Monthly Archives: March 2011

Congress considers honoring Christina Taylor-Green by supporting civil discussion in schools

House resolution 181 proposes to honor “the memory of Christina-Taylor Green by encouraging schools to teach civic education and civil discourse in public schools.” I love the bill for three reasons:

First, the very best way to honor the life of an exemplary 9-year old citizen (who was killed while trying to participate in a public dialog with her elected representative) is to encourage such experiences for other children.

Second, the bill, while it is simply a resolution that has no teeth, does include several worthy provisions. If the resolution passed, Congress would recognize “the importance of returning the teaching of civic education and civil discourse to schools, especially for students in grades 6 through 12;… [encourage] the Secretary of Education to direct schools receiving Federal funding to include instruction in civic education and civil discourse; [and encourage] schools and teachers to conduct educational programming on the importance and methods of civic education and civil discourse.”

Third, the short text of the bill cites us, accurately and explicitly:

    Whereas empirical evidence demonstrates a strong link between civic education and participation in community and public service, and according to the Center for Information and Research on Civic Learning and Engagement [that’s us!], students who take courses in civics are at least 50 percent more likely to volunteer and to help solve community problems;

    Whereas students who participate in classroom civil debate are, according to the Center for Information and Research on Civic Learning and Engagement, more civically engaged, being at least 60 percent more likely to follow the news, sign a written petition, and be involved in organizations outside school;

    Whereas, according to a study by the Center for Information and Research on Civic Learning and Engagement, students involved in civic activities to fulfill a class requirement are 22 percent more likely to graduate from college …

I say, pass H. RES. 181!

constitutional piety

Montpelier, VA: I am staying at an almost-literal shrine to the United States Constitution, James Madison’s own house, where they (rightly) preserve an ink stain on the floor that may be some of the ink with which Mr. Madison took his notes on ancient constitutions, preparing for the Philadelphia convention. My fellow visitors are all civic educators who teach American history or government at the high school or college level or in museums and other public institutions. They are diverse, and I would hesitate to characterize even the individuals politically, but there is a right-of-center median. Some participants worked in the Bush White House or clerked for conservative Supreme Court Justices. For some, deep respect for the Constitution in its original form is an important civic virtue.

I don’t personally think that the United States Constitution, as a document, is a particularly strong example of such an instrument in the 21st century. If you made a serious and open-minded comparison between our constitution and those of other successful and stable contemporary republics, ours would look significantly flawed. I know this sounds like heresy at a time when all the Republican presidential hopefuls agree: “America is stupendously great, awesomely great, so great that ‘great’ doesn’t begin to describe its greatness–and Obama just doesn’t get it.” But the way the Constitution frustrates accountability by dividing power seems highly problematic, not to mention the unequal representation in the Senate, lack of basic positive rights, and so on.

And yet here is a way in which I am quite conservative. Regimes or polities are organic wholes that develop slowly but can quickly go bad. One idiosyncratic but well-established aspect of the American polity is our veneration for the written text of the Constitution, which extends to piety about its authors and even the locations where they lived and wrote. This civic religion could not be transplanted to other democracies. But neither can all aspects of their political orders be imported here.

We could have a constitutional convention and rewrite the whole text, but the results would not necessarily be better; I fear they would be worse. The Constitution that we have frustrates some forms of good government but also prevents many forms of tyranny. Our polity, taken as a whole, has strengths and much potential for gradual improvement. For those reasons, a degree of reverence for the Constitution may be healthy–although I wouldn’t hide any of its flaws from students.

at Montpelier

Montpelier, VA–I am getting ready to sleep on the property of Montpelier, James Madison’s house. His Georgian/Federalist mansion is at the top of the nearby hill, overlooking horse fields and the Blue Ridge Mountains. Past his Greek temple “folly” and through some old-growth woods, you get to the guest house where I am staying. Tomorrow, colleagues and I will be discussing civic education in the very place where the Constitution was conceived–and about 100 field and household slaves labored to support the man who wrote it. On this spring night early in the 21st century, all is quiet.

Robert Lowell at the Indian Killer’s Grave

King Philip’s War was a struggle between the New England Puritan settlers and Native Americans. Fought in 1675-6, it caused the deaths of about 800 colonists and 3,000 Native Americans and a catastrophe for the Native peoples of New England. King Philip (Metacomet, in his own language) was shot to death, his wife and child sold as slaves in Bermuda, his head displayed on a pike for decades.

Traditionally, King Philip’s War was described as a dangerous attack on the colonists, not a genocidal campaign by them against the Wampanoags. Robert Lowell (1917-77) early grasped his region’s original sin. His direct ancestor John Winslow had been a rich Boston merchant during King Philip’s War; another relative had been Josiah Winslow, the governor who led Massachusetts in that war. Out of his struggles with his own ancestry, the Catholic-leaning, pacifist Lowell made poems of permanent value.

In 1946, he published “At the Indian Killer’s Grave” in his collection entitled Lord Weary’s Castle. The setting is King’s Chapel Burying Ground in Boston, where John Winslow was buried with his wife Mary. I recently visited the Burying Ground with a copy of Lowell’s poem in hand and found that he had described the setting precisely and had incorporated relatively obscure historical information. My annotations follow, interspersed with the entire text in italics. The whole poem is reprinted together here.

King's Chapel and Burial Ground

Title: “At the Indian Killer’s Grave”

The singular noun is interesting, since there are many graves in the Burial Ground that could be connected to King Philip’s War. Perhaps the grave of Joseph Tapping or of John Winslow is the specific reference (see below), or perhaps, as Frank Bidart writes in his notes to the Selected Poems, “The Indian Killer … is essentially generic, a collective figure ….”

Epigraph:

“Here, also, are the veterans of King Philip’s War, who burned villages and slaughtered young and old, with pious fierceness, while the godly souls throughout the land were helping them with prayer.”

Quoted from Hawthorne’s story “The Gray Champion,” which concerns the colonists’ resistance to James II (the king of King’s Chapel) and mentions their slaughter of Native Americans briefly and ironically. The story concludes: “still may the Gray Champion come, for he is the type of New England’s hereditary spirit; and his shadowy march, on the eve of danger, must ever be the pledge, that New England’s sons will vindicate their ancestry.” (Vindicating his ancestors is pretty much the opposite of what Lowell accomplishes in this poem.)

Behind King’s Chapel what the earth has kept

Whole from the jerking noose of time extends

Its dark enigma to Jehoshaphat;

These are regular iambic pentameter lines, as are most (but not quite all) of the lines of the poem. Most of the poem rhymes, but in a complex and irregular scheme. (Note friends/bends/ends, well/compel, root/foot, etc.) The very first line has no rhyme.

“Behind King’s Chapel”: The small plot of ancient stones is hemmed by some of the city’s tallest and most modern commercial buildings. America’s first subway line runs very close below, the quaint cover of its ventilation shaft interrupting the graves. Crowds of tourists file down the narrow lanes.

The Burying Ground is historically separate from King’s Chapel. The former was a cemetery for Puritans, strenuous critics of the official Anglican Church. Because no settler would sell to King James II land on which to build an Anglican church in New England, James seized some of the Burying Ground to build the chapel, presumably disrupting many Puritan tombs. The present structure of the chapel is a sober neoclassical building, erected in 1754, that overshadows the cemetery. The modern congregation is Unitarian, the Anglicans having been chased away as Tories in the Revolution. Lowell uses the phrase “King’s Chapel” to locate the poem and does not mention the Burying Ground itself. The buried Puritans would be angry that their resting place is so described. Lowell’s own theology would be closer to James’ than to the Puritans’.

“What the earth has kept whole …” Does this refer to bodies in the burial ground, ones that have not been broken up by centuries of building? Maybe not, because the subject of the sentence is singular: it “extends / Its dark enigma to Jehoshaphat.” One possible reading: there is a crime, a mysterious sin, that is hidden from the time when the corpses were buried until the Day of Judgment.

“Jerking noose” alludes to the mass hanging of the Wampanoag Indians in King Philip’s war, part of the crime that is the dark enigma. This also suggests a concrete image: something in the earth is partly broken by a rope which, like time itself, shakes things to pieces.

Jehoshaphat: this could refer to the King of the Israelites. He might be associated with the Puritans because he struggled against idolatry and defeated a large army of Moabites (comparable to Wampanoags) when the Lord made them quarrel amongst themselves. But more likely Lowell means not the king but the Valley of Jehoshaphat, where the Resurrection and Judgment Day is expected: thus, a vast graveyard. Cf. “In the great ash-pit of Jehoshaphat,” a phrase from Lowell’s “The Quaker Graveyard of Nantucket.”

Or will King Philip plait

The just man’s scalp in the wailing valley! Friends,

Blacker than these black stones the subway bends

About the dirty elm roots and the well

For the unchristened infants in the waste

Of the great garden rotten to its root;

“Or will King Philip plait …”: The word “or” suggests two possibilities. Either the enigma remains hidden until Judgment Day or King Philip braids the hair on the scalp of the “just man” in the valley of Jehosophat. The phrase “just man” could be ironic and refer to the kind of men whom the real Philip scalped: Puritans. “Plaiting” seems gentle and cosmetic, although perhaps King Philip celebrates the ultimate demise of the men who killed him and his people. Although they won the war, they all died in the end.

“Friends!”: Who could that be? We the readers? Imaginary companions visiting the Burying Ground with Lowell? A congregation addressed by a preacher? King Philip’s friends (for he clearly speaks later in the poem)?

“Blacker than these black stones …” The headstones are gray now, as they must have been when first cut. In Lowell’s time, pollution had blackened them (see the “off-scourings” mentioned in line 2.6). The air was polluted by the heavy industry that his ancestors brought to New England after 1790 and that supported all the office buildings around King’s Chapel.

“… the subway bends …”. It does bend–the Green Line of the Boston “T”–and as it moves it makes extraordinary creaking and whining sounds immediately below the cemetery, as if the dead were rising. The construction of the “T,” like the building of King’s Chapel, disturbed the sober Puritans in their graves and jumbled their bones together promiscuously.

“About the dirty elm roots and the well”: The “well” is actually the cover of the subway airshaft, a remarkable structure that I would call quaint, but I can see how it might look diabolical.

“For the unchristened infants in the waste”: In 1833, a charnel house (a vault for bones) was constructed under the Burying Ground to hold dead orphans. Once again, the dead Puritans must have been shifted. They would not be upset by the idea of unchristened burials. They considered baptism unnecessary for salvation and conducted no baptisms in the New World until about 1628. For the Catholic Lowell, unchristened babies would evoke Limbo.

Of the great garden rotten to its root: The garden may be the cemetery, where the bones are like roots. “Great” is surprising and worth some consideration, because I would have described the Burying Ground as small and quaint. Perhaps the cemetery is metonymy for something truly “great,” such as Boston or America.

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the West and the rest

It seems impossible to distinguish between the West and other civilizations or regions of the globe, because anything we might call “the West” is so internally diverse and vaguely bordered. It’s easy to make up a list of famous Western people who have vanishingly little in common: Saint Teresa of Ávila, Oscar Wilde, Daniel Boone, Lenin, William Penn, Cole Porter, Thomas Edison, Heidegger, Andy Warhol, Donald Trump, Emily Dickinson, and Hernán Cortés.

Or consider two people who are famous for being (in very different ways) anti-Western: the Ayatollah Khomeini and Gandhi. The former studied and admired Plato, the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, and the French Revolution. The latter spoke English, practiced English law, and read the works of Thoreau and his friend Tolstoy. If these two were not “Western,” why should we count all the others listed above?

But here is a suggestion for an actual difference. One thousand years ago, Europe (from Greenland to Sicily) was actually quite homogeneous. It was all agrarian and Catholic, and it had a warrior caste, monks, and peasants. The languages varied but they all contained a large dose of Latin, which was spoken by the educated class. Across the continent, villages were dominated by their churches, manor houses, and castles. That world vanished or was destroyed–unevenly, so that little pieces of it still linger today. It was replaced by technology, urbanization, mass communications, bureaucratic states and businesses, secularization, and markets.

Roughly the same pattern (“modernization”) occurred in most parts of the globe, provoking the same enormous range of reactions that we observe in Europe. But in Europe–and in countries like the United States that view themselves as inheritors of Europe–most of the changes were perceived as internal. Steam engines, bureaucratic files, securities markets, and all the other hallmarks of modernity did not seem to come from some alien civilization but to be choices of the society itself. For example, when the first train puffed through the German countryside, some people might have disliked or even feared it, but they saw it as a German train. In contrast, the same changes came to other places as the direct consequence of conquest, military pressure, purchase, or persuasion by people regarded as complete outsiders.

I don’t know if this is correct. Perhaps Portuguese or Icelandic or Serbian peasants felt the same way as people in China and Africa when the first steam engines and ID cards arrived. But I think not, if only because so many human beings have defined “the other” in terms of skin color and religion. This is not to say that the definition of the West is whiteness or Christianity. My hypothesis is more subtle: when innovations come from a place perceived as fundamentally like one’s own, they feel one way. They feel a different way when they come from people perceived as foreigners. In both cases, a whole range of reactions is possible, from delirious enthusiasm to horror. But “the West” is where modernization is perceived as an internal process.

(In a somewhat similar post, I tried to explore why modernization feels different in Istanbul and Baltimore.)