advocacy does indeed do progressive political work by rallying producer communities and legitimising access to environmental goods and services, it has re-inscribed these spatially strategic binaries, precisely by advocating ‘alternative’ extractive economies. That is, critical work has depended heavily upon the notion not only that extractive timber-based forestry represents an environmental logic of capital, but that NTFP harvesting is a coherent, community-based, resisting, ‘alternative’ economy. As Gibson-Graham has argued, however, this insistence that local discourses, behaviours and practices that don’t ‘fit’ must always be imagined relative to capital actually reinforces the power of hegemonic actors. The goal of political economy, therefore, is to subvert this tendency and ‘explain how global capitalism . . . gives rise to heterogeneity and diversity’ (Gibson-Graham 1996, 43). Attention to the harvesting ‘community’ and its ‘economy’, in this case, has hidden the somewhat common and equally complex practice of gathering by average people. It has also narrowly constrained the more organised harvester population by characterising it as an ‘economy’, but always one situated ‘as ultim- ately the same as, a complement to, the opposite of, or contained within capitalism’ (Community Economies Project 2005). Such a formulation is distracting, since assimilation of daily life is always incomplete, despite the strategies that profess the ubiquity of capitalist experience. As de Certeau et al. (1998, 251) notes, popular practices of ordinary life, like informal harvesting, are characterised by their word-of-mouth ‘orality’, their ‘operational’ quality for practitioners, and their ‘ordinary’, as opposed to mass, culture. Flying beneath the radar, these elude simple incor- poration and become the practices through which people interpret and negotiate the world. This raises as many empirical and theoretical questions, however, as it resolves. Simply because 274 Robbins et al. Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 materials are harvested by both highly educated and less educated people, by the wealthy and the poor, does not mean that the marginal utility of those goods is equal to all. To whom are which species important and why? So too, simply because gathering is occurring out- side of federal lands, we continue to know little about the specific spatial pattern of harvesting and its distribution across differing forms of property and environmental contexts. What lands are these and what are the economic and ecological statuses of these areas? Our results also raise questions for federal forest managers who are tasked by statute (P.L. 106 –113, §339(a))1 to parse out commercial from personal harvesting so that they can collect fees for the former while providing for the latter. Almost certainly, a sizable proportion of people who visit federally managed woodlands gather some plant material or fungi and the vast majority of them are not engaged in any sort of commercial activity. Further, commercial and noncommercial activities co-occur in space, time and, sometimes, in the person of a single gatherer. Can policies designed to manage large-scale commodity extraction be applied to these diverse practices? At what scale of harvesting is it desirable, or even possible, to require gatherers and gathering to conform to the logic of formal economics? Many federal lands provide space where intimate con- nections between people and nature are broadly available. Is it important that federal lands continue to provide such spaces? If so, what policies support that goal? Even with these many unanswered questions, this survey provides a glimpse of the people who draw wild products from the woods – they are a lot like the rest of us. Furthermore, they are participating in interactions with non-human nature that are not determined solely by their role in a capitalist economy, and which do not simply represent the reconsump- tion of alienated nature by a class-specific subject. Turning Smith’s critique of bourgeois environment- alism on its head then, the retreat into Thoreau’s woods, evidenced in woodland harvesting, here in Thoreau’s own backyard, even amongst a large middle-class, is not apparently capitalised or marketised in any way. These practices may constitute the tip of an iceberg, much as Gibson-Graham (2006) has suggested for the other economies of daily life. As people weave a world of human/non-human practices as part of their daily lives, they subvert the partitions of the world mapped by powerful actors, including corporations. Every acorn harvested for the mantle is one not purchased at the mall. None of this is to argue that communities of market-oriented harvesters, operating in more formal networks and economies, should not be the subject of research and advocacy attention, nor that the hegemonic power of traditional extractive industries does not represent a critical challenge for reform. Nor is this to argue that economic interaction with the environment undertaken by such groups is in and of itself ‘alienating’. As Richard White has argued compellingly, the tendency to disparage nature as it is experienced through labour is regrettably typical of some environmentalism (White 1996). Rather, we have suggested that the assumption that non- producers, those broad sections of the population who do not work for a living in forests, are not necessarily relegated to a passive role of simply consuming nature at the mall, as has been asserted elsewhere. The pressing research task is to explore the uncatalogued engagements of diverse populations, who are constantly re-imagining and remaking the socio-environments around them, in the face of very real hegemonic forces that might have them do otherwise. Note 1 U.S. Laws, Statutes, etc.; Public Law 106-113, div. B, Sec. 1000(a)(3) [title III, Sec. 339]. Pilot Program of Charges and Fees for Harvest of Forest Botanical Products. Act. of Nov. 29, 1999. Page 113 Stat. 1535, 1501A-119-200; 16 U.S.C. 528. 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